It's a bitter winter in 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts.

The village is quiet, with folk wrapped up inside to fend off the icy cold.

In the parsonage, a fire crackles in the hearth of a small downstairs room.

It's the only heat in this dark little house, and right now its warm glow bathes the faces of the two pale young girls standing at the table beside it.

This is the home of the very strict Puritan minister of the Salem village, Reverend Samuel Paris.

This morning he's out attending to his flock, and in his absence his nine-year-old daughter, Betty, and her 11-year-old cousin, Abigail Williams, are up to something they know they shouldn't be.

They're practicing a spot of fortune-telling.

Speaking in whispers, they're on high alert to any sound indicating the Reverend's return.

Because what they're doing, seeking knowledge outside of God's will,

is deemed so sinful that it's akin to talking to the devil.

But for the girls, this is important.

While they may both be very young, their future is already more or less set in stone.

They'll be expected to marry and have children, just like most women of the village.

And one of the few glimmers of

excitement in that future is the uncertainty of what kind of husband they might get. Will he be handsome,

rich, kind? That's what the girls, giggling and jostling each other are hoping to find out this morning.

With the Reverend Paris out in the village and Betty's mother tucked up in her sickbed upstairs,

the two girls are unsupervised, save for the Caribbean slavewoman Tituba, who's preparing lunch in the kitchen.

Now, whispering in nervous excitement, Betty places a glass of water on the table,

while Abigail cracks an egg and carefully separates the yolk before dropping the white into the water.

The girls lean in.

Their eyes wide in the flickering firelight, they watch as the

...