Oh the road to En-dor is the oldest road
And the craziest road of all!
Straight it runs to the Witch’s abode,
As it did in the days of Saul,
And nothing has changed of the sorrow in store
For such as go down on the road to En-dor!
– Rudyard Kipling (written a year after the death of his son)
Witchcraft and the Bible. Interesting to consider the existence of the former in the ancient texts of the other. Reading The Witchraft Cult in Western Europe (Margaret Murray, 1921) today, I came across some text on the witch of Endor, a story mentioned in the Old Testament books of the Christian Bible (and the Jewish Torah). I thought I’d share some of this interesting information…
In the Hebrew Bible, the witch of Endor was a woman who, in the First Book of Samuel, summoned the spirit of the prophet, Samuel, at the demand of King Saul. Samuel was a little pissed off at having been “disturbed”from his eternal rest, and was also shocked at Saul’s going behind Gods back and seeking out a “witch” to comfort him in his anxiety about fighting the Philistines. Samuel chastised Saul—“you’re gonna lose everything and die tomorrow by the end of the day” Samuel told Saul…and he was right—
BUT that’s not what we want to focus on here.
Thank you to thechive.com, for sharing this absolutely epic diorama of Derry, Maine, USA—the haunted fictional town created by Stephen King, in which he set his novel IT, as well as parts of other stories (Dreamcatcher, Insomnia, Bag of Bones, 11/22/63–See: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derry_(Stephen_King)
The amazing piece of miniature art was created by Austrian literary artist, Kassiopeya Sachenwerkler. Fascinated by Stephen King’s IT, Sachenwerkler spent over 900 hours recreating the nostalgia and feeling of a 1950’s Derry, with clues and different pieces from the novel. Down below the streets of the town, she even recreated the sewer lair of “Pennywise” the clown that haunts the novel, the town, and its children.
All of this detail, captured in a 1958 radio cabinet! When it’s closed, it looks like a serene scene from the past. It’s only when you open the doors, that you find yourself caught in the “deadlights”.
This is some seriously stellar work!
The Testament of Magdalen Blair
In my third term at Newnham I was already Professor Blair’s favorite pupil. Later, he wasted a great deal of time praising my slight figure and my piquant face, with its big round grey eyes and their long black lashes; but the first attraction was my singular gift. Few men, and, I believe, no other women, could approach me in one of the most priceless qualifications for scientific study, the faculty of apprehending minute differences. My memory was poor, extraordinarily so; I had the utmost trouble to enter Cambridge at all. But I could adjust a micrometer better than either students or professor, and read a vernier with an accuracy to which none of them could even aspire. To this I added a faculty of subconscious calculation which was really uncanny. If I were engaged in keeping a solution between (say) 70 Degree and 80 Degrees I had no need to watch the thermometer. Automatically I became aware that the mercury was close to the limit, and would go over from my other work and adjust it without a thought.
More remarkable still, if any object were placed on my bench without my knowledge and then removed, I could, if asked within a few minutes, describe the object roughly, especially distinguishing the shape of its base and the degree of its opacity to heat and light. From these data I could make a pretty good guess at what the object was.
This faculty of mine was repeatedly tested, and always with success. Extreme sensitiveness to minute degrees of heat was its obvious cause.
I was also a singularly good thought-reader, even at this time. The other girls feared me absolutely. They need not have done so; I had neither ambition nor energy to make use of any of my powers. Even now, when I bring to mankind this message of a doom so appalling that at the age of twenty-four I am a shriveled, blasted, withered wreck, I am supremely weary, supremely indifferent.
I have the heart of a child and the consciousness of Satan, the lethargy of I know not what disease; and yet, thank —oh! there can be no God! —the resolution to warn mankind to follow my example, and then to explode a dynamite cartridge in my mouth.
In my third year at Newnham I spent four hours of every day at Professor Blair’s house. All other work was neglected, gone through mechanically, if at all. This came about gradually, as the result of an accident.
The chemical laboratory has two rooms, one small and capable of being darkened. On this occasion (the May term of my second year) this room was in use. It was the first week of June, and extremely fine. The door was shut. Within was a girl, alone, experimenting with the galvanometer.
I was absorbed in my own work. Quite without warning I looked up. “Quick!” said I, “Gladys is going to faint.” Every one in the room stared at me. I took a dozen steps towards the door, when the fall of a heavy body sent the laboratory into hysterics.
About Aleister Crowley
“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.”
The interesting thing about Aleister Crowley is that he really believed this. We don’t consider him a fiction writer (at least not primarily), but he went and did it for a while, because he could do whatever and whenever. So he wrote fiction, but only between 1908 and 1922, that’s merely fifteen years from his prolific and incredibly versatile mind. This was an era when he approached the literary world as a critic and writer, although at first quite reluctantly (“I had an instinctive feeling against prose; I had not appreciated its possibilities,” he wrote, later admitting that“the short story is one of the most delicate and powerful forms of expression”). He wasn’t only a writer, but he still made sure that his legacy includes a large collection of miscellaneous prose, now presented in a prestigious (and…
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What would you do if a piece of your furniture suddenly slid along the floor on its own in front of your eyes? Think for a moment and be honest with yourself. What would you actually do?
Maybe, after getting over the initial shock, you would shrug your shoulders, assume it must have had something to do with mice or an earthquake, and just hope it doesn’t happen again.
But it does happen again. And again. And all sorts of even odder things happen as well. Stones fall on your kitchen floor, as if they had come through the ceiling. Somebody – or something – starts banging on the wall. Things disappear and reappear somewhere else. Before long, you realise that it can’t be anything to do with earthquakes or mice, but must be something else, something wholly inexplicable and very frightening. You know these things can’t happen yet you also know they are happening.
Whatever you would do next, or like to think you would, I can tell you what people who have found themselves in this predicament have done.
Quite often, they have simply panicked. In 1978 a Birmingham family abandoned the house in which they had lived happily for eleven years, refusing to set foot in it again. A South London couple rushed out of their brand new council flat leaving their furniture and most of their belongings behind, and were never seen in the area again.
Others have appealed for help from neighbours, the police, priests, doctors and newspapers, but in vain. Sometimes, in fact, such appeals have only made things worse. As word spreads around that something spooky is going on in your house, you suddenly find your friends pointedly looking the other way when you pass them in the street. People give you funny looks in the local shops. Passers-by stop and stare at your house. You receive malicious phone calls and threatening letters. In short, your life is ruined. This has all happened.