Echoes of the Past: In Their Own Words

They left behind voices.

Not just ashes. Not just verdicts. Voices.

Scrawled into margins, scratched onto parchment, spoken under breath and bruises.

They weren’t meant to last. But they did.

And when you read them, when you really listen—you understand how easy it was. To believe. To accuse. To destroy.

The Accusations

"She rode through the night upon a staff, with her hair loose and her mouth full of curses." – Würzburg trial record, 1631

"She was seen gathering herbs near the churchyard, and after that the miller’s son went blind." – Scotland, 1597

"A cat followed her everywhere. Not one that belonged to her, mind you. It just came. As if summoned." – Bamberg, 1628

"She looked me in the eyes when my husband fell ill." – Rothenburg, 1610

A flower, a fever, a glance—anything could be rewritten as guilt. And once it was spoken, it could not be unsaid.

The Confessions

"Yes, I flew to the sabbath. I flew because they would not stop until I said I did." – Confession under torture, Geneva, 1652

"They asked if I had lain with the Devil. I said no. They broke my leg. I said yes." – Scotland, 1662

"I signed the book because they would not let me sleep. Not for six days." – Trier, 1589

"At first, I denied it. But by the end, I could not remember if I had or not." – Braunschweig, 1607

They didn’t confess what they had done. They confessed what would make it stop.

The Verdicts

"We find the accused guilty not only by her own words, but by the devil’s marks on her skin." – Court decision, Bamberg

"She has not cried. A sure sign of guilt." – Salem, 1692

"Her confession is incomplete, yet her silence is evidence enough." – Malleus Maleficarum commentary

"No one spoke for her. This too speaks loudly." – Württemberg tribunal, 1615

The outcome was never uncertain. The performance was just for the record.

The Flames

"We lit the fire at dawn. She did not cry out." – Journal entry, Tübingen, 1623

"The villagers stood back. It is dangerous, they say, to look a witch in the eyes as she burns." – France, 1605

"Afterward, we swept the ashes into the river." – Eyewitness account, location unknown

"Her children watched from the trees." – Private letter, Swabia, 1689

This is how it ended. Every time.

What Remained

"We burned nine today. And yet my daughter still lies sick." – Bamberg, 1630

"We have no more witches in the village now. Only widows." – Letter, Scotland, 1690

"Some of the accused had land. I wonder who owns it now." – Trier, 1588

"God will forgive us. He must." – Priest’s margin note, Speyer

The fire died. But the silence after was louder than the screaming had ever been.

The Last Voice

"I am not a witch. But I do not expect to leave this place." – Anna Göldi, 1782

She didn’t leave. But her words remained.

One sentence, left behind. One final record.

And it sounds like all the others. Almost like nothing changed at all.

We’ll return to the present soon. Because these echoes didn’t stop. They only changed direction.