Acton, 1692.
Rev. John “Camodo” Williams was a minister in West Concord, MA, or Acton, as it is known today. Camodo wasn’t your average Minister.
He respected women, he didn’t believe in witchcraft, and he gave up his pay to help the poor. He eloped with his rival’s daughter, Maria Parris, and got her pregnant, as a snub to Reverend Parris, but also because she was a kind, caring, and beautiful individual.

When Maria’s sister Betty became ill, he blamed Camodo for her illness. However, Camodo wasn’t put on trial for witchcraft. Tituba, the slave, was put on trial instead, much to Rev. Parris’ chagrin. Camodo stood up for Tituba, bought her her freedom, and released her. But before that happened, disaster struck. Maria was showing symptoms of “witchcraft”, rolling on the floor accompanied by fits of hysterical crying.

Camodo grabbed a small remote-like item. He picked up his ailing wife. She bit him in the genitals. He had to beat her unconscious to keep her from suffocating him. “Shh. Go to sleep love.” He opened a black hole and went to his house in 2018. He then called 911. She was rushed to the hospital apparently on the hallucinogen LSD.

He had seen a fungus on his crop of wheat, but didn’t think much of it. He regretted that for the rest of his life. She would have to stay in the ICU in 2018. He had to decide to leave her or have her die in 1692. He had to leave her. He returned to 1692 mourning her loss. He held a fake funeral for her. He cried multiple times during the service, which he was leading. He kissed her empty coffin, and it was lowered into the ground. He became distant from his congregation, only holding services twice a month.

The Deacons told him to take several months leave. They would get along without him. He returned to 2018, where he was greeted by a surprise. She was standing there, silent. Then she faded away. When he got to the hospital, he found out that she had died of an overdose.

He buried her in 2018 Acton. Now he had actually lost her. They had had one child, Samuel. He walked to their favorite pond. Her spirit was standing on the water on the pond. She walked to him. They were separated by a spiritual barrier. He put his palm on hers. It was just air. She sang a beautiful song. It was his favorite, “Red Is the Rose.” He listened closely, then she dissipated. It would not be the last time they would see each other.

Every day, at sunset, they would meet. She could barely speak a whisper. But he heard what she had to say. “I love you. We will be reunited someday, my love.” It was the one thing she could say besides the song. He cried many times. He told her about his day, she would nod to tell him she was listening. She was almost always smiling, but when he cried, she silently wept as well. He sang to her, he told her stories, but she faded away once the sun rose.

Then he would have to see the happy couples playing with their children, and every time he did, he wept, begging for the happiness they had. Then the moon would rise over Walden and they would meet again. One day at noon, when he was sleeping at an inn across from Walden, he saw a glow coming from the pond. She was crossing dimensions to join him permanently. He ran down to her.

She told him, “I missed you, my love.” They waltzed, even though it was banned from their time. It was their first dance, and both were terrible, but they didn’t care. They bought a home in 2018 Acton, and you still cannot tell that they are 346 years old, as they had been born in 1669. You can still see them walking with their children in West Acton.

The end.