It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. The church had just dismissed the townspeople. Most weren't in the worshiping mood anyway, since it was near-unbearably hot, and one of the older members of the church nearly fainted mid-prayer. The children ran through the streets, relishing the short time they had to play before their parents found them and put them to work. People returned to their shops, their farms, and their homes. Most people just wanted to wait out the heat wave, except for Young Tom Young. 

Young Tom Young was the village troublemaker. Nobody really liked him, but his father, Old Tom Young, was one of the richest men in the town with his tavern. Young Tom would often get drunk and harass the elders of the town. Today it was Millicent Grant, the elderly widow who lived in the small house on the edge of town, near the forest. 

Young Tom threw bottles at the old woman's house, laughing each time they shattered. "Ancient devil," he called out in a slurred speech. "She shleeps with them Shavages 'cross the forest she does! She's workin' with Shatin!" He proclaimed loudly. 

Millicent poked her head out a window, trying to protect herself from the bottles. "Get away from here, you ne'erdowell!" She called. "You'll regret your actions some day, young man! I swear it by God you will!"

By now, many people around town heard the exchange and talked quietly among themselves. What should they do? Technically if a citizen accused another of witchcraft, the accused had to be put to trial. But Young Tom was drunk, and rather hated. Maybe someone should investigate?