The Bicycle

Cherie saw it in the shop window and immediately fell in love. It was the most beautiful bicycle she had ever seen. The design was different from the other bikes surrounding it and she knew, right then, that she just had to have it.

The door dinged, notifying the shopkeeper of her presence. He appeared, as if by magic, from behind a red curtain in the back of the store.

"How can I help you, Miss?" The man's hair was grey, his eyes a dark, hypnotizing blue. He had to be at least eighty and reminded Cherie of her Grandpa Michaels, dead of liver cancer for three years now.

"How much for that green bicycle in the display window? It's such an interesting looking bike."

"It's yours for thirty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents," the man's lips turned up into a sneer. Cherie felt a slight sense of unease wash over her, but quickly dismissed it as silly. He was a harmless old guy and it was a cheap bicycle. No reason at all to be nervous.

Smiling brightly, to cover her odd feeling of anxiety, Cherie dug in her purse and counted out the cash that was in her wallet. Frowning, she counted it again. Sure enough, she had tallied her money properly. She had exactly thirty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents in her wallet. Cherie shivered, goosebumps breaking out all up and down her arms. She considered running from the shop and never looking back, but it was like the bicycle was calling to her, telling her that it was meant to be.

"I have exactly enough," she handed the money to the shopkeeper. "I guess it's fate." she chuckled, but it came out sounding odd, her nerves still frayed.

"Thank you, my dear. Enjoy your new bike."

Cherie wheeled her purchase out to the street, hesitating just a moment before climbing up onto the banana seat. It felt comfortable, as if it had been formed to her exact specifications. Laughing at herself for being so nervous, she pedaled her way down Chestnut Avenue. Still dressed in her work clothes, it should have been uncomfortable and awkward, especially wearing high-heeled shoes, but, instead, it felt invigorating. She had never felt this alive as she pedaled faster and faster, the houses becoming a blur as she sped along.

She blinked. Something wasn't right. She stopped pedaling, allowing the bike to slow, gradually. Looking around, she felt that tingly sensation again, like a spider creeping up her spine. Where was she? Everything looked different now. She checked her watch and noticed that it had stopped at six o'clock.

Cherie got off the bike and kicked the kickstand into position. Confusion mounted as she noticed that the street that had been paved just moments before was now nothing more than a dirt road. The large apartment complexes that once stood where she was gazing were now small, wooden and brick houses.

"Did I make a wrong turn somewhere?" Cherie mused out loud.

Feeling more than just anxious, she hesitated. Where could she go? How would she be able to find out where she was? Her breathing was coming in short gasps. She forced herself to relax and take deep breaths. Hyperventilating would hardly help the situation, she scolded herself.

She jumped back, startled, when a man on horseback suddenly appeared behind her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts, she wouldn't have heard a tornado bearing down on her.

"Miss, what are you doing here? Why are you wearing such strange clothes and, pray tell, what is that strange contraption next to you?" the man, dressed all in black, a stovepipe hat upon his head, glared at her, suspiciously.

"I don't know, sir. Where am I, exactly? I appear to be lost."
"You're in Salem, Miss. Where did you think you were?"
"But, this can't be Salem," Cherie stammered. "There were apartment buildings here, I swear there were."
"What are apartment buildings?"

Cherie stared helplessly at the stranger, at a loss for words. Then, horrified, she realized what must have happened. It all made sense now.

"Sir, please, could you tell me what the date is?"
"Of course, it's the third of June, are you sick?"
"What year?"
"It's the year of our Lord, sixteen hundred and ninety-two, Miss. You had better come with me to see the town doctor. Now."

Not knowing what else to do, Cherie climbed onto the back of the man's stallion and allowed him to take her to be examined by the doctor.

"Are you a Christian, Miss?"
"What? No, why?"
The doctor ignored her question and bent as if to examine her knees.
"Did you feel that, Miss?"
"Feel what?" snapped Cherie. "Look, I just want to get back to where I came from. I don't belong here. I feel fine and I'd like to be on my way, please."
"I'm sorry, but you're not going anywhere. You'll be held in jail until your trial."
"What? Trial for what? I have done nothing wrong!"
"You didn't feel the pinprick, witch. Come along now."
Cherie fainted.

The room was dark as pitch when Cherie awakened, head pounding.
"It was a dream," she murmured to herself. "Just a horrible nightmare." She attempted to sit up and realized that she was shackled to a wall.
"Help! Someone help me!"

Time crawled forward and hopelessness soon set in. She didn't know how this could have happened or what she could do to get out of it. She just knew that she should have trusted her instincts back at the bicycle shop. When she was tempted to turn and run, she should never have hesitated.

When they came to take her to trial, she was sobbing quietly.
"Get up, witch!" a man's voice, loud and grating to her ears, demanded.
"Please, please, I've done nothing wrong. Please let me go," she wailed.
"Shut up, spawn of Satan. I will not listen to your lies."

They dragged her, kicking and screaming, to the courthouse. A somber, dour judge quickly pronounced her guilty, the trial nothing but a sham. She begged, pleaded, offered them anything they could ever want, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

The men dragged her to the Town Square and tied her to a large, wooden post. They surrounded her feet with logs and kindling.

"Oh my god, don't do this! Please, don't do this!"
One of the men slapped her, hard. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain, witch."
Crying, she kept quiet. She would not beg or plead anymore. She accepted her fate, sadly. Holding her head high, she bit her tongue to keep from crying out with the pain as the flames licked her feet, her ankles and then slowly climbed her body.

Finally, unable to stand the torment anymore, she screamed and screamed and screamed until the fire finally liberated her and she was gone.

Three hours later

An old man walked slowly up an old dirt road in Salem, Massachusetts. His head moved from left to right, scanning the side of the road until he saw it. The green bicycle.
He didn't understand the strange message he found under his door this morning, but his gut told him it was important to do what the anonymous writer had asked.

He took the bicycle back to his blacksmith shop and hid it in the back, as directed.



Word Count: 1234