Location: Salem, Massachusetts, USA

8 AM attempt number two at buying Witch House tickets: SUCCESS! The random tickets I managed to snag weren’t till later in the day, so we trained into Salem and ferreted out some breakfast, which was no easy feat now that it’s the weekend and hordes of people have descended on the town. Walking into the main square we could see it was an absolute zoo with lineups snaking around every corner for every shop, restaurant and bathroom.

Right in the centre of town is the Peabody Essex Museum, that has a standing exhibit on the witch trials, and a temporary exhibit called Conjuring the Spirit World. We read all about séances, how mediums do their work and even got to see a short magic show (I got to help float a table… somehow)! We spent quite awhile reading more stories on the trials, many of which echoed what we have heard in the last couple days.

After hearing the more popular stories 3 or 4 times now, we both realized the versions often conflict each other in the details. (Apologies if I got anything wrong in my retelling!) One thing is clear though: the Salem witch trials really started with 2 extremely greedy men (assholes #1 and #2 from yesterday).

Despite feeling like we’re getting a handle on the downtown core, we still keep stumbling across new shops we want to go in. Almost like they appeared by magic! A big artisan market had been set up, weaving through streets which were transformed into pedestrian only zones to accommodate the amount of people suddenly in the city.

Finally after 3 days of anticipation we head over to the Witch House… which we promptly find out is not actually a Witches house.

Excusez-moi?

It’s actually a normal old house that belonged to one of the judges on the special panel that held the hearings for the accused witches… so asshole #4!

They call it ‘Witch House’ because it is the last standing building that has direct ties to the witch trials. That and ‘Judge House’ just doesn’t really have the same ring to it. Somehow I don’t think nearly as many people would go if they knew it wasn’t a witches house…

We wandered back to Pickering Wharf for Pauline’s appointment with a Psychic that I was eager to learn more about. I sat in the sun right on the edge of the wharf and relaxed my aching feet while I waited for her. I didn’t plan to have a psychic reading myself, but when Pauline came out and explained how eerily accurate it all was I decided just to go for it. When in Rome, right? I’m not very spiritual but if there was ever a place to see a psychic, this is it!

I sat down with Elizabeth the reader, anticipating tarot cards or a crystal ball but no. She runs me through a meditation to ground me and open me up to the conversation, hands me a wooden jar to connect to and then opens the jar and throws a mix of bones, charms and crystals into a reading dish.

!!!

Pauline told me that it was a bone reading but I didn’t really realize what that meant! I thought I’d just have to hold a bone or something. I don’t know! I haven’t done this!

Elizabeth spent the next 15 minutes telling me about my life in ways that totally didn’t make sense for her to know. I didn’t pre-provide any information, I didn’t answer any questions or even really speak, and her divinations were specific enough that it really didn’t feel like a fluke. Creeeeeepy.

I know this is their job but like HOW! How do they do that?!

Must be magic.

Sav