Salem, Here We Come

 On October 1, 1970, *Bewitched* cast its spell over audiences with the atmospheric and cleverly ironic Season Seven episode “Salem, Here We Come,” a story that took mother and daughter witches Samantha (Elizabeth Montgomery) and Endora (Agnes Moorehead) on a seemingly innocent vacation to Salem, Massachusetts—only to plunge them into a deliciously ironic predicament that turned historical paranoia into modern-day farce. Eager for a quiet getaway steeped in witchy heritage, Samantha imagines Salem as a place where she and her formidable mother might finally relax among kindred spirits, perhaps even find a boutique selling enchanted candles or a café serving eye-of-newt espresso. But the moment they arrive, the town’s tourism-driven embrace of its infamous 1692 witch trials—complete with kitschy souvenir shops, “Witch City” t-shirts, and tour guides reenacting hysterical accusations—quickly reveals a darker undercurrent: the locals may celebrate witchcraft as campy folklore, but they’re still deeply uneasy about *actual* magic. Trouble begins when Endora, ever the unapologetic sorceress, grows impatient with a condescending historical reenactor who reduces real witchcraft to Halloween clichés. With a withering glare and a subtle incantation, she enchants the man’s tricorn hat to fly off and perch itself on a church steeple—just the sort of minor mischief that, in Salem’s historically charged air, sparks immediate suspicion. Before long, whispers spread: “Real witches are in town!” Tourists snap photos, shopkeepers lock their doors, and the town council—led by a blustery official convinced history is repeating itself—starts eyeing Samantha and Endora with the same fearful judgment their ancestors once cast upon innocent women. Elizabeth Montgomery portrays Samantha with her signature blend of exasperation and grace, caught between defending her family’s identity and desperately trying to avoid exposure, while Agnes Moorehead—channeling Endora’s regal fury and theatrical disdain—delivers a masterclass in comedic gravitas, dismissing the townspeople as “mortals who dabble in superstition while denying truth.” The episode’s brilliance lies in its layered irony: two genuine witches, descendants of a lineage older than the colonies, are persecuted not for harm, but for existing—and in the very place that commodifies their history while fearing their reality. As paranoia mounts, Samantha attempts diplomacy, even giving an impromptu lecture at the local museum on “the misunderstood role of witches in folklore,” but Endora, refusing to “apologize for breathing,” nearly summons a thunderstorm in protest before Samantha gently reins her in. In the end, they leave Salem not with souvenirs, but with a wry lesson: sometimes, the places that claim to honor your legacy are the least equipped to accept you as you are. “Salem, Here We Come” stands as one of *Bewitched*’s smartest social commentaries—woven with humor, history, and heart—reminding viewers that while witch hunts may wear different costumes across centuries, the fear of the “other” remains eerily constant… and that the truest magic might just be walking away with your dignity—and your daughter—intact.