Rainy Night In Salem

Let 'Rainy Night in Salem' whisk you to a mystical New England town where autumn’s crisp beauty and rich history unfold. As you tour Salem’s historical sites by candlelight, the rain softly falls on the charming village. You indulge in a warm drink at Good Brews Café before settling into a cozy harbor-side bed and breakfast, lulled to sleep by the fire’s crackle and the soothing sounds of rain on the roof. It’s time to dream away.

Transcript

The autumn season is perfect for hungering down and in tonight's cozy bedtime tale,

The sounds of rain help lull you to sleep.

You're listening to Rainy Night in Salem,

An autumn sleep story set in the historic village of Salem,

Massachusetts.

Enjoy the festive offerings as you meander through the decorated village and are led by a young woman named Elora on a haunting tour of dwellings made famous by the witch hunt in the 17th century.

A mystical fog cloaks the damp earth as you explore and the rain begins to fall.

Following the tour,

You find refuge in the Good Brews Cafe with its autumnal delights and cozy fireside seating.

The night unfolds with a walk through Salem Common that brings you to a charming bed and breakfast overlooking Salem Harbor where you drift to slumber as a fire crackles in the hearth.

It's time to dream away.

Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I'm Michelle,

Your beguiling guide,

Here to help you embrace your imagination on this peaceful nighttime escape.

Consider me a dear friend and ally for peace,

Guiding you into a realm where anything you dream of is possible.

You've made it through another day and now it's time to release yourself from the day's impressions and design the quiet refuge in your mind that you've more than earned.

Snuggle up and feel a gentle smile form on your face because every moment from here on out is meant to make you feel good.

Mold the story to suit your preferences and welcome sleep whenever you wish to cross over into its restorative realm.

Safe within the sanctuary of your room and mind,

Let's take a few mindful breaths together to set the perfect mood.

Imagine the cool misty air of a rainy night in Salem slipping through your window,

Carrying with it the essence of damp cobblestone streets and the briny scent of the nearby harbor.

Exhale gently through pursed lips,

Blowing away any intrusive thoughts like autumn leaves swept up by a whistling night breeze.

Feel weightless with this release,

Visualizing all your stress dissolving into the quiet of the night.

Inhale deeply,

Drawing the magic of a Salem evening.

The soothing autumn air brings a sense of relief with each breath.

It imparts the resilience of Salem.

Healing energy washes over you in a spell of tranquility.

Exhale again,

This time with a sigh because you can sigh all you want as you claim your power to transform the night.

Take another deep breath,

Savoring this moment that you craft with care.

Let yourself yawn and then sigh,

Easing deeper into the magic of the night.

The rhythm of your breath guides you.

Each inhale and exhale,

Gently pulling you further into relaxation as your breath returns to an easy pace.

Feel your body sink deeper into your bed,

As rooted and secure as the ancient trees that line the misty streets of Salem.

Open your heart and mind to the possibilities about to unfold as the story begins.

Long ago,

Along the eastern seaboard of what would someday become the United States,

And also above what would become the city of Boston just four years later,

The coastal town of Salem was founded.

Established in 1626 by English Puritans,

The town's strict religious principles would go beyond its boundaries during a time of widespread hysteria over witchcraft.

At first,

The Puritans envisioned Salem as a city on a hill,

Meant to serve as a beacon of moral purity and an example for the world to follow.

However,

History took a different course.

Yet despite the brewing turmoil of that time,

The name Salem was derived from the Hebrew word Shalom,

Meaning peace.

Through centuries of transformation,

Salem has evolved from a bustling maritime village to the charming modern day artist's haven that now embraces its storied yet troubled past.

As autumn paints the town in jewel-toned hues,

Salem becomes an even more captivating destination,

Especially in the lead-up to All Hallows' Eve.

Its history reveals itself in every corner,

Reflected even in the names of local landmarks like Witchcraft Heights Elementary,

Where the town's mystical roots remain ever present.

During the fall season,

The population swells with crowds seeking to have their fortunes told,

Seeking a connection with things that exist beyond the human experience.

This connection helps to soften their grief,

Allowing them to understand that there is more than meets the eye.

It invites them to embrace the goosebump-inducing experiences that awaken a profound awareness of mortality.

Some fortunate souls walk away from Salem,

Promising themselves to enjoy their human experiences more,

To savor each precious moment,

And to investigate the enchantment each breath offers.

Others come to appreciate the regal 17th and 18th century architecture that remains,

Telling stories in the freshly painted wooden facades and saltbox homes.

One cannot help but imagine the sea-weary sailors arriving in the harbor to return to the charming homes where their beloveds peered out nightly from widow walks,

Awaiting their safe return.

A mist hovers over the glossy mosaic of fallen leaves,

Mostly gold and brown,

With the occasional bright orange,

Magenta,

Or fiery red maple leaf adding a pop of color to the temporary sidewalk carpet.

Salem has a way of reminding us that everything is temporary,

A most healing thought during moments of strife.

But today there is no strife.

There's merely an afternoon that rolls into the night without much of an agenda.

Dressed for the season with a cable knit sweater and light trench coat over soft jeans and Chelsea boots,

You welcome the cool damp air coming in off Salem Harbor.

The breeze is tame,

Yet rustles the leaves just the same as you walk through the Central District.

The late afternoon in Salem settles like a lavender gray veil.

The storm clouds above hint rain with swollen underbellies,

A gradient of steel gray to charcoal.

You walk with curiosity through the cobblestone streets of the heart of town.

Grateful the weather and weekday visit accompany a sparse flow of traffic.

October's adornments appear on every corner of Salem as the town offers autumn's finest decorations.

Cornstalks stand guard as bookends on the stairs leading to porches and wraparound decks that overflow with a funky shaped green and white gourds and pumpkins of all shapes and sizes.

Their orange hues vivid against the backdrop of old colonial homes.

Twinkling lights strung across wrought-iron railings and from tree to tree shimmer like tiny fairies through the creeping maritime mist.

Towering elms and maples line the streets and lanes.

Their canopies of crisp vibrant leaves in shades of burnt orange,

Deep crimson,

And golden yellow offer protection from the lightly falling rain.

The rich colors of the leaves appear like technicolor against the muted tones of this dreary day.

Tiny jet black tendrils of smoke curl from chimneys.

Their faint aroma marrying the scent of rain,

Wet stone,

And sweet decaying leaves.

You breathe in deeply,

Deeper than even you realize,

Until you feel the cinch of your trenchcoat belt against your diaphragm as you take it all in.

The historic homes,

Many of them built in the 17th and 18th centuries,

Stand stoically in rows.

Their wooden clapboards and brick facades resurrected and maintained by loving owners over many eras.

The facades showcase a rich array of autumnal shades from brick red and burgundy to deep marine blues,

Mustard,

And evergreen.

Gabled roofs and chimneys create a storybook skyline.

Enchantingly conjuring thoughts of fairy tales.

Wide mullioned windows reveal a soft ambient glow from within the dozens of glass panes,

Effortlessly evoking a bone-deep sense of hominess.

Antique lanterns illuminate porches,

Clinking softly as flames flicker in the breeze to illuminate autumnal wreaths made of rainbow corn,

Orange glitter dusted pinecones,

Eucalyptus,

And mini pumpkins.

With each step,

The sound of fresh fallen crunchy leaves alternates with a slosh of your boots atop the rain-soaked layers of leaves on the cobblestones.

A swirling wind picks up an assortment of leaves in the gutter,

Creating a mini cyclone down Washington Street as you pass by City Hall and an array of small businesses.

You arrive at the Bewitched Sculpture,

A meeting place for an evening tour.

The bronze sculpture captures the character of Samantha the Witch with a broad welcoming smile,

Whimsically resting on her broom within a crescent moon at the center of a small square.

A group of fellow visitors gather,

Some settled by cafe tables,

While others pose for photos with Samantha.

Everyone bundles in rain slickers and plaid flannel overcoats,

Braving the cool weather and the approaching rain with umbrellas in hand.

Yet the heavy rain holds off and a soft mist permeates the air,

Landing on your exposed hands,

Face,

And lips.

Rising curiosity brings a collective sense that the evening holds something beguiling and profound.

Allura,

The tour guide,

Begins to corral the group,

Asking everyone for the haunted tour to draw close.

Dressed in a therial garb that would make Stevie Nicks proud,

Her long layered black skirt ripples slightly in the wind,

The intricate lace of her bodice visible beneath a heavy wool cape.

The cape is clasped at her throat with a silver brooch that depicts a crescent moon,

And the cape drapes down her back like a shadowy waterfall,

Keeping her warm and dry against the growing chill.

She greets each person in turn with a warm yet strong grip,

Her slender hand extending toward you.

Despite the cold,

Her tiny fingers are surprisingly warm,

Her amber eyes sparkling with an intensity that contrasts the controlled poise with which she carries herself.

Welcome,

My friend,

She says,

Her voice melodic yet quiet.

She hands you a candle,

Its weight comforting in your palm,

The wax offering a subtle smell of amber and nutmeg.

She protectively strikes a wooden match,

Shielding the wind with her cape to light her own candle before offering the flame to the group.

One by one,

The candles are lit,

Tiny flames flickering against the deepening gray of an October night.

A soft wind swirls through the square,

Once more stirring fallen leaves into spirals,

A dance of magic and nature with an almost deliberate timing.

Elora smiles knowingly and with a twinkle in her eye,

Gathers the group and tells of how the character of Samantha from Bewitched invited her to understand the beauty in compassion as both a woman and an oft-ethereal presence.

She quotes Samantha,

Her voice carrying a kind of secret wisdom as she utters,

Remember,

Peace on earth,

Goodwill to men,

Includes witches.

The group chuckles softly,

But the weight of her words lingers as she prepared to explore the epicenter of the hysterical movement that sacrificed goodwill for fear.

She leads you forward,

Her long skirt brushing against the cobblestones,

Magically darting above the small puddles where amber leaves float.

The group follows in hushed anticipation.

The storm clouds above are thick now and the first fat droplets of rain begin to fall so sparingly that it's hard to tell if they come from the wet trees or the sky.

Street lanterns flicker to life all around town as Elora passes through,

One by one coming on as if summoned by her presence.

The golden light reflects on the wet pavement and in small silky puddles making the pathway seem like it's painted in shimmering molten gold.

The flame in your candle dances precariously in the cool wind as you walk,

Protecting it with your hand.

The group's procession is accompanied by the flickering light of a dozen candles that create shadows that stretch and contort against the historic buildings and reflect in the mullioned windows.

You pass by Salem's Old Town Hall.

Originally built in the 1800s,

Its imposing brick facade towers three stories high over the street and is a place where musicians often gather and busk.

You continue as Front Street becomes Charter Street,

Arriving at two historic homes painted in plum and brown that lead you to the Salem Witch Trials Memorial,

An old burying point where weathered slim gravestones lean at odd angles,

Their inscriptions barely legible after centuries of harsh New England weather.

Your visit here instills a strong sense of hope.

The candles burn brightly with a promise that those with differing views and approaches to this one life we all have are given the chance to thrive in peace.

It's something that you hope modern life may continue to afford us.

The tour carries on as the sky becomes darker and for a moment the stars compete to break through the clouds as the candles burn lower.

You arrive at the Witch House,

Which wasn't actually home to a witch at all.

The energy of the historic home draws you in,

Beckoning across time.

The dark gray wood of its facade,

Nearly black from age and the elements,

Contrasts sharply with a soft glow of the group's candles.

Though this house was never home to one of the women accused,

It belonged to one of the judges who presided over the witch trials and,

According to Allura,

Spent the rest of his days haunted by guilt.

Its gabled roof looms like three mountain peaks,

Casting long shadows on the ground where you stand.

The windows are small and narrow,

Like squinting cautious eyes that only let in a little light by day.

Allura pauses before the house,

Turning to face the group.

Her voice lowers,

Reverent and reflective.

They called them witches,

She says,

But many of these women were healers.

They knew the secrets of herbs,

The power of nature,

And ways to mend what was broken in both body and spirit,

And that frightened the men who did not understand them.

What's more,

Judge Jonathan Corwin,

The man who owned this home,

Saw his own daughter and mother-in-law were thought to be afflicted and secret witches.

The rain begins to fall once more and the group carefully opens their umbrellas in unison,

Protecting the soft light of their flickering candles.

The soft patter of rain against nylon is soothing in this moment.

Allura stands tall,

Undeterred,

Her amber eyes bright in the dim light.

She raises her hand,

Gesturing toward the house,

Her graceful fingers tracing the outlines of the windows in an attention- grabbing yet smooth manner.

As Jim Butch once expressed,

She continues,

Her voice still soft but commanding,

Magic comes from what is inside you.

It is part of you.

You can't weave together a spell that you don't believe in.

The words hang in the air like the scent of rain before she says,

Back then and even now,

Everyone weaves their own spell.

They may not call it a spell,

But that's just a matter of semantics.

She smiles warmly and looks at the group.

Some are lost in thoughts and captivated by the weight of history and the sense of mystery that permeates Salem.

Allura declares that perhaps you have all endured enough of the rain as the storm clouds above swirl,

Moving fast now and heavy with rain.

There is an impactful beauty in the way the lanterns flicker against the sky.

Their light mirrored by the candles in your hands,

Persistently fighting the dark stormy night as beacons of hope.

Allura gathers everyone in a semi-circle,

The flickering flames reflected in the eyes of strangers who now feel like new friends.

With an encouraging steady gaze,

She asks you all to close your eyes and make a silent wish for the world before blowing out the candles.

You feel a calmness prevail within and you see the wish you have for the world playing out in your mind like a movie.

It fills you with comfort as you open your eyes and blow out the candle in unison with the group.

As squiggling skinny curls of smoke travel from the extinguished wicks,

She says your hopes are cast into the night,

Carried by the wind and rain as they cleanse the earth.

The rain continues to fall as the tour concludes,

The sound of it now a steady hum as it falls on the rooftops and sidewalk.

Cars drive by slowly,

Splashing through puddles as Allura invites the group to Good Brews,

A charming cafe near the common.

En route,

You pass a famous home where Hocus Pocus was filmed.

You appreciate how Salem manages to capture a playful and fun energy amid all the rich history,

Among all the darkness of the past.

It maintains a sense of humor.

Allura leads everyone through the reflective cobblestone streets to Good Brews,

A charming cafe tucked in the heart of Salem.

The glass doors and storefront windows are dressed with black cat ornaments and pumpkin-shaped lights.

The cafe may be the most decorated place in town and that's quite a bold statement to stand behind.

Bewitching decor fills the space.

Delicate besoms hang from the ceiling,

Tied with purple and green velvet and satin rope.

Strings of orange and purple twinkle lights frame the windows and wrap around the cafe.

The air inside is warm and lively,

Filled with the familiar notes of classic rock.

And just as you step in,

Witchy Woman by the Eagles drifts through the cafe.

The sound of espresso machines whirs in the background,

Joining the soundtrack of a crackling fire,

Quiet conversations,

And the falling rain.

You make your way to the counter,

Scanning the drink menu of over a dozen pages brimming with autumnal favorites.

Spiced apple cider,

Pumpkin chai lattes,

Salted caramel hot cocoa,

The comforting aromas of coffee,

Cinnamon,

And roasted pumpkin fill the air.

You order your favorite hot drink and the creamy pumpkin soup,

Both perfect to warm you from the cold that's settled in your bones.

With your tray in hand,

You find a cozy spot near the fireplace.

A plush velvet chair in a deep shade of purple,

Angled perfectly for your legs to enjoy the warmth of a crackling fire.

The flames dance in the hearth,

Casting orange gold light on the antique mirrors that line the walls and the intricate silk and velvet pillows scattered about the room.

They showcase embroidered patterns of whimsical barren trees in a forest,

The silhouette of black cats,

And steamy cauldrons.

Vintage artwork in ornate frames depicts witches throughout time,

Yet each painting captures an ethereal glow that illuminates the women in opulent gold light.

The tour group begins to settle throughout the space,

Breaking up into couples and families and a few solo travelers like you.

Some get lost in quiet conversations while others sip their drinks in contentment,

Perusing historical books about Salem left throughout the cafe.

Allora politely makes the rounds,

Inquiring about everyone's experience and where they're from.

Rain streams down the bay windows that look out onto one of many charming streets in this beloved town.

Satiated and warmed by the drink and soup,

A sudden heavy wave of tiredness washes over you as the weight of the day and the calming atmosphere start to take hold and work their own magic.

The conversations around you fade into the background and for a moment the only thing you focus on is the prismatic rain streaming down the windows,

Each droplet racing toward the street below in a ballet of reflections.

Unaware of the time,

The early darkness makes it seem later than it must be but nevertheless you feel a rising urge to return to the cozy bed and breakfast where you are staying tonight.

You slowly rise from your seat,

Wrapping yourself in your coat as you say your goodbyes to Allora and the group.

Allora's warm grip is reassuring as she thanks you for joining in and hopes you cross paths again.

Stepping outside,

A breeze brings the mist to your lips as you open your umbrella and walk down the shimmering brick street.

You make your way through Salem Common,

A grassy park that has been a common area since the 1600s.

You notice a young woman in a vintage brown and olive plaid wool peacoat who was with little success to keep her playful dog from splashing in puddles.

The small white fluffy pup hops gleefully from one puddle to the next and with a laugh or even a cackle,

The woman gives up,

Letting him enjoy the rain with a threat that he's getting a bath the moment they return home.

You can't help but wonder if this independent woman enjoying a night walk through the common would have been deemed a witch by onlookers centuries ago.

You exit the common as the rain falls in sheets,

Bouncing off the ground onto your weatherproofed boots.

You continue down a quiet dead-end lane that leads toward the safe harbor at Hawthorne Cove.

In perfect timing,

You arrive at the salty coven bed-and-breakfast,

Welcomed by its warm glowing lights pouring out of the three-story dwelling.

The B&B's cranberry wood facade is warm and inviting.

Even in the downpour,

Window flower boxes overflow with burgundy and yellow mums.

Their rich colors bright even in the dim light.

As you climb the outdoor stairs to your private entrance on the third floor,

The rain cascades out of the white gutters in a heavy stream.

You feel a sense of relief as you reach the small covered landing and step inside the Sarah Good Suite,

Greeted by the dry,

Cozy warmth of the room.

The ceilings are low and cavernous in the foyer,

Giving the feeling that it's a secret den.

You hang your coat on a tree-shaped coat rack,

Remove your boots on a mat,

And set your umbrella in the antique umbrella stand by the door.

The suite is charming and comfortable,

With mustard-colored walls and original dark espresso-hued wooden beams that crisscross the angled ceiling.

Rain patters on the gabled roof,

Trickling out the gutters with a relaxing sound.

You take a moment to appreciate the details.

The small patchwork quilt on the antique four-poster bed,

The plush vintage cream rug beneath your feet,

And the warm colorful glow from antique hurricane lamps that once contained oil but were updated with electric light sockets in the 1950s.

A hot shower calls to you and you enter the bathroom,

Which has a playful,

Nautical witchy theme.

The shower curtain is fun,

With witches flying over sailboats at sea on a starry night.

You remove your cold,

Damp clothes and hang them on a door hook in the shape of an anchor.

Stabbing beneath the steamy water,

You reach for a scarlet bar of soap that smells of honey crisp cider and cinnamon spice,

Filling the small space with a perfume of fall.

As the hot water cascades over you,

You feel your muscles relax.

Your mind drifts to the storm being swept out to sea and you envision the sunny morning ahead when you can savor breakfast on the rooftop terrace.

From there,

You'll overlook the harbor,

Admiring the cedar shake sighting that harks back to another era.

Perhaps simple in some ways,

But more difficult in others.

You open your eyes and rinse off the lather and then turn off the brass of the shower.

Stepping out onto a woven gray bath mat,

You bury your face into a plush towel kept warm by a heat pipe near the linen shelf.

As you towel off and change into your pajamas,

The feeling of warmth is accompanied by deep gratitude.

This feeling surges through you in a wave of electric energy that reminds you of your life force,

Of the magic stowed within,

Brought to life with each breath,

Each heartbeat.

There is a quiet power in moments like this.

Wrapped in warmth,

You find peace in simple pleasures,

Feeling fortunate to be in this time in history where such comforts avail themselves to you with ease.

You return to the bedroom and examine the fireplace and notice it is perfectly arranged to start a fire.

You kneel to light a fire starter,

Watching the flames grow to fill the room with a soft golden light.

The crackle of the fire and the steady drumming of the rain against the window soothe you as you make your way to the four poster bed.

Peeling back the patchwork quilt,

You hop atop the high mattress and melt into its support.

Pillows contour around your head and neck as you watch the flames dance in the hearth across the room.

Your heavy eyelids close and you hear the sound of your breath joining the whispering winds outside that lead the storm to sea and you welcome the soft pull of sleep that delivers you to a realm where everything is magical and dreamy,

Where everything is possible.

Finding enchantment,

Finding hope,

Finding peace,

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.

Reviews

Very interesting and relaxing as someone with an interest in the Salem witch trials this soon got me to sleep thank you. I love finding new tales of yours xx

Michelle , I absolutely loved this story! It was especially interesting due to the Fall theme & story about Salem! I fell asleep every time at night, and eventually had to listen in the morning in order to hear the whole thing! Greatly appreciate your unique bedtime stories! Very soothing voice & breathing exercises work perfectly to settle me down for a restful sleep! You describe the town so enchantingly, and this one is definitely one of my favourites, as I love this time of year! Thank you kindly for another gem of a story line. I could picture myself there! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗