From The Vault: Walpurgisnacht!


As you stand under the darkened sky tonight, you may hear the rushing of bird or bat wing overheard, or the momentary blotting out of a constellation or two as they take flight.

On this night though, those are neither bird nor bat, for tonight - the sky is full of witches.

The 30th day of April is no ordinary night, however. Tonight is Walpurgisnacht - witch's night.



For many of us, our ancestors fervently believed in the stereotypical witches of old. Legally defined as an individual who voluntarily entered into  a pact with the devil, flew on a broom stick - or, according to varied customs and geography, travelled on the backs of goats, wild cats and rather unfortunate men. A witch's business would be exclusively conducted during the hours when darkness reigned. This "business" would consist of killing and feasting on children. In between meals of Jr. cheeseburgers, tater tots and baby back ribs they took a moment or two to desecrate a few Christian symbols. 

It was unquestionably understood that witches lived among us, ever cunning and watchful.  The good Christian, or at least those wishing to appear as such, lived their lives at the mercy of this belief. One must be ever vigilant and abide by the many rules and rituals that helped to safeguard the good men and woman of God. Extra care and protections were even more necessary on Walpurgisnacht  - the night that belonged to the witch. 

But, how did witches' night come to be? No one is certain and the day has been influenced and molded by many countries, cultures and spiritual beliefs through the centuries.



Celts referred to this eve of May as Cet Samhain - the opposite of Samhain or Halloween, as April 30th falls exactly six months after Samhain. It is believed on these two nights the veil between the worlds separating the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen thins; allowing  devils, demons and witches to mingle openly among us as they travel to their meeting places. Many of them will be on their way to The Broken, the highest mountain peak in the Harz mountains, surrounded by a deep, dark and wild forest that is often shrouded in thick mists. 

May 1st, or Mayday, and All Soul's day, November 1st, are known as cross quarter days, as they roughly fall between the equinox and solstice - a crossroads of the year as it were. Since the days of ancient Greece it is Hecate, goddess of witchcraft, who stands guard at the cross roads. There an unwitting traveller was likely to encounter ghosts and mischievous elementals, mysterious lights and music, witness the celebratory cavorting of witches and other beasties and even be in danger of permanently loosing his shadow. 



The classic German book for children, "The Little Witch," provides a rundown of exactly which witches were among Walpurgisnacht celebrants - mountain witches, wood witches, mist witches, marsh witches, storm witches, wind witches, flower witches and herb witches.

In many european countries it is Holda who rules the skies this night, as she files over their Spring fields with a hoarde of unbaptized children. 

Or the sorceress Walburga, who hides among the newly growing things in the fields or even inside the grains of wheat themselves. 

In France there is Dame Blanche, accompanied by her entourage of cats and owls. This white lady haunts bridges, watery, thorn filled ditches and smaller waterways. Incur her wrath and she will push you over a cliff, adorn your flesh with thorns or simply allow her kitties to devour you. 






As previously mentioned there are many Springtime festivals that, throughout history, have contributed and influenced Walpurgisnacht. The Roman's Floralia - the Medieval forest battle waged between King Winter and the May Queen. As dawn approaches, the queen is triumphant and human sacrifices were burned. In later years, human like figures made from straw are thrown to the flames. Such rituals were practiced as a guarantee of wealth health and prosperity. To forego them would mean certain doom for you, your family, your livestock and crops.

Livestock were adorned with bouquets of herbs in hopes of repelling mischievous fairy folk. Exits and entryways were protected in a similar vein - sometimes with crosses fashioned from the magical rowan or hawthorn tree. 

In parts of Eastern Europe pitchforks of hay were set ablaze and waved about. In scotland great bonfires were set in each village, while everyone danced around the fire commanding the flames to rise high enough to bourn the witches flying overhead. 


A familiar and common practice the world over was noisemaking, to scare away evil spirits, demons and witches. These practices are still common everywhere from China with it's fireworks, North American's with our traditional trying of cans to a newlyweded couple's car, to Western Europe with the reveling and banging of pots and pans. These, along with pounding wooden boards on the ground, ringing church bell and the firing of guns.  



Homes should be protected against witchcraft and deviltry as well. All brooms should be hidden away on Walpurgisnacht, lest a witch come and take it from you. Of course, never allow a strange woman who knocks on your door in the house. Instead, keep her busy by commanding her to count every blade of grass beyond your doorstep before you grant entry. 

My own definition of a witch is a woman who wields wisdom, femininity, strength and knowledge - all qualities equaling power - a magic in and of itself. This Walpurgisnacht, I ask you to remember, honor and respect witches and their place in the world, in our imaginations and most importantly, in ourselves. 


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Artwork displayed is conceptual art from Disney, created for the film Fantasia.

Home Is Where I Want To Be, But I Guess I'm Already There...


A collective of curious tales from places I once called "home..."

Laurel Canyon: When I was about eleven I lived there, with my mother. She had purchased this house whose back fence was shared with that of Errol Flynn's old place. I never cared for the house. It had one of those odd living rooms no one is meant to enter unless there is some sort of "company." Everything was a glaring white, or glass to reflect the barren, sterile room. It was a large house with many bedrooms and a pool that flooded the house when it rained. It probably cost an absurd amount of money. We didn't live there long, maybe six months, maybe more, (a child's memory is not equipped to mark the passage of time as we "adults" do). This is because the owners came back. Apparently, some crafty gentlemen had made a business out of learning which large and expensive homes were a second or third house for someone who rarely used it. They would brake into the homes, remove the contents and sell it. Then they would sell the house. An interesting occupation, no doubt.

Echo Park: My father lived in an apartment here for awhile. I remember my father's girlfriend lighting the gas oven in this little apartment. I remember the oven exploding. In her face. There is something else that happened. Something I am on the fence about telling. I'll remain on the silent side, for now. There was a large hill at the end of the street and at the foot of the hill a stairway. The hill was barren and open and you could see the top of it from a living room window of the little apartment. Some nights, if you looked out the window, in the darkness of the hill you could see a large bonfire and people cavorting around it, many of them without clothing. I longed to climb the stairs of the hill on those nights for the witches would welcome me, I knew. I might even get invited to the faerie realm if I behaved well enough. My father agreed but did not permit me to find out. *sigh* Anyone up for a drive to Echo Park? 




Atwater Village/Los Feliz: There is no one home to play with today and I do not care to play indoors so I strap on my skates and traverse back and forth along the horse shoe of the cul de sac my house is in, over and over again. The houses on this side of the horse shoe overlook the LA River. Some sound and a vibration catch my attention. I lift my face skyward to see a small airplane plummeting, rapidly, it’s nose faces down and it is spiraling., a tail of smoke following behind., all of it so close, not only am I filled with fear but I wonder if I can touch it. When it hits the earth the ground moved, hard, under the wheels of my skates and I fall to the sidewalk. It lands about 150 feet from where I have fallen. The only casualty is the plane itself.

Green Valley (a suburb of Las Vegas) : It’s Vegas. Of course, I have many stories. This one vies for the creepiest. I live in an apartment complex on the second floor. Vegas is a transient town. A new phone book is issued every three months to keep up with the influx of new residents. My apartment building is no different. Two girls have moved into the apartment that is on the other side of my bedroom walls. They have been there for a few months now and are quiet. Of everyone I talk to, no one has seen them more than once, if at all. Their downstairs neighbor, announces one day that the girls came down to see her. They will be leaving for the long weekend, could the neighbors keep an eye out as there have been plenty of attempted break ins. I don’t know what time it is but it’s night. Bedtime. After having been asleep for perhaps, three hours I awake to sounds of animals. Chickens, maybe dogs or cats too…something that growls, that is for sure and there are more than one of them. They are also angry…really angry. The noises emanate from just behind my bedroom wall and I know what’s on the other side…the girl’s apartment. This can’t possibly be what I am hearing. I don’t strain to listen but I do strain to comprehend. I can hear occasional thuds against the wall, followed by howls or odd guttural noises.. The action, the sounds, they grow and intensify until…I know it’s insane but it sounds like they are literally tearing one another to pieces in there. I open my window and look to my immediate left where I can get a limited view of their windows. There are no lights on. The sounds stop. They don’t die out, they just end. I go back to bed wondering what the heck happened and am soon asleep again. By the end of the week the girls have moved out. The apartments have a small crew of three guys who handle maintenance. One of them is Alan, an older man probably in his late fifties. I visit him sometimes in the maintenance office. He’s funny and tells good stories. He teaches me how to make locks and sneaks cookie dough out of the freezer for me on summer days. I do not think he can read. I miss him. Alan informs me that the girls left, giving no notice or word. He opened the apartment earlier today. The walls in the room that share a wall with my bedroom wall has odd things painted on it, in black. Shapes and symbols he says. There is red stuff on the walls and the carpet. “Looks like blood,” he laughs. There were feathers around too. 




Once the place is fixed up new people move in. They have lived there for a few months by now. I am sitting across the way, on the lawn in front of my friend Jan’s apartment with some other friends. Me being, well, me , I see one of the guys coming down the stairs of the apartment and call out to him , “Hey! Does anything weird ever happen in your apartment?!!” He is surprised at the odd lawn girl, yelling at him with familiarity and no doubt finds the question especially interesting. He approaches me/us and asks…”Why?” I reply by asking him again, “Does anything weird ever happen in your apartment?” He tells me yes. Things disappear only to reappear in places they are not meant to be. He sometimes comes home to find things broken or cracked when it is seemingly impossible. He has wondered if the apartment is haunted. I tell him a story. 

I bet everyone has at least one story. Tag, you're it.

It Is Finished...Goodnight Harry

Houdini keeps coming up again and again for me the past couple weeks. Tonight, I'll be making an appearance at The Magic Castle for the Houdini Seance. Here's a bit of history about the Houdini seances:
Prior to his death, famed magician an
d self appointed spiritualist sheriff, Harry Houdini made a pact with his wife Bess. If it was at all possible to communicate after death whichever of them died first would make every effort to do so by communicating to the other from beyond the veil. The couple established a code to verify identity and harry had promised to unlock a pair of handcuffs among other things. 







Harry Houdini died on Halloween in 1926. Each year thereafter, Bess would hold a Halloween night seance in hopes of making contact with her beloved Harry. Alas, no messages she deemed legitimate came through.

The video posted below is a recording of the final official seance. After ten years of trying to contact him, Bess herself closed the seance saying, "It is finished. Goodnight, Harry." 







Kate Bush's tribute to Bess in her song, Houdini, is not to be overlooked.

I wait at the table, 
And hold hands with weeping strangers 
Wait for you to join the group 



Wisconsin Wednesdays

"Wisconsin Death Trip" Wednesdays. 

For the residents of Black River Falls in the late 1800's and early 1900's, it seems as though they were overtaken by collective madness or were, perhaps, unknowingly intaking poison that altered their ne
urological motherboards.

Local newspaper stories of the time were rife with murders, suicides, possessions, insanity...and insane acts. Here, death was part of daily life.

Wednesdays I'll feature various photographs and news from Michael Lesy's 1973 book.






N.H. Young "...brought home a bottle of whisky which he put up in the house near a bottle of carbolic acid which had been there for some time. He arose in the night, drank about 4 ounces at one swallow and lived about 4 minutes." 
~ Aug, 1910/County







"James McDonald and his wife were arrested in Eau Claire on the charge of having killed their own team of horses with were found in McDonald's barn with their throats cut about 2 weeks ago...it was supposed a lunatic had killed [them]. They were insured...The claim is made that the McDonalds wanted money."
December, 1908/State



"Miss Polly Nichols, aged 62 years, committed suicide in a most horrible manner...She became impressed with the idea that a small sore on her back was a cancer and that it would kill her. She went into the back yard, saturated herself with kerosene then touched a match to it." 


                                                                                   January 30, 1896/State