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Witch Hunt

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"What the fuck just happened?" Michael shouted, eyes wide. He stared straight at the noticeably disheveled boy in front of him.

The kid had wavy brown hair and blue eyes. He was skinny as a twig and looked panicked, as if Michael were something terrifying. Most of that were normal... Except the thinking Michael was terrifying part. That was weird. That's where the normalness stopped, however. The boy looked like he had come from colonial times, wearing breeches, a white collared shirt, and a beige vest with white stockings and leather shoes. Oh, and he had appeared in front of Michael five seconds before, screaming his head off.

"Where... Where am I?" the boy asked in a shaky voice, staring around the room. It wasn't much, just a basement where Michael spent most of his time. There was a bed in the corner, a TV with a few video game systems hooked up to it, and some beanbags. That was pretty much it.

"Uh," Michael stared at the boy, "You're in my basement. Why are you in my basement?"

"I knoweth not, sir," The boy said shakily. He seemed deeply shaken. Also, he was speaking in Old English. Okay, this was starting to freak Michael out.

"What are you? Some sort of renaissance magician?" he asked skeptically. Ah, yes. Another thing, Michael was high off his rocker.

The boy shrunk back at the word magician. "I am not! I promise thee, I've been falsely accused, sir!"

"What?" Michael blinked, "Dude, you act like you're a time traveler or something. Why are you talking like that?"

"What is a 'dude.' I know not of of anyone bearing that name."

"Seriously, are you a live action roleplayer or something?" Michael giggled. This guy was strange. He also had an extremely weird accent that sounded vaguely british... but not quite.

"A what? No, sir. I am not. I am Jeremiah Heere. Are we not in Salem, Massachusetts?" The boy seemed like he'd love to be anywhere but Salem, Massachusetts.

"Naw, you're in New Jersey," Michael shrugged, still giggling. "How did you get here from Massachusetts, Jeremy?"

"It is Jeremiah..."

"Not anymore it isn't. The name Jeremiah is weird. I'm calling you Jeremy." Michael's decision was final. Jeremiah Heere would henceforth be known as Jeremy Heere.

Jeremy didn't seem to care, "We are in New Jersey, then? That is good. New Jersey is a less... strict colony."

"Colony?" Michael snorted, "You act like you really are a time traveler. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me that the Salem Witch Trials are still happening."

"What do mean? Of course they are! I was just... How am I here? I should be dead." The boy said this all very fast.

"Woah, calm down there buddy," Michael held up his hand, "why should you be dead?"

Jeremy didn't seem like he was eager to retell the story, but he did, "I... I was accused. They thought I was a witch! I'm not a witch! They were going to burn me."

"Burn you? Wait..." Michael's eyes widened, "Are you seriously from the Salem Witch Trials? Holy crap! What year is it?"

"It's 1693," the brunette frowned, "Why?"

"Dude... It's 2018."

"That is not possible. Thou must jest," Jeremy seemed panicked at the thought of being 325 years in the future. Who wouldn't?

"I'm telling the truth. Look, I don't know how... But apparently you're here." Michael tugged on his hoodie in frustration, "I guess since you appeared in my basement, it's my job to help you fit in. First things first, you need a new shirt... and a new every other article of clothing."

"What is wrong with the way I dress?"

"Nothing, if you live in 1693 Salem, Massachusetts," Michael sighed, "People dress differently now. You need to blend in. I think my cousin left a few things that might fit you last time he visited."

~<>~

Thankfully, Michael's cousin had left behind a few things that were at least close to Jeremy's size. He made a silent note to thank the boy next time he came. An hour later, Jeremy walked out of Michael's bathroom wearing a striped shirt, blue cardigan, and jeans.

"This is what people typically wear now?" Jeremy asked, pulling at the cardigan awkwardly.

"Not most people, but it's modern enough to get you by." Michael then thought of another thing, "We also need to fix the way you speak."

"Sir?"

"For starters, you can stop calling me 'Sir.' I'm sixteen."

"But... Is it not respectful to refer to one you do not know well as sir?"

"No, it's just weird. My name is Michael." The half Filipino boy shook his head, "You have a long way to go before you can go out into the world and not stand out."

It took them the rest of the night to work on speech, and honestly? Michael wasn't a hundred percent confident Jeremy wouldn't slip up and say he was someone's 'Obedient Servant.' According to Jeremy, this was a sign of respect. According to Michael, it sounded like something that stuffy white people would say. Technically, both boys were correct.

"Can I go to sleep now?" a bleary eyed Jeremy asked.

"Yeah, enjoy the two hours you get before we have to wake up to get to school."

"School?" Jeremy asked, confused.

"Yeah, man. Tomorrow is the first day of the school year. We'll tell the people at the front office that you're a foreign exchange student from England." Michael said, coming up with that story on the spot, "My moms probably won't mind me hosting one. It's just us three anyway."

"Moms? As in multiple?"

"Oh yeah, guess that's not accepted in 1693. Who am I kidding, is it even accepted now?" he laughed to himself slightly, before bringing himself together, "They're gay. I'm adopted. Oh, and I'm super gay too."

And with that poetic line, Michael Mell fell asleep, followed by Jeremy soon after.