It was the greatest magic trick that my brother had ever performed. I watched in awe as he levitated off the ground, electricity crackling in his hands. As a child, he had always been fascinated by magic, thanks to the books our great-grandfather had given him. You see, my Great-grandfather was a magician back in his younger days, living in London and showing us how to do magic tricks and illusions. But for me, I didn’t care much about it, yet for my brother, he was focused like a hawk. Seeing these electrical sparks in his hair when he was a boy was pretty funny. As he grew up, he started to make his own path, showing me and mom the new tricks he learned. Now, at the age of 21, he was ready to go study abroad.
While he pursued the path of a magician, I delved into the world of witchcraft. It may sound unusual, but as the years went by, I became a wiccan while my little brother mastered the art of magic, exploring different places from the UK to Nepal and acquiring new tricks and abilities. Texting us about how he studied with old magicians who showed him the correct ways of handling magic. My heart was so happy for my little brother.
But! Let me share with you the reasons why my mother and I have embraced the path of witchcraft. We identify ourselves as Wiccans, although some may perceive us as witches. Our journey into witchcraft was born out of a deep connection to nature and a profound belief in the mystical energies that permeate our world. It is through witchcraft that we have found a means to tap into these forces and channel them for our purposes.
For me personally, witchcraft has become a way of life. I have dedicated myself to mastering every art and technique within the craft. It has transformed me, not just spiritually but also physically. My once beautiful auburn hair has darkened to black, and my complexion has taken on a paler hue. The changes are subtle, but they reflect the power and essence that flow through me.
As for my mother, she has always been drawn to the mystical and mysterious. Her fair skin, even paler than mine, seems to radiate an ethereal quality. Together, we have forged a deep bond with the natural world, honoring its cycles and connecting with the spirits that reside within it.
Witchcraft, to us, is not just about spells and potions. It is a way to commune with supernatural forces, to tap into our own inner power, and to manifest our desires in harmony with the universe. It is a sacred practice that honors the interconnectedness of all things and allows us to embrace our true nature.
So, you see, our path as witches is rooted in reverence for nature, a pursuit of spiritual growth, and a deep connection to the mystical energies that surround us. We have chosen to walk this path with open hearts and minds, embracing the changes it brings and seeking wisdom in every step we take.
When I told him about me and my studies, he was ecstatic to know about them. But I didn’t tell him the whole truth of the matter, wanting to wait until he arrived home. On the following day, he sent us a text message about his plane arriving in Portland in the next two days, not to be confused with Portland, Oregon, as we reside in Portland, Maine. And so we met him at Portland International Jetport.
There we waited; onlookers gazed upon us as we were wearing black dresses and gowns. Thinking as if we were some gothic cosplayers. But I didn’t care what they thought. My heart was set on watching my little brother.
“Look, there he is!” My eyes widened with excitement. Rushing to meet him with open arms.
My mom got to him before me. Her petite appearance jumped out at him, and her arms wrapped around him. Not letting him go, she gave him a bombardment of kisses. As her black lipstick marked his face.
“My boy, my boy, my boy, you’re not leaving my sight again,” my mother said, continuing to hold him tighter.
Mom, please, there are people watching us.” I watched his face blush.
“I don’t care” hearing her said it proudly.
It was kind of comical, my mom and I being taller than he is. She was 6’1, and I was 6’2. We were the tallest women in the airport. My little brother was only 5’6, something he inherited from my father, who was but 5 ‘7. And seeing her smothering him, with his head almost disappearing from her chest. I could imagine how hard my mom’s heart was pounding.
My brother was being shy and embarrassed by the tear-filled eyes as my mom was crying out the masquera on her face, and I did the same.
“What you think Mom could embarrass you Watch this.” I said it as I lunged at him. My heart was throbbing on his arm as I grabbed it. I didn’t care if people were looking at us. He means the world to me. And being the spitting image of our father, he was also the only thing I could remember about my dad, ever since he passed away a few years ago.
When he returned from his travels, I couldn’t contain my excitement. However, upon seeing me, he was taken aback.
“Angelica, what happened to you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
“What do you mean?” I replied, puzzled.
“You’re different,” he said, his eyes scanning me intently.
“Well, while you were away, I’ve been expanding my knowledge of witchcraft,” I confessed.
“What do you mean by ‘expanding’?” he inquired, worry creeping into his voice.
“I’ve ventured into black magic,” I stated with a mischievous grin.
“What? That’s dangerous!” he exclaimed, his worry evident.
“We chose to embrace black magic, dear brother, because it offered us a deeper understanding of the occult arts. While you pursued traditional magic, I found myself drawn to the mysteries and forbidden knowledge that black magic held.”
I craved power—the ability to bend the forces of the universe to my will. It was a path of exploration and self-discovery, seeking to unlock hidden potentials within ourselves. We wanted to go beyond the boundaries of conventional witchcraft and tap into the darker energies that exist in the world.
“My dear son, we chose to delve into the realms of black magic as a means of exploring the full spectrum of magical arts,” I said, watching my mother groom his hair.
“You should know that using this kind is not right,” she said, seeing him shake his head in disbelief. “Using such words will attract someone or something dangerous.”
We believed that by understanding and harnessing this darker side, we could gain greater mastery over all forms of magic. It was a daring choice, filled with risks, but we believed that with caution and knowledge, we could wield this power safely.
We never anticipated the consequences that would follow, but our intent was to expand our magical abilities and delve into the depths of our own potential.
My brother was genuinely concerned about my involvement with black magic, but I assured him that I knew what I was doing.
“There’s no need to worry, dear brother,” I reassured him. “Mother and I have been practicing it for some time now, and we’ve had success.”
At that moment, our mother entered the room, her eyes sparkling with excitement. My brother, though concerned, was happy for us. We decided to take him out for a meal to spend quality time together and show him that we had safely dabbled in black magic.
As we enjoyed our time together, my brother observed me with narrowed eyes and a serious expression. Nonetheless, he agreed to accompany us. We ventured into the woods, heading towards our family cabin, where it all began.
Stepping inside, my brother was taken aback by the sudden transformation. The living room was adorned with shelves full of books, scrolls, and jars—a testament to our journey in the world of magic.
I used chalk to draw a pentagram on the wooden floor and placed candles within its boundaries. My brother stood a few feet away, displaying understandable caution. But I was confident that all the knowledge and practice I had acquired would not fail me. We commenced a minor ritual in the living room, aiming to demonstrate that nothing untoward would occur. Mom read from her grimoire while I chanted the incantations.
However, to our utter surprise, the ground beneath us trembled as if an earthquake had shaken the very foundations of the house. Reacting swiftly, we jumped out of the pentagram just in time to witness it catch fire. My heart raced with fear, praying that the cabin wouldn’t be engulfed in flames. We frantically searched for a way out, all while a deep, disembodied voice emanated from the pentagram.
“What the fuck is happening?” I blurted it out, startled by the unexpected turn of events.
“Language, Angelica,” reprimanded my mother, her voice laced with admonishment.
“Where are these voices coming from?” I exclaimed. “This should not be happening!”
“If I were you, I’d stop this now,” my brother nervously suggested.
Before our eyes, a demon emerged from the fiery chaos. We were terrified and regretful, wondering how things had gone so terribly wrong. We had followed every instruction meticulously.
As the horror of the demon loomed before us, the cabin became consumed by flames. All the precious books we had collected over the years were devoured by the voracious fire. With panic coursing through our veins, we fled from the inferno, rushing headlong into the dark woods. The demon’s chilling roars echoed behind us, and I could hear disembodied voices taunting and threatening us with their malicious intent.
Amidst the chaos, a diabolical laughter pierced through the howling wind. I couldn’t help but glance back, and there it was—the demon gaining ground, its menacing form closing in. The torrential rain intensified, soaking us to the bone, as lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the terror that pursued us.
My mother and brother helped me to my feet, supporting me as we stumbled towards our car. My trembling body yearned for the safety of its shelter. However, when I looked back, I saw my brother standing at the edge of the trees. He turned his head, a haunting smile etched across his face. In an instant, the demon materialized before him from the thick vegetation, like a Tiger bursting out of the bushes.
Fear consumed me, my heart pounding faster than ever, and my mother stood beside me, her body trembling with both fear and regret for ever delving into that forbidden grimoire. She called out to my brother, her voice pleading and desperate, begging him to come to us.
“Fætansummit rodor res, Swilce êow wlite healsrefeðer nêalic ðês lêodgeard, Cweðan stellan me êower ýsl,” my brother spoke, uttering words in an ancient form of English—Anglo-Saxon.
“Is that Old English he’s speaking?” My mother murmured in bewilderment.
I recognized the language, having once studied linguistics in college. As he levitated off the ground, a surge of electricity coursed through his body, crackling with intensity. I watched in horror, my tears mixing with the rain cascading down my face.
“Now, time for my final magic trick,” as I heard my brother declare, his gaze fixed upon the tempestuous sky, where lightning danced above him.
We screamed, our voices pleading for him to return to the safety of the car. My heart thudded painfully against my chest as the demon taunted us, hurling profanities and threatening our very lives, screaming as he got ever closer.
My brother possessed a unique magic that intertwined with the very essence of electricity. As the demon drew near, his power surged, and he became a conduit for raw, electrifying energy.
I watched in awe and fear as sparks danced across his fingertips and arcs of power illuminated the sky. It was as if he had harnessed the power of lightning itself. In that moment, his mastery of magic transcended mere illusion.
He stood there, a beacon of electric power, facing the approaching darkness. My heart pounded as I begged him to return to safety, but with unwavering resolve, he unleashed his final trick. Fear was flowing through me as I yelled at him.
The demon Inched closer to my brother, and with a raised hand, he confronted the oncoming darkness. As he began to glow with an ethereal light, we witnessed a blinding flash, forcing us to shield our eyes.
In the blink of an eye, we regained our vision, and I staggered out of the car, my limbs weakened by grief. There, lying on the ground, were two charred bodies—a heap of ashes where the demon had stood and the heartbreaking sight of my brother, completely burned.
Agony consumed me as I clutched my chest, feeling the anguish threaten to tear my heart apart. I cried out in anguish, my sorrow echoing through the desolate woods. We were overwhelmed with disbelief, unable to comprehend that he was truly gone.
“My baby, come back to me. Please come back!” My mother wailed, her voice filled with raw anguish.
My brother… my beloved brother, saw his life extinguished, consumed by the very power he had commanded. It was a devastating price to pay for his extraordinary magic.
I had to be strong for her, comforting her as she sobbed uncontrollably, clinging to his lifeless form, desperately willing him to awaken and open his eyes. We called 911, and as the first responders arrived, they attributed his death to a lightning strike. But my mother and I knew the truth—we blamed ourselves for our journey into the forbidden realms of magic.
And now, haunted by the loss of my brother, I carry the burden of guilt and the unbearable pain of our ill-fated encounter. With heavy hearts and burdened souls, we carry the weight of our actions.
The tragic loss of my beloved brother was a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk within the realms of magic and the consequences of delving into forbidden arts.
The flames that consumed our cabin and the demon that tore through our lives served as a chilling testament to the fragility of our mortal existence.
In the aftermath of that fateful night, my mother and I found solace in each other’s arms. We mourned together, sharing our grief and remorse. The guilt gnawed at us, questioning our choices and tormenting us with what-ifs and regrets.
We would forever bear the scars of that horrifying experience, haunted by the echoes of the demon’s taunting and the memory of my brother’s charred remains.
We vowed to honor my brother’s memory by renouncing the dangerous paths we had once pursued.