People often ask me why I’m so opposed to Walmart witches and “house rules” and the term “spirit-keeping.” Well, the answer lies in my own childhood experiences and the first death in my flesh and blood family that occurred many years ago, when my half-brother was drowned by an entity. And it wasn’t by accident, it was a spirit-murder. But, before that, some personal background information is needed. I was an only-child raised in a major city on the East coast. My grandmother, grandfather, and mother were all extremely powerful witches without the least bit of formal training, able to levitate tables, furniture, and summon any number of spirits at will. I don’t think they ever even considered themselves to be witches. It was in the blood. It was natural. And I believed all this was just normal because I could do the same or more, sending mirrors across the room when angered, or upon occasion, sending what amounted to a spell against my mother when she would launch a tirade against me, tripping her down the stairs. But she had an uncanny ESP ability and knew it was me, so she’d fly into a rage. I also saw my real mother, Lilith, but didn’t know her name at the time, and I had an instant love for her. I told the WITCH, there is my mother, not you! And she didn’t take kindly to it. So she sent me to find religion! That would surely fix everything. Little did she know.
My mother also had a favorite female Acheri girl demon and two small ghost hounds who’d follow her everywhere. For my impertinent remarks and sending her down the stairs once too often, I was sentenced to attend a Christian Science Sunday school, which I detested, because Christian and Science being linked together made as much sense as trying to mate a dog with a cat. And then I’d have to read the goddamned bible. However, a light suddenly dawned from above (or below) when I read this most heart and soul-warming saying in Luke 14:26, “If any man come to Me and hate not his father and mother, and wife and children, and brethren and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple.” And a light from heaven suddenly beamed into my heart and soul like a blazing thunderbolt and I got religion, as they say. I finally had found a friend in Jesus, feeling a sudden glow of deepest spiritual love -if not salvation itself, for the savior, MY savior. Since I already hated my mother and I really did hate my life under the overbearing WITCH and her pet demon, which she literally was, I felt the sudden spirit of salvation well up from within. The call of Jesus had touched my heart and I was ready to answer it zealously. The next week I began, at the youthful age of fourteen, to do what people would call a spell.
I also hated the Acheri who was overly protective of my mother, THE WITCH, in capital letters, because she was a truly powerful and vengeful witch. Plus, the Acheri and I hated one another. And I truly hated witches then, like God said I should, because of her. So it was witchcraft I’d have to use to end her, because I couldn’t buy a revolver at age 14, and even if I could, I didn’t have the money. I forget how I formulated the spell, because I had no interest in witchcraft books, but the gist of it was to have her bitten by a serpent, because I remembered the way the Jews were bitten by serpents in the desert for disobedience or whatever, and well…it had a certain flair about it that captured my imagination. Of course, it didn’t work, mainly because we were in the middle of a major city where snakes weren’t easy to come by. Then, by happenstance, a few years later THE WITCH bought a farm in Pennsylvania, and not long thereafter as she was cleaning the barn, sure enough, WITCHCRAFT! happened, praise the Lord, and she was bitten by a rattlesnake. Unfortunately, she was wearing heavy leather boots at the time, so she didn’t get the full dose and die. That’s when I turned against Jesus and lost all faith. Jesus said to hate my mother and I did, God said to hate witches and kill them, and I tried my damnedest. And what did I get for my trouble? A half-answered prayer that took years. Hell, the rattlesnake might as well have had only one fang. And I was pissed. What kind of a savior tells you to hate your mother and doesn’t follow through with a little heavenly help? Jesus Christ, I was only fourteen. That was the first and last unanswered prayer I cared to entertain. Maybe the crucifixion took too much out of him, who knows. . .
But I wasn’t the only one pissed. My father was an IBM zombie exec who left my mother for another woman (and was unable to be in the presence of the Acheri, who forced him out) and I never really knew him. She eventually remarried and gave birth to two boys, one of whom was her favorite. So infatuated with him was she that the Acheri became jealous, and on a cold December night, when the lake on her property was frozen over, the Acheri manifested herself to John (not his real name) and invited him to chase her. John was only about seven or eight at the time, and he followed her out onto the frozen lake, totally unaware that she was a spirit and wasn’t going to fall through the ice. But he did. And he drowned. A few hours later his spirit appeared to my mother THE WITCH, and told her everything. She didn’t care, thinking he was better off since he was always so “spiritual.” God, to her, like the Acheri, worked in mysterious ways. It was all for the best and exactly what any brain dead Christian Scientist was bound to believe. She and Jesus deserved each other as far as I was concerned.
So I know from personal experience what a real witch is, what a real witch is capable of doing, and I can smell a fake a mile and a half away. And when people start talking about their fucking “house rules” for spirits, I only have one thought that comes to mind: House Rules are for Fools. And Disneyland witches.
My flesh and blood mother remains one of the most powerful witches I know, and she never read a single sentence about “how to” become a witch. And as for the term “spirit-keeping” I have only disgust for the term. Do you marry a woman and suddenly become a “wife-keeper?” Or a husband keeper? What are prisoners if not being kept by a jailer, who is termed a Jail Keeper. And who keeps bar if not a Bar Keeper? I could go on and on, but it is as bad as calling a black man or woman a nigger, which by such racial slurs falsely elevates and highlights the ignorance of the slanderer. Spirit murders happen ALL the time. Vampires and demons kill. They can kill children, adults and others by seemingly “natural causes” such as drowning. And yet these Walmart witches are arrogant enough to think you can control these supernatural forces with little more than fairy dust. You cannot unless you have an alliance, are bloodline born, and have the severest magical power to do so, which most do not possess. Or -unless you get a vessel or a spirit binding with nothing to control, then the fantasy and reality become one and the same. Ah, the Zen of controlling nothing. My mother is a supernaturally endowed witch, yet she was helpless to prevent the Acheri from drowning her own son. Or to prevent her other fourteen year old son from nearly spell-killing her.
Thus, I have a natural animosity to witches (who are not aligned with Lucifera), inbred in me since I was a child. I was never a witch. I was vampyre and I knew my mother was Lilith, and I loved her intensely. Lucifera and Lilith were always my superintendents, saving me countless times from the WITCH and her murderous Acheri girl. If my magic is powerful, and it is, it is due to my spiritual bloodline and the unintentional training I received from the Acheri throwing every trick in the book at me. She was my accidental tutor, showing me all the malefic ways of magic. When she’d try one malicious trick, Lilith or Lucifera would show me another to counter her. And I learned well. It was the school of hard magical knocks. I never learned a single spell from a book, never had any interest in the muck that passes for black magic. I either learned it on the fly and fast, then applied it, or I’d succumb to the Acheri’s death wish for me, knowing I was the one responsible for the snakebite.
So I lived in a house that was emotionally and spiritually divided into a war zone; but to pretend you can control demons and vampires and supernatural beings by “House Rules,” or worse -pretend they have no feelings, no emotions, no loves or hates or independent POWERS- is to project your own vapid, empty, worthless robotic, weak and idiotic wannabe witch self, onto them. Oh, but I know, these Walmart witches have been dealing in a rainbow of demons for decades, and some have a zillion followers. Not really. What they have is a zillion or more zombies being led by some two-bit witch who never had to repel a demon intent upon murdering them.
I’ve seen things witches themselves would find hard to believe. My stepfather once hit me in a fit of rage. Shortly thereafter a vampire cut his head in two, forcing his car to slide around a foggy bend where an eighteen wheeler was stopped, and perched at just the right angle for the rear step fender to cut his head nearly off and he died, bleeding out on the way to the hospital as the vampire drank deep. And good riddance. Hitting a hardened child vampire, are you crazy? Can I prove it was spirit-murder? Since I requested the action, it was either me, the vampire I used, or it was an accident. Two out of three ain’t bad. I ride the odds. Because I grew up hard, and I had to grow up fast. And that little murdering Acheri proved to be the best mentor in magic I could possibly have ever had. You don’t learn hardcore magic by having a guardian or joining a coven or spouting hoo-hah from a grimoire and staring at mystical sigils in the moonlight. When you’re life is on the line you don’t have a minute to spare for such mystical niceties. The guru is you and you better grab a gun. You learn by surviving a demon intent upon your death by becoming one. For me there was no other way and no other choice. And the way is solemn. Or was it fate? I was the favored son of Lilith who threw me against an Acheri to see if I’d survive. And to make sure my magic came alive. And for that I love her more than words can say. To ride on the wild side, the do or die side, well. . . how else shall we overcome, come what may? Jesus proved a fickle friend, the Devil was the one I married in the end.