Lester felt dizzy. His first instinct was to deny Mathis’s story, but any hope he’d been clinging to that all of this might still be explained as some giant misunderstanding faded. After everything he’d seen and discovered, part of him had already known. But hearing his brother say it out loud made it real.

“Either by chance or by choice,” Mathis said, “members of both The Light and The Dark were among the first settlers of the New World. Maybe The Dark was losing and tried to retreat, only to have The Light follow. Maybe it was a coincidence. I don’t know. Regardless, their war came with them. And as you and Amanda witnessed in the alley, they’re capable of fighting it with some unconventional means. Combine that with the superstitious beliefs of the people of Salem, and it was easy for The Light and The Dark to cover it all up under the guise of witchcraft.”

“But what about the people accused?” Lester asked.

“The Marine Society has books full of family trees dating back over three hundred years. But not one of them traces the father’s side. I don’t think it was a coincidence that nearly all those tried and executed were women. I can’t say for certain, but it’s possible The Dark’s abilities are only handed down from mothers.”

“One group was attempting to extinguish the other,” Lester said, remembering the pain on his own mother’s face as she stood in the doorway. “Get rid of the women and girls, and eventually, you’ll render your enemy defenseless.”

“Exactly,” said Mathis.

Lester’s stomach twisted. When he’d recounted the events that had brought him to Salem, he’d kept secret the unexplainably strange things that had been happening to him. At the time, he’d been unsure why, but now he wondered how Mathis would have reacted if he knew.

“However, even back then,” Mathis said, “the cover story could only stand up to so much scrutiny. Word about the witch trials spread all the way to Boston. Before The Light could finish the job, important people began asking questions. The Dark took advantage of the distraction and disappeared. As far as I can tell, The Light was never able to find them. Even if they did, a large battle out in the open would bring too many complications now. People don’t believe in stories of ghosts and witches anymore. Not that either side puts much stock in the opinions of Grays. ”

“Grays?” asked Lester.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Anyone not of The Light or The Dark. Most people go their whole lives unaware that a centuries-old conflict could erupt in their midst at any moment. But, of course, that doesn’t mean they’re safe from harm. As with any war, even if you’re not the ones fighting, there’s always the chance of getting caught in the crossfire.”

Mathis stood, and Lester followed him to the other side of the room.

On the way, they passed a square glass case with a brass nameplate that read E. Teach. Lester stopped and gazed inside, remembering the list Mae had shown him from the journal. The box was empty, except for a plush purple cloth lining the bottom. There was a round depression in the center of the fabric as if something heavy had recently been sitting on it, but what caught Lester’s attention was a small bit of embroidery. Stitched neatly on one corner, rendered in gold thread, was a tiny hourglass without a top.

Lester caught up to Mathis, who was standing in front of two large photographs hanging side by side on the opposite wall. The one on the left was black and white and showed the aftermath of a devastating fire. The town’s streets were still there, but other than a lone industrial chimney looking like the last tree in a clearcut forest, everything else was reduced to black squares of smoldering ash.

The second photograph was the exact same view, only in color. The buildings had been reconstructed, but now stood frozen in a vast field of white. An impossible amount of snow blanketed the streets, which were full of long rows of regularly spaced plump mounds, the top of an abandoned car peaking out of each.

“The great fire of Salem happened in 1914,” Mathis said. “Twenty-thousand people lost their homes, ten-thousand their jobs, and several their lives. During the blizzard of 1978, over fifty inches fell, ninety-nine people died, and it took six days to dig out. The night before each of these events, there were multiple reports of people saying they’d witnessed the specter of Giles Corey walking the streets.”

“You think a ghost did this?” said Lester.

“As he lay dying, Corey cursed the town and the sheriff as well. In the same year as the blizzard, after suffering a heart attack, stroke, and a rare blood disease, Salem’s current sheriff, started doing some digging. It turns out every single person who’s held that position has died on the job. Not one managed to live long enough to retire. All the way back to George Corwin, who mysteriously dropped dead at the age of thirty, shortly after he tortured Mr. Corey.”

“Jeez,” Lester said, examining the photos. He thought of his own small town, the school, the field with Mr. Chipping’s cows, and his family home. Sadly, he realized he’d never be able to look at Giles Hollow quite the same again.

“Lester?” Mathis asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” sighed Lester. “I know what you’re saying is true. I just don’t want it to be.”

Mathis moved beside him and draped an arm across his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, little brother. I really am,” he said as the they stood together, transfixed by the images. “Unfortunately, even in a secret war, the first casualty is always innocence.”