EXT. SALEM VILLAGE – EVENING – JANUARY 26TH, 1692
Elizabeth yanked free from his grip, stumbling backward. One hand caught the edge of the table as she steadied herself. Then she screamed furiously.
"To hell with the church, Samuel! And your pious pretenses! I care not what wrath they rain upon me—I saved these girls, and by my soul, that is what holds meaning in my eyes!"
Tears poured freely now.
"If the Puritans come for me—so be it!" she cried loudly. "Let them come with their ropes and their stones! Let them cry 'witch' till their throats be sore!" She pointed at him with a trembling, accusatory hand. "At least I did not stand idle whilst innocent souls were taken!"
"And you—you sat in your fine chair, cloaked in your holy title, feigning righteousness whilst you turned your face away. You prayed for a miracle whilst the Devil's work walked freely among us! You let the girls perish!"
Her voice shook, but the words came faster, sharper. "Each time I cried for aid, each time I begged you to act, you bade me 'keep silent,' to 'trust in God's will.'" She spat the words like poison. "God's will? Do you take Him for a coward as well?"
She drew in a ragged breath, her fury trembling on the edge of tears. "So let them seize me, if they will! Let them bind my hands and cast me to the flames! I shall stand before the Lord with a clean heart, knowing I sought to save the lost. And you…" Her voice dropped to a bitter whisper, though it cut as sharp as any blade. "You shall remain in your seat—safe, sanctified, and drenched in the blood of the innocent."
"you had a goddamn excuse."
Then, she took another step toward him, raising her finger to warn him. "And you listen to me, Samuel… you better hope that God of yours forbids—"
She turned toward the bed and then slowly, she turned back to face him. "—that not even one of these girls dies here tonight. In that bed. While you stand there, chanting to the ceiling like it's listening."
She choked, but pushed the words out. "Because if ever happens…" Her voice lowered. "I swear on everything I have. I'll never forgive you." She shook her head slowly. "And I'll never forgive myself… for staying beside you this long."
A tear slid down her cheek.
She didn't wipe it away.
Samuel's face instantly changed. "That's it?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. He stepped forward hard—his boots thudding. "That's bloody it?!" He let out a short, sharp laugh.
"Huh...?"
"You've already done the worst thing you could've possibly done, Elizabeth!" He jabbed a finger at the bed. "And you better pray to that God you keep mocking that we don't end up hanging in the square…"
He shouted with such fury that flecks of spit flew from his mouth:
"…because of your bloody foolishness!"
Another tear slipped down Elizabeth's cheek. She didn't even care to wipe it away. She just stared at him intensely.
Then Samuel's voice rose again:
"If you weren't such a worthless, useless excuse of a wife—" spit flew from his mouth with rage "if you'd done the one thing God ever asked of you—dragged those children to church like a proper, God-fearing woman—none of this filth would have stained our lives. None of it!"
He stepped closer, his voice low now, each word laced with poison.
"Thomas would have still been alive… in my goddamn arms… And that thing inside you—" his lip curled in disgust as he pointed to her stomach— "wouldn't have been flushed out of you like rotten meat."
Elizabeth just stared at him, her vision blurring as tears welled and spilled over. Her hands trembled as she tried to wipe them away, but they kept coming faster.
He added "May God have mercy on your filthy soul for killing my child—just because you couldn't be bothered to carry another burden...."
"…because...because deep down, you never loved this family to begin with."
But those—those words, that one sentence—was what broke her the most. Not the constant insults, not the accusations. That sentence cracked something so deep inside her, she swore she felt her soul pull away from her body just for a second, like it didn't even want to be in the same room with him anymore.
And she just stood there, completely frozen, so still that it didn't even feel like breathing was worth it anymore. She just stood and stared at him with eyes filled with so much disbelief, that how could the very man she once swore herself to, in front of a lying God and a church full of blind fools, say something so shallow, so cruel, without flinching.
She had seen him mad, sure. He'd been angry a thousand times—over money, over the girls, over dinner being late, over the weather—but never like this. Her eyes dropped and took a deep breath, trying to hold herself together and not making an already fucked-up situation even worse.
She let out a deep breath.
And spoke:
"All I've ever done..."
She kept snorting it back, refusing to wipe her face.
"...is.....love this family."
Then she looked up at him slowly, tears streaking her face, her nose still running, her eyes red. And then she screamed, finally letting out all that rage and anger she had bottled up for years:
"All I've ever done is give—my time, my body, my goddamn life to this family! I gave you every bloody thing I had—every drop of me—even when there was nothing left to give! And still, I kept going, just to keep up the stupid lie that we were bloody okay!"
Her hands flew to her face as she broke, sobbing into her palms.
After a few seconds, she wiped at her face, smearing tears across her cheeks, sniffing hard. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands. Her eyes, red and swollen, locked onto his.
"And.....and what do you contribute to this family, Samuel?"
Samuel stayed silent.
"So don't you stand there and tell me I don't love this family. Don't you dare open your mouth and twist your shit into righteousness when you've been checked out of this marriage since before our youngest was even born."
And she stepped closer at a slow pacs. "I have bled for this family. I've starved myself—of food, of sleep, of love and hope—just to keep this rotten house of woods and stick from collapsing."
Silence followed.
A single tear broke loose, but she didn't even move to wipe it away because it didn't deserve that much attention. "Because the only one who gave up on this family, the only one who checked out and left us behind while still pretending to lead us with that crooked, useless faith of yours..."
She leaned in slowly:
"...is you, Samuel."
Meanwhile, in the corner, Tituba looked up. Her hands froze mid-motion over Abigail's trembling fingers. She didn't speak but stared for a moment—then dropped her gaze to the floor, as if she knew what was coming next.
Samuel stepped forward and replied.
"Watch your mouth, woman."
And then—Elizabeth's voice exploded out of her, finally cracking open after years of being held back.
"OR FUCKING WHAT?!"
She shoved him so hard, her open palm hit his chest, and the shock of it made him stumble backward. "You'll hit me? Is that going to prove your point, Samuel?" She didn't wait for his answer as she was already in his face, charging forward with every footstep, her face inches from his.
"Go on then, Reverend," she spat the word. "Hit your bloody wife. Hit me in the name of your holy, make-believe, dead God. Maybe that'll finally make Him notice you again."
She raised a shaking arm, pointed toward the bed—the bed where their girl laid. "Go on, Samuel," she growled. "Go show us what God truly wants from His loyal little servant like you."
And then—
Nothing.
Just Silence.
Samuel just stood there looking hollow and deflated. All that puffed-up rage? Gone. Replaced by the kind of calmness you only see in men who realize too late they've already lost everything they've worked for all their lives.
Elizabeth noticed it, just how weak a man he truly was.
Then she whispered:
"Coward."
And with the word, that rage came back once again. Samuel lunged without warning and slapped her across the face so hard the sound echoed through the room.
Her head snapped sideways, and she went down, crashing to the floor with a thud, the side of her face already swelling, a thin stream of blood running from the corner of her lip down to her chin.
He stood over her, breathing hard, then spat on the floor right beside her like she was filth, like she meant nothing, and the spit landed just inches from her hand.
She stared at him with her eyes wide open. She stayed there on the cold floor, one hand holding her weight, the other dragging across her lip, wiping the blood slowly, like she was trying to understand what just happened—and when her fingers came back with blood, she stared at them for a moment like she'd expected it, like part of her already knew this day would come.
Then she looked up at him, slowly, her eyes full of tears, though managed to make a tiny smile. "There it is... there's the man of God you keep preaching about..."
She pulled herself up slowly, knees shaking, blood still on her face, her dress dirty as she wiped her mouth.
"Pretty sure HE will be so proud"
Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.
It was quiet—just two soft thumps on the wood.
Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet, her gaze lingering on the girls, then shifting to Samuel. Before walking quickly toward the door. Her hand, trembling slightly, reached out for the latch, but before she could grasp it, Samuel's hand closed around her forearm. Gis grip was quite tight, perhaps his last desperate attempt to hold onto what little control he had left of her.
Elizabeth looked at him and let out a growl. "Let… go of me." She didn't even wait for him to comply; she simply yanked her arm free with a violent pull that tore his hand away. Leaving him standing in the middle of the room, alone with the girls and the maid.
He watched her go.
And followed.
*Dr Giggs
Meanwhile, Elizabeth reached the door and turned it. She pulled the door open:
Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of snow and damp earth. She shivered.
Standing outside the door was the doctor—Alexander Osborne . He was a tall man, dressed all in black. His long black coat had something strange hanging from it, like a dark charm made of bone.
His face looked empty. His skin was dark and stretched tight over his bones, and his eyes were sunken deep in their sockets. He looked tired, almost like he was already dead.
On one hand, he held a lantern that gave off a dull, weak light, and on the other hand, he carried a heavy leather bag which looked old and worn, filled with the tools he used for his work.
He gave them a quiet, solemn look.
"I came as early as I could," he muttered, cleaning his boots on the worn carpet they had.
Samuel said absolutely nothing. He just stepped aside and opened the door wider, letting the man enter. The physician stepped in, his boots making a soft crunching noise on the wooden floor. As he walked by, his eyes shifted almost immediately, looking around the house, which already made Samuel quite suspicious. Elizabeth led the physician to the room where the girls laid.
His eyes landed on them.
He froze.
Two small figures curled beneath blankets.
"Sweet mercy…" Dr. Griggs whispered, stepping forward. He moved closer to the bed and said, his voice low. "How long have they been like this?"
He looked at Samuel for answers.
Samuel stuttered, his voice weak. "Erm… four weeks…? Or about…"
"Two weeks, Doctor," Elizabeth cut him off immediately, giving him a death stare. She moved beside him, wringing her hands together, a silent show of her anxiety and her fury.
--------
The doctor, Alexander Osborne, dropped to one knee, his bag already opening with practiced fingers, revealing strange instruments and cloths and strange-smelling bottles. He checked them carefully, methodically—pressing fingers to their necks, to their temples, opening eyelids, watching their pupils drag.
"They respond," he murmured, his gaze staying on Elizabeth. "But only barely. Their pulse is normal and so is the breathing… but...." He paused, frowning, reaching for the smallest girl's hand, which twitched rhythmically—unconsciously.
"What's this movement in the hands?"
"She does it for hours," Elizabeth answered, her own voice shaking as she knelt beside him. "Sometimes she cries out in her sleep. But it's the talking…." She swallowed hard, her jaw shaking as she covered her mouth. "...which terrifies me the most."
Osborne didn't look up. He was listening.
"Sometimes, they speak in voices that do not belong to them. Voices of… of people I know are dead. Especially of people who died four years ago during the invasion."
That made the physician stop. His fingers froze mid-air. He looked up slowly, his eyes scanning hers to see if maybe, just maybe, she might be making this up.
"Have they spoken names?" he asked, his voice still calm.
Elizabeth blinked. "What?"
"Have they named anyone?" he said again, more slowly now. "Accused? Called anyone out? Perhaps in their sleep? Or while speaking in those voices you talked about earlier?"
At that, Samuel stepped forward defensively. "They don't know what they're saying. They're probably just sick. Delirious. You said it yourself—they are responsive."
Osborne turned his gaze on him. "You'd be surprised what the unconscious remembers," he said, his gaze returning to the children.
The doctor then rose to his feet, brushing the front of his coat with a long sigh, his gloves stained from the contact. "I cannot find a fever. Their temperature is too low, if anything. No rash, no discoloration, no swelling in the throat. It's not the plague…." He hesitated, his eyes shifting to the fire.
Elizabeth's eyes darted around as she spoke. "Then what is it?"
The doctor hesitated.
Then, finally, he said it.
"Witchcraft."
And then he said more. "Your girls have been touched by an evil hand… a spirit not of God, but of the devil."
Elizabeth stumbled backward, eyes wide, her hands flying to her mouth in silent horror. Samuel remained frozen, his face a mask of disbelief.
But Alexander Osborne wasn't finished.
He stepped toward the fire, staring into it. "If they've named someone or spoken the names of the dead… or the guilty… it mustn't be ignored. We are dealing with something ancient… a true, terrible evil."
Samuel shook his head firmly, cutting him off. "No, no, no, absolutely not. We're not doing that."
The physician turned to face him. "I understand it's difficult," he said slowly. "But we need to face the truth, Samuel. Whatever this is… it's not going away. And I don't have the answers, nor do I have the tools to send it away."
"I honestly believe I've done everything I know how to do," the doctor continued. "I've checked for infection and signs of poisoning but nothing seems to explain this."
He bent down and gathered his bag. "I shouldn't stay. I have other homes to visit before dawn. And… to be honest, I'm not sure there's anything more I can do here right now."
"You're giving up?" Samuel asked without looking at him, a mocking tone in his voice.
"I'm saying I need help. A lot of it. Maybe from the capital. Or… someone who knows more than I do. I'll write a letter tonight and send for someone....if you don't have a problem with that."
Elizabeth stood up as well, letting out a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. She walked down the hallway, forcing a small smile onto her face. They reached the main door and she opened it for him. Snow blew in around the frame, bringing with it a gust of freezing air.
"Thank you, Doctor," she said softly.
Dr.Griggs nodded once. He paused, then glanced at Samuel. "Please… stay strong," he said. "You'll need each other."
He left without another word.
Silence.
Elizabeth drew in a long, steady breath, bracing herself for a new encounter. Her hand hovered near the handle, ready to shut the door. But before she could move, Samuel stepped forward—quiet, deliberate—and pressed his hand flat against the wooden frame.
Then he turned his gaze towards her.
"Now what?" he asked, his tone full of mockery. "Doctor's gone. Girls still in the room, same as yesterday. You think that helped anything?"
She didn't reply. Just stared at him with a tired look.
He then walked to the table and picked up his Bible, staring down at its worn cover for a long moment. Then he turned, heading toward the door again, just as he had earlier.
Elizabeth's voice stopped him. "I don't know what else to do, Samuel," she said quietly, her voice was soft.
Samuel just rolled his eyes, a gesture of pure contempt.
"I don't know where I went wrong, I really don't. I've done my best to keep this family together. And still… you look at me like I'm the reason things happen."
He finally turned his head slightly, just enough that she could hear him clearly, but not enough to look at her. "Or maybe your best wasn't good enough. Ever think about that…?"
She stared at him, her eyes blinking rapidly, as if trying to hold herself together.
He looked away and opened the door wider. The wind outside had picked up, howling softly, and the snow was falling heavier now. Then he stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind him with a final, hollow click, leaving her all alone.