A Narrative Essay On Abellona

“They had planned on tying Abellona down into a dunking chair, which they would then lower into the Genesee River. If she drowned, Abellona would be exonerated, and if she didn’t, well… then she’d be declared a witch and would be burnt at the stake just like Alcina had been.” “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” I stated after yet again being astonished and affronted by how cruel the villagers could be. “Cera, please, that language,” my mama said brusquely. The black cat in my mama’s lap then stood up and spun around in circles before settling herself back down. My mama then went on. “So it’s believed that during the night while Abellona been locked away in an old storage shed that the villagers had used as a makeshift
Soon afterwards, Joseph Baker commenced in blessing her with Holy water as some of the village’s strong men began strapping her down into the dunking chair all while she kicked and screamed. “They then carried her in the chair down to the edge of the river, but before throwing her in, the pastor asked Abellona one more time if she would like to repent. And it is believed; that Abellona, then for a second time said something to the pastor in that strange tongue nobody could quite grasp. But then, speaking in English, she told the villagers that it was they who were the ones guilty of witchcraft, and that they would pay dearly for what they had done to Alcina and for what they were about to do to her. “Abellona then spoke in riddles again, and afterwards she told the villagers that she had cursed their children. That she would come for them, for their souls, and that the village of Mt. Harrison would never know peace again until they’ve repented for their sins against her and Alcina and have denounced their wicked
It was acknowledgement to me that she knew she had me eating from the palm of her hand. She then said to me, “What do you think happened, silly? They tied the poor girl to a chair and pushed her backwards into the river, of course she drowned. There’s no such thing as witches.” At that point I was feeling pretty sheepish for having asked such an obvious question. But that feeling quickly subsided when for a reason unbeknownst to us the black cat cradled in my mama’s lap suddenly reared up and started baring her teeth while letting out a hiss like she had felt threatened. My mama panicked and quickly tossed the cat from her lap and I watched as it ran off through the yard and into the scatter of trees behind our house before heading straight for the Genesee River and the forest of Mount Harrison. “Well, I guess she didn’t like that story,” I said, feeling somewhat startled myself by the cat’s sudden outburst. “Either that or she was a critic of my storytelling,” my mama assented. My mama then took a few deep breaths to help collect her composure, and I paused giving her a moment before saying, “So, since Abellona’s death, many years have passed and the world seems to have wised up to the ridiculousness of witchcraft being real. So why then do so many people around here still seem to believe in this