Walpurgisnacht 2026 fell on a working day, so much of my daylight time was spent doing income-generating tasks. The Day Job has become a Day Hell™ that left me little time to think about what could happen that night. Which was, in a way, a good thing because it meant I had little time to think up of all the ways the night could go wrong.
For my familiar, Adiutor, however, this lack of oversight meant that she was free to bounce off each and every wall, be they physical, mental, and/or metaphorical, in gleeful anticipation of the night’s activities. I was strangely indifferent to the pending event. Malphas had confirmed that Adiutor was my familiar permanently, after all. I had no pending homework other than to continue to put her to “good use”. She gets along with my personal krew and unlike a certain spirit not named to protect the guilty, she knows her place with me.
My introduction to Malphas preceded any recognized involvement with “witchcraft”, be it personal, group, or some bastard combination thereof. But that involvement wasn’t as a “witch”, but as a spirit-walker (Note: personal term.) He was one of many entities that I encountered over the decades of dream/spirit walking and that was that. Things changed between us when two apparently unconnected personal decisions combined to create unexpected consequences: I made a deal with him. Several years later, I joined a closed cohort dedicated to Saint Cyprian that explores the saint’s relation with the Christian God and the Christian Devil.
An unexpected result of these two decisions, was that I took on the cohort’s observance of Walpurgisnacht and Halloween as my personal holidays. This was not the cohort teacher’s intentions, but like a virus the observances infected most if not all of us, and the two nights took on a significance that I had not considered before.
I sorta expected Halloween to be “a thing”. I was not expecting Walpurgisnacht to become a thing. To say that I was dragged kicking and screaming to my first Walpurgisnacht is to be kind. The initial observances were quite intense and detailed. Over the years, my involvement with the cohort has lessened to the point where I would be surprised if my name were still on the rolls. The nature of my involvement with all matters spiritual changed. Some old leashes were broken. Some new leashes were accepted. I am not the person I was.
I am not the person who made that deal.
But it can also be said that I have become even more the person who made that deal.
As forced overtime saw me leaving work late and thus driving towards the setting sun, I reflected on all those changes as Adiutor continued emanating great waves of anticipation and joy for the creeping night. I reviewed the steps I would be taking after sunset to prepare for the observance. What changed this year? What was carried forward from last year? Would the cohort even recognize what I was doing tonight as an official observance? Would the witches and spirit-workers that knew me apart from the cohort do the same?
At what point are you no longer your teacher’s student?
It was the teacher of the cohort that introduced me to absinthe as an offering. (To be honest, to absinthe as a thing.) That remained. But the prayers that I had been introduced to and had used at first became an historical note. Little by little, every six months, the ritual I used for Walpurgisnacht and Halloween was trimmed bit by bit.
The ritual garb, gone. The ritual prayers, gone. References to other people’s gods, gone. As I reviewed the steps to come with Adiutor, I confirmed the ritual table was going to be quite bare. I had known for some time. I had only been reviewing the ritual daily for the past three weeks or so without making any changes whatsoever.
Once more, then, for good luck:
- Wait for night to fall before beginning the ritual proper. The gathering and assembly of materials may happen before then, but the candle is not to be lit until everything is ready and night is fully present.
- The small portable table is to be wiped clean. No tablecloth or covering is going to be used.
- All electronic devices are to be turned off or in airplane mode. No electronic lights. No fans. If airflow is needed, open the window. Light may come in from outside, but inside the room, no electronic devices are to be in use.
- The door will be closed prior to the start of the ritual, and kept closed until the end of the ritual.
- (Hope the San Andreas fault doesn’t decide to clamor for attention.)
- Wear comfortable clothing. Take care of physical needs and wash hands before continuing.
- Upon the table:
- The obsidian mirror disc, in its stand and angled so that once seated I can see the reflection of…
- A black candle free standing on a black glass plate or a small black ceramic bowl. The plate has raised edges so that if the candle runs during the night, the molten wax will not drip onto the table or the floor. The plate is a little too large for this, but the ceramic bowl does not have a flat bottom. Each candle from this particular lot does well in one but not in the other, but which works best is individual to the candle literally in hand, so it’s best to have both available when the time comes. (I still wind up shaping the bottom of the candle just the same.)
- A simple cork coaster placed in the middle of the table. It will receive the glass of ice and absinthe later.
- Adiutor’s personal casket, kept closed and locked. She doesn’t need it open to do her thing. That’s why her toys are locked inside the casket with her.
- Obsidian pieces. Preferably, a particular obsidian piece. Once of the first stones I collected when I walked away from The Church™.
- Upon me:
- Cyprian’s Ring. “The Crossed Ring.” After all this time, I will admit that “Malphas” is one of the three entities encoded on this ring. And that’s all I’ll admit to at this time.
- In my hands:
- An obsidian pendulum. Nothing fancy. Two small balls of obsidian mounted with silver-plated fancy bits. Has a point at the end. Hangs free. Works for the cause.
- Off to the side:
- A box of matches and a fire-proof receptacle for the spent match. Just because I don’t see the spent fag smouldering doesn’t mean it won’t catch something else to light.
- Waiting in the kitchen:
- Serving glass.
- Ice cubes.
- Absinthe.
It’s sunset! Woohoo! I’m late! Shit! When it comes to these kind of events where there are active participants literally worldwide, trying to align schedules for a meet-up is like trying to hold back the tide. While a spiritual alignment is possible, there is still the physical constraints of time zones, sleep requirements, and attention spans. There was someone I wanted to encounter during the ritual but as they are (at least) eight hours ahead of me as far as time zones were concerned, I was pretty sure that any encounter I had would be fleeting at best.
Left work late. Got home late. Walked into someone else’s problems that could not wait to be resolved the day after. Okay. Let’s resolve this now. Oh, this isn’t going to be a quick fix? Of course, not. I remind myself that just because I live in a constant state of Impending Doom™ doesn’t mean that other people are going to be okay having it thrust upon them by their personal chaos generators. So… let me be kind and help get this sorted out.
It is now Very Late™. I should be wrapping things up, not getting ready to start. But, here I am. Adiutor has been encouraging this entire time, which is not as encouraging as she would like it to be. I feel like I’m letting everyone down, even though I’m a “coven” of one. I’m not following anyone’s instructions except for Adiutor, so of course, everything feels Wrong™. When the only voice that confirms what you are doing is Right™ is the voice in your head… well… that’s gonna raise some Serious Doubts™.
This is not going to make a cute series of pictures on Instagram, that’s for sure.
Time to assemble the table. Mirror. Plate. Candle (trimmed). Casket. Coaster. Pendulum. Obsidian… um… obsidian… er…
It’s supposed to be right here! It has always been right here! It sits right here because it’s pretty to look at when I sit down and its stand is right here so where is it?!
It is not here.
“Adiutor, where is it?”
She giggles cutely in my ear. I notice that I only hear her presence.
“Where. Is. It? Where is [this particular obsidian piece]?”
«It’s safe, Master. It is in your possession, Master, but it is not where you assumed it would be, Master.»
Thank you, Captain Obvious. It is a relief that it isn’t completely lost, though. I look at the clock. It’s super-late. With how tired I already am, I’m not sure I’m going to be present for the candle vigil to come. Either I could tear apart all the places where it could be, or substitute any of the other obsidian pieces that I am looking at right now.
“Adiutor, how critical is it to have that particular obsidian piece for tonight?”
«Not critical. You may substitute any or all of the other obsidian pieces tonight. The point is that there is obsidian on the table other than the obsidian disc.»
Okay. That makes this workable. I hedge my bets and place all four of the smaller obsidian pieces that I have at hand on the table in the proper place.
Ice in the glass. Absinthe over the ice. Glass placed on the coaster.
A pause.
“Adiutor, who moved [that obsidian piece]?”
«You did, Master.»
I don’t remember moving it, though. But I also don’t remember seeing it the entire month either. Not because it wasn’t there, but because I kept assuming that it was there (it’s always there) so I never bothered to actually look at it because why look at something you take for granted, right?
“Adiutor, do you know why I moved it?”
«You needed it for a peculiar purpose at the time, Master. It is safe. Just not where you expected it to be, Master.»
A peculiar purpose. At those words, I knew immediately where it was. My familiar was correct. It is safe. It is very close to my reach. But the impending ritual meant that this is not the time to open those containers. This is not the time to cross those streams.
The door is closed. The room light is turned off. While the window is fully open, the vertical blinds are partially closed so no outside light will shine directly on me. Also, so no one across the parking lot could see what I am doing. I sit in the dark room with a box of matches in my hand. A moment of silence. A moment of panic. What the fuck am I doing here? After all this time, I still don’t know what I’m doing. Just following the crowd and doing what everyone expects me to do, I guess.
I strike the match.
I light the candle.
Matches set aside, I pick up the pendulum. It’s not even real silver. I tested all the metal with a magnet and it stuck to each and every finding in the piece. For the price that I had paid, I even question if it’s “silver” that’s plating the steel, or some other polished yet cheaper metal. Ah, well. “A witch works with what a witch has.” Tumblr wisdom.
The ice cracks in complaint to the presence of the absinthe. If a witch is a transgressor, then my preferred method of absinthe preparation should be proof enough of my status. When I started out with absinthe, it was with the special spoon, and the sugar cubes, and the bottle of nearly frozen distilled water. Over the years, the requested method of preparation was simplified, step by step, until it has come to this: A glass with 3 or 4 ice cubes, measured by sight and regarded by room temperature, over which a 2 ounce shot glass of absinthe will be poured. Done.
If it is a warm night, then it will be four ice cubes. If it is a cool night, then it will be three ice cubes. The point is not to have the drink immediately ready. This is not a sprint. This is a test of patience.
I still have to wait for the candle to burn down.
A candle that is rated as a ninety minute burn, unless it is being used for ritual, and then it’s anyone’s fucking guess. A candle that now sits on a plate behind the absinthe glass and is reflected in full in the obsidian disc on the right side of the table.
“Adiutor.”
She is beside me in the emptiness of the room. A childlike form stands next to my chair on my left side. Something like small cold hands rest on my exposed forearm. I am staring at the candle, and yet I see her out of the corner of my eye.
«Yes, Master.»
“Open the way.”
«At once, Master.»
Her form disappears from my peripheral vision. At the same time, the reflection of the candle in the obsidian disc wavers and dims slightly. The candle and candle flame are upright with no movement or interference. A light scent of anise begins to fill the space.
The vigil begins.
Even though it’s a Thursday night, it’s still quite loud at these apartments in the evening. Local schools have let out for the week, so there are an abundance of children and teenagers taking advantage of the lack of bed time. A large empty field is close enough to get into trouble some folks test their new set of fireworks and some folks test their new motorbikes and some folks test everyone else’s patience. It’s easy for me to ignore them all. Background noise. Someone else’s problems.
«Why are you here?» Not Adiutor’s voice. Not Malphas’s voice, either. The words felt as if spoken above and behind me, where a solid wall looms over my high-backed chair.
“I’m waiting for an invitation.” Not quite the truth, but not quite a lie either.
«An invitation, to where?»
“To where I need to be.”
«I can bring you to where you need to be.»
“But can you invite me to where I need to be?”
I suddenly smell something like dirt, something like wood, something sharp like acid. It reminds me specifically of a muck-covered stick, recently pulled out of some foul puddle of filth. For the horrible smell that it was, I knew what has that scent and kept myself calm in the chair as Adiutor made her presence known with one of her… toys.
When the voice spoke again, it sounded so very far away from me.
«No, I cannot. And so, I leave you be.»
The voice, which was never here, fully departed. I waited until the only presence in the room was me, Adiutor, and the candle flame before speaking. “An interloper, I assume?”
«Yes, Master.» Her derision did not sour the sweet tones of her voice but was clearly evident just the same. «I expect many tonight. There are many scavengers on the road looking to taste the unwary and unprotected, Master.»
I kept my gaze on the candle flame. “Am I so unwary and unprotected tonight?”
«You are tired and distracted, Master. Which, I suppose, could be the same in different words, Master.»
She’s right. It is very late, even for me. Sitting here kept company by the unseen and by escaping thoughts, I might as well be sitting naked on the roof. Chastised, I resume my vigil and remind myself what I think I’m supposed to be doing.
What am I supposed to be doing, anyway? Other than sitting here staring at a candle flame, that is. It’s Walpurgisnacht. Aren’t I supposed to be “flying” to a mythical mountain to participate in transgressive rituals and unholy sacrifices? I can’t even meet up with one other person, much less take part in a spiritual orgy. What the hell?
I had told Adiutor to open the way, but the interloper had a point. Open the way, to where, to whom, and for what? All three questions had the same answer: To my Devil, to my [Devil in the Road], to Malphas. The first Walpurgisnacht I had participated in, I did not conjure him. He conjured me. Time for me to catch up.
Whispers came and went. Strange shadows coalesced in the room, only to be ignored as they were not him. Adiutor was sometimes here and sometimes not. Her laughter floated around me as she worked out her duty as my servant and attendant. I would entertain none but Malphas this night, and she was not permitting anything else to break my concentration.
Until she broke it, herself.
«Master. The gate.»
I turned my attention from the flame to the obsidian disc. It was now bright white as if it were illuminated from within by a searing light.
«Master, if you are to visit [that witch], the way is open but it will not remain so for long.»
I took the opportunity at once. Leaving my body in the chair, I closed my eyes and willed my spirit to flow into the light.
The dampness caught my attention, first. It hugged every bare inch of me, which happened to be every inch of me, as I opened my eyes to find myself standing naked in what at first appeared to be an abandoned farm field in the middle of the night.
The ground was slightly warm under my feet, but I could tell it had been cooling off until I stepped where she had stood. The sticks and chaff under my feet were already crushed by her passing. I was surprised to get any sense of physicality here, as far away as I was by time and distance.
This land, this… Land… knew her, but did not know me at all. I could feel the mud and the rocks and the nearby creek regarding me with silent patience. The footpath, which had been going back to sleep now that she was off into the hills and rolls, supported me evenly. Not too many people come this way on foot, much less barefoot.
The wind stopped holding its breath and let me know that nearby, off the path, there was something rotting and rotten in the fields. Something that had perished and was giving itself back to the land. Didn’t I want to go see?
No. I don’t. These are not my lands to explore.
The wind shrugged and changed direction. Now it told me of a hidden cache of flowers spilling heavy scents that were crawling towards me. Fragrance notes that no perfumier had ever encountered whispered from afar of even more delectable experiences. Didn’t I want to go see?
No. I don’t. I have not leave to go here at will. I am here for one purpose, and that purpose has already been met. Even though I do not see her, I can hear her clearly. She has already been taken by whom and what she was meant to be with. I am the interloper here.
Moonlight moved gracefully though solid overcast clouds to create luminous shapes in the fields. They took on enticing and terrifying forms that laughed and pouted to see that I was neither afraid nor beguiled. They openly tempted me to come with them, to follow She Whom These Lands Know.
I laughed at and with them. Applauded their mockery and mimicry. Wished them well in their Hunt. Then turned around and stepped back through the open gateway behind me all this time. All was as all was supposed to be here. Nothing for me to do but leave.
I opened my eyes to the enduring candle flame. The candle had burnt down to the point where the glass of absinthe now blocked direct sight. I would have to depend on the reflection in the obsidian disc from this point on. The carpet was unchanging under my bare feet, but I still felt the fading pricks of dead sticks and impudent burrs.
Other sights, apparitions, and experiences came upon me. I found them all to be a distraction created by my tiring body and my restless mind. It became more and more difficult to focus on the candle flame. I drifted off to sleep several times despite sitting forward so as not to be enticed by the chair.
And still, Adiutor was greatly excited to be here, excited for something to come, excited to participate in babysitting someone who was most likely the Worst Witch ever. I considered stopping the ritual many times. It just wasn’t safe. What if I fell asleep and pitched forward into the table. Wax and flame would go everywhere and then what. Just another mess for me to clean up.
But I didn’t fall asleep. And I kept the vigil. And the candle kept burning down, lower and lower and lower until the flame was seen in the very bottom of the disc. The plate was reflecting light upward and somehow the room was the most illuminated it had been all night. The glass of absinthe continued to obscure me from the candle’s direct light, and I was now the most hidden thing in the room.
He announced himself, with a cold sharp scent of ink that instantly smothered the anise and fennel that had warmly bloomed into the room over the past hour(s). I felt Adiutor make her presence very densely beside me to my left, and then felt that presence dip as if she was curtsying someone before me. Someone in the empty space just beyond the small table.
«This…» Somehow I felt him gesture to the table and the collection of items upon it. «… is not what you were taught for this night’s observation. No mortal instructed you as such.»
I knew him immediately. And yet, with all of the night’s events, I had to be sure. “Before I respond, I challenge. If you be my Devil, my [Devil in the Road], prove it.”
Adiutor’s small cold hands clenched on my left forearm such that I was sure I would have bruises in the morning. “I have come in good faith according to a duty that I’m not sure even is mine to take. The least you can do is to confirm or deny that such attention was worth it. If you are him, prove it.”
My body slammed into the back of the chair as I started to choke and drown on an upwelling of ink from deep inside my chest. The smell was now coming from inside me, it rose up out of me with each strangled exhale. I felt the ink invading my veins, burning and numbing with a cold that felt as if the River was rushing through me.
My heart shuddered in remembrance and recognition.
I was sitting, wide awake in my chair, choking on nothing and struggling for no reason at all. The air in the room was heavy with the scent of ink, but my body was shivering from stimuli that no longer existed. Across the small table, in the empty space just beyond, I felt a large presence fold itself into something like a man. A man who sat on the bed across from me and was waiting patiently for me to get my shit together.
«Ah. How rude of me. It seems I forgot my calling cards and had to resort to something more… direct and personal. I trust my methods were coherent at least?»
In the flame’s reflection in the disc, I saw him clearly seated on the bed just beyond the table. But to look directly at the space, there was nothing to see.
“Aye, Sir. Direct, personal, and recognizable. So, to respond to your statement, no, I was not taught this by any mortal. Not this collection specifically. I was exposed to the absinthe by [this person], and the idea for the obsidian disc as a mirror came from you and Adiutor. The candle as vigil is an idea so common, I cannot remember when I first encountered it. And the collection of such as you see here, for the purpose of observing this night, is something that Adiutor guided me over time.”
«Yes. I see. Tell me, what is my name, [Rebellion]?»
I did not answer right away. I was so exhausted by this point, and the physical trauma of it all was setting in faster than I had anticipated. It hurt to think.
“[OG]”
He smiled at me with quiet approval for a few moments. “That is one of my names, but that is not my name. What is my name, [Rebellion]?”
Wait. But. Fuck. We’re having this discussion in English, which is a shit language to have any spiritual discussions in. The language lacks nuance. “If I may ask, Sir, what do you mean by ‘name’?”
His shark-tooth smile should have frightened me. But I have seen it far too many times, and I was far too tired to be frightened again this night. “A good question, Weaver. [OG] is an appellation of mine, but it is not my name. What is it, [Rebellion]?”
He leaned forward. The candle flame seemed to shrink under him.
«Why are you here?»
Why was I crying?
“I… I don’t know. Because it’s expected of me? Because the last time I said I didn’t have to participate, you came and snatched my ass and dragged me across realms to force me to. Because I don’t know what not to do, what I don’t have to do, now that [so much has changed about me]. Because it’s a habit now? Because I don’t know… I don’t know.”
«What were you taught?»
Hang on, let’s examine that question at face value. What was I taught. The truth of it is, I wasn’t. I was shown how other people observe Walpurgisnacht, but nowhere was I bound to observe with them. Not by lineage, not by promise, not by debt.
“I wasn’t.”
«Then, why are you here? Why are you observing this night? What binds you to hurt yourself?»
I wanted to laugh rudely at the last question. But somehow I still knew that this was not the time for rudeness. “I’m here, because I’m a witch, because I have an… understanding… that for the type of witch that I think I am, that I have to observe Walpurgisnacht. Because I may not be in any lineage by oath, blood, or debt, the matter in which the information came to me, is binding in and of itself.”
I cock my head slightly at his reflection in the disc and realize I just might damn myself with the last words in my mouth.
“Because you never told me not to, [Devil in the Road].”
The flame held steady but the room darkened until my eyes were straining to see any hint of light.
«I am not your excuse. Nor am I your permission. I am your teacher, as you have bound yourself to.» He paused and waited three of my breath cycles to continue. «Yes, you have changed greatly. And as a result of these changes, you have been released from some obligations and have had other obligations forced upon you. But you have yet to see through the eyes of what you have become, so focused you are on what you once thought you were.»
Another pause.
«Tell me, where is [particular obsidian piece]? Were you not prompted to have it present tonight?»
Ah. Shit. “I know where it is. And yes, I was prompted, but it was more important that I have some obsidian present other than the disc, than to have that piece in particular.” I extended some thought towards Adiutor about the piece, but received naught but silent panic in return. Which did absolutely jacque shitte to calm my own nerves.
«I see. There are items you have had from the start, as the saying goes, that you were not able to use in their full capacity at the time of acquisition. But you are developing to the point where they are now becoming of use. Most you have kept as idle oddities and curiosities. Some you have discarded for being ‘unhelpful’, and you will need to spend the resources to duplicate them anew. [This particular obsidian piece] is one of them. You want a reason to continue participating in witches’ holidays? Here, permit me to give you an excuse, this time.»
«I will come to you, on Halloween Night. I will come to you, prepared or not. You may set your table as you have done this night, with one key requirement. You must have [that particular obsidian piece] with you. If not in your hand as you hold the pendulum now, then on the table present before the disc. You will have that, and, you will have my name. You have all the information and resources necessary to discover it. If you wish to continue being my student, prove it.»
«Show yourself worthy, and perhaps I shall teach you a different name to call yourself by, [Rebellion].»
The candle suddenly extinguished as there was no more wax left to hold the wick upright. It fell over and drowned in the captive wax.
I sat in the quiet room and let my vision adjust to what light was coming in the window. Though the blinds were set to permit that light to strike against the far wall only, it was enough that I could see the room in grayscale tones. The ice had melted in the glass, but there was still condensation on the exterior. It was still cold.
Malphas’s presence was gone, but the ritual was not yet complete. There was still the matter of the absinthe.
“Adiutor, to whom do I dedicate this offering?”
«Traditionally, to the Devil, Master.»
“Traditionally. Hmm. And now, that there is no tradition to hold me?”
«To whom do you wish to show honor, Master?»
I did not answer her, but silently acknowledged that her question was valid considering the night’s events. I thought about what I thought I knew, what I was discovering, and all the ways my life was changing in the wake of such revelations. The ring seemed to tighten on my finger. The pendulum felt far too heavy for its size.
What is it they say about the devil you know?
“To Malphas. To my Devil. To my [Devil in the Road]. To [OG]. To my teacher. I’m gonna catch your ass, wait and see.”
The absinthe was consumed with deliberate pulls and swallows.
It tasted like ink the whole way through.
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