Second Helpings

Distractions can be deadly. I’ve paid for mine in blood and flesh.  Seems so trite to write now…blood and flesh.  Are you picturing some poorly directed and portrayed horror film? Most are.  How does one translate true evil and true fear onto film? You can’t.  Because true evil causes a fear that goes beyond shock and screams and wide eyes.  True evil causes fear that simply can’t be put into words. But allow me to try here.  No, fuck that.  No one allows me anything.  I’m telling you and you will read it.  True fear is felt somewhere in your soul, if you have one. It is eyes rolling back in your head, bowel loosening, screams that never release because they choke you, face clawing…your brain shutting down because it simply can’t deal with what it is seeing, what it is feeling.

I’ve been IN fear for the last few years.  He kept me that way.  He enjoyed me that way.  My distractions placed me firmly in his hands and he used those hands on me in ways that, when I think of them now, lead me right to that fear again.  I deserved it all. His punishments and the ones he allowed his minions to carry out won’t be forgotten.  Ever.

You’d think I would have learned a lesson from it all. *slow smile filled with malignant promise*

I’m back.  I’m free from his prison…somewhat.  And I am high on what is to come.

I am no more a witch……

I am no more a witch than you are a wizard. If you take my life away, God will give you blood to drink.
Sarah Good

Seeds of Evil

“Destroy the seed of evil, or it will grow up to your ruin.” -Aesop

The seeds of evil are often planted inconspicuously. So when they are fully grown, you’ll find it too late to avoid or escape…..

Her Kind

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

by Anne Sexton

There are Things

There are things out there worse than shadows,

The shadows that make the head turn to just make sure.

There are things out there worse than the dark,

The dark where one can hide and wait.

There are things out there worse than nightmares,

The nightmares that make one wake in a cold, clammy sweat.

There are things out there worse than a killer,

The killer that has your name on their lips.

There are things out there worse than monsters,

The monsters you imagine beneath your bed, outside your window.

There are things out there worse than death.

In death, your mind is no longer your own.

I am in the Shadows. I am in the Dark.

I am your Nightmare. I am the Killer.

I am the Monster.

And in Death, I will hold the will of your mind for Eternity.

There are few things worse than…Me.

666 By Abe Rossi

Into night may we run
With the deeds we have done
While the rest of us just look away
6 steps from our neighbors
6 steps from our kin
6 steps till we fall down and pray

In the dark ides of war
Where our hatred is swore
The trigger our only reply
6 shots for the foeman
6 shots for the friend
6 shots for the souls that will die

Somewhere deep inside
In the blackness we hide
Afraid someone will call out our bluff
6 sins may we borrow
6 sins may we keep
6 sins wasn’t ever enough

In the darkness of hell
There tolls a red bell
Blood from all we forsake
6 times for the sinner
6 times for the saint
6 times for the choices we make

In the darkness of hell
There tolls a red bell….

Necromancy By Heather M Craig

My aura blackens
corresponding
with the pitch of night.
It sucks me into
my terminal abyss.

I peer the innocuous,
stranger to thee.
I victimize her clandestine
as ignoble as I may be,
she neglects to see.

I manipulate her
into my lonely hands.
She is welcomed
to my ascendary
forcing bittersweet sufferage
as I hear her hardened pleas.

Starvation. Whips. Cuts.

I imbide her crimson gore
that immerses the blade,
As the taste engulfs my pleasure.

As her flesh decomposes,
through her agonizing trial,
she’ll live forever with me.

I took her soul. Her very breath.

She took my heart.

by Heather M Craig

Serving Him

He came to me in my dreams as was customary. It was more like I came to Him though. When my lashes lifted, I was at His feet. It always began like this. The venom pooled beneath me, soaking my crimson robe, burning the flesh of my knees as I wait supplicant before Him. He is robed as well, the folds of the shimmering cloth pooled at the base of His throne. I can never tell where His robes end and the venom begins. Like a silver flowing river, it undulates out and away from Him…and beneath me. I raise my eyes to His because He wills me to. There is not much on the earthly plane that frightens me. But seeing displeasure in His eyes is easily my deepest darkest fear. I pray as my eyes lift to His not to see that there this time. His maddening hoarse chuckle sends shivers down my spine. You see it is to Him I pray. He knows my thoughts. He knows my emotions. He holds my future. I am His. As my eyes meet His, it is terrifyingly electric, as if there is an invisible current that fires and snaps between us. My mouth opens on a gasp as the shock plows into my nerve endings, but I let no sound pass my lips. I only speak if He asks it of me. His eyes are a blazing fiery red. But they are not what one may think as any particular red. No. They are magnificent in their true horror. I am unable to blink or look away even if I had desired to. There is no pupil in His eyes, only a spiraling whirlpool of shades of red. One would liken it to the flames of a fire. But those are no flames in His eyes. They are the spirits of the Souls He has accrued, legions and masses of them. They are the promise of the ones He has yet to acquire and what is to come. He reaches forward as I look deeply into those orbs of Hell itself. His fingers curl under my chin, lifting my head higher. His touch on my skin licks like flames along the soft flesh there, the venom leaking from His flesh to my own. But His touch is gentle, almost reverent. Yet it is hard to think of His gentleness because from the inside His touch is like the talons of night’s most frightening of winged creatures shredding you, peeling the flesh in long gruesome strips. I knew that He was very aware of the pain his touch induced…the knowledge danced in those endlessly burning, swirling eyes. I hold my body still and submissively docile before Him despite the cloying, mind-numbing pain caused by this simplest of touches. And then, as I look into His eyes, He shows me what I am to do next. There are no words. He does not need them to speak to me. It is simply there in my mind, as clear to me as if He has whispered the most precise of detailed instructions. I stare in the red fathomless eyes and know what He wishes of me. I nod in prefect accord, eyes glued to His as He releases my chin. Oh, but He then gifts me. His fingers, still extended, turn and cup my cheek…the most tender of caresses. Both the pain and the delight of it bring forth a gasp I cannot conceal. He chuckles again and it plucks at my nerve endings like the strings of a guitar that have been pulled much too tight. He does not appear to me as the Beast, though I have seen Him in that shape. There is no description to describe Him in that form. No words. If you could conjure up your most terrifying vision, it would pale beside what the form He owns as His true self. His magnificent masculine lips curve into a dark smile and He nods to me, His thumb stroking venom across my cheek and then retreating back to the arm of the throne. I bow my acquiescence and stand…Blessed by His trust and His expectations. I take only a few steps from Him when His deep rich voice coils around me. “Say it, my witch, Hallow.” I pause with my back to Him, a smile slipping across my lips before I turn to face Him. Sinking low in a humble curtsy, lifting my eyes to His once again and speaking the words He must hear every time we meet thusly. “I’m Yours.”

Nietzsche on Witchcraft

“Although the most acute judges of the witches and even the witches themselves, were convinced of the guilt of witchery, the guilt nevertheless was non-existent. It is thus with all guilt.”

Friedrich Nietzsche

Fiona Shaw cast as Marnie Stonebrook

“Fiona Shaw has been cast as a regular on True Blood. Fiona is a veteran Irish theater actress (and director too!) who is best known stateside for her portrayal of Aunt Petunia in the Harry Potter series.

Her character, Marnie, is a mousy, timid and secretly self loathing storefront medium and palm reader who is taken over by the spirit of a powerful witch. The character was originally envisioned younger but is being adjusted for Shaw. Shaw is currently onstage at Dublin’s Abbey Theatre in a limited engagement of Henrik Ibsen’s John Gabriel Borkman opposite Alan Rickman and Lindsay Duncan. On U.S. television, she previosly co-starred on ABC’s limited series Empire.”
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