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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Season 4: Hallow Casting News

Casting news was recently released for the creepiest witch Louisiana has ever seen.

[MARNIE] Late 20′s to early 30′s. A storefront medium and palm reader. Mousy, timid and secretly self loathing until she is taken over by the spirit of a powerful witch. SERIES REGULAR.

All Hallow’s Grave

Her bare feet made not a sound as they tread swiftly over the dead earth.  There was only a soft whisper coming from her crimson satin robe as it floated along the rows of silent gray tombstones.  No leaves or sticks snagged at it.  They did not dare.  Nor did the creatures of the night dare to make a sound as she made her way to her destination.  But they did watch her…a disturbingly quiet robed figure flowing like a dark and dreaded fog through the graveyard that night.

This night was sacred to her…the holiest of unholy nights, All Hallow’s Eve. Her heart, though filled with excitement for what she was about to do, beat in a slow, steady rhythm. It was in no way an indication of the evil intent behind her actions. She brought no light with her to guide her way.  There was ample moonlight and the sky was a curtain thrown wide to the play of stars in the inky black sky.  Her pace never faltered like one who did not know where to find a loved one’s final resting place.  She knew this place as one knows their home.

Her arrival at the grave site did bring a great rush of air though…the darkness rushed out ahead of her like an evil wind.  If there had been another to witness, they may have seen the twisting tendrils of black power snaking out from her presence.  The dead dry leaves, tumbling and crackling, blew up like a great hand to snatch at the surrounding stones.  But her focus was only on this one…the grave of her mother and father…the grave of the ones who had filled her soul with the breath and knowledge of Him.  They would aid her this night in what she wished to invoke.

She wasted no time with tender moments.  She would be with them in a much closer fashion shortly.  Making quick work, she laid the woven bag on the grave and dropped to her knees beside it.  Her hands flew through the motions of unwrapping the sconce that would keep the wind, if it dared to try, from blowing the black candle out.  The candle itself was anointed in the necessary oils already…mandrake, anise, elder, and willow. The runes had been carved with the befouled dagger.  It was placed at the base of the tombstone.

The hood fell from her crown of dark hair, the wind catching the black tendrils and lifting them so they appeared as snakes coiling and snapping above her head.  She opened her fist above the ensconced candle and called forth the flame with power that emanated in dark waves from her palm.  Lips curling in a small utterly eerie smile, she reached for the small ceremonial dagger at her side.  Throwing her head back and staring sightlessly up at the waning moon, she began to call into the night… “Spirits of the dead, my Devil’s slaves, hear me.”  She gripped the dagger and cut open her right palm, holding the blood up to the lighted sky.  “Spirits of the air, from the Devil’s lair, hear me!” The blood ran thick and dark from the wound, down her wrist, and snaked down her inner arm.  Her eyes traced it’s movements in abject fascination as she continued in a deep throaty voice.  “Spirits of the Devil, with deed’s so evil, hear me!

A great ruckus was heard, as all the winged creatures in the cemetery took flight at once.  She could feel the wild beating of their tiny hearts in her blood.  It thrilled her and spurred her on.  At the same time, she began to burrow her bleeding hand into the earth covering the grave.  “Spirit’s of hell’s fire, angry with ire, hear me!”  The dirt gave way easily, as if it was freshly tilled.  But it was something else that allowed her hand to cut through the soil, clay, and stone like it was soft butter.  It was what she was calling forth coming to answer her.

“Make me one of Your evil tools.” She was deep into the earth now, the dirt embracing to her upper arm.  The shadows deep there in the graveyard sucked in on themselves, then pulsed as if they were the very breath of each headstone.  Her seeking hand met with another then…a bony remnant of decayed fingers. The morbid pleasure she felt in that moment was evident in her voice as it gained strength. “Send them yon, Send them hither…In the shape to make my enemy quiver!”  She clasped that bony hand within the grave, feeling the comfort as always from the one who gave her life and set her on this path.  Oh, how she wished to go deeper…to embrace more, to absorb.  But still she did not pause. She used the tip of the dagger to open the satin robe, sliding it off her shoulder.  The dark tattoo of the inverted pentagram over her heart was now exposed.  As she inhaled with utter calm, she stabbed shallow holes into her flesh at each point of the pentagram and called out in gravelly voice, “Shiver, shiver, SHIVER!”  Those words would be prophetic.

As the blood flowed down her, it also saturated the grave wherein her hand was thrust.  The bony digits encircled and stroked her warm flesh lovingly, pulling her deeper so that she dropped the dagger and plowed her free hand into the earth as well.  It was then one could hear the first whispers…soft at first, like a baby’s sigh floating in the night air.  Then it grew into a chorus of discordant feathery voices.  She was not concerned.  She was enthralled!

“Come at once to bring them horror!”  And at those words, the first spirits rose. They popped from the graves in the form of shadows and ghost-like entities, their shapes clearly human, young and old alike.  They soared high into the long, waving, and dying branches over the cemetery…whirling, moaning and whispering to one another, and to her.  Their transparent shadowed bodies floated this way and that in a dancing whirlwind until they all merged.  She raised her head to watch them…her words a shout now. “Crawl inside their heads this night!  Bring them visions to cause them fright!”

She felt the earth tremble and the skeletal hand gripping her tighter.  None of this fazed her as the wind kicked up to a howl.  “From here to there. My devotion I swear.  With this blood so mote it be!”  As the last word left her lips, the whirling rootless bodies overhead let out a spine-tingling chorus of shrieks and darted down toward her as one enormous body.  They entered her through the bloodied pentagram over her heart.  The mass of them pummeled into her causing her body to jerk and thrash.  But she did not release the hand in that grave.  She used it to ground her, to transmit the spell she intended to unleash on all.  Her insides burned as the fire of hell scorched within her.  She tightened her lips together firmly and lifted her crazed eyes to the flickering candle’s flame…holding steady as she felt the vibrations beneath her knees and within her.  She stopped breathing as they all coiled and writhed inside her body. A haze appeared before her eyes as her consciousness became questionable.  Just like her sanity.

And then the lone candle’s flame burned blue and her mouth slowly opened wide as if yawning.  All those within her poured out of her parted lips.  It appeared as if she expelled a dark oily and perilously large volume of writhing, twisting souls.  Their faces were clearly visible in the flowing mass.  They kept spilling from her and her mouth stretched wider to accommodate their numbers, a grotesque inhuman mask.  The ground around her and over the numerous graves rippled and shifted.  Her eyes rolled and a long moan was pulled from deep inside her while the graveyard hummed with an evil menace.

When the last shadow was birthed from her mouth, she forced herself to move despite the underlying pervading weakness from the invasion.  She squeezed that dead hand one last time and withdrew herself from the grave.  The candle was extinguished and the trappings of her deed gathered.  She stood on shaky limbs and turned on her bare heel.  If anyone had been present, they would have run screaming simply at the sight of the smile that curved her full lips.  It was not a smile of any normal kind of joy.  It was a smile of satisfied evil.  What rose behind her quick light steps that night was most foul.  She passed through the gates of the cemetery just as the first head emerged from a grave…

Her gift had risen.

Relived Did I Live

Reviled did I live, said I,
As evil I did deliver

Never odd or even-
Live not on evil.

Reviled did I live, said I
As evil I did deliver
Live was I
Ere I saw Evil.

Reviled did I live, said I
As evil I did deliver
Live on no evil-
Evil I did live.

Do Good’s deeds live on?
No, Evil’s deeds do, O God

Now evil, I’ve won
Name now one man
Live not on evil deed,
Live not on evil.

Evil, all its sin, is still alive
Evil am I- I’m alive.

by Patti Masterman

A Profound Thought….

“Sometimes dead is better” ~ Stephen King, Pet Sematary

I See Dead People

“Mediumship is the claimed ability of a person (the medium) to experience contact with spirits of the dead, angels, demons or other immaterial entities. The role of the medium is to facilitate communication with spirits who have messages to share with non-mediums. Mediums claim to be able to listen to, relay messages from, and relate conversations with spirit, to go into a trance and speak without knowledge of what is being said, to allow a spirit to control their body and speak through it, perhaps using a writing instrument (psychography or surreal automatic writing).

Mediumship is also part of the belief system of some New Age groups. In this context, and under the name “channelling“, it refers to a medium (the channel) who is said to receive messages from a “teaching-spirit”. In some cultures, mediums (or the spirits to whom they are connected) reportedly produce physical paranormal phenomena such as materialisations of spirits, apports of objects, or levitation.^[2][3]“

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