This post is about witches & demons & the scary things that go bump in the night… including myself.
Also what constitutes as truly scary or evil. Using discernment in these situations. Using your guts. Freedom versus chains. Perhaps there is no conundrum & things are just as they should be…
Lil’ Small was talking about witches. Mainly because we’ve been watching Sabrina The Teenage Witch. She also watched Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, but it’s been two years since I’ve seen that, so she has to really explain.
She was talking about magicks & who we really are behind our human façade. Like our aunt is hella scary looking & really powerful, pretty much just like this picture where she dressed up as a witch on Halloween. Mom is all “Mirror, Mirror” & self-absorbed, but also a scary witch. A dark witch. Both of them dark witches.
I already realize she’s part fae (Lil’ Small) or something with an ever changing face made of angles. Incidentally, she is the little witch in the photo. I’m the bunny.
I asked her what I am, but she evaded the question. Later she tried to answer that I’m just old. Older than old, but not really a human form.
Lil’ Small even said, “I already painted your portrait & didn’t you have horns?”
Which, this is the painting in question & I do love it. Only she said when she gave it to me, “That’s really the moon, but I love that it seems like you have horns!”, which I reminded her of again.
“So, I’m the Balrog? I can dig it.”
She kept talking & then said, “No, that’s a demon. You’re older than demons.”, in such a matter of fact way that this should be a normal, everyday conversation for anyone to have.
No, if we were sticking with The Lord of the Rings, I’m basically the scary mountain where the dead live. Ya know where Aragorn takes the Paths of the Dead to that scary cave entrance. That’s me. I’m that mountain with that gaping cave opening of doom. I probably have dead people in me. I wouldn’t be surprised.
Her answer? I am that scary, foreboding, & ancient mountain. I am that scary cave in the mountain. Mountains are old & don’t move.
I’d say possibly that I could be The Misty Mountains, since the Balrog does live there, but eh… The White Mountains are less inviting. More out of the way. People didn’t live up in them, or deep within, they aren’t overrun with orcs, people don’t still just cross over them all willy nilly.
I’m also not The Lonely Mountain, because while I am that, as in singular, people don’t avoid me because of a dragon, more because I’m haunted & just “We don’t go there….” in hushed tones, rather than fleeing in terror, screaming.
And show of hands, how many of you gals voluntarily read The Lord of the Rings or went to see the films? (I’m not trying to win at anything here, I’m just proving a point, here.) Now another show of hands, from just the gals, how many of you thought that the Balrog was awesome?
Was it just me? I feel like the Balrog would be my side henchman or even my pet. “Who’s a good Balrog? Who’s a good Balrog? It’s you!” as I throw him a human as a treat & pat his head between his massive horns.
Then I came across this in my memories after our discussion, such as it was. I suppose I am that cave in that mountain; older than old. I wasn’t really sleeping, but my family thought it would be a great picture if I did “sleep” in the cave. I do kind of remember this & had no problem what-so-ever being hoisted up there & laying down. I felt safe. I felt… comfy.
I’ve mentioned before, but I always enjoyed our yearly trips to the mountains & every damn time I’d pester my entire family about touring a cave, even if we’d already toured it. I seem to like the dark, damp, stone places. Forts were another favourite, for the very same reason.
Not all mountains are the same & some mountains are creepy as fuck & are not where I want to be. The same with caves. But only one that we toured practically terrorized me. The Lost Sea. There was something in that water. Something that I wouldn’t have been able to tame or control. Something that would certainly eat me. I hated that place.
And also… I suppose that I really am Aughra as I said to Lil’ Small & she agreed. Ya know, from The Dark Crystal, the character that no little girl ever wanted to be (admit it, if you watched this as a kid, you all wanted to be Kiera The Gelfling). But, yes, I was that little girl.
And just like that painting up there, which is just about every element, well… that’s Aughra. She is Thra (the planet). She is the mountains & the trees & everything. That’s why she’s so gnarly… & mega powerful. And she’s not afraid of anything, as evidenced by her lack of fear & snappy attitude towards The Skeksis in both the original film & the short lived series Age of Resistance.
I also wasn’t afraid of The Skeksis when I was two & watching this film. Some girl, when we were in fucking 8th grade was afraid of them! Not that I’d want to meet them in a dark alley, but I’d seen creepier stuff in my nightmares than The Skeksis, so I figured I’d have this, should this scenario arrise. They weren’t that terrifying to me. And I suppose that because I really did see myself in Aughra & she back-talked ’em & showed no fear (as evidenced by that picture up there, that portion of the film), well, that was good enough for me. That settled it. They weren’t that scary.
And just like Aughra, once she knows something & her mind is made up, nothing will change it. Not stupid peer pressure, not threat of death. It is what it is & things must be what they must be.
I even liked how in Age of Resistance, Aughra liked The Hunter, Skekmal. As in, saw him, respected him, even, not had hearts for eyes over. Even stating, that he was the most beautiful of all the Skeksis. I suppose the one she was the most fond of (in as much as a planet entity can be of one half of a split alien being? Like a grandma being fond of a grandson or something). He was actually my favourite too. So badass.
I also thought it was interesting that he was my favourite & Aughra’s as well, yet all of the other Skeksis were absolutely terrified of him. Yep, that pretty much sums me up. It’s not that I like all “evil”, but I know what’s up. He was actually the most honourable of them all, as honourable as a Skeksis could be. Considering they are the entirety of evil from their one true form, while their Mystic counterpart is the entirety of good from that same true form.
It’s why there are certain things that I just won’t draw. As in illustrate. Just can’t do it. I have this feeling that I’d end up conjuring them. I know that sounds weird like I have all this awesome Devil Magicks that would call them forth… but ya know, I think I just might. It’s that feeling you get that you can choose to ignore or to actually heed. That gut feeling of piano strings twanging out of key. The “Danger, Will Robinson, Danger” feeling clawing away at you from somewhere deep & primordial.
Perhaps another person doesn’t have this Devil Magicks, so then drawing demons from a 16th century demonology book, or drawing serial killers does nothing. But, these are things that I won’t draw, among others, because that thing inside me says, “Oh fuck no!”.
I tend to well, I’m not sure. Put parts of myself into my illustrations? Or is that I’m conjuring the essence of the thing in question? Or is it both? I’ve had multiple people say really odd things about my illustrations. They look like it’s pulling them in physically or are transfixed by it or they recoil & it has nothing to do with it being in a style they think is simple or stupid. They’ll say things like, “This… this feels real.” or “I feel like she has… a soul!” or “This feels just like that day!” (if it happens to be a personal illustration of them).
Two excellent examples are The Deer Lady & La Ciguapa. Both are basically the same thing. A female entity who lures unfaithful man off into the woods, has sex with them, & then eats them. Why would I be afraid of them? I’m not a man & I’m not unfaithful? They wouldn’t eat me. Plus, I think they’re badass & couldn’t we use a little more man eating out in the world? I laugh, but it’s kinda true.
Another good example are this Demoness & the Ghoul. Well, for one, I didn’t look in a demonology book & draw a specific demon, I simply created her. She’s not going to eat me. Perhaps she is me in demoness form? And the ghoul? Well, I’m not dead. What’s to fear? She can eat me when I’m dead, what do I care?
Or all the creepy stuff that I draw. Sure it’s mostly from spooky/Halloween/Gore prompts during October, but how is it that I’m this way?
For one, that’s Marie Antoinette, from a description of what she was wearing when beheaded by the guillotine. Lil’ Small hated it, not because it was a headless woman, but because she wasn’t more “Marie Antoinette-ish” with the fancy court dress & towering powder wig. “But… it wasn’t accurate!”, I shot back with flailing arms. And do I think Marie Antoinette will haunt me? No. And if she did? Who the fuck cares, I’m not a afraid of her in the least.
Funny note is that somehow this illustration was brought up either by me or Lil’ Small amongst yoga people. When it was asked, why I would draw Marie Antoinette headless, I responded with, “Well some days you just gotta draw a headless woman.” They laughed & not uneasily either. They thought it was funny, but I was series. On that day that I drew her I was just really pulled to draw a headless woman.
The other is a Bangladeshi ghost, the Skondhokata. They are killed by trains & are forever searching for their severed heads. She’s not wearing red & white striped undergarments, that’s her meats showin’ & her hip bone & ribs. She’s showing teeth & jaw too. I’m real big on exposed bones & meats in my horror illustrations, apparently.
Now these are always prompts, it’s just that this is how I interpret them. We have Murder & Impaled.
The murdered lady was really only decapitated, but her remains have since gassed up & deflated leaving her slightly hollow &, well… deflated. And she’s been being picked clean by all sorts of animals (hence the scatter of limbs), including these crows pulling out the meaty stuff that’s still there & we also have maggots… of course.
Now, obviously the impaled lady is impaled. However, the real thing here is also that I pick & choose prompts from various lists. I wanted to draw Murder & Impaled. I research dead bodies & wanted her to have death goo & be basically melding with the ground & have it be as macabre as possible. As in she didn’t just die & is possibly still… pretty & looking like she might be sleeping or something?
It was the same with Impaled. I wanted to do someone impaled & went online & researched old drawings of victims who died or were executed, rather, in this manner. I know that my drawings aren’t anything akin to world famous art. They really do look like a 14 year old (boy, probably?) drew them. But I had so many people practically jump up exclaiming, “It really looks like she’s impaled!!” & they couldn’t understand how she looked so… real.
I’m not kidding. It’s not even just the “correct” angles or the blood. Surely greying out the eyes to maker her “dead” isn’t all there is to it? Apparently, it’s just too real? Perhaps it’s too good on the death front, while being simplistic teenage boy in the rendering? Is that what’s throwing people off? Or… did I kill a lady in my illustrating?
Guts Everywhere & Surgery. I imagined that teenage boys, but of the monster persuasion, had gotten ahold of a dead, human corpse, & well, wanted to watch it explode, like ya do. I went & researched explosion of guts, trajectory & all. I wanted to get this right & you know what? I’m still proud of this one.
Surgery could have been anything, but I chose an 18th century C-Section where the doctor wants to save the baby because the mother has died. And what pops out but an adorable demon baby!
I may like to draw innards & blood & macabre things, but I also think that I’m funny. I mean a demon baby practically saying, “Ta-da!” is fucking funny, I don’t care who you are!
But seriously, I’m not scared of these things coming to life. If they do, they’re not gonna eat me. I didn’t kill those ladies, men did. I didn’t desecrate that corpse, teenage monster boys did. This just sounds like some serial killer rationalizing here, “I didn’t do it, the demon that lives in me did!”, but I mean we are talking drawings here. Sure if all came from my mind, but still, if these things did suddenly spring forth, I know they wouldn’t eat me. It’s why I draw the things that I do, & steer clear of the “real”.
I’m in the middle of watching Dungeons & Dragons: Honour Among Thieves, & well, I really need to finish watch it, but that’s not the point. Here’s a bit of a spoiler.
So, my fellow Virgo Twin, Hugh Grant is in this. ‘Is he going to be bad… he keeps playing villains…?’ I thought. Though he plays villains well. But yes. He tricked New Captain Kirk… uh… Chris Pine’s character into robbing this place because of a stone that could bring back his dead wife. Left him & this lady (who probably is me if I were in that world, except the whole only eating potatoes thing) to get captured & go to prison, so he could use that stone, because it’s really about obtaining wealth.
The real point is (but you needed that) is that Captain Kirk told Hugh Grant to take care of his daughter & when him & D&D Lady Me bust outta prison & find her, that kid has swallowed all of Hugh Grants lies.
It’s her dad’s fault that D&D Lady Me got busted, her dad orchestrated the entire heist knowing the stone was about wealth & not about resurrection & only came back, not for her, but for the stone. She’s totally OK with Hugh Grant & the creepy sorceress lady (whose idea it was to break into that place initially) & doesn’t even believer her dad or D&D Lady Me.
It’s call discernment y’all. Trust your fucking guts. I kind of don’t have any empathy for this 12 or 14 year old kid, because I think she’s stupid. If this had been me as a kid, I would have known something wasn’t on the up & up with New Uncle Hugh Grant & I would have known he was lying to me. His side chick would have scared the beejebus outta me. I’d have played along, because you never show all your cards at once, man. Lull ’em into a false sense of security sort of deal. Make them believe you’re on their side. But all the while I’d be wondering how the hell to scape.
When my dad & the lady that helped raise me (because the mom died when this kid was a baby), I would have believed them. It wouldn’t even be because they are people I’m supposed to trust, that whole family deal, it would have been the feelings. The feelings emanating off of them through their words, not merely there worlds. It would be how I would have known New Uncle Hugh Grant was lying to me.
The vibes. My gut feelings. The piano twangs or horns blasting truth ba-da-da-DAAAs. You could ask anyone I grew up with & they’d say, “Oh yeah, Sarah was always like that!”. It depended on the situation as to whether or not I’d know when to hold ’em or fold ’em, but regardless, I always knew when someone was lying to me, or keeping something from me, from the feelings coming off of them in waves. Sometimes I’d simply nod my head & keep quiet. Other times, I’d jump up & yell, “Yer lyin’ to me!!!” while pointing a finger at them.
It extends further than just lying or truthing. Creepster vibes certainly go here. You could have this man, all clean cut & in a nice suit with eloquent words & I wouldn’t step foot near him, because tendrils of creep & ooze were comin’ off of him. Mom, & other ladies saw nothing wrong with him, but I could see it.
Then you might have some guy who’s all motorcylcle gang man, or just some Joe, or perhaps a guy who’s family won’t have anything to do with him, & his clothes are nice but a little old, & he’s slightly disheveled (like a five o’clock shadow), & all the ladies talk about how he’s an alcoholic… & I couldn’t get enough of him.
He didn’t seem scary in the least, didn’t give off creepster vibes. He was gruff, but I could see him & he was a really nice person. So this little four year old in her Sunday best had no qualms what so ever going up to him after church every Sunday to say hello & ask how he was. Even though my mother would rush over & say, “I’m so sorry that she’s bothering you.”, then to me “Sarah, I’ve told you not to bother this man.”
He’d say that I wasn’t bothering him (which was true, I could tell) & my mother would drag me out into the hall & say, “What did I tell you? We don’t talk to him. He’s not a nice person.”, to which I’d shoot back, “Oh yes he is!”, never saying that I’d continue to talk to him whenever I felt like it, though that’s totally what I was thinking & exactly what I did.
Mom sure did talk a lot about using one’s discernment, but she didn’t… at all. So she had two friends. The Childhood Friends Mom, who is my Godmother, & then this other lady.
So, The Childhood Friend, her family are HUGE compared to us. Like giants. Her brothers & dad are tall & over 6 feet (dad’s stocky & about 5’7″, maybe 5’8″?). The women are about 5’8″ & round. As a little child, this mom seemed ginormous (& not because she was overweight, which we was, but she looked fine to me… but she was one of those beauty queens, winning Prom or Homecoming Queen in high school & being thin, & then gaining weight she couldn’t loose because of babies. Just like my mom *rolls eyes*). But I was four & this lady was WAY taller than my mom who stood at a mere 5 feet (no inches).
Seriously, they were like the blue faerie (my mom) & the pink faerie (her mom) from Sleeping Beauty. We even both agreed, as little kids, that these would be our moms if they were faeries.
So, this lady, has a temper. I’ve seen it. She towered over me as a kid. Was I afraid of her? Fuck no. Why? For one, dad’s got a huge temper. I know anger. It thrives in my veins as well. Even though by size, she could have eaten me for breakfast, that didn’t matter. I felt I could take her if push came to shove. I was never afraid of her her, or to stand up to her.
I’m also emblazoned with the blood of my paternal grandmother, who was tiny, but fierce & feisty. My grandfather saying, “Betty can take care of herself!”, because she didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her & could eat someone for breakfast even if they were ten times bigger than her, including my grandfather if he got in the way!
One time I called The Childhood Friend a bitch, because she was acting like a spoiled little bitch. I was seven. She was five. She, of course, ran to her mom to tattle on me. Mom liked being friends with her mom so I was forced to smooth things over.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
I had hung my head, but heard her say all high & mighty, “That’s right. You should be.”. That pride just rippling off of her. I shot my face upwards to her with that face my dad gives that you never want to see him throw. Ever. The look of ‘What the FUCK did you just say to me?!’
The energy inside of her stepped back in fear, though her physical body never moved. Her eyes did go wide for half a second though. “Well, now I’m not sorry!!” I said as I was prepared to launch myself off that bench & onto her fucking face.
Mom helped me back & pinched me, whispering, “Sarah. Just make it right. I know but just do it!” She knew I was about to murder her Super BFF, since those were fightin’ words. Mom had explained to me how mean that was, & I really felt bad about it. So, to genuinely apologize & have that slap me in the face? Oh hell no!
So, mom had this other friend. Thin, elegant, soft spoken. She is who I was afraid of. She is who I held my cards for, never rising up. She was a Skeksis, only her façade wasn’t creepy. But she was all “You are such a smart Gelfling, you should join the blahblahblah.”, “You don’t have to walk. Ride in our carriage, Gelfling.”, “We make peace, Gelfling. Only want peace, am nice Skeksis.”
And all of those Skeksis would literally stab you in the fucking back any chance they could get. Deceitful. Sneaky. Completely untrustworthy. Which is why Skekmal, The Hunter was the most beautiful of them all. You knew his intentions right up front. No games. No lying. No hunting weaker prey that couldn’t fight back.
This lady? I felt like she might slip poison into my food while smiling if I didn’t do what she said. Survival, y’all. You couldn’t trust her. She’d turn from simpering sweet on a dime if you didn’t play the game to stay alive. Mom just adored her. Didn’t see anything wrong or amiss with her. Yeah, where’s your discernment, mom?
Lil’ Small even asked, “Do you wonder if [The Childhood Friend] is the way she is… because of you?”
I had thought about that. I felt like perhaps I broke her. Led her astray from her mega Catholic roots with my devilish ways. Exposing her to films & music & themes that perhaps is the reason she writes her very sexy fan fiction or other things.
Lil’ Small countered. “No, I mean… maybe you freed her.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way before. It’s not like I was a terrible influence, getting her to drain babies of blood or skin grandma’s alive or steal or anything. I was just shit like letting her listen to the Industrial German Metal band, Rammstein or getting her to watch A Clockwork Orange (but I did fast forward through all of the… uh… ultra violence.).
She made a good point though. The mom just wanted the three older boys out of her way, so they ran wild outside getting into all sorts of boy trouble & shenanigans. The Childhood Friend though, was practically kept under lock & key. Forced to undergo VO5 Hot Oil hair treatments once a week (even at Girl Scout Camp) & other weird shit. We were like five!
I tried to keep myself in cheque & not like steal her soul or damage it or anything. Basically I was like the Tommy Pickles to her Chuckie Finster. We’d get into trouble together, always my idea, but she’d be the voice of reason saying we might get punished, but I ignored her.
Maybe I just helped her have enough freedom to find herself. I mean, I’m not selfish, so even if I am from hell, I’m not gonna force my friends to go hang out there with me when we all die. They should choose. I’m nice like that.
But I do believe that her mother wouldn’t have allowed us to hang out, if her & my mom hadn’t of been Super BFF’s. She’s not the only one who told my mother that I was evil & to be watched closely. Or that I was a creepy child. Just, she’s the only one that really stuck around all these years, with my mom.
So… am I evil? Or Scary? Or just older than old & say things too matter of factly? Perhaps it’s a little of all three.
Alien Tea Shoppe 