Hi, everyone. I am a witch and a pagan. Some of you will imagine some crazy stuff in your head about witches. Either you will go full Hollywood in your minds, or some of you will think “do no harm” Wicca garbage that has been represented by people in these later years have tried to purport. I am neither.
I believe in affecting the physical world with my own willpower. Considering some of the weird stuff you have seen in your lives, can you disprove me? Not trying to start a fight, just explaining how I feel. There are many schools or disciplines where you can hang your hat. Mine deals with death.
I would see the dead as young as I can remember (I shared my first experience along time ago on here if you are curious) and it lead to my loss in Christian faith. But in witchcraft, I have found a home that allowed me to explore the realm of the dead. I have had many stories in the thirty or so years I have been dealing with the dead, and I want to share one with you. But I have to educate a little first, so indulge me for a second.
The dead are everywhere. Obviously there are more dead than alive, so why isnt this an experience we deal with everywhere we go? Because not alot of people can figure out the afterlife. Most dead, especially the recent dead, will never effect the physical world. As I said above, willpower affecting the physical world is needed for ghosts, hauntings, and other supernatural phenomena to work. Some take just time being dead (your average ghost that does something it always did in life) but the powerful, and scary ones usually start by realizing they are dead. Then you get your sentient ghosts that recognize you, poltergeists, demon possessions, and the like. The top tier of these are of two very serious subjects: sleep paralysis demons and shadow people.
The latter is the crux of our story today. There are levels of shadow people too. The weakest usually cannot harm a person, other than the aura of fear they exude. The average shadow person can touch or maul you, but cannot kill you…but that’s another lesson for another day. But the most dangerous, the most vile of shadow people have so much hatred in them aimed at a single person they can break the form of a shadow and take the form of that person. A doppelganger, a mimic, whatever you call them. I call them a Me Too. And these things can kill you, though it costs them their own identity. But they dont care.
I have seen only two of them in my forty-two years, and the second is this story. I was twenty-four at the time, and had been practicing for twelve years. I had been getting a reputation in the city I live amongst other pagans and deathseekers (people like ghost hunters) as a guy who could deal with the dead. So I met Brenda through a mutual friend.
Brenda was ten years older than me, and when I met her she was a mess. She had lost a good job, was couch surfing but kicked out everywhere she went after a week or so because things ended up missing and she had assaulted her benefactors. It wasnt till she met my friend Amy that someone noticed that this was supernatural.
As she lived with Amy, Amy’s jewelry would end up missing and one night Amy woke up to find Brenda punching her in the face, so she was going to kick her out…until she investigated further. Amy had a break in years ago, so she set up four cameras. She watched the video and noticed while Brenda was sleeping on her couch, she was also punching her in the face.
“Who hates you that isn’t alive?” I asked, after the introduction and explanation, and Brenda didn’t hesitate. She was married in her late twenties to a guy named Connor. He was jealous, possessive, and abusive. Connor died two years ago from a heart attack when she finally fought back. A year ago is when events like this started happening.
Which, sidenote, is amazing. Most people ask why ghosts always seem to be from hundreds of years ago, and I explained it a little above. To have the willpower to move from recent dead to a Me Too in a year is alot of hatred, and a very controlling personality. The last fight was finding out she cheated on him, so he really went into death wanting to destroy her.
So, I invited Brenda to my apartment for a few nights. She said that men got it worse than women, which is what I was counting on. I told her to meet up with me around dinnertime because I had to prepare.
I went home and prepared a trap bag. I will spare you details (unless asked for in message by one of you, should you need one) but its a mix of herbs and items that will make the bag an anchor that holds the spirit within. It took two hours but I felt I put enough into it to capture it. While what it was doing was an amazing amount of energy, Connor’s youth in death would be its downfall.
I greeted Brenda with dinner like we were old friends. Afterwards, I flirted with her a bit, to which she rebuffed at first, but I whispered for her to to play along. We didn’t get physical but we kept entertaining the idea for Connor’s ire. I invited her into my bed, and she agreed. We didnt get intimate, my falsely claiming to be too drunk. But we promised to do so in the morning when we woke up.
So, I am sure that Connor was good and angry, because the second it hit 3am, I was awoken by an icy hand across my throat. I opened my eyes, and sure enough Brenda was above me, choking me with one hand. Her other hand was next to me, choking Brenda. Connor was trying to end both of us. Later I learned that this was the first time Brenda had talked about being intimate with anyone, even if it was fake. Good thing because otherwise she and whoever would have been dead.
I wrestled with lack of oxygen, but finally reached under my pillow and pressed the bag against the Me Too’s chest. It howled, amping up fear in me as it hoped I would drop it. Five seconds passed, and the Me Too melted above us. We laid there, gasping for breath, holding each other.
Getting dressed, I put the trap bag in a briefcase and we left the house. I got directions from her, and we arrived at the cemetary Connor was buried in. No, I didn’t dig him up. Instead, I explained a little to the night security (it pays when dealing with the dead to know these guys) and borrowed a shovel. I dug a two foot deep hole next to his headstone and buried the bag. We were gone and at a pancake house as dawn hit.
Brenda went on without anymore issues. She got back on her feet, and lived an okay life. She died last year from a stroke, and we kept in touch until then. She was grateful.
And me? I just went on to more weird stuff. Tell you more later…