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Evil Halloween Poems | Evil Poems About Halloween

These Evil Halloween poems are examples of Evil poems about Halloween. These are the best examples of Evil Halloween poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Sonnet | |

The Grim Reaper Cometh

As All Hallows’ Eve approacheth my thoughts turneth to darkest dread,
Whilst in old age I harboureth a deep fear of seeing this one’s grim head;
Methinks the Grim Reaper cometh this time with his scythe in hand,
Which striketh maximum fear in me and maketh him feel quite so grand. 

Death and darkness doth pervade this spirit’s intent from that great beyond,
And bringeth one a chilling fear if one’s destiny be unending Hellspawn;
All Hallows’ Eve is the image I conjureth of my imminent departure,
But I hopeth for divine intervention and protection during this departure.

For I shan’t want to feel the fear and malediction of the Grim Reaper’s gaze,
As he eerily walketh in the deep mist to bringeth my soul into that darkest haze;
I prayeth then Oh Lord God, haveth an Angel escort me on my final trip beyond,
And spareth me the Grim Reaper’s terrifying visit and his image of Hellspawn.

I asketh thy divine power and all goodness in protecting my eternal spirit and soul,
And delivereth them to Heaven on All Hallows' Eve most sound and quite whole!

Amen!  Amen!  Amen! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - October 25, 2014
(Shakespearean Sonnet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Free verse | |


It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.



Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Free verse | |


For I am death, the personification of pure evil,
The grand godfather, of legions of unnumbered generations.
Behold thy disciples, baptized beneath my crimson waters,
Of blood.
Then reanimated as the living undead, in mine own image,
These are my forsaken children of the Night.
Kissed by the angel of death, I'm resurrections insurrection,
Spawned in hell a creature devoid of heart or soul, yet do I
Exist, biting at the exposed throat of humanity, leaving it
Drained completely dry.
Does not the white lily turn ember red, within this the
Valley of damnation.
My throne is a black coffin gilded in golden refinement,
Residing beneath the wooden lid, the beast sleeps,
Waiting to be embraced by the darkness of night.
Slowly, emerging from mine cryptic mausoleum,
I'm famished for the taste of the living essence
Of mankind.
A gentlemen reaper of the fallen, deeply do these
Fangs penetrate into the soft flesh of humanity,
Tis a dark blessing's supernatural gift, have I been 
So given, to take life then to restore it.
Raw beasts of instinct, clinging to the ethereal
Moon, that hangs above illuminating this,
Our unholy abyss.
Welcome to a shadow nation of the unseen,
Whose roots extend backwards, to an older country’s
Unconsecrated soil, called Transylvania. 
On mine legacies crest, a red dragon with talons
Extended reaches out, grappling for powers control.
For I am Dracula, born of royal blood in life,
But in death I am a king, let these castle walls
Bleed on forever, and the hounds of hell,
Sing outside my rod iron gates.
But beware mortal flesh if you so enter,
For I will enjoy every trespasser,
Whom dares to venture within my
Sacred territory, with a fiendish smile
Upon my hungering face.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Free verse | |


In the name of blood, for it is the source of life itself,
Plasma's crimson essence of liquid infusion, to the undead's
Pulsating heart.
Intravenously feeding cravings passion, through the carotid
Artery at the throat of humanity, thou'st not love, suffer
The pleasure indulge the pain, the out come shall be the same,
To be embraced by the black ebony arch angel of death,
Release thy darker side, let the instinctual behavior of the beast,
Know freedoms unshackling at last.
Become one of his sacred disciples, a creature of his dark dimension,
A kindred being, unto the legion of the night.
In the moon's elliptical light, shadows thus move from 
Left to right, shifting as transparent figures, phantoms of
Illusions, taking winged flight, soaring on the currents
Of air mingling with their ancestral brethren, the vampire bat.
Run does not the lone wolf, along the side path next to man,
As we do so walk amongst them, yet never attempting to belong.
Oh are we not the a shunned, the accursed, by a God known
For his forgiveness, to love all living things under
Heaven, but for us this mightiest of lords, turns
His gaze away, not acknowledging our existence.
Our we not his lost sheep, missing from his flock, why
Does not this Sheppard seek this black lamb’s wool,
Is it too coarse for weaving's wheel, as it spins thus
And is it not said that he created all life within his image.
Nay I pray this vamperic prayer, why has he abandon
Us, the darker of his creations.
Behold the unascended, begging to enter beyond the gates
Of light, children of the lost are we, seeking a father blind
To his responsibility.
Harvesting, by the basic instincts given unto us,
Taking only what we need to survive, for this he has turned
Against us, and thus taking the light of day with him.
So my father of damnation's hell, has offered salvation's
Darker domain as a sheltering harbor of comfort, I will not
Abstain his patronage.
For I am the ashunned, living by the moonlight's haunting glow,
Yet yearning to see one last horizons sunset, but the Holy Father,
Hears not my humble vamperic prayer.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Rhyme | |

The Bell House Tower

We seen a dim light upon top of the Bell House Tower
a dark shadow slipped by it in the midnight hour.

What was that? I asked my friend, I don't know
she said, but it sounded as if something has met
it's end.

The wind was blowing with such a strange howling
and all the city lights were off making it dark for
mysterious prowling.

A loud, maddening laughter rang through the air and
stood on our arms, every one of our hairs. We ran like
crazy down the alley way and never looked back until
the light of day.

The next morning a crowd had gathered at the Bell House
Tower and every one was shocked to see it was the bell
ringer who rung the bell, hour upon hour.

Not a sign made anyone sure of what happened, but we know
what we heard in the midnight hour, mad laughter from upon
top the Bell House Tower.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley

Details | Narrative | |

Halloween Eve Black Mass Incantation

We Pray In The Name of Our Father Lucifer, 
Which wert in Heaven:

Boil, Boil plague-ridden rats and toads in oil,
With a pair of gleaming snake eyes too.
Mix in fresh hen’s blood and a rabbit’s paw,
With a touch of horse dung and a lizard’s tail too.
Add six cups of Vitriol and a tablespoon of Goldwater.
Stew, Stew this Stygian alchemic brew for ne’r six hours
During Vespers for Our Midnight Black Mass on All Hallows’ Eve.
Serve this unholy sustenance to Our Coven at midnight,
As we pray in Great Lucifer’s name for his guidance
In defeating Jehovah’s forces of good and light.
We do this in the name of Great Lucifer—The Dark One.
We seek Blackness, Darkness, Degradation, and Negation—
As Our Coven has the power of His Power as granted
By His Unholiness when the full moon’s shadow
Crosses the face of the Earth. 
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 5, 2014) (Narrative Incantation poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Free verse | |


Wrought liquid metal, hued in the fire's of hell,
Pored into a castings shell, then hammered well,
By the angry fists of Satan himself, behold the skeleton key.
Accursed by evil's malevolent spell, one size fits all,
No locked doors can resist against its turnings twist,
Opening unto the supernatural's mystical power, and unlocking
Humanity's hidden passages and darkest corridors,
Leaving no secrets left unspoken or in silence.
Crimson blood spewing forth from corrupted key holes, oozing
Downwards unto the floor below, staining ancient
Tapestries of the royal gentries, and the upper classes refined.
Skull to the cross bones, it possesses a will of its own, 
A vile living entity, with its own consciousness.
Molding, reshaping itself at pleasures dark whim, 
Feasting on hatred's malice, then releasing it unto the world
Of men.
A twisted wanton thing, laughing with intentions cruelties,
And relishing in our agonies pain.
But Homo sapiens are a curious species, never realizing when to
Leave things well enough a lone.
We must know what lies beyond that forbidden
Door, where mankind is not allowed to trespass.
In these dark places of shadows ethereal, it rocks in a fetal 
Ball, a creature, waiting to be disturbed, go then seek what lurks therein,
If you dare, only the key knows what it really is, and it laughs,
At our ignorance, mocking us in the darkness.
Four it is the beast, chained and shackled within our worst
Nightmares, a fierce devilish demon, that pierces through the
Darkest of night, to hunt the innocent souls of wayward men.
You've have ventured to far, beyond thy safety zone of no return.
Four death lies in those reddened eyes that watch you within 
The darkness.
If you move it will attack, motions movements attracts
Attentions reactions, so remain frozen there is no safety's retreat
Thou'art trapped, again the key so laughs in the abyss,
Mocking at humanity's ignorance.
Shaking with anticipations glee, it begs the next
User to place it into the key hole, of the unknown, come along 
Now what can it hurt, just one little peek, let’s look beyond the crimson
Door, as the skeleton key heckles with unbridled happiness.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Free verse | |


Beware, out-Lander for thy tread on the sacred ground,
Of Louisiana, guarded by the ghosts of the Mississippi,
And here the dead tell know tails, of the living's returning,
After adventuring into the darkness of the night.
Rattle them bones, sister voodoo woman,
Black magic's high priestess, cast asunder the 
Ivory teeth of the white devils, across the streets
Of old New Orleans, behold the ancient city of lost souls.
Hidden beneath the glittering mask, of La Carnival,
It is the celebration of the dead, my friend, and faceless
Figures, do toss the beads of evil, to the lustful
Crowds gathering, for Mardi-Grad's extravaganza.
Phantom walkers, without names or emotions, spirit stalkers,
Roaming the old French quarter, seeking to catch the
Innocent traveler unaware and unprotected. 
A wall of realism and illusion, thin is the veils that divide
Light and darkness, sheer vaporous mist of transparency,
Existing in this the forgotten realm, where southern
Comfort invites the living to visit, but never allows them
To leave alive.
As the flickering rays of twilight fades, swallowed whole
By the spectral invaders, the creatures of light seek refuges,
Holy places, as the church bells ring, calling unto the innocent
Make heist to salvation's shelters of grace.
In he city's center, lays a dry leathery organ, sunken
And misshapen, feel the rising, the awakening of the
Heart of evil emerging, its veins arteries made of 
Cobble stones brick, thus are the webbing's of streets leading, 
Unto the deadened heart, metamorphosing it alive once more.
Slowly bloods spiritual essence rushes through
These ethereal veins, reaching this source most
Evil, it owns this city of lost souls, unto the tolling
Hour of dawns first rays of light, crossing the horizon.
Red bricked buildings lay side by side one 
Another, in a design of Gothic manipulation, feeding
Stations made cozy for the living and dead to reside
Within, as the crimson curtains blow freely from the 
Inside out, welcome my friends to the French quarters,
The threshold's crossing, between life and death.
Hear the low thumping of the Jamaican drum,
Mixed with African tongue, chanting in rhythm's
Echoing breeze, softly spoken in whispers are the spells
Of misfortune, a vow's crimson promise, written in blood
Long ago, a demonic pack made between the spiritual native
Inhabitance and the dark heart of the Cajun Bayou.
On bloods throne the Grim Reaper does so sit, next 
To his bride, the Queen known as Mrs. New Orleans,
Both laughing in tandem, with the musical chorus
In this requiem of the dammed.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Free verse | |


Is it simply just a wooden music box?
Charming the human soul, with its melodic undertone,
What a hypnotic melody it so plays, enticing the listener
With its delicate waltz' sweetly strumming, exposing it's
Mystical quality of the supernatural
By its spiritual essence attractant, I'm thus so memorized,
A ballerina dancing in step, with the spell cast upon me,
Thus do so I spin, on this stationary pedestal, unable to move
On my own volitional power of chose and free will, 
I've be consumed utterly,
By the haunting tune, compelling me do its evil bidding.
The notes grow slower, unwinding until perfectly still,
But I'm not in a daydreams nightmare, I suddenly realize 
This absurdity is reality, has become real.
I'm that tiny figure within a child's musical box,
Frozen in stances freeze, unable to cry
Out for help, for made of wax am I now.
Then the lid is gently shut upon me, and in the
Darkness a sadistic voice, heckles and mocks
Me, speaking in musical notes it sings a deadly
Lullaby, rest eternal my beauty for you belong
To me now.
I've become a play thing to be tormented,
Languishing within this jewelry box.
Caught in this land of giants, whom wind
These musical chimes, to join me as a 
Prisoner's collection, of a thief called music.
Whom orchestrates this symphony of the demonic?
I dare not ask, for the voices anger would
Ravish what little is left of my humanity,
So I smile, and I dance at its pleasures
Whim, but within my soul a flickering
Ray does burn still, and it is called hope.
The music screams in terror's disbelief,
For the giants house has caught in flames,
And now he is the prisoner captured
Within a wooden tinder box.
I do so smile as I myself melt away,
Listening to the voice begging for help,
But no one comes to aid such evil as he.
But I am free at last, and except death
As a comforting friend's reprieve,
From the beast, is it just a simple?
Wooden music box.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Rhyme | |

Edgar's ink

In homage to Mr Poe....

He dreamt a dream, 
a violent vignette 
a sorry scene, 
he could not forget

He rose from his rest
and bolted the bed,
but the visions he'd viewed
would not leave his head

He set to scribbling
those terrible thoughts,
thinking that would
be the release he sought

He penned a poem
of the saddest sorrow,
a vivid volume
of terrible tomorrows 

He wrote those words
in an ink of tears,
with a pen of pain,
on a sheaf of fears

He trusted those thoughts
would salve his soul
so he'd sleep soundly
in his hole

But when he woke
again next night,
his heart now had
a fearful fright 

He saw in waking
the very scene
that'd in his sleep
afore he'd seen

As he looked on
his horror grew
and as he watched
'twas then he knew

Now, in his room
the dream did dwell;
it truly held
him in its spell

This cursed vision
of fear and fright
now ruled his mind
both day and night

But then, he saw
the candle burn
and his fevered thoughts 
began to turn

He took the pages
that he did write 
and held them to
the candlelight

The words began 
to dance about
and leapt from the page
with a mournful shout
The pages then
burst into flames
and ran round him
chanting names

'Oh Lucifer,
and Belial'

Lilith and

The words whirled round
and round his head
as he lay quivering 
in his bed

And as he watched,
he came to see
his own body
floating free

He began to spin
at such a pace
no longer did
he know his place

He'd spun so fast
by this evil's throttle
he turned to liquid
and was quickly bottled

And now he waits,
he sits and thinks
of when another
will use that ink

To write a poem
of pity and pain,
so he may yet
be freed again

Copyright © David Brown

Details | Free verse | |

Halloween's Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh

Halloween’s Evil Visage Cometh now alive in this famous predestined time
Where dubious shadow shades run a riot as the ghastly ghosts of darkness,
Begin calling to all goblins, ghosts, ghouls, and witches in the graveyards;
To come alive—as black cats call out their signals to all lost souls seeking, 
Powerful black magic spells to aid the spirits of ancient alchemists as they
Brew their potions to dull the senses and conjure all the evil spirits on Earth.  

A falling silver-layer mist appears as these uncanny evil spirits invade our
Mortal plane and lost ghosts appear as hungry human skeletons looking for 
Sustenance and seem to be horrified at the stillness broken by a death-cold.
They scream as bloodless fingers touch cold shivers without a warm heart; 
And who knows for sure the sad and mournful song from an ancient grave,
As “The Undead” conjure ravenous demons seeking warm blood to feast on. 

Blended into the dust are the crows whose shadows as a “Dark Phantom,”
Begin to form and take his shape—yet fear not the potent occult light as
That special Halloween Eve super moon beams brilliant and bright making  
Its presence known as your destiny and destination are already decided as
The Ancient Alchemist beckons all of us to drink widely from his mystical
Chalice of Darkness as all malice is reconciled—the birds and beasts speak.
Life as we know it is offered upon the Demonic Alter as the Dark Phantom
Initiates all human sacrifices as a drool-dripping envy of all existence drops; 
And the lustful and vengeance-seeking Vampires scrape along the walls as
Sharp poisonous thorns begin tearing behind their secret inner-vision as the 
Deep-dark and dismally-damp curtains open and eclipse the radiant dawn as
An unpleasant and horrible pain visits and our heartbeats grow faint and stop.

An unending agony screams sonorously as a deafening silence falls over us. 
In this “Land of the Dead,” they make their own laws overwriting all limits,
As a vile, creeping, malevolent mist crawls down into the valley deep below; 
The Devil's Advocate slithers on in a nasty, vicious way under your own skin,
As shivering timbers of truth of a living being watches outside our bodies on 
This Halloween Eve as our individual dreams enter the Twilight Zone forever! 

The Devil’s clever wizards and witches concoct an ancient poisonous mixture,
As the boiling cauldron of demonically-enhanced soup is stewed with care and 
Fresh toads, spiders, worms, beetles, ticks, and tiny black snakes are added in.
This unholy and potent poisoned soup from centuries past is now blessed by
The Dark One—to take life from the living and give nourishment to the dead,
As the veil between The Living and The Dead disappears on Halloween Eve!   

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(October 1, 2015) (Free Verse)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Free verse | |


On the black stallion of death,
Its red crimson eyes pierce through the night,
And the hell's beast breathes its hot brazen breath
Blazing against the darkness's chilling air!
Does he ride, this phantom of the dead,
Wielding vengeance's sword.
With one hand on the hilt of the blade,
The other arm reaching outwardly,
One finger pointing at his intended victim!
Screaming with a blood curdling howl,
Give me your head vermin, or I'll cut
It off myself, than laughing at their fear!
Beneath crimson fire moon, this hooded and caped,
Death's stalker, hunts down the innocent
Taking that which he desires the most
Their essence of life!
Run to the bridge's safety salvation lies
At the other end beyond.
For these waters cleansing baptism,
Could swallow him whole.
The headless horsemen cannot cross,
These blessed waves of sanctuary,
Or banished is he, hell bound for eternity.
This highway man, rides devastation’s
By ways, of the unknown.
Seeking to restore mind and body,
This Hessian with aggression,
Yearns for justices revenge, to what
Ends bequeath, he cares not, the price
To be paid, in human flesh and blood.
On Saint Hollows Eve, the horsemen
Gallops, across dead-man’s boundary,
Awaiting the stray trespasser, to trip into
His well-hidden trap.
Than striking without mercy's sake,
With its sharpened edge, steel slices
The mortal flesh, taking his prize,
The headless horseman rides away
Into the night.
Yelling, I'll return next Hollows Eve, be thee
So warned, for your salivations sake alone,
Don't tread in Sleepy Hollow after dark!.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Free verse | |


On the streets of sin city, on the high roller's main drag,
Known as the Las Vegas Strip, a gentlemen phantom
Does stroll dressed in all black attire, striding forth with his golden Cain,
Flipping a silver chip into the air, and mocking at its power.
The devil's agent of deception is he, retaining a list of names
To collect upon, this gentlemen bandit of the forsaken.
He is here on the dark master’s behalf, ready to claim on
The I.O.U's signed by the greedy, and innocence fallen.
Quietly, moving amongst the crowded venues, he waits
Until his lord calls the name of the unlucky, to be reposed.
Dance do the neon lights, flashing towards pleasure dens of iniquity,
As ladies whom belong unto the night itself, offer their
Tokens of favor, for a working man's paycheck.
Black jacks twenty-one, cut those cards, and pass them out
The first timers dumb luck, will deliver him unto evil,
On this walkers dead man's list tonight.
Against the loaded dice, no soul is left unsanctified,
On the sacred green velvet altar, the wheel of fortune
Spins out of control, then hitting the baccarat tables
Wooden wall, someone screams snake eyes. 
Then all is lost, faded are the dreams of illusion, melting away
Into the harsh desert soil, along the road side leading to sin city.
Beneath the arid sandy duns, lies the grave yard
Of the unknown unidentified, a missing persons
Smorgasbord of the rich and infamous, lying right
Beside, the unreported poor man corpse.
This is the Grim Reapers play ground, taunting
And tormenting, those begging for redemptions
Last chance to gain a reprieves pardon.
But when tapped by his golden cain of death,
Your life's essence has wagered it's last bet,
To the winner goes the spoils, and now you
Belong unto the devil.
People say what happens in Vegas stays
There, and rightly so will he agree, with his blackened
Heart and soul, for after all is this not
The capital of hell on earth, known as
Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada.
The populations of the undead just added
Another’s names tally and the gentlemen
Dressed all in black, is sent a wandering
Again amongst the crowed streets, to claim
Another victim in the dark master’s wrath of


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Narrative | |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Four

Rosalia - The Evil Witch of the Harz, Part Four

Rosalia’s Date with Destiny and the Power of Light and Goodness
It is said that the Almighty Lord God works in very mysterious ways . . . 
meaning that even an all-powerful witch like Rosalia had her Achilles’ heel, and could lose her sheen of invincibility in certain instances which date back to the earliest clashes between Good and Evil at the outset of mankind.

With her perfect cover working in a local village Inn near the Brocken, Rosalia could plan, plot and scheme her witchcraft activities at will 
when meeting unsuspecting villagers and outside visitors alike—
giving her near-unlimited control in shaping the very course of events.
Fate would have it, however, that one event would challenge and alter Rosalia’s perfect cover forever . . . 

One day a young girl—named Aurelia, who was barely 15 years old,
visited local village relatives while traveling near the Brocken.
Aurelia, who was quite intelligent and mature for her age was also a 
close relative of the regional church Monseigneur, Wolfgang Augustus Hardenberg, and she was part of a traditional German catholic family. 

Aurelia was a rare child indeed, endowed with “Heavenly Eyes”
from her eternal soul at birth which gave her a unique, unusual gift 
of sensing and seeing the true nature of the men, women, and children
as they came into contact with her . . . without them realizing it. 

Aurelia, with this fantastic gift, was truly one of God’s children,
and the antithesis of Rosalia and the incarnate evil she represented.
Aurelia’s family was fully aware of God’s favor on their daughter
and all of the goodness and light she shared with them in the family.

Aurelia was also quick study; she was endowed with an unusual ability to absorb, understand and remember vast amounts of information and detail.
And while attending religious schools, she demonstrated an exceptional proclivity early on for learning and mastering classical foreign languages. 

Aurelia too was a centuries’ old soul like Rosalia, but whereas Rosalia embraced the Dark Side, and was the very manifestation of evil and debauchery; 
Aurelia embraced the Light and Goodness of the Almighty,
and was one of God’s angelic souls destined to do his bidding in the continuous titanic struggle against Lucifer and his Dark World minions;
she was truly a “Princess of the Light” and a “Precious Child of God.”   

With this in mind . . .
On visiting the local village Inn with relatives one afternoon for lunch,
Aurelia immediately felt the presence of a specter of evil and foreboding.
And this specter was, of course, none other than . . . Rosalia.
Beyond her perceptible sensing and feeling of pure evil,
Aurelia was able to make momentary visual contact with Rosalia,
and with her God-given heavenly vision glanced the true image of Rosalia,
which filled her at once with undeniable dread, fright and revulsion
at the terrible visage cast by Rosalia among her unsuspecting relatives.

Aurelia was in luck since Rosalia felt no reason to suspect her, thus paying no attention to the young girl with her relatives.

Aurelia’s God-given power shielded her from Rosalia’s attention,
at least for now . . .  
From the encounter at the village Inn, Aurelia knew that some of her relatives were already marked by the witch.

After the visit to the Inn, Aurelia immediately informed her unsuspecting parents of the evil incarnate she sensed and discovered at the Inn.

Time was fleeting and quick action would be required to corroborate this event. It was already Monday, and on the upcoming Saturday, which was All Hallows’ Eve on October 31st, Rosalia’s Coven was set to conduct The Black Witches’ Sabbath in celebration of the Devil himself. This evil Sabbath event was done twice a year with the one preceding All Hallows’ Eve occurring on April 30th on the Great Sabbath of Walpurgis Nacht.

The preparation of the Black Witches’ Sabbath would include black rituals and both human and animal sacrifices with the invocation of the Vespers’ Prayer Preparation for Black Mass, followed by a 24-hour period of preparation by the Coven for its next attack on the local villagers.

Riding horseback to the Cloister Marten in the Harz some 20 kilometers away, Aurelia’s father traveled there with two close trusted friends to inform Monseigneur Hardenberg of Aurelia’s unexpected discovery of the infamous and evil Black Witch of the Harz known as Rosalia. 

On hearing of the discovery of Rosalia and her masquerade in human form,
the Monseigneur instinctively knew that immediate action was required, 
and that the very lives of the villagers and their eternal souls were in the greatest of peril.

An immediate meeting with his council of priests at Cloister Marten was in order; there was now a chance that Rosalia and her Coven could be finally 
destroyed forever. This chance event had been a long time coming and the Monseigneur knew that they must not fail.

The Monseigneur also knew that God’s avengers must act smartly . . .
Rosalia was a virulent evil force not to be taken lightly nor underestimated.
Many priests and their parishioners had already succumbed to the Devil 
and his Dark World of eternal damnation, courtesy of Rosalia.

The Monseigneur would need Aurelia’s help in finding Rosalia’s Coven,
and he realized that he and his priests must prepare for the greatest test of their faith, as they contemplated their plan to destroy Rosalia and her spawn of evil.

The Monseigneur understood all too well that to face down Rosalia was almost the same as facing the very Devil himself.

The Monseigneur and his priests must be swift in their vengeance against Rosalia in the name of the Lord, and that a second chance may not be in the offing.

End of Part Four

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part One

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz

This is a rather grim epic poetic tale of Rosalia, a 16th century German witch who terrorized villages, destroyed the lives and corrupted the souls of many people throughout the countryside in the Harz Mountains in Germany. 

Rosalia focused her evil and malicious activities at the outset in a land area directly below the Brocken summit in the Harz. Over the time and extent of her macabre reign as a Black Witch and a Master of the Black Arts, Rosalia began to expand her campaign of evil among other provincial areas of the Harz beyond the Brocken. Her periodic nightly raids on villages in the Harz are part of the continuing legends of witchcraft and sorcery that still pervade the local culture there to this very day. 

Rosalia in modern day parlance was the “real deal” when it came to wreaking havoc and pandemonium among mankind. That is, she was truly a redoubtable force of evil and unmitigated malevolence, not to be toyed with nor underestimated by anyone seeking to confront her. Rosalia was bent on fulfilling Lucifer’s principal goals: destroying the peace and harmony of mankind; disrupting the holy balance of the relationship between Man and God; corrupting the eternal souls of men, women, and children; extinguishing the light in the world; and bringing mankind into darkness and despair.       

Rosalia’s Entrée to the 16th Century
Rosalia was born and later raised as a child in a Witches’ coven.
Although Rosalia was born in the 16th century again in human form, 
she was, in reality, a reincarnated evil soul many centuries old.
Her Hell-spawned soul was seared in Hell’s very own oven, 
and like the Gorgon Medusa herself—she was a creature gone wild. 

Rosalia indeed was also an intense and a very precocious child: 
who was imbued with uncanny and unearthly powers,
who was “left-handed” and obviously “sinister,”
who possessed a keen and piercing intellect,
and had scaurous, strong ankles and a schnauzkrampf-like mouth,
and was fisslingual like the Devil—with a “forked tongue,” 
who had a horrifying and monstrous Medusa-like appearance
at a glance—stark and menacing, frightening and rapacious, 
with jet black stringy, snake-like hair and black teeth,
with dark probing eyes and exceptional sensory perception,
and a bulbous, bile-ridden black wart . . . 
protruding on the lower left side of her nose close to the tip.

Rosalia and Black Magic were one in the same, and
her craggy appearance and coarse demeanor—black wart and all,
her deceptive powers, and her utter malevolence toward man— 
all constituting a terrifying reflection of pure evil and foreboding, 
and all the while illuminating mankind’s quizzical wonderment 
at the power of die Hexerei.

Rosalia was aptly known and greatly feared as the “Queen of Walpurgis Nacht,” “The Devil’s Concubine,” and “The Queen of Darkness.”

Rosalia delighted in being “The Devil’s Concubine” by name,
for her liaisons with Lucifer made her omnipotent and devoutly unholy.
Her unbridled sense of power and invincibility was this Black Witch’s aim,
for this fed her conviction to do vicious and evil things—to be unholy.

Rosalia’s Power and Relationship to the Devil
It is said that Rosalia’s power of Witchcraft and the Black Arts
derived from her worship to and direct relationship with the Devil himself,
thus making her virtually omnipotent, all-powerful.

As the most favored disciple and mistress of the Dark One
Rosalia acutely honed her pagan skills in the Black Arts 
to the highest rapture while using her Gorgon-grimaced face
to strike fear in all who resisted her using a withering and wicked 
mesmerizing gaze with which she paralyzed her victims with unending
torment, agony, and fear.

On occasion she would extract the putrid bile liquid from her Black Wart
and used it to poison and corrupt the life essence of her victims—if they resisted.

The utter revulsion and palpable fear felt by Rosalia’s victims
was practically indescribable given its horrible nature. 

Both her power and her conviction to do vicious evil things 
appeared to be wrapped in a cloak of seeming invincibility.

Lucifer did exceedingly well in his choice of Rosalia as his most favored disciple and mistress—for she savored his ferocious favor and unleashed without a conscience a torrent of evil doings and unholy machinations on those unlucky enough to cross her path.  

To know Rosalia was to realize a gorgonesque damnation forever 
while she pursued the unholy glorification of her master—Lucifer.
In time Rosalia was granted the power over all hell-spawned demons forever to support and consummate her unholy activities in the name of Lucifer.

End of Part One
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Eight

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Eight

On the next morn’ at dawn the sentence of hanging until dead was carried out on Rosalia. Her body hanged from the gallows’ rope for three days and then was consumed, as pronounced, in the hottest of fires until only fine burnt ashes remained. 

One interesting thing occurred though at the conclusion to all of this:  no one seems to know whatever happened to those “fine burnt ashes” of Rosalia. It is rumored that even in the Harz today in this 21st century that no one knows where her ashes ultimately ended up at. Were they buried in an urn?  Disposed of in a river?  Or did one of her old disciples who escaped Archangel Gabriel’s retribution manage to scoop them up for some future Black Mass resurrection ceremony?  The rumors surrounding this anomaly still abound today and have never fully been explained. Time will tell.

Rosalia’s final curse on the church court and all who were in attendance at that time, is still in force today. Who knows if this is really the case?  It is said, however, that the power and spells and curses of old Witchcraft never truly die, and that they will be with mankind as part of the continuing struggle between Good and Evil until the end of time.

Rosalia—the Evil Black Witch of the Harz, may indeed be back one day in a more modern form to wreak her festering revenge on those present day relatives of those early familial forbearers who condemned her to death in the 16th century. The Devil may have sacrificed his most loyal witch and favorite mistress in the struggle with Archangel Gabriel in the 16th century in order to plan an even greater cataclysmic clash with the Lord God in a later century. Given the perpetually evil nature of Rosalia’s lost soul and her strict condemnation of God, she may well be reincarnated one day again to serve her Master’s bidding. She would want that to happen. Perhaps it already has. 

And so, if one day you should find yourself and your loved ones on a visit to the Harz, and you’re walking along very contently and comfortably and are basking in the sunshine of the beautiful and majestic deep forested area in and around the Brocken summit—Beware!!!—if you should suddenly see an immediate darkening of the clouds in the sky while also feverishly feeling and sensing the bone cold chill of a very frigid breeze and perhaps begin hearing and feeling the sonorous swooshing vibration of Rosalia’s broom as she flies very fast on it through the air close by—and then, you all of a sudden begin hearing that sneering, snickering, taunting, terrifying, and tormenting sound of Rosalia and her craggy and frightening old evil voice— IF THIS BE SO!!!—it may be too late for you and your loved ones. 

This is THE END of the epic poetic tale of Rosalia—the Evil Black Witch of the Harz.  Or is it???

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Seven

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Seven

The Final Days:  Rosalia’s Death and Destruction
In the wake of such evil, debauchery and depravity what can be said now in the case of Rosalia?

Now in her mortal form the old black witch no longer had the unspeakable power of hell-spawned evil at her instant command. In spite of the victory of the power of goodness and light and the attenuation, if not the dissolution of witchcraft in the Harz, the memory of who Rosalia was and what she had done could now begin to be eased somewhat from the minds of local people and the clergy. But the memory of Rosalia and her evil could never be forgotten.  How could it be otherwise?

After three months of confinement in the dungeon at the Burg Worlerede, a fortress castle, very near to Cloister Marten in the Harz, Rosalia was eventually tried and convicted in a special church court convened at this castle to try cases concerning witchcraft and sorcery, which were beyond the normal jurisdiction of civil courts. Monseigneur Wolfgang Augustus Hardenberg of Cloister Marten was the residing church chief judge with four priests in his assistance serving as subordinate church judges.  One civil magistrate judge from the local Harz provincial government participated, in an advisory capacity, with the five church judges in these special judicial proceedings against Rosalia.

Everyone in attendance at the witchcraft trial of Rosalia knew what the outcome would be. With that said, the testimony of her victims on public record dragged on for several weeks, to include the final interrogation and confession of witchcraft and supreme evil doings by Rosalia herself.

In her rebuttal statement to the assembled church tribunal, Rosalia actually gained some of her old fire back as she spoke to the group—in a taunting and derisive manner. Rosalia showed no remorse whatsoever for what she had done and perpetrated upon others. She still renounced the Almighty Lord God and did not ask for his mercy and forgiveness. Her love and passion for being and existence was still with her god, Lucifer, who had forsaken her at last in her hour of need during All Hallows’ Eve and the Black Witches’ Sabbath. 

As easy as it might have been at that moment to pity such a pathetic and revolting creature, Rosalia’s hurtful words in complete defiance of God and her taunting mockery and snickering at the victims of her black deeds were beyond the pale of any shred or strand of human decency.

At the conclusion of Rosalia’s rebuttal statement, Monseigneur Hardenberg announced the verdict and sentence of the special church court:

“Rosalia, Black Witch of the Harz and Purveyor of Lucifer’s Evil on this Earth, you are hereby adjudged by this special court of being guilty of the practice of Witchcraft and Sorcery, and the murder of untold numbers victims over the centuries to this present one, and for the malicious corruption of your victims’ souls as they died in torment and faced the reality and agony of eternal damnation. And your acts even against young children and babies are so unspeakable and abominable that they readily defy any iota of rational understanding in our human society here on Earth. All these actions reflect your absolute depravity and lack of regard for human life, and they defy directly the teachings of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. All of your transgressions have been entered into the final record by this assembled court.”

“As a priest and a man of the cloth, I would normally ask the Almighty Lord God to have pity on you and your soul. But you have no mortal soul since you have been in very long service to Satan himself. Once more, you have committed the ultimate sacrilege by renouncing the Almighty Lord God yourself.”

“Therefore, there can be no plea of mercy or divine forgiveness rendered for you by this court on your behalf.  Your final fate and disposition beyond the reach of this court lies ultimately with your master—Satan.”

“It is therefore the judgment of this court that you Rosalia—Black Witch of the Harz—be taken on the next morn’ at dawn to the gallows specially constructed here at Worlerede and this is where you shall be hanged by the neck until pronounced dead, and then your mortal body shall continue to hang for three days on public display, for all to see, and then your mortal body shall be burned by fire while it is still in its hanging position. Your mortal body shall burn until it disintegrates into nothing but fine burnt ashes.”

“In God’s name, this is so adjudged and it shall be done!”
As Monseigneur Hardenberg finished his verdict and sentencing, before Rosalia was to be bound and shackled for her departure from the court, he asked her if she had any final words for the court.

At that very moment the wily old hag became extraordinarily animated, and in a wild-eyed uncontrollable manner, jumped high into the air with an energy she had not possessed in a while and made this very provocative pronouncement to the Monseigneur and all concerned:

“Monseigneur you may have me hanged and burned into nothingness, but I shall once again triumph with Lucifer’s will and power behind me for I lay eternally in his bed and seek not Jehovah’s forgiveness and the rapture of Heaven. My Master will restore me once again and resurrect me to return and execute his evil deeds once again here on Earth. It is I who renounce you and all the people assembled in this court. I renounce what all of you stand for. I curse all of you forever, and I shall be there at the very Gates of Hell awaiting the day when I can greet all of and condemn you to eternal hell fire and damnation on my Master’s behalf. A curse of death and eternal damnation be upon you all, and all of the relatives who follow you for future generations to come!”

End of Part Seven

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Six

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Six

Archangel Gabriel and His Force of Heavenly Angels
Upon seeing the radiant, almost blinding light as it lit up even the darkest corners of the forested area, Monseigneur Hardenberg and his party dropped to their knees and in earnest prayer thanked the Lord God for making his presence known to them.

In the distance, the search party could see a large group of light beings with halos. Aurelia’s sensing proved correct. This was the Archangel Gabriel with his trusted group of angels. Perceptively now, Aurelia could both sense and see the entrance to Rosalia’s cave beyond a thick grouping of trees in a small clearing. Archangel Gabriel was pointing the way to them to the cave.

Once more, Aurelia also knew now that Rosalia, despite her vaunted powers of darkness, was actually clueless to the arrival of the angels in the vicinity of her lair. Under God’s power, Archangel Gabriel was shielding and protecting Monseigneur Hardenberg’s search party from detection by Rosalia and her witches.

As it turned out, the search party was there in reality to help and assist the angels as they could when people who were prisoners of Rosalia were freed from her control. The real battle though that was commencing was at the heavenly level now. Archangel Gabriel with his angelic group descended quickly now into the cave immediately followed by Aurelia and Monseigneur Hardenberg and his group . . . The element of surprise was theirs. 

It was now after 6:00 pm and the final preparation for the Black Mass celebration for the Black Witches’ Sabbath to occur at midnight was underway. The key was for the angels to strike decisively before the appearance of Lucifer at midnight.  If they had to confront Lucifer directly, Archangel Gabriel knew he needed God’s direct intervention.

The full force and radiance of the angelic heavenly light permeated the deepest and darkest reaches of Rosalia’s cavern. The witches and the lost soul minions of Rosalia were totally surprised by the sheer light and power of the angelic force. Those who fought and resisted—and there were many—were immediate destroyed. There was still a small grouping of Rosalia’s witches and vassals remaining that immediately surrendered to the superior force of angels and the supreme will of the Almighty Lord God. The surrendering group pleaded for mercy and begged forgiveness and recanted their allegiance to both Rosalia and Lucifer—and then turned to the Almighty Lord God for their ultimate salvation.  It was indeed a truly remarkable sight to behold.  

In the confusion which ensued following the success of the angelic invasion and the demonic capitulation, Rosalia was nowhere to be found. It looked as though she had literally vanished from the face of the Earth. But this proved to be not the case. During the moment of surprise when the angels attacked her dark forces, Rosalia was caught completely off guard and for a moment froze in fear and indecision.  A real first for her. For the very first time, her ability to summon the forces of evil was not possible for her. Her only way out was to turn herself into a Black Cat, a favored creature of hers.

Rosalia’s deception did not last long.  Aurelia alerted everyone to the evil presence of the Black Cat. She knew at once that the Black Cat was indeed Rosalia. The deception was up.  For once, Rosalia could no longer hide. And it looked like even Lucifer had forsaken his prized favored witch and mistress.  Perhaps this could be his punishment for her failure to effect the ritual of the Black Mass as planned and the important celebration of the Black Witches’ Sabbath.  

In the Lord God’s name, and by all of His Power and His Glory, Archangel Gabriel stripped Rosalia of all her magical and other worldly evil powers, to include her spirit of immortality.  With this done, she was now a very old mortal women who looked both disheveled and haggard, but was still quite hideous to look upon by all concerned. Rosalia was released to Monseigneur Hardenberg and his priests for confinement, trial, and eventual execution. 

End of Part Six

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Five

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Five

The Monseigneur knew that they must be successful in this venture as the “Lord’s Madmen” or face the very real possibility of eternal damnation, if they should fail. They had no choice but to risk all in this endeavor. To do nothing and to retreat back to the safe confines of the monastery would consign innocent men, women, and children to a fate worse than death itself—they would be in the hands of the Devil forever.  

God’s Reckoning and Vengeance and the Planned Destruction of Rosalia
Arriving at the village below the Brocken by the early hours on Friday morning, October 30th, the Monseigneur and his priests met with Aurelia and her parents in a chamber room near the alter of the local village church under a marble cast visage of Jesus Christ himself.

They had the rest of the day on Friday and a partial day Saturday, October 31st until 6:00 pm to ready themselves for an all-out assault on Rosalia’s Coven in a deep cave located some 100 meters down from the Brocken summit. Being able to actually find Rosalia’s cave in time was a momentous task unto itself—and might even require divine intervention. Rosalia would quite assuredly conceal and mask its entrance to the uttermost.  

The risk of discovery of their planning efforts by Rosalia and her Coven was now greater than ever.

It was now time for Aurelia to invoke her direct prayer to the Lord,
to seek His blessing and His protection for everyone involved in supporting
the Monseigneur’s efforts in discovering the location of Rosalia’s Coven,
and for ensuring the triumph of the power of light and goodness. 

Aurelia kneeling before the church altar began her prayer to the Lord:

To our Almighty and Most Merciful Lord God, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost . . . 
It is with the greatest of humility and respect that we beseech thy support
in confronting and destroying the Black Witch Rosalia and her Hell Spawn
Minions who serve thy fallen angel known as “Lucifer.”

Oh Lord please hear us in this hour of maximum danger, as the very lives and the very souls of many innocent people are at stake in this great  struggle between good and evil which has been with mankind since Adam and Eve walked the face of the Earth.

We are, Oh Lord, very aware of the immense burdens you carry in the Universe and that mankind is only one of your many divine creations.  
Mankind, after all, was created in thine image. An enormous challenge awaits us from the forces of darkness and pure evil here on Earth in the Harz.  In the name of Jesus Christ—your only son, we earnestly pray for your divine intervention and timely guidance as we must soon confront Rosalia and her minions of evil who worship only Lucifer and the world of darkness at his command.

We thank you for listening to our prayer of urgent need Most Merciful Lord God.  Although our group of church followers will soon be walking through the shadow of night and the valley of death itself, we know that Thou Shall Be With Us, and will give us thine power and strength in overcoming and destroying the forces of evil and darkness.  

AMEN . . . AMEN . . . AMEN, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

Aurelia’s Prayer to God is Answered
At the conclusion of Aurelia’s prayer, Monseigneur Hardenberg and his group of priests met with some trusted local villagers who knew the landscape around the Brocken summit very well. Aurelia had asked to be part of the Monseigneur’s group. Although a young girl, she was a very special young girl, and given the circumstances in spite of the risks the group needed all the help it could find. Aurelia’s help was invaluable. 

The key action was to get the search process underway soonest to find an aperture in and around the Brocken that might yield the entrance to Rosalia’s lair. It was already late Friday morning and the search must commence immediately after the Monseigneur and his party had a chance to rest awhile, for by 6:00 pm on Saturday, the powers of darkness would begin gathering and massing an unconscionable strength and fury as the six-hour countdown to the Black Witches’ Sabbath ceremony would be underway.

Next, by Friday afternoon the Monseigneur and his party journeyed to the vicinity of the Brocken summit and began their concerted search for Rosalia’s cave.

Searching well into the night and into the wee hours of the morning on October 31st—to no avail—the mounting frustration and the growing sense of expectation among the group was both palpable and undeniable. By around 5:30 pm, the search turned into a scene of utter desperation. There was very good chance that they might not find the hidden entrance to Rosalia’s lair in time to disrupt the Black Witches’ Sabbath ceremony. Aurelia could sense the closeness of Rosalia, but even she was helpless to precisely pinpoint the location of the cave.

Aurelia knew instinctively that she had to act. Finding Monseigneur Hardenberg she told him that another prayer to the Almighty Lord God might improve their chances of finding the cave in time to act. And almost instantaneous to their brief discussion, a very large bright light suddenly illuminated itself on the immediate horizon in the deep forested area. As dusk was falling, this radiance of this bright heavenly light was at once as telling as it was compelling. Aurelia knew at that instant mirabile visu that her prayer to God had been answered and that divine intervention was truly at hand.    

End of Part Five

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Two

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Two

Rosalia’s Instruments of Evil and Debauchery
Rosalia needed certain tools or instruments of evil and debauchery to successfully pursue her nefandous plans of bringing the people of the Harz countryside under the dominion and control of the Devil. The following instruments could be construed as weapons in and of themselves and were integral to Rosalia’s practice of Witchcraft and Sorcery, and were central to her fervent desire of accomplishing this dastardly goal as she actively sought to corrupt and destroy the souls of her victims. Her bright gems of evil and debauchery included:
As Rosalia expanded her power, control, and influence among the people she became involved in Necromancy, that is to say, the art of predicting events by communicating with the dead. She would use her channeling efforts to enter the spirit world, and in an act of true malevolence, would prompt her spirit contacts to conjure evil dreams and have them pervade the consciousness of her unsuspecting victims. She would, at times, summon Lucifer himself in the midst of all of this to directly maximize her channeling efforts.      

Moleosophy and Wartology  
Rosalia had mastery of the arcane art of Moleosophy and Wartology, whereby she could divine the temperament of people and surrounding future events by spiritually sensing and reading the moles and warts on men and women in a stream of consciousness. Beyond this divining and sensing aspect, this power was also amply reflected in the use of her Black Wart and the use of its bile liquid contents to inflict irreparable harm on her victims and engender absolute fear.

Witch’s Broom  
Rosalia had a Witch’s Broom, serving as her primary mode of transportation for traversing the Harz and for frightening and wreaking utter havoc on her unsuspecting victims.

Black Hen’s Blood
Rosalia used a Black Hen’s Blood gruesomely obtained by beating a black hen to death, and then smearing a small portion of the blood on her human victim or the victim’s clothing— in effect, to transfer the agony of the hen’s death to her intended victim. 

Magic Wand
The Magic Wand made of hazel is another invaluable weapon used by Rosalia as an instrument of indomitable evil force and power as personified in its likeness as a phallic symbol.  Rosalia’s mastery of her Magic Wand enabled her to instinctively react in casting black magic spells on her victims and conjuring an aura of evil spirits to plague and ultimately destroy her victims’ families.

Black Potions
Rosalia brewed alchemic poisonous potions to a horrifying hideous effect,
using them to startle, stun and paralyze her victims with unending fear
while unmercifully taunting and tormenting them with equal evil effect,
and using Witchcraft to destroy once innocent souls and harvest fear.
Rosalia employed her alchemic masterpieces to great effect in gaining control of her victims’ will or desire to resist her evil intentions. Rosalia sometimes used her Black Potions to immediately subdue and poison to death victims who had insulted her and driven her anger to an insatiable lust and frenzy.

Witch’s Dagger   
Rosalia’s Athamé was her special coal-black-colored ceremonial dagger, of course, with a double-edged blade, but in her instance totally black to include the actual blade itself, with the sign of the Pentagram firmly engrained into the dagger’s handle. This was Rosalia’s magical dagger, her tool which she used for ritual black mass ceremonies and to direct psychic energy and to even exact both torture and murder—beyond the normal expected use of such a dagger in a witchcraft ceremony.  

Black Cat   
Whereas a vampire has the power to command his or her “Children of the Night,” and to take the form of a wolf or a bat, similarly, Rosalia could transmute her human form and soul appearance into that of a Black Cat, or on occasion, into that of a White Cat to better mask her nefarious activities and evil intentions.

Black Witches’ Sabbath
Given her power and authority from the Dark One (or Satan himself), Rosalia was so anointed to conduct a Black Witches’ Sabbath two times a year:  April 30th on the Great Sabbath of Walpurgis Nacht and October 31st with Halloween (All Hallows’ Eve). These were the events during which Rosalia summoned the “Goat of Mendes” by which Satan would appear in physical form as a goat or a ram. Rosalia used these special witch coven gatherings on Walpurgis Nacht and Halloween as defining events by which she would give over the souls of her trusted disciples to Satan. She would also recommit her blasphemous Faustian eternal allegiance to the Dark One made over centuries before when she existed in other evil reincarnated soul being forms before becoming Rosalia.

Black Mass 
Intoning, in a shrill repetitive manner six times:  Rosalia recited the Satanist Prayer (Our Father, which wert in Heaven . . .) during monthly Black Mass celebrations and the Black Witches’ Sabbath with her Coven. Rosalia used the transformative power of these events to further energize her disciples and to call directly on Satan to inform him of her evil activities and seek his continued influence and support for her acts of terror, torture, and debauchery—all in his name. Tragically, all of Rosalia’s disciples were lost souls and faced eternal damnation because of their continued association with her.  At the end of the Black Mass rituals all of Rosalia’s disciples were left in a state of unfettered “Humicubation,” whereby they lay on the ground in a state of submission and penitence to her for ever having worshipped the Lord God.

End of Part Two

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Three

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Three

Vespers’ Prayer Preparation for Black Mass
In preparation for the ritual Black Mass at midnight, Rosalia recites the following prayer incantation which must be rendered latest at 6:00 pm on the eve of the Black Mass. This is a six-hour process that lasts until midnight when the actual Black Mass ceremony formally commences. The Vespers’ Prayer incantation by Rosalia reads as follows:

We Pray In The Name of Our Father Lucifer, 
Which wert in Heaven:

Boil, Boil plague-ridden rats and toads in oil,
With a pair of gleaming snake eyes too.
Mix in fresh hen’s blood and a rabbit’s paw,
With a touch of horse dung and a lizard’s tail too.
Add six cups of Vitriol and a tablespoon of Goldwater.
Stew, Stew this Stygian alchemic brew for ne’r six hours
During Vespers for Our Midnight Black Mass on All Hallows’ Eve.
Serve this unholy sustenance to Our Coven at midnight,
As we pray in Great Lucifer’s name for his guidance
In defeating Jehovah’s forces of good and light.
We do this in the name of Great Lucifer—The Dark One.
We seek Blackness, Darkness, Degradation, and Negation—
As Our Coven has the power of His Power as granted
By His Unholiness when the full moon’s shadow
Crosses the face of the Earth. 

Rosalia’s Sacrilegious Activities and Mask of Deception
Rosalia was very self-aware of her bewitching and beguiling activities,
and her seasoned ancient command of the instruments of evil and debauchery, whether by plan or at will, to execute her nefast activities against all who were innocent and unsuspecting. Her negative actions left an indelible stain and a wicked scar of evil on the spiritual psyche of all of her victims.   

Rosalia was also vividly aware of the Church’s knowledge of witchcraft and sorcery, as written, codified and passed down by two Catholic inquisitors in the Malleus Maleficarum published in 1486. The power of her profane instruments of witchcraft found many of their original associational relationships with certain sacraments and church procedures, but were later corrupted and brought to the dark side to aid the Devil’s work. What was once good, could become instantly impious, if the witches focused their negative efforts and pagan power on corrupting and harming mankind.   

And so, Rosalia understood and appreciated the power and the knowledge
of the Catholic Church concerning matters of witchcraft and the witches’ devotion to evil.  The Church was not unaware of Rosalia’s evil activities, 
but they were confined presently to a local area and were not of a larger regional nature—at least for the time being.

With this in mind and being so informed of the Church, and with the power and influence of the Dark One, Rosalia continued her ruthless, evil crimes
and her heartless, blasphemous activities during periodic nocturnal visits 
in bucolic villages in the Harz countryside.

It was during these so-called “evening activities” that Rosalia’s dark-side mask, that is, her true witch’s countenance shone through and presented her ghastly Gorgon-grimaced face to her chosen victims—men, women, children—with no quarter given. This was Rosalia’s true self, her “evening mask,” but yet her true self.

Yet while during the day, as part of a masterful chameleon-like deception,
Rosalia would appear to unsuspecting people in her “daytime mask”
as a beautiful and charming blonde-haired, blue-eyed lady of young adult age, with a kind and genial spirit who worked in a local Inn in a village close to the Brocken. This was Rosalia’s perfect cover for plotting and conducting 
her wicked and unholy activities.

Rosalia naturally commanded the insatiable power of the black arts
which allowed her to maintain her “normal appearance” for as long as she chose—and yet, she could summon her real dark appearance on a moment’s notice, but preferred the night when her dark-side powers were at their greatest pitch, whereby she could command whatever hell-spawned demons or earthly elements she needed to help and support her evil intentions and deeds.

With the daily reality of this “perfect deception,” Rosalia, with her coven of disciples, could strike with impunity throughout the numerous villages in the Harz countryside, consummating their evil intentions and horrible deeds 
in the name of God’s fallen angel.

Rosalia’s goal was to deceive, corrupt and destroy the eternal souls of as many men, women, and children as possible, while ensuring the maturation and permanence of her power, and the unholy glorification of her master—Lucifer.

Who could ever imagine that a young beautiful blonde lady who innocently worked in a local village Inn could be one of vilest black spirits in the history of witchcraft?

Could Rosalia and her hell-spawned soulless minions be stopped and brought to justice for their terrible actions and deeds?  

Who would dare challenge Rosalia’s power and the evil she sought to inflict on mankind?

End of Part Three

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Rhyme | |

Vampire Chickens

Beware of those vampire chickens this Halloween season. Their thirsting for your blood is the primary reason. These black nocturnal creatures fly into the night. After the stroke of midnight, they cause insurmountable fright. These evil birds come right up from hell. They make the average bat look like Tinkerbelle. It is a well-known fact that chickens have no teeth. Blood sucking ability is something they will not bequeath. If chickens really were so evil and devilish, the late Colonel Sanders would have made his fortune selling fish.

Copyright © Robert Pettit

Details | Free verse | |

The Locked Room

''Dark things happened there....''
they say, with fading tones,
almost reaching their vanishing point,
due to unhidden fright.

Sometimes they hear eerie moans;
see dancing shadows on the space
between the door and floor; other times
whispers that make them feel as though
they will shatter like hollow glass tubes.

To stop the haunting,
they hired spiritualists to seal
the room's door with their divine will.

Candles flicker in the night,
as voices of the undead wander across the corridors.....

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi

Details | Rhyme | |

Whistling Past A Graveyard

whistling past a graveyard Devil may care, but I have no regard I walk among granite tombstones six feet below are boxes full of bones I find myself in a dark, dark room only to realize it's a witch's tomb gravedigger has bodies to retrieve on this night, Saint Hollow's Eve

Copyright © Warner Baxter

Details | Quatrain | |

Medusa's Love

Medusa’s Love

Medusa is a hideous and vile creature of Grecian yore. 
Medusa, once a high priestess in the Temple of Athena,
Suffered Athena’s unforgiving wrath for violating her 
Sacred temple as she and Lord Poseidon made love there.

Medusa’s Love entices all of her naive human victims,
Up to that special mesmerizing moment of her icy shock,
As they end up unwittingly gazing into her evil, hellish  
Eyes and their bodies harden and turn to stone forever. 

You can never trust those Gods who relish in making
The plight of mortal man more challenging on Earth.
Once a perfect paragon of radiant female pulchritude,
Athena transformed Medusa into this mythic monster.  

As if this life isn’t frightening enough, with the advent 
Of Halloween Eve and the cold, dark nights preceding it;
Medusa’s restless spirit as this grotesque Gorgon can be
Conjured from her lair at the entrance to the Underworld.

From the hissing and viperous serpents adorning her head,
To the ever-present shaking death rattle of her reptilian tail;
Medusa’s sneering and unholy visage paralyzes her victims
As her fiery and demonic eyes bring them a stone cold death!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(October 1, 2015) (Unrhymed Quatrain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Free verse | |


In the dry thickets ease, fallen branches brake,
Crumbling under the weight of a death stalkers
Heavily lain footsteps, it seeks the quarry
Known as man, this devil predator on a blood
Lusts trail!
Keen eyes pierce through the forest wilds
Mountainous terrain, within the pine shallows,
A legendary creature hunts for a lone victim,
By early mornings twilight hour, it is the beast
Of Gevaudan!
At innocence frolic, do the children so play,
Chasing the alpine heather as it explodes
In the rustling breeze, weaving wild flower
Crowns, and pretending they are in royalties
Court of the imagination, nay do they not realize,
Hidden within the darkening hollows, a demonic force lies
Ready to pounce upon them, at any moment’s first sign of
Oh dear sweet mother gather your tender blossoms
Ever so near, count them carefully one by one,
For he or she, maybe missing unto you, look within the
Meadows tall grasses beyond, their the devils breed
Thus so feeds, bathing in the warmth of innocence
Leftover leavening's, satisfying hungers insatiable need!
Kneeling amongst the chastened shaft, still dripping
With crimsons redden flesh, the weeping women
Screams with the broken heart shattered by the
Loss of her youngest child.
In Mid-evil France this legend based on fact, is
So told throughout the generations, handed down
From father unto son, no one knows where the beast
Did so come from, but be thee cautious, traveling the roads of
Gevaudan by night, just encase Satan bloody hound returns!
A huntsman, fired a single shot, straight into
The heart of a supernatural creature, killing it instantly,
With a blessings bullet, or so the native folklore declares,
But others warn, beware!
In a twisted stone graveyard stands a haunting memorial,
Hidden underneath the creeping vines, that tangle, and weave
Obscuring the names beneath the cold gray markers,
But the cause of death, all know is the same, it was the
Beast of Guevaudan, taken over one hundred lives, back
Until hell from when’s it so came!

church count!

Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Italian Sonnet | |

Evil Basks

It’s a dimly lit, darkly entombed spot Here sits a lone black weeping willow tree Night encroached leaving nothing you can see Its cold, nothing about this place is hot Not a ray of light surrounds to get caught Evil basks within the nooks quite empty She sits, there on a stump she sits flatly Devoid of emotion, hope isn’t brought Expressionless she stands with great power The tree bows right to her beck and call She stands mighty and tall like a tower Grove seems to be protected by a wall All who happen to see her would cower All she sees is hate, her soul crushes all * Left over Halloween poem, I forgot to post this, enjoy! Russell Sivey

Copyright © Russell Sivey

Details | Free verse | |


Stretching at the very heavens are the braches of autumn,
It is becoming the season of death, and mother natures promise
Of rebirth is with drawing, leaving nothing behind but stilled
 Whispering echoes.
The very ground itself grows fidgeted, as winters icy finger tips
Strangle at earths raw under belly, finally it yields to the pains
Agony and nature lies slain, forced into hibernation’s sleep, until
Spring breath will awaken it at last, with resurrection’s sweet kiss of life
Once more.
A screeching black raven clings to the darkening skies, one by one do
These harvengers of death land atop the trees icy prongs that bend and
Brake beneath their feather weight of distain.
Dark eyed demons ever watching, waiting unto the night takes passion
Of this world of the living, these sentinels of the demonic peck, and strike
At one another with anticipations things to come by night.
A stilled silence blankets the forest; nothing stirs except the creaking of
The ice in a near by stream, on the path a sobering wind rustles at the deadened
Leaves that crackle in the fall breeze.
It so creeps forward the feeling of uneasiness, the soft breath blowing against
The back neck hairs of humanity, a lumbering heaviness boggs down the air itself,
Almost choking the life from all living things in the surrounding venue.
Excited the black birds take winged flight, soaring screeching, announcing it
Comes, it comes!!
Shuttering nature pulls its white snow covering over its very head, she even
Wishes not to see, this true face of evil that cometh forward, the ethereal trap
Door has been triggered, and what elopes onwards cannot be stopped by 
Any powers on earth.
Blow does the trumpets of heaven, angels take to the winds of destiny, beckoning
The evil to with draw, but it mocks at them, screaming in a howling’s rebuking,
I listen not to the likes of thee!!
Then a light unseen for many a millennium comes forward, it is the light of 
Everlasting salvation, then creature of darkness shall thee do battle with me,
Nay I will with draw, backwards from winnest it came it vaporizes and disappears.
In the woods there is a path, never to crossed by humanity, their thou shall not
Step, for the essence of evil’s cold chill still lingers, in the autumn chilling wind.


Copyright © cherl dunn

Details | Narrative | |

The Old Man

Up on a hill there was an old house and in it lived Abigail, a young lady without a spouse. One day her doorbell rang and she went to the door. There stood an old man, his head to the floor. He appeared scared and weak so she let him come in, for if she didn’t it’d be a sure sin. The old man smiled and gave his thanks, and she said, “Not to worry, there’s no need to thank.” Abigail and the elder talked for quite a long time. Sharing story after story, and soon drinking wine. The two became very good friends and laughed, and laughed ‘til night came to end. When the next day dawned, they went for a walk, down at the pond they decided to stop. It was frigid and misty, but they enjoyed the stroll because their friendship was warmer than the wind’s dreadful cold. As they stood in front of the calm, cool pond, Abigail asked, “Where do you come from?” The old man laughed a deep, dark laugh, “I come from the boneyard, the place of last breaths. I am the man, which many name Death.” The creeping old man then pulled out a knife and slashed Abigail’s throat before she could fright. Her life left instantly, her body grew cold, and the elder’s smile sparkled like gold. The pond was hungry and the old man knew that Abigail’s corpse would have to go soon. He tied a brick to both of her feet and tossed her away into the deep. As her body sunk into the watery blue, the elder stood there and felt renewed. Back on the trail the aged man went. Not a worry in mind, no remorse ever meant. He did what had to be done, to the grave his soul belonged. The elder approached another ol’ house. He rang the doorbell and waited, innocent as a mouse.

Copyright © Bruce Coates

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Nightmare on Elm street

            "My college try at 'You're in a Horror film "

               something has taken over his spirit
                I do think I'll be his next ...

                The land line rings , I answer Hello ? a response with crackling voice.
               " Do you remember me , I am an old friend ? "

                Who is this ? I respond noticing the rain falling hard ..
                a sketchy voice response..

                I am here , can't you see me? 

                "is this a sick Joke ? as I grab a knife for protection"
                I'm calling the police ! This is Harassment ! 

                " The police are here ' ....'in a psychotic response 

                The lights go out , the lightning from the storm has
               hit a tree, I am scarred now, looking for all candles to light my way

                A loud Knock !  Again a knock , I  slam the phone down , fearfully
                 lock the door fast, yet trembling. It's as if someone is breathing 
                 a cold breath with a long finger nail running down my back ..
                Knock Knock again , I look out the peep hole, it is the police !
                 Opening the door , The Policeman says " We are checking to see
                 if you are Ok ? You need to let me in and stand behind me "

                  The policeman calls for backup to Elm Street .
                " Someone said they saw a tall man with a mask and knife enter
                 your basement , The storm has blown out the electricity, lines are down "
                Grabbing the cordless, I respond " someone just called , scarring me! "
               That is not possible , these lines have been down for hours , the person 
                 driving by called prescient on a cell. 

                    I try to get a line and the phone is dead ....

                 The policeman is searching the home with a flashlight .
                  As he goes into the Kitchen I see a large knife in his Back shirt ,
                  Now he is laughing ..the phone rings ..

                         'you're in a Horror movie contest '      

Copyright © Shanity Rain