Witchcraft of Sermon Sisters Pt. 01

I never liked hot days, and the tenacity of this fall's weather left me practically stranded in a blazing desert. There was a time when the fall season resembled orange and letting go. As a little girl, I remember walking through the spectrum of nostalgic colors. The falling leaves danced with the wind, and I happily joined them in a period of honest innocence. The memories of my grandmother are vague, but her stories hold significance in my soul to this d ay.

Halloween was my favorite time of the year, meaning I could see who I was. A time being spooky and creepy meant nothing, and I could embrace what I saw in the mirror. I wore an invisible veil that disguised me from showing my wicked truth. I was a snarky witch, but I didn't know what that meant.

Throughout history, witches and warlocks have been some of the most oppressed groups because they were murdered against their will without evidence. It is a mere tragedy to be exiled, hanged, drowned, or burned at the stake for only living. The most ominous curse is living without true freedom. Without it, there isn't a place to call home. But I've lost my roots due to the forbidden nature of practicing magic. I am a descendant of witches, even though historians denied their powers of witchcraft. I know it to be true in my hollow heart.

I wander through the streets of this superficial town without an identity. My grandmother taught me everything she knew of my ancestors during the Salem Witch Trials. Unfortunately, she passed away when I was only a small child, but I am confident she left out what happened. I have always been drawn to my grandmother's stories of the powerful witches sacrificing everything, reverting to a more ancient tale of empowerment. I dreamed of casting spells to uplift this world of torrent and sin.

I remember the day like it was yesterday. My grandmother's breath was cold, and my body chilled with aches. She passed away in her night of sleep, a death I fathom to be peaceful. Or I've convinced myself, so I can fall asleep at night. We were happy and lived in New Orleans, a place I could call home. But after everything, my family needed a fresh start from the grief. Now, we live in Arizona in the boring town of Mesa. I attended a bland university, and it was difficult to make friends because I was obsessed with anything to do with the occult. While this town held very few interesting spots I enjoyed, my favorite place was the "Estrange," a bookstore for forbidden mysteries.

To cope with the loneliness, I lived in my imagination and only traveled through the pages of books, where my adventures came to fruition. I buried myself in the literature and drew to what I would never have--a place where I could make a difference in the world through the service of magic or knights. I was the heroine, and nobody could deport my desires.

The whole town was drenched in the spirit of ghostly madness, with Halloween being tomorrow. Even with my favorite holiday slowly approaching, I was still deemed a "freak" by most of the community. Another day meant another visit to my favorite spot in town. I walked into the quaint bookstore with the sound of a screaming woman alerting the bookstore owner.

"You know, I don't think I will ever get over your doorbell chime."

"Alice, it is so great to see you."

"Ms. Clark, why would that be? I am here almost every day."

"Because I have something special for you."

Ms. Clark handed me a dusty old book with a very fragile binding.

"What is this? It looks so old. "'Your Untold Truth.' What is this?"

"A book unlike anything in this land. Books have the story written by someone else. Usually, you are doomed to finish their ending. This is a time to tell your story."

Excitedly, I scrambled through the book only to be disappointed by blank, dusty pages.

I held it up dismissively, "This book only has blank pages."

"What did you expect, sweetie? No one is writing this story for you. Could you take it home? I think it might serve you well."

She placed a hand over her heart and held back tears.

Ms. Clark murmured, "Much as it served me in my time of being lost."

"How will this help?"

"It is an enchanted compass to control your journey. You have been stunned by books ever since I've known you. Take a chance on yourself."

There was a passion in her eyes I'd never seen before. Usually, she was a mousy, shy owner who could barely make eye contact with anyone. The few that would visit her bookstore would walk all over her. But I trusted her more than anyone in this town.

I looked at the front page of the book with a confused look, "OK, we will see what happens."

Her smile widened, "You may not understand at first, but that's OK. Sometimes, we don't know who we are."

I looked at her sincerely, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, child."

I left the store feeling like I'd never felt before. There was an eerie familiarity about everything. I looked back at the store again and could feel an intense sensation surrounding the store. A strange yet comforting nostalgia washed over me with the identity-less book in my hand. A whispering wind that felt friendly, I so distinctly recognize back in Massachusetts. I rushed home because it started to rain. I made it home and decided to explore this book.

I turned on a Halloween soundtrack I discovered on YouTube. I heard the lovemakings of Danny Elfman and other songs from iconic Halloween movies. As I lay on my bed, I inspected this book. As I opened it, I felt a warmth spread around me. The first page contained words that genuinely shocked me. Frantically, I flipped through the pages and read what it said. This didn't make any sense at all. I could have sworn it was blank in the shop. It was about me, but how? What unusual properties did this book hold? I read my life up to that point until it stopped, and pages were blank again.

It magically wrote: "Your blackened heart will be your undoing. Find the light within. Our guidance is needed. Let us in, Alice Sermon."

The lights went out as I read the freshly written words, and heavy rainfall fell. Immediately, the dark sky emitted white lightning and deafening thunder. Rich, dark rain like you couldn't imagine like judgment day was close. I could feel my house rumbling from the powerful storm. I had no idea where the storm came from, and I couldn't contain my terror. It came out of nowhere. I was frightened as I felt a dark cloud surrounding my house.

I tried to leave my room, but the door wouldn't budge. The candles in my room mysteriously lit on their own. I looked at my bed and saw the book bellowing a magical blue light with the sounds of demonic whispers. Everything in my mind told me to run, but my body felt possessed. I walked up to the book and held my hand out. The moment I touched the book, I blacked out.

I woke up in a quiet, dark forest.

I gasped and said, "Where the hell am I?"

I stood up and ran through the dark woods, unprotected by the silent chirpings of black gloaming. There wasn't a single sound, and it felt almost alien. The dead silence was a catastrophe. Mindlessly diving further into the forest, I was startled by a young woman's crying. Everything told me to keep walking ahead, but I couldn't abandon her.

"Hey, are you OK?"

She screamed, "Who are you?"

"My name is Alice."

She held out her cold hand, and a fire appeared.

"Oh my goodness, you are a witch?"

The girl looked at me confusingly, "Yes, I am. Why are you dressed like that?"

"What do you mean? Where are we? I just woke up in the forest."

"We are in the 'Hallow Forest.' It is near my hometown, Salem Village."

I felt a fragment of my fears slither through my body.

"Is it January 1692?"

"Yes, it is."

"What is your name?"

"My name is Abigail Williams."

In January 1692, a group of young women in Salem Village, Massachusetts, accused much of the town of witchcraft, leading to their ultimate ends. This conspiracy transpired way before the trials. Many religions believe the devil traveled through dark corridors and transferred his power to the hearts of vulnerable sicknesses. Examples have been documented of young women uttering words of blasphemy. They also were able to contort their bodies inhumanely. Most scholars have deemed this era as mass hysteria driven by religious fanatics wanting to control the sacred narrative.

I didn't know how to return home but I needed to be here. I was standing before the infamous Abigail Williams, the wench who accused innocent people of witchcraft. My eyes widened in disbelief. I couldn't believe what was happening. But I know in my heart witchcraft is unvarnished.

Abigail looked at me suspiciously and sternly, "Where are you from? Your attire is unorthodox, to say the least."

"I am not sure. I just woke up in this cold forest. I was running to find someone to help me."

She squinted her eyes and surveyed my body, "You must also be a witch. Witches tend to blackout, especially when first exposed to their powers."

"Maybe I am. I really don't know."

"Come with me. You can stay in my residence until all is OK," Abigail said. She kneeled by the roaring fire holding her hands together, "Ianuae residentiae invisibilis."

The burning fire lightly flickered and slowly upheaved into a wooden door. Flames dissipated as the door appeared. Abigail held my hand, and we walked through. I looked behind us to see the door disappear into the souls of crows traveling through the night. I was in awe of Abigail's powers. We materialized in the sight of her village, but there was something odd about the air. I had an ominous feeling that possessed me as I continued further.

Abigail showed me her place. It was a quaint house with sheer walls. We both sat on the floor, and she told me stories about the actual witches.

"Witches needed to do something. The rumors started in 1300 when the puritan leaders knew they were losing power. These puritans were making a mockery of witchcraft. It was a widespread hoax, and they knew people would believe them. They could never catch us, witches, because we had supernatural power; they couldn't even fathom with their regimented, oppressive beliefs. They accused many innocent people who only were conducting themselves oddly. There was nothing more to it. Now, witches had to be even more careful. The original 'Witches of Supreme' who began dabbling in the dark arts heard of these uprisings," she said. She got up and picked up an old, dusty alewife hat. "This is one of the original hats created by the witches to communicate. Unbeknownst to the world, a hidden bunker was used as their headquarters to intercommunicate. No one has ever seen it. Some say it is in the heavens or underground, close to the devil's heart. Also, if a witch were in danger, she would travel to the bunker and alert the other witches of her whereabouts by placing an alewife hat next to her door. The puritans found it and decided to use it as a weapon rather than a symbol of safety and prosperity. Several of them made more of these hats to use as a mockery to witches. Now they are meaningless, and anyone who owns one will be sentenced to death. So the witches brewed up a plan more significant than themselves. They would pass down their teachings to those they named the 'Apostles of Beatitude,' ones who could keep the magic and purity alive."

I was intrigued to learn about the authentic history of my upbringing, "And I am guessing you are one of these apostles?"

"You catch on fast for a neophyte. Yes, my family's lineage goes back to the Supremes. This is my chance to do something to preserve the legend."

"Is that why you plan on accusing most members of this place of witchcraft?"

"How did you know that was happening? I didn't tell you anything about that."

"I could sense it. Maybe I am a fortune teller." I knew I had to lie because Abigail would be on to me, and with her power, who knows what she would do to me.

"You seem to have a vibrant gift different from any witch I've seen. Granted, I haven't seen too many because we are nearly extinct."

I didn't look into her dead eyes, "I guess I have power."

"I could teach you what I know since you already seem to surpass my ability when I first learned the teachings."

"Wow. That would be amazing."

"But you are correct. I am accusing the radical puritans in this town of witchcraft to end their tyranny. It is time for witches to come out of the dark and take our place on the thrones. Will you help me, sister?"

"Of course I will."

Followed by that, Abigail taught me everything she knew about witchcraft. I was able to perform simple enchantments like making a bird appear from ash or creating a fire from thin air. Abigail told me I was making genuine, significant progress. I helped her accuse other pseudo-witches in town with her friends. It was fun to pretend to be possessed by the devil and identify who were the witches in town.

The night was upon us. Abigail and I plunged deeper into the abysmal forest, ready to execute something groundbreaking, as were her words.

"Now, we are making the most vengeful sacrifice you could make. I was in love with John Proctor when I was young, but he rejected me horribly. He called me gross and said he would never date someone like me. Now, I am a grown woman with a power he couldn't even imagine. He may have the physical ability of a successful farmer. Still, I own the metaphysical properties of a soul revived from the depths of purgatory."

I was honestly confused by Abigail's demeanor. She was very unhinged, more so than usual.

"What is the one thing we can do to attack John Proctor, Alice?"

"Accuse him of witchcraft?"

"Yes, but what else can we do to destroy his reputation?"

"Tell his wife he committed adultery?"

"No. The first thing I will do is shrink his genitals to the size of a child's. That will ruin whatever masculine power he has."

"Wow. That sounds exciting. Anything to get John back for rejecting you."

Abigail dropped to the floor and drew the Sigil of Baphomet in the dirt. Using the "Dagger of Resilience," I cut my palm. I squeezed my hand, releasing elegant blood to drip and fill the sigil.

"OK, we have everything we need to enact this wretched curse. I can't imagine how the town will react to John's little tiny pee-pee. It will be an epic showdown, and he will be devastated."

She threw black ashes over the fire, which screeched like a dragon and converted the red flames to a bright emerald. She took out a small cauldron and levitated it over the fire. She poured water from the "Sterile Lake" into the cauldron. It started boiling and steaming.

"Anyone who drinks from this lake will be barren for eternity. It has properties to control the sexual prowess and size of the victim in the incantation."

She then showered the cauldron with John's blood.

"You have no idea how hard it was to get this."

Lastly, she threw a very tiny acorn into the cauldron.

I asked her, "What do you need an acorn for?"

"It resembles the small size his penis will become after the spell is conjured."

She started repeating the magic words I could understand now after she taught me the ancient language of witches, "Spirit of the gods below, witches under the grave, and ghosts of the Sermon Sisters. Convict John Proctor of the same evils that his arrogance lay, and transform his most sensitive, private areas to the blackness of his heart."

Abigail's eyes turned sinisterly white, and she began hissing like a snake as the shadow-like smoke filled her lungs. The cauldron ascended and exploded. The spell's power was too much for her, and she flew and hit a tree. She was convulsing uncontrollably.

"Abigail, are you OK?"

Her body relaxed, and she returned to her usual self.

"Yes, I am fine. That is the most powerful spell I have ever used. I hope it doesn't have dire ramifications. Magic always comes with a price."

"Let me help you get home."

Abigail was too weak to summon the corridor, so we flew with my broomstick. The night sky was at peace, but as we came closer to the village, I couldn't help but feel worried for Abigail. Something wasn't right. When we arrived, we heard Elizabeth Proctor scream like she had witnessed a fatal murder.

Abigail whispered, "I guess she discovered her husband's shortcomings. Poor lady."

Everyone in the village came out frantically. Elizabeth held her mouth over her face screaming hysterically.

One of the villagers approached her and asked, "What is it, Elizabeth?"

She could barely speak, "It's John. He's bewitched."

"What happened?"

"He and I had been intimate since we were trying to make a child, but the longer we were doing it, the less I could feel of him. In the end, I couldn't feel him at all. His head completely turned around his entire body, soaring in mid-air. I think he succumbed to the dark forces. He's been influenced by Satan."

"You think he has been practicing witchcraft?"

"I would never have thought he did, but I can't get that disturbing image out of my head."

John came out and screamed; he didn't know what was happening.

He looked dismayed and shouted, "Elizabeth, how could you believe I would do something so horrible? This village is my family, and I would never betray god like that."

She yelled at him back, "Get away from me, you demon. The devil is in you. I can feel it."

"That is not true. Here, I will prove I have been framed, and someone performed a spell on me."

He took all his clothes off and was stark naked in front of the entire village of hundreds.

Everyone looked directly at his teeny tiny package and began cackling like witches themselves.

"Whoa, dude, having an extremely small penis doesn't absolve you of your crimes."

"This only further proves our point. You clearly couldn't handle the dark magic, and god punished you. He gave you the smallest penis in the world."

"That is one very tiny penis. It is similar to my newborn's. Yours can't be half an inch long and even less thick than a child's finger."

"He thought having a little pebble for a dick would convince us otherwise."

He was incredibly embarrassed, and we were both laughing at his fate.

"What are you all laughing at? A witch in this town has clearly hexed me."

This made everyone laugh harder. People gave him the small penis gesture to accentuate how tiny he was.

"Buddy, most of us can't even see it. Don't blame witchcraft on your teeny weenie package. It is smaller than my pinky."

"What a little acorn attached to his very unimpressive balls. No wonder poor Elizabeth could never get pregnant. He isn't big enough to reach her G-spot."

He looked at Elizabeth and said, "Tell them this wasn't what it always looked like."

She looked at everyone and said, "He speaks the truth. He used to have genitals that would drop your jaw from how large it was, I mean, you all may drop your jaw out of how tiny and micro it is, but you get the point."

They all looked at her unconvincingly.

She pointed at her husband's puny package and laughed loudly, "You all are crazy if you think I would be with someone with such a tiny penis. I mean, how pathetic do you think I am? I need to feel something in me, or so help me, the lord, our savior. I don't do tiny cocks."

He was so embarrassed and covered his little penis with both hands.

"Aww, he is so embarrassed by his pinky-like dicky wicky."

"You only need a little finger to cover the entire thing."

His wife grabbed his hands and held them behind his back, "Go on honey, show the village how foolish you look with your baby dick. If we were to have a kid, which I doubt now, he would be even bigger than you as a toddler. That would be so embarrassing for you," she said. She looked straight at John's little boy penis and said, "You aren't even a man anymore with your inconceivable dicklette. What can you even do if your ding-a-ling is so damn tiny? Perhaps you can make me laugh because that acorn weenie is hilarious. It is like a crow's small beak.