Robin Cook - Acceptable Risk

After showering, blow-drying her hair, and applying makeup, Kim left Edward’s apartment with him for another greasy but tasty breakfast in Harvard Square. Following their meal, they stopped into one of the many bookstores in the square. Their breakfast conversation had included a discussion of Puritanism. They both realized how little they knew about it, so they bought a few appropriate books. It was well after nine by the time they were on their way to the North Shore.

Kim drove, since they were again reluctant to leave her car in the residents-only parking area in front of Edward’s apartment. With no traffic they made good time and were in Salem just before ten. Following the same route they had the previous Saturday, they again passed the Witch House.

Edward reached out and grabbed Kim’s arm. “Have you ever visited the Witch House?” he asked her.

“A long time ago,” Kim said. “Why? Are you interested?”

“Don’t laugh, but I am,” Edward said. “Would you mind taking a few minutes?”

“Not at all,” Kim said. She turned on Federal Street and parked near the courthouse. When they walked back they found they had to wait. The Witch House opened at ten. They also weren’t the only prospective visitors. There were a number of families and several couples already standing outside the old building.

“It is amazing the appeal the Salem witch trials have,” Kim commented. “I wonder if people stop to think why it interests them so much.”

“Your cousin Stanton described the episode as ghoulishly seductive,” Edward said.

“That sounds like Stanton,” Kim said.

“He said the attraction is that it’s a window on the supernatural,” Edward added. “I happen to agree. Most people are a bit superstitious, and the witchcraft story titillates their imaginations.”

“I agree,” Kim said. “But I’m afraid there’s also something perverse about the appeal. The fact that people were executed is key. Also, I don’t think it was an accident that there were many more witches than wizards. There’s a gender bias as well.”

“Now don’t get too far out on any feminist plank,” Edward said. “I think there were more females involved because of the role of women in colonial culture. Obviously they were associated with birth and death, and health and disease, a lot more than men, and those aspects of life were shrouded with superstition and the occult. They simply didn’t have any other explanation for them.”

“I think we’re both right,” Kim said. “I agree with you, but I’ve also been impressed with the little research I’ve done about the lack of legal status of women in Elizabeth’s time. The men were scared, and they took it out on the women. Misogyny was involved.”

At that moment the door to the Witch House opened. Greeting them was a young woman in period costume. It was then that Kim and Edward learned that the visit to the house was a guided tour. Everyone trooped into the parlor and waited for the talk to begin.

“I thought we would be allowed to wander around by ourselves,” Edward whispered.

“I did too,” Kim replied.

They listened while the young woman described the many furnishings in the room, including a Bible box which was said to be an invariable part of a Puritan household.

“I’m losing interest,” Edward whispered. “Maybe we should go.”

“Fine with me,” Kim said agreeably.

They exited the building. When they reached the street, Edward turned around and faced the house.

“The reason I wanted to go in was to see how much the interior resembled the cottage,” Edward said. “It’s amazing. It is as if they were built from the same plans.”

“Well, as you said, individuality wasn’t encouraged back then,” Kim remarked.

They climbed back into the car and drove the rest of the way to the compound. The first thing Edward saw was the utility trench. He was amazed at its length. It now stretched from near the castle all the way to the cottage. When they stood at the edge, they could see that it had already been tunneled under the cottage’s foundation.

“There’s the coffin,” Kim said as she pointed to the place where it protruded. At that point the trench had been significantly widened.

“What a stroke of luck,” Edward said. “It looks to me like the head of the coffin. And you were right about the depth. It’s at least eight feet down, maybe more.”

“The trench is only deep here by the cottage,” Kim pointed out. “Where it crosses the field it’s much shallower.”

“You’re right,” Edward said. He started walking away from the house.

“Where are you going?” Kim asked. “Don’t you want to take a look at the headstone?”

“I’m going to take a closer look at the coffin,” Edward said. As soon as he could manage it, Edward jumped into the trench, then came walking back, descending deeper with each step.

Kim watched him with growing concern. She was beginning to worry about what he had in mind.

“Are you sure this thing won’t cave in?” Kim asked nervously. She could hear bits of dirt and stones fall into the crevice when she got too close to the edge.

Edward didn’t answer. He was already bending down and examining the damaged end of the coffin. Scraping some of the immediately adjacent dirt into his hand, he felt it.

“This is encouraging,” he said. “It’s bone-dry down here and amazingly cool.” He then insinuated his fingers into the partially opened joint between the head of the coffin and its side. With a sharp yank the headpiece bent to the side.

“Good God!” Kim murmured to herself.

“Would you get the flashlight from the car?” Edward said. He was looking into the open end of the coffin.

Kim did as she was told, but she wasn’t happy about what was happening. She didn’t like the idea of disturbing Elizabeth’s grave any more than it already had been. After venturing as close to the edge of the trench as she dared, she tossed the flashlight down to Edward.

Edward shined the light into the open end of the coffin. “We’re in luck,” he said. “The corpse has been mummified by the cold and the dryness. Even the winding sheet is intact.”

“I think we’ve done enough,” Kim said. But she might as well have been talking to the trees. Edward wasn’t listening. To her horror she watched while he put the light down and reached into the coffin. “Edward! What are you doing?”

“I’m just going to slide the body out a little way,” he explained. He got hold of the head and began to pull. Nothing happened, so he put one foot against the wall of the trench and pulled harder. To his surprise the head detached suddenly, causing Edward to fall against the opposite wall of the trench. He ended up in a sitting position with Elizabeth’s mummified head in his lap. A small shower of dirt dusted down onto his own head.

Kim felt weak. She had to look away.

“My gosh,” Edward said as he got to his feet. He glanced at the base of Elizabeth’s head. “I guess her neck must have been broken when she was hanged. That’s kinda surprising since the method of death in those days was not to cause the neck to break but rather let the person dangle and die of strangulation.”

Edward put the head down and bent the end of the coffin back to its original position. Using a rock, he hammered it into place. When he was convinced he’d returned it to its original appearance, he carried the head back down the trench to where he could climb out.

“I hope you don’t think this is funny,” Kim said when he’d joined her. She refused to look at the object. “I want that put back!”

“I will,” Edward promised. “I just want to take a little sample. Let’s go inside and see if we can find a box.”