Archive for October, 2012

Halloween Is Finally Here!

Good morning my darklings.  Blessed Samhain my Witchlings.  Halloween has finally arrived on the tail of a full moon and a horrific “Perfect Storm”.  This should be a time of fun and celebrating or worshiping but for too many people, there will be no Halloween this year.  People have died, lost loved ones, lost homes.

So what should we do?  Do we, who can (and even I won’t be able to celebrate the way I normally would), celebrate more for those who can’t?  Or do we take a solemn stance and do the minimum of letting the kiddies do a little trick or treating, call it a night and wait for next year?  That’s a personal decision, though I doubt that those who can’t do a proper Halloween this year would hold it against anyone for having their own.

I know I should be telling something strange or spooky that happened to me but instead, I’m going to lay out my plan in no particular order because that’s just not me. 🙂  But I plan on doing something a bit extra witchy, taking the kids for some minute trick or treating, handing out candy to any other brave souls, of course watching horror movies and I think I might write just a short little story to post on here since I haven’t done it for a while.  It should also help get some of this built up Halloween spent out of my system.  This just hasn’t been a very good Halloween season for me this year.

So what are you going to do today and tonight?  Give me some joy through some good times that at least my friends are having.  And if I can get a short story up, come back and read it.  Tell me what you think.


Good morning darklings and friends, since some of you are not darklings but friends enough to read this for me anyway :).  When I start a blog with a title with one of the stranger things I’ve done, you must think, What in the heck has she done know?  It’s not now but this is far more recent than most of the other posts.  It was just a few years ago actually and the first time I showed any larger form of witchcraft outside myself without a spell.

I am able to do certain things.  Piss me off and you’re liable to trip the next time you get up to walk, or choke just enough for a coughing fit if you say something I don’t like.  Things like that.  None of it is really mean and I don’t intend for it to happen.  Usually.  I just get angry and it comes off of me.  I was mad yesterday at a nurse and found it very hard to find the concentration to keep it inside as I was taking care of my mother who had just had surgery and my grandmother who is basically immobile.  They don’t need to be on the receiving end.  It was very uncomfortable.  I found myself feeling angry and scared of myself at the same time.  I do do good things too but those are completely on purpose.  I can take a headache and leave the other person without one.  Give calm and that type of thing.  Those are the reliable ones I guess because it’s straight good.  I have dreams that come true.  But that’s not the story it’s just example to show how little the things I do are without the involvement of spellwork and the Goddess.

Now, for starters, my husband and I have been together for 11 years and even though he’s been on the receiving end of coughing fits, trips, stubbed fingers, toes and a few other things, he steadfastly refuses to believe me.  Though when they happen and I say, “I told you so.” he usually just leaves the room. lol

What I’m talking about happened in my basement.  My husband and I were arguing pretty badly and I was extremely angry.  I don’t even remember what it was about anymore, but I threw his MP3 player and shattered it because I was closing in on enraged.  The basement isn’t finished yet and it’s lit by flourescent lights that hang from the rafters.  We were standing under one set in front of the washer and dryer and the next closest set are probably 20 feet away at least.  He said one last thing and it pushed me over the edge and I screamed something back at him.  One of those screams where you bend yourself in half with the force of it.  (My husband and I get along the vast majority of the time but we’re both Earth signs so there have been a few really big ones.)  As I hollered I felt this energy burst out of me, I don’t want to say like an explosion, but it definitely burst forth and when it did, those two sets of lights completely burnt out immediately.  The arguing stopped just as fast as he moved around me and went upstairs and I stared at the lights wondering if I’d really done that.  All the lights had gone in at the same time, so those two sets shouldn’t have been the only ones to go at the exact same moment.  My anger was gone and I stood there waiting for them to flicker back to life but they never did.  They had to be replaced.

My husband replaced them without a word, without even telling me he was doing it.  We’ve never talked about it.  He says he still doesn’t believe in what I do, still doesn’t want to see it and still teases me for doing it.  But now it seems that when I talk to him about it, occasionally he looks like he’s taking me seriously, like when I told him about the 3 ghosts and showed him the scratches I had.

Since then I’ve only done something like that once more but it was for a friend and a good reason and I did with focus, not a burst.  And that’s her story and it did work.  The lights were much more strange and kind of scary because it was unintentional and angry and something I never thought someone like me could do.  So now you know one of the stranger things I’ve done.  Just think what other weird stuff I’ve got up me sleeve. lol  🙂

Almost Possession

Good morning my darklings.  I know for sure most of you reading this have seen The Exorcist.  I’ve seen it countless times and, thought the movie and the remastered version with outtakes, are excellent, I am a writer and have read the book.  The book is better on the simple fact that if you can forget about the movie and let your mind create the pictures, it’s much scarier.  Plus the boy that Mr. Blatty based the book on is from Maryland so there’s that hometown connection.  But this blog isn’t about The Exorcist, or the mediocre follow-ups.  This is about a personal experience of what I, and others that I’ve talked to (no Priests, they freak me out but people of my witchly ways) feel was an attempt on me at a point in my life.  Okay, here’s the short version.

Okay, so it starts in a dream of my schools cafeteria and it’s one of those dreams that even though you don’t know you’re dreaming, you know everything is not right.  The familiar surroundings are off somehow.  My friends are giving off some unnatural bad vibe that makes me want to just get away from them.  They move too fast, then too slow.  I feel like the room is talking about me even though I’m good at blending into the background.  Then into the scenario comes an ultra good-looking guy.  One that suits just my tastes at the time.  I’m confused but he seems sure of himself in the situation like everything’s normal and all of a sudden I am positive that I’m the one with issue, not what’s happening around me, not the feeling of unease in my stomach or the urge telling me to run mingling with the fear that tells me to stay in the exact place I’ve found to be out of the way in and freeze/hide so I don’t draw attention to myself.

But Mr. Gorgeous with the black hair and sunglasses finds me with a simple glance around the room.  Suddenly my table is empty except for Mr. Gorgeous who is now sitting across from me.  He’s talking to me and I can’t understand the words until he tell says, “You will.”  He leans over and takes my hand, it’s warm and strong and I like it as much as some part of my brain is still screaming to run but from miles away.  I guess this would be called The Swoon.  He takes his sunglasses off and then reaches over to hold my wrist with that hand in what would seem a normal manner if the crowd in the cafeteria wasn’t surrounding us to watch.  He has nice normal brown eyes that bleed over to fully black and I’m sure it’s because he allows it that I can pull my hand away.

Thankfully true fear kicks in and I realize that I’m not dreaming.  I never ate lunch in the cafe.  I ate outside with my friends.  I went to an all girls high school.  Pieces like that start to fall into place as I finally get up to run.  He turns to watch a smile on his face that still manages to turn my heart over.  But the harder I run and the more I beg myself to wake up, the heavier my legs get.  I resort to screaming my own name in my head louder and louder, as loud as I think I can possibly push energy through my sleeping head.  The crowd closes in on me and I sit straight up in my bed.

I lean back but not lay back.  I’m too afraid I’ll go back to sleep.  I think about going to get my mother, but I was a teenager and that officially made me too old to need my mommy for a nightmare no matter disturbing it was.  So I sit there.  There dark is not so dark and I can see my room and take comfort in the nice normal (for me) surroundings.  My night side table with the draped lamp “for ambiance”, my shelves of books, incense burners, charm holders, unicorns from my boyfriend, the vanity full of goth make-up and the fishnets I had just dropped on the floor with my Doc’s.  I eyed the closet because there was definitely something there.  I’d always sensed it but had put up my minor witch shields and felt safe in them then, though I’d laugh at them now.

Then, to my ultimate horror, this darkened almost golden mist began from my shelves, falling to the floor and headed for me bed, like a noxious vapor.  Was I awake?  Was this real?  Was I still asleep and still doing a battle of wills with Mr. Gorgeous?  I didn’t want to know.  I wanted out of the room.  But when I tried to move it was like the dream and my legs refused to obey me.  I was still dreaming and only thought I was awake.  He’d given me my comfort but wasn’t done.  The mist crawled up the bottom of my bed and began encompassing me from my feet and working its way up.  I knew that if it covered me, I’d be gone.  I’d be his and whatever came with that.  I laid back on my pillows and pulled at all the will, all the magic I had and didn’t know I had.  I called to powers that would listen because back then I didn’t know all the names.  I just threw power at the ever creeping dark gold mist and the powers that be for help to save me.

Eventually the mist subsided, sliding down my legs like peeling skin.  And I did wake up, sitting straight up in my bed, afraid of a repeat because I was exhausted and wasn’t sure if I had any fight left in me.  But it had taken, what I assume now was the whole night because just the pinkish orange rays of sun were touching the corner of my window and I felt safe.

I got out my bed, glad that my legs decided to listen this time and made some coffee while my parents slept unaware.  I went outside to sneak a cigarette.  I deserved it.  But the coffee and cigarette breakfast are now my morning routine.  I hope to never go through that again, though I think I’m much more capable to deal with it and maybe that’s why I haven’t.  But I do still have dreams where I wake up crying and usually, if I remember them, there’s a very handsome man in the back with dark sunglasses.

Mirror, Mirror, Hear My Call

Good morning darklings.  Today is mostly about an urban legend that scared the crap out of the people in my area and only made me feel pity.  But I will share the three fairly embarrassing things that do scare me and naturally none of them are ghosts, Quija Boards, Tarot cards or Witchcraft. 🙂

When I was younger, I was lucky enough to grow up not to far from where the original Black Aggie once sat.  She has been sent to the Smithsonian and another similar statue has been put in her place.  But the original, that I felt did hold some kind of spirit had become Baltimore’s own urban legend, a part of fraternity tests, dares, a place where the brave, or pretending to be brave would break into to drink beer.  At least until midnight when those fraternity boys who sat on her lap were supposedly crushed in her deathly grip, or the dared to stare into her eyes would go blind or the drinkers would suffer her wrath for defiling her home.

I remember riding in the car with my grandparents to feed the ducks at the lake on the grounds of the cemetery and my grandmother would point and say, “Look, Krista.  That’s where Black Aggie used to be.”  She said it with meaning and a darkened tone that she rarely took.  I wanted to know about her, touch her frozen flesh, speak to her my secrets and learn hers.  I was sad.  I was a very strange little girl.  But in the back of my mind I always wondered about Black Aggie  and midnight.  Once upon a time, did she really stand and move about?  None of us would ever know thanks to break in and vandalism.  Maybe that was when my respect and love of graveyards first began.  Why couldn’t anyone just leave her alone or just pay her the respect the dead deserved, perhaps just appreciate the amazin artwork that formed her?

Then, there was always the chance of calling here through your mirror though you risked death if she actually did appear.  It was basically the same story as Bloody Mary.  Turn off the lights at midnight, say the name 3 times, wait and turn the lights back on.  If it worked, Black Aggie or Bloddy Mary would appear and kill you.  And we’ve all heard about a neighbors cousin who’d done it and been gutted or torn to pieces.  I never put much stock in Bloody Mary, but I thought if Black Aggie were ever to appear she wouldn’t kill me.  She never did and though the other girls laughed their relief, I always felt kind of sad.

What really is sad is the thing that really did scare me.  It was a movie.  Not the whole thing but just how you called the spirit.  I’m sure by now we’ve all seen Candyman.  Turn off the lights, say his name 5 times, turn on the lights and Candyman kills you with that enormous freaking hook for a hand.  I don’t know why it bothers me.  Maybe it’s because he never failed to deliver, maybe it was all the bees, whatever.  But to this day if I walk in a dark room with a mirror, I tell myself, Don’t think about Candyman, Don’t thing about Candyman.  Then I lose count and think, Crap, how many times did I just say Candyman in my head?  Then I get the hell out of the room.

If anyone ever asked me if I had any fears, I’d have to say, clowns, heights, and Candyman. lol

Quija Boards

Good morning my darklings.  Today is all about Quija boards.  I’ve said this in a post before but it never hurts to say it again, it’s Wee-Ja not Wee-Gee, and a pet peeve of mine.  How someone can get the qui part right and then get gee from ‘ja’, I’ll never understand.  Some people call them a Spirit Board, some are specially made and blessed, some are bought at Toys’R’Us, whichever the case, even if you make it yourself out of a piece of cardboard and use a glass cup and your planchette, it’s still made to talk to the other side.  Or maybe get an insight into your future.  Of course, most of you know all this and of course I spent my fair amount of time playing with them.  If I had had any sense back then I would have asked if any of the spirits I’d ever talked to knew if I was going to be a famous writer or not. lol

The problem is with a Witch Board is that sometimes you get a not so nice spirit that happens to be wandering around.  Some people believe that a spirit is attached to each board that’s made and that’s the only spirit you get unless you can get it to agree to let you speak to whomever you are trying to reach.  Lots of spirits like to lie and you don’t know first if you’re talking to something dark and nasty until things start to happen around you and you want out.

My first use of a Quija board was scary, at least for my age.  I was 11 and was just taking those first steps into the unknown, still dressed like a normal little kid and my short stories mostly contained unicorns.  But I was getting very interested in the darker, deeper side of things and when my friend pulled out a Quija Board, I was all for it.  We played with it for a while, getting an immediate response.  We thought we knew our spirit, her name and the way she’s spell things out to say things, even the smooth gliding pattern of the planchette.  As I said though, strange things had started to happen.  My friend al most walked into traffic untill I yanked her back by her book bag.  I started having nightmares.  The list goes on but we attributed it to playing with the board and asked one day and the spirit fessed up that she was the cause.

So we told her we wanted another spirit to talk to or we weren’t going to use the board anymore.  The normal speed of the planchette got faster and faster.  We heard her deadlocked front and back doors slam open and then the deal breaker was the gumball machine in my friend’s room.  As all this was going on we heard a loud crack and the planchette stopped.  We packed it away and shoved it deep in her closet before searching for the sound of the crack.  We were afraid one of her windows had broken but we finally discovered that her oversized gumball machine had a fresh, deep crack from top to bottom.  We figured we were lucky it hadn’t shattered and decided to spend the rest of the day at my house.

That was by far not the last time I used a Quija Board but I’ve stopped now.  I do believe that calling the spirits to the board is making the doorway to let just about any into you house if they feel like it.  I live in my own house now with my own children and am not willing to risk it.  But if I’m with a friend and they want to play, I’ll be willing. 🙂

Once In a Haunted House

Good morning my darklings.  There was once a time when I had a boyfriend who lived in a haunted house.

I won’t go into all the details of what being there could be like, things didn’t always happen but it was always cold and dark.  I would have nightmares about it and the picture there on the side is one I picked because it does closely resemble what that house looked like, I think.

What I’m going to tell you about is just one night when only my boyfriend and best friend, Michele and I were there and the things that happened on just that night.  My boyfriend’s room was in the attic which was bad enough and it did have those arched windows like this picture.  The point is we were at the very top of the house with no one below us and that where a lot of the…things happened.  But it started in the attic where we were sitting around deciding what we going to do for the night.  Between the slant of the ceiling and the floor, there was a cubby space that went all the way around the room and was packed with stuff because his mother was just this side of a hoarder.  Even though it was full, the cubby was creepy because it was large enough that a person could fit inside and crawl around in there like something from The People Under the Stairs.  Then the scratching started in there.  The first time Michele and I looked at each other in that silent “yeah I heard it too” way.  Then it would start again and Michele said, “All right.  What the Hell is that scratching noise?”

By that point Michele and I had moved to sit closer to each other on my boyfriend’s bed.  He laughed at us, said maybe it was a mouse and turned some music on to drown the sound out.  The mouse would have been an acceptable excuse if the scratching didn’t come from different parts of the cubby all the time.  We started making phone calls to see who of our friends were where so we could leave whether my boyfriend came or not.

Then the scratching became like a teaser as a stomping somewhere below us started.  It was loud enough to be heard over the music and hard enough to be felt on the floorboards of the attic.   STOMP!  STOMP!  STOMP!  He says maybe one of his brothers has come home but a glance out the window shows no other car but mine.  STOMP!  STOMP!

Michele and I have decided we were leaving.  The only problem was that we had to get through where and what was clumping around the empty house below us to get to the door.  I don’t even remember anymore if my boyfriend left with us but we had cell phones and pagers, yes it was that long ago, and we could drive around just as well as sit there and we were getting out.  So we went down the steps from the attic the ended in, of course, a squeakly-no-snkeaking-out door.  I opened it a little and called to his brothers and they didn’t answer.  Their cars still weren’t out front anyway.

Once out of the attic and on the second floor, to our right was a bathroom and to our sort of left was a room full of broken cupie dolls which creeped the Hell out of me anyway.  We were about to gather our courage for the mad dash to the front door when the faucets in the bathroom turned themselves on.  Adrenaline from fear beat out courage and we hauled ass for the door.  We got to my car and I don’t know about Michele, but even when we were with people I couldn’t get my mind off of what had happened in the house.  I think that was the last time she went inside but I had to keep going back.  I can honestly say that house is haunted, probably still, and I’m very glad that I’ll never have to go there again.


The Witch’s Ghost

Good Morning darklings.  My stories continue.  The more I think about what I’ll write the next day, the more I think I would have had enough for the whole month if I’d had the time to blog.  Or a working computer. 🙂  That just lets me pick through my favorites and the ones that stick out the most.  This one stood out because it was so scary when it happened but has faded for me now to just a memory I think about sometimes.  Some of these may show up in a book one day, but I guess I can’t plagiarise myself.

So this happened before I started practicing witchcraft.  I was still just a young goth chic then who hid her Tarot cards, dressed in black, watched every horror movie I could get my hands on and played with Quija boards.  Qui-Ja, not We-Gee, that bugs the hell out of me, french and German for yes.  It was October, approaching Halloween and all the Haunted Houses were open.  My boyfriend at the time and a bunch of our friends went to one.  It was okay but left us feeling the need to be really scared.  Like we’d stumbled into a horror movie a la Texas Chainsaw Massacre scared, except we all live in the end and don’t become dinner for Leatherface and the fam.  Someone spoke up that we were near the Witch’s House.  I wasn’t from the area so I asked what it was.

I was reminded of the black and white pictures I’d been shown earlier of a tree but there was some kind of human like shape that hung from the tree.  That was apparently because the witch lived alone, a group of people went into her house and hung her from the tree.  Okay, I was game.  We talked the others into it were off to see if we could see a ghost.

There were enough of us that we had to take a packed minivan and parked it behind some bushes, which had us approaching the house from the side of the tree.  It was eerily exactly as it had been in the picture, dark, thick arms reaching spindly fingers up and out.  The house was in complete blackness, every four pained glass reflecting the world around it.  Shingles hung from the roof or were missing, the wood looked bare and gray, free of any paint.  I kept my eye on the tree for the ghost until we were past it and then listened for the squeaking sound of a rope swinging in the silence, or what was left of it with us tromping through the deep weeds and grass.

I wondered what we were going to do once we actually got to the house.  Is it breaking and entering if no one lives there, or had lived there for a long time?  My fear of police and my mother was weighing with my excitement of getting in and exploring even as we all knew that I’d be the one to put my hand on the door and turn the knob first.  I’d say we were 60 feet from the back of the house when a light came on as bright as a lamp with no shade but it cast no shadows and there was no electricity.

That was apparently proof enough of a ghost for my friends, and even my boyfriend, as they turned almost in unison and began to haul ass to the minivan.  Fear is contagious, so I gave one last look at the light, hoping for a face and getting none before following them.  The tree was no longer a concern.  Not getting left behind was much worse and I run sloooowww.  Add a pair of Doc’s to that and it might as well have been a slow jog or even a fast walk.  But I made it back, slid the door shut before we peeled gravel and got out of there, no one but me looking back at the lone light in the black night.

A Spirit I Remembered

Good morning darklings.  I’ve decided that since I’ve missed so much of Halloween, that I’ll post random creepy stuff that’s happened to me that may explain what drew me to my witchly ways and my love of morbid and horror and basically why people seem to consider me a little weird. lol

As I was contemplating my 3 current ghosts, I remembered that these are not the first I’ve seen.  There was one more.  This one I could sense and see and to be honest, sometimes I think he’s still with me because I’ve always had that feeling you get when you know someone is watching you but can’t see them.

Anyway, the story.  When I was younger, I slept in the attic, which wouldn’t have seemed too bad and most times wasnt’s.  I was the length of the house and the whole thing was mine, big enough that one part was my bed room with a four-poster bed, then the steps that went down and the larger part had all my stuff.  But as all horror movie people know, you never go to the attic.

The daytime was fine except for the feeling of being watched but I’d grown used to it by then.  But at night, I’d always read a little before I went to sleep and at the bottom right poster of the bed always stood what I called “The Guy in Gray”.  He wore an old-fashioned gray suit with a matching hat and stood with his hands clasped in front of him.  He never spoke, never got any closer than the bottom of the bed and didn’t really scare me, just kind or weirded me out sometimes.  And it seemed he could understand me when I talked to him in my head.  When it was time to sleep, 9-year-old girls don’t want that at the foot of their bed.  I would tell him it was time for him to go and sort of push him away with my mind.  Crazy, I know, but true. And he would stay away or unseen until the next night.

Eventually I stopped seeing him and wondered if maybe he wasn’t a ghost but someone or thing to watch over me.  Then my brother went into the military and I got his room.  I’ve thought of him a lot over the years and think sometimes he’s what I feel watching me.  But that’s probably going to remain an unsolved mystery and my story of the Guy in Gray.

Good Morning my darklings.  October being my favorite month, with my absolute favorite holiday, I’m usually posting more than this and last year I even had time for a contest.  Sorry there’s been none of that this year.  Computer issues and fixing the house have kept me away but I will make it up to you by telling you a true, personal and on-going ghost story I’m having.

First of all, this all started before working on the house, so let’s put away the construction disturbing the spirits away.  My house is not old.  Only one other family lived here before us and they had it built.  And the witchy senses have a knack for sensing spirits and they were never here before.  That’s part of the odd thing.  I know they’re here not because I’ve felt them but because for the first time in my life, I’ve actually seen them.  One is like a shadow, cliché I know, but not that formless kind of black.  He looks like a long, stretched out hooded human who darts for darker places when he’s been spotted.  There are also two children.  They seem about a yer apart, the boy being the older and give me the feeling that they are brother and sister.  Because I had never seen a spirit before, I wrote it off as my imagination.  I’m a writer and imagination is something we’re not short on.  None of my spells or Tarot readings had anything to do with calling spirits.  I wouldn’t want to be responsible for them.  So I convinced myself it was something else.  Until I locked eyes with the older brother.  The pair did not more or speak until I had to blink and they were gone.

Then scratches started showing up, they’ve all been perfectly straight, but the first one was about 8 inches long on my lower belly.  There were about 5 more and then they stopped but the appearances didn’t.  The the other day in two spots on my right forearm, I got two knew scratches both circled by bruises.  And Saturday, as I was getting ready to go out, I saw the little girl alone for the first time reflected in the mirror.  It seemed like she was just watching me get ready like little girls do with their mothers.  I had been advised to communicate so I turned to speak to her, but she was gone.  There had been nothing until just this moment when my youngest daughter told me she could hear something knocking that I can’t hear right now.

So what do you think darklings?  Do you have advice or words of wisdom?  This is my first haunting and I have no idea what brought them here.

My 9y/o May Be Smarter Than Me

I’m reading the sequel to Anna Dressed in Blood, Girl of Nightmares, and literally half way through when the screen flashes that I need to charge my Kindle.  I’m upset about this.  It can’t happen now!  How long will this take?  The book has been really good so far but it was picking up pace and the questions were getting thicker.  No!  Not now!  2 of 3 kids are sleeping and I’m getting to read pages at a time instead of words or sentences.

Finally, I accept my fate and head to plug my Kindle into its USB port when my son asks if he should charge my cell phone.  “No,” I tell him, “Don’t touch that stuff.”  I recently had to have a cell phone charger intervention because my old charger wouldn’t work and when I went to get a new one, my 3 month old charger isn’t sold anymore because it’s already out of date.  So now I’ve got some wireless thing that as long as it’s charged can charge 2 devices at one time.  My husband doesn’t want to use the second port so I put it out of my mind.  But then my son asks, “Won’t it charge your Kindle too?”  Duh.  Yeah probably if it fits.

So I unplug the USB cable from the computer and try it out on the Kindle and it fits.  And better yet, it doesn’t go to that “I’m charging so you can’t read” picture.  I can charge it AND still keep reading my book.  Rejoice!  Give son some extra love for seeing something so simple when I completely overlooked it.  Now I’m wondering what else I may have missed while I’m doing stuff in mom mode while he’s talking and I’m just answering him with “uh-huh’s”.

From now on I’ll pay some more attention.  Somehow I’ll break another piece of my brain off of what I’m doing to actually listen. lol  After I finish this book. 🙂