Witches Among Them

Ann Putnam shivered in her bed. Outside, a fierce February rain battered the village of Salem. The winter of 1692 had been a wet one in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. But 12-year-old Ann’s chills came from within. 

Firelight cast strange shadows across her walls. A menacing shape seemed to float toward her. 

Was it her imagination? Or something evil—a witch?

Ann’s heart pounded. 

She knew that witches were real—and living nearby. Dark forces had recently sickened two of her friends, sending them into fits of strange and horrifying behavior.

Now the wind whistled through the windows. It sounded like an old woman’s voice, hissing in Ann’s ear.

Join us—or else!

Ann shook her head violently. “No!” she shrieked. 

At the sound of her cry, her parents rushed in. 

“What troubles you, child?” her father asked. 

Ann gasped for breath. She couldn’t quite say. Not yet. 

But soon, she would speak up. 

She and her friends told all of Salem that there were witches among them—and let the village know exactly which individuals to fear. 

And Salem listened.

So began months of panic over witches, dramatic trials that pitted neighbor against neighbor, and, finally, a series of gruesome executions. 

By the time it was all over, 25 innocent people were dead. 

More than three centuries later, these lost voices of Salem continue to echo. Their stories serve as a terrifying reminder of how dangerous fear can be—and how quickly it can spread when no one dares question it. 

Ann Putnam shivered in her bed. It was February, and it was raining hard outside. Ann lived in the village of Salem in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The winter of 1692 had been a wet one there, but 12-year-old Ann’s chills came from within. 

Firelight cast strange shadows across her walls. A scary shape seemed to float toward her. 

Was it her imagination? Or was it a witch?

Ann’s heart pounded. 

She knew that witches were real. Dark forces had made two of her friends sick. They had suffered fits of strange and horrifying behavior.

Now the wind whistled through the windows. It sounded like an old woman’s voice, hissing in Ann’s ear.

Join us or else!

Ann shook her head violently.

“No!” she shrieked. 

Her parents rushed in. 

“What troubles you, child?” her father asked. 

Ann gasped for breath. She couldn’t quite say. Not yet. 

But soon, she would speak up. 

She and her friends told all of Salem that there were witches among them. They let the village know exactly who to fear. 

And Salem listened.

Months of panic over witches began. Dramatic trials pitted neighbor against neighbor. Some trials led to executions. 

When it was all over, 25 innocent people were dead. 

More than three centuries later, these lost voices of Salem continue to echo. Their stories serve as a reminder of how dangerous fear can be—and how quickly it can spread when no one dares question it. 

Salem’s troubles first began in January 1692 in the home of one of the village’s most prominent citizens: Reverend Samuel Parris. He was Salem’s religious leader. Most of the villagers were Puritans, a strict religious group that had left England several decades before in search of freedom to practice its beliefs. The Puritans had set up the Massachusetts Bay Colony in what is now New England. The lives of these colonists were defined by hard work and strict religious rules. And in a small village like Salem, kids had few outlets for fun, especially during the cold winters.

To escape boredom and the frigid temperatures outside, Parris’s daughter, Betty, 9, and her friends often gathered at the family’s home. On one such day, Betty and her cousin, Abigail Williams, 11, began to act strangely. They rolled around on the floor and threw themselves against walls. They twisted their bodies, seemingly in pain. They barked like dogs. 

“The physical symptoms were terrifying,” says Paula Richter, who has researched the events extensively for the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts. “At first, Parris and his wife tried to address them themselves.”

The couple prayed. They fasted. They administered home remedies. (At the time, popular ones included dewdrops, soot from the fireplace, and beetle blood.) But as days passed, the girls’ frightening ailments continued. Betty and Abigail were too sick to do their chores or read the Bible. That was especially alarming: Life in Salem revolved around hard work and religion—even for children. 

Finally, a doctor made a grim diagnosis. The girls were “under an evil hand,” he said. In other words, Betty and Abigail were being tortured by witches.

The news spread quickly among Salem’s 500 residents. As fear gripped the village, Ann Putnam and another girl also apparently fell ill. Now the community demanded answers: Who were the witches tormenting Salem village?

Salem’s troubles first began in January 1692 in the home of Reverend Samuel Parris. He was Salem’s religious leader and was respected by the community. Most of the villagers were Puritans. The Puritans were a religious group that had left England several decades before. They had wanted freedom to practice their beliefs. They set up the Massachusetts Bay Colony in what is now New England. The colonists worked hard and followed strict religious rules. Kids had few outlets for fun, especially during the cold winters.

Parris had a daughter, Betty. One day, when Betty was 9, her cousin, Abigail Williams, 11, came to visit. They began to act strangely. They rolled around on the floor. They threw themselves against walls. They twisted their bodies, seemingly in pain. They barked like dogs. 

“The physical symptoms were terrifying,” says Paula Richter. She has researched the events extensively for the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts. “At first, Parris and his wife tried to address them themselves.”

The couple prayed. They fasted. They administered homemade medicines. But as days passed, the girls continued acting strangely. They were too sick to do their chores or read the Bible. That was especially alarming. Life in Salem revolved around hard work and religion—even for children. 

Finally, a doctor made a grim diagnosis. The girls were “under an evil hand,” he said. In other words, Betty and Abigail were being tortured by witches.

The news spread quickly among Salem’s 500 residents. Fear gripped the village. Ann Putnam and another girl also apparently fell ill. Now the community demanded answers: Who were the witches tormenting Salem village?

The girls seemingly afflicted by the strange illness were under intense pressure to name the individuals who were attacking them. Before long, they accused three local women of witchcraft.

On March 1, officials questioned the alleged witches. People packed the village meetinghouse to watch the hearing. 

The first two women, Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne, denied the charges. So did the third. But then: She changed her mind. She admitted to being a witch.

That woman’s name was Tituba. She was an enslaved servant in Reverend Parris’s house. For years, Tituba had taken care of the Parris family—and prayed alongside them.

So why did Tituba claim to be a witch? It’s believed that the reverend bullied her into confessing, perhaps even using physical violence to force her to admit what he believed to be true. 

And what Tituba told the officials changed everything, says historian Richard Trask, an expert on the trials—as well as a descendant of two accused witches. “She came up with these stories that were really scary,” he explains.

Tituba’s story started with Satan, or the devil, appearing to her as a hairy, winged beast (and also a wild hog, a black dog, and two talking cats). It ended with Tituba signing a contract with the devil. 

Tituba also implicated her fellow suspects: Good and Osborne. In fact, she said, the three of them had flown over Salem together on sticks.

Then Tituba dropped another bombshell: At least nine other witches lived in Salem. Probably even more.

The girls seemingly afflicted by the strange illness were pressured to name the people who were attacking them. Soon they accused three local women of witchcraft.

On March 1, officials questioned the alleged witches. Many villagers went to the hearing. 

The first two women, Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne, denied the charges. So did the third. But then she changed her mind. She admitted to being a witch.

That woman’s name was Tituba. She was an enslaved servant in Reverend Parris’s house. For years, Tituba had taken care of the Parris family. She had prayed alongside them.

So why did Tituba claim to be a witch? Some believe that the reverend bullied her into confessing. They think he believed she was a witch. And he may have used physical violence to force her to say she was. 

Tituba’s admission changed everything, says historian Richard Trask. He’s an expert on the trials. He’s also a descendant of two accused witches. “She came up with these stories that were really scary,” he explains.

Tituba said that Satan, or the devil, appeared to her as a hairy, winged beast. He made her sign a contract to do dark deeds. She also described him as a wild hog, a black dog, and two talking cats.

Tituba also implicated her fellow suspects: Good and Osborne. She said the three of them had flown over Salem together on sticks.

Then Tituba dropped another bombshell: At least nine other witches lived in Salem. Probably even more.

Now the villagers were truly terrified. They believed they needed to find and punish every witch.

Meanwhile, the number of afflicted girls in Salem was growing by the day. And the girls were identifying more and more supposed witches. (Ann Putnam was especially outspoken. Eventually, she accused more people than anyone else: 62 women, men, and children.) Even adults began pointing fingers. 

On April 19, another accused witch, Bridget Bishop, faced questioning. She wasn’t popular in the village. For starters, Bishop, who was in her 50s, owned a tavern and her own land. (Puritans deemed both things inappropriate for women.) Worse, she had married three times. Rumor had it she’d killed her first two husbands—with witchcraft. 

As the proceedings began, Ann and the other sick girls howled in pain. They claimed that Bishop’s apparition was pinching and biting them—right there in the meetinghouse! 

“She calls the devil her God!” Ann declared. 

Bishop insisted: “I am no witch!” 

Still, she was hauled off to await trial in jail. She soon had plenty of company—by May, dozens of suspected witches filled the filthy, lice-ridden cells. Like Bishop and Tituba before her, some of the earliest people accused were seen as outsiders by the rest of the village. But anyone could be charged—rich, poor, young, old. 

With an overwhelming number of villagers now accused of witchcraft, Massachusetts governor William Phips created a special court to deal with all the cases. Bridget Bishop was the first to stand trial. 

In court on June 2, several neighbors gave examples they said proved Bishop’s evil magic. (They claimed she had bewitched a pig, for instance.) The judges quickly found her guilty and sentenced her to death. About a week later, crowds gathered to see her hanged. The execution did little to put fears to rest, however. Instead, it only further fueled the hysteria over witches in Salem village. 

Now the villagers were terrified. They believed they needed to find and punish every witch.

Meanwhile, the number of afflicted girls in Salem was growing. And they were identifying more and more supposed witches. (Ann Putnam was especially outspoken. Eventually, she accused more people than anyone else: 62 women, men, and children.) Even adults began pointing fingers. 

On April 19, another accused witch, Bridget Bishop, faced questioning. She wasn’t popular in the village. Bishop was in her 50s. She owned a tavern and her own land. (Puritans deemed both things inappropriate for women.) Worse, she had married three times. Rumor had it she’d killed her first two husbands—with witchcraft. 

The proceedings began. Ann and the other sick girls howled in pain. They claimed that Bishop’s apparition was pinching and biting them! 

“She calls the devil her God!” Ann declared. 

Bishop insisted: “I am no witch!” 

Still, she was put in jail to await her trial. She soon had plenty of company. By May, dozens of suspected witches filled the filthy, lice-ridden cells. Like Bishop and Tituba, some of the earliest people accused were seen as outsiders by the rest of the village. But anyone could be charged—rich, poor, young, old. 

Massachusetts governor William Phips created a special court to deal with all the cases. Bridget Bishop was the first to stand trial. 

In court on June 2, several neighbors told stories about Bishop doing witchcraft. (They claimed she had bewitched a pig, for instance.) The judges quickly found her guilty. They sentenced her to death. About a week later, crowds gathered to see her hanged. The execution did not calm people’s fears. Instead, it fueled the hysteria over witches in Salem village. 

Like most Christians of their time, the people of Salem believed in the danger of witches. But why did the villagers suddenly start accusing each other of witchcraft—and in such great numbers? Much of it had to do with the villagers’ worldview, historians suspect. 

The Puritans believed they were on a special mission from God. In their minds, that made them a particular target of the devil. They believed Satan and his helpers, witches, played a major role in their troubles. So when things went wrong—if a cow suddenly died or a child got a deadly disease like smallpox—the villagers suspected witchcraft was to blame. 

In truth, the Puritans in Salem did face serious threats. Not from witches, but from the harsh reality of their lives. Storms routinely destroyed their homes and crops. Without proper sanitation and medicine, diseases ripped through the village. Roughly one in four infants in the region didn’t survive their first year. 

Puritans had also suffered many deaths during bloody wars against the Native people of the Northeast whose land the Puritans had taken. Some of the afflicted girls had lost parents in the fighting. Perhaps that trauma, along with other stresses in their difficult lives, really did make them physically ill. And as Puritans, they would have seen witchcraft as a logical explanation for their symptoms. 

Or maybe the girls were simply bored. Some people have suggested that many or all of the girls faked their afflictions for attention. After all, girls were often overlooked in Puritan society. They were expected to be seen (ideally, performing hard work such as churning butter, or studying Bible verses) and not heard. 

Others have theorized that certain parents in Salem told their daughters who to accuse—or at least influenced them. Why? Perhaps to get revenge for long-standing grudges. 

Ann Putnam’s parents, for instance, were feuding bitterly with their neighbors, the Nurse family. Ann accused 71-year-old Rebecca Nurse of using witchcraft to torture her. (Ann’s mother testified against Nurse too.) Nurse, a respected mother of eight, was known to be a devout churchgoer. She strongly proclaimed her innocence. 

Still, Nurse was found guilty of witchcraft. 

On July 19, along with four other women, Nurse was loaded into a wooden cart and rolled up a hill to be hanged. 

Like most Christians of their time, the people of Salem believed in witches. But why did the villagers suddenly start accusing each other of witchcraft? 

The Puritans believed they were on a special mission from God. In their minds, that made them a target of the devil. They believed Satan and his helpers, witches, played a major role in their troubles. When things went wrong—if a cow died or a child got a deadly disease—the villagers suspected witchcraft was to blame. 

In truth, the Puritans in Salem did face serious threats. Not from witches, but from the harsh reality of their lives. Storms routinely destroyed their homes and crops. They did not have proper sanitation and medicine, so diseases ripped through the village. Roughly one in four infants didn’t survive their first year. 

Puritans had also suffered many deaths during bloody wars against the Native people of the Northeast whose land the Puritans had taken. Some of the afflicted girls had lost parents in the fighting. Maybe that trauma, along with the stresses of their difficult lives, really did make them physically ill. And, as Puritans, they would have seen witchcraft as a logical explanation for their symptoms. 

Or maybe the girls were simply bored. Some people think that many or all of the girls faked their afflictions for attention. After all, girls were often overlooked in Puritan society. They were expected to be seen (ideally, performing hard work, such as churning butter, or studying Bible verses) and not heard. 

Others think that certain parents in Salem told their daughters who to accuse. Why? Perhaps to get revenge for long-standing grudges. 

Ann Putnam’s parents, for instance, were feuding with their neighbors, the Nurse family. Ann accused 71-year-old Rebecca Nurse of being a witch. (Ann’s mother testified against Nurse too.) Nurse was a respected mother of eight. She was known to be a devout churchgoer. She strongly proclaimed her innocence. 

Still, Nurse was found guilty of witchcraft. 

On July 19, along with four other women, Nurse was hanged. 

It didn’t take long for the people who’d been accused of witchcraft to learn a cruel truth: Honesty wasn’t the best policy. Most who denied being witches were sentenced to death. But people who admitted to being witches were mostly spared, even though they were lying. So, many of the accused began confessing. They said they’d been forced into dark deeds by others—and named names.

As the number of people accused of witchcraft ballooned to more than 170, the people of Salem had increasing doubts about the witch trials. People began questioning the “evidence” of visions and evil spirits that only the accusers could see. 

In late summer, a man convicted of witchcraft perfectly recited a prayer moments before his public hanging. The villagers were shocked. In their minds, a person possessed by the devil would not be able to pray to God. 

That, many experts say, was a turning point. People began to defend their neighbors and call for an end to the madness. Then in October, someone accused Governor Phips’s wife of witchcraft. That was the final straw. Governor Phips promptly did away with the witch court that he had created. 

A few more trials took place in early 1693—with strict new rules about evidence. Officials could no longer rely on rumors or visions to convict someone of witchcraft. By May, nearly all the jailed villagers had been set free. Still, in just a year and a half, nearly 200 people—ranging in age from 4 to 81—had been accused. Nineteen individuals had been hanged, one had been tortured to death, and five more had perished in jail.

Soon, the people who’d been accused of witchcraft learned a cruel truth: Honesty wasn’t the best policy. Most who denied being witches were sentenced to death. But people who lied and admitted to being witches were mostly spared, so many of the accused began confessing. They said they’d been forced into witchcraft by others—and named names.

The number of people accused of witchcraft ballooned to more than 170. The people of Salem began doubting the witch trials. They began questioning the “evidence” of visions and evil spirits that only the accusers could see. 

In late summer, a man convicted of witchcraft perfectly recited a prayer moments before his public hanging. The villagers were shocked. In their minds, a person possessed by the devil would not be able to pray to God. 

It was a turning point. People began to defend their neighbors. They called for an end to the madness. Then, in October, someone accused Governor Phips’s wife of witchcraft. That was the final straw. Governor Phips did away with the witch court that he had created. 

A few more trials took place in early 1693—with new rules about evidence. Officials could no longer rely on rumors or visions to convict someone of witchcraft. By May, nearly all the jailed villagers had been set free. Still, in just a year and a half, nearly 200 people—ranging in age from 4 to 81—had been accused. Nineteen people had been hanged. One had been tortured to death. And five more had perished in jail.

After all the noisy accusations, Salem fell silent. A collective shame seemed to blanket the community. Yet the girls who had accused their neighbors of witchcraft never faced trial or punishment. Many of them eventually moved away. 

Not Ann Putnam though. The years after the trials weren’t kind to Ann. When she was 19, her parents died within weeks of each other. Ann was left to raise her nine younger siblings alone. 

She never married and reportedly lived a reclusive life. In 1706, however, Ann sought to return to Salem’s church. She needed to confess her sins to the community first though. 

Ann had accused at least 17 of the 20 people who were killed. 

“I have . . . good reason to believe they were innocent persons,” she wrote to the congregation. “And that it was a great delusion of Satan that deceived me in that sad time.”

It wasn’t much—but she was the only one of the afflicted girls who ever offered a public apology. 

In 1703, Massachusetts courts quietly cleared the names of some of the convicted witches—but not all of them. Indeed, the last of the convicted witches wasn’t declared innocent until 2022. 

More than 330 years later, the Salem witch trials continue to captivate Americans as a fascinating, dark time in our history. But experts say the tragic story of Salem is not as unusual as it might seem—and that it has critical lessons to offer today.

During periods of turmoil and stress, people often look for something or someone to blame. And time and again throughout history, people have chosen a particular group of people to unfairly place this blame upon. Salem is just one example of this, and experts say what happened there should serve as a warning about how unfounded suspicions and fear of those who seem different can quickly overtake a community. 

Yet the trials are also a reminder of the power we have to counteract fear, prejudice, and hatred in our society. Salem reminds us to think critically about our assumptions and judgments, listen to other perspectives, and stand up for each other in the face of persecution—all things that can help build a kinder, more peaceful world.

After all the noisy accusations, Salem fell silent. A collective shame seemed to blanket the community. But the girls who had accused their neighbors of witchcraft never faced trial or punishment. Many of them eventually moved away. 

Not Ann Putnam. The years after the trials weren’t kind to Ann. When she was 19, her parents died. Ann had to raise her nine younger siblings alone. 

She never married. She reportedly lived a reclusive life. In 1706, however, Ann wanted to return to Salem’s church. She needed to confess her sins to the community first though. 

Ann had accused at least 17 of the 20 people who were killed. 

“I have . . . good reason to believe they were innocent persons,” she wrote to the congregation. “And that it was a great delusion of Satan that deceived me in that sad time.”

It wasn’t much—but she was the only one of the girls who ever offered a public apology. 

In 1703, Massachusetts courts cleared the names of some of the convicted witches—but not all of them. The last of the convicted witches wasn’t declared innocent until 2022. 

More than 330 years later, the Salem witch trials continue to captivate Americans as a fascinating, dark time in our history. But experts say the tragic story of Salem is not as unusual as it might seem.

During periods of turmoil and stress, people often look for something or someone to blame. And time and again throughout history, people have chosen a particular group of people to unfairly place this blame upon. Salem is just one example of this. Experts say what happened there should serve as a warning about how unfounded suspicions and fear of those who seem different can quickly overtake a community. 

Yet the trials are also a reminder of the power we have to counteract fear, prejudice, and hatred in our society. Salem reminds us to think critically about our assumptions and judgments, listen to other perspectives, and stand up for each other in the face of persecution—all things that can help build a kinder, more peaceful world.