Bana-bhuidseach. The witch.
Summer is but a memory. The days shorten and chill. Flowers fade and leaves fall. Autumn’s final flourish of vivid crimson and gold will last but a short time.
October begins with fiery flames of every hue and ends with the bewitching mystery and magic of Halloween. Witches and warlocks, ghosts and goblins, potions and charms, spells and chants. Good versus Evil.
I intensely dislike 21st Century Halloween. Ok, many people dislike the commercial focus on phoney vampires, dreary zombies, and whatever new gimmick can be dreamed up. However, I should love this festival because I am a witch. I should adore the spooky horror and fantasy.
It’s all rubbish!!! Real witches loathe the synthetic, tatty costumes that kids crave, the fake blood, the plastic fangs, and the cheap, sugar-laden candy.
Killjoy! I hear you say, but hear me out, and perhaps you’ll see it my way.
Halloween originated in Scotland, hundreds of years ago. It is the shortened version of All Hallows' Eve. The original Celtic festival was called Samhain. The celebration marked the end of harvest and the start of winter. At this time, the veil between the world of the living and the realm of the dead was said to be at its thinnest.
Traditions such as lighting bonfires and wearing disguises to ward off evil spirits started. Hence the word Guising, sadly overtaken by the American Trick or Treat Phrase.
How I mourn the loss of the true traditions of my homeland. The commercial interests that have swept the mystery and magic away with their Non-magical broom.
***************
My story goes back in the mists of history and folklore. As a child growing up in the tenements of Glasgow, I used to love Halloween. Dressing up in old clothes and going Guising with friends, round the doors of our neighbours. We had to perform a song, recite a poem, or tell a joke to earn an apple or a handful of nuts, or the occasional few coppers. None of this demand, Trick or Treat. Then we would go to someone’s home for a party. Dooking for apples, catching a hanging treacle scone, telling scary stories in a room lit only by firelight or Neep Lanterns. Magical times.
One year, my grandmother, Seanmhair, was visiting from Lewis. When she spoke, everyone listened. Her wonderful Hebridean lilt so different from the rather harsh Glasgow tones. I loved my granny and never really saw her often enough.
She began her story with only the crackling fire to accompany her words.
“Harvest was over. Summer had fled. Nights were dark and cold. The dead were restless, impatient to be seen and heard once more. The year was 1746. The Jacobite uprising a memory, Charles Edward Stuart, Bonnie Prince Charlie, had gone from these shores, the Dream of the crown gone. Friends and neighbours no longer in tandem as they chose opposing sides in the battle. The mystics had grown stronger. The dark ones casting their black ways to increase suspicions, mistrust, and evil. The white struggling to bring the light and harmony back to their land. The most evil and cunning were the Baobhan Sith. They could lure and tempt and change their form to anything they chose. They could read men’s minds. Their only enemy being iron and daylight. “
She recounted the tale of 4 hunters lured into their dance, who had their throats slit, save one who did not succumb to their charms, and managed to escape by sheltering beside his and his friends’ newly iron-shod horses.
Nicnevan was the opposite; she brought light and goodness, but in those dark days, the Sith emerged as the stronger. Granny’s tale ended.
Eventually, neighbours and friends returned home. Only Granny and I remained. My Mother was blethering at the front door. Granny turned to me and quietly said,
“I too am a mystic, a Bana-bhuidseach. I am descended from Nicnevan. I have powers. This power often skips generations. My mother did not possess it, nor my daughter, your mother.”
Her piercing green eyes never left me.
“I believe you will have the gift. Treat it sparingly, wisely, and for good. You will be able to go back in time. You will see, but be unseen, you will hear, but be unheard, you will learn. You will be unable to change what has been. We will speak of it no more. You and I are the only ones to share this knowledge. “ She handed me a soft leather pouch which she bid me open. A beautiful moonstone lay on my palm. It felt warm, and the flames from the fire caused flashes of iridescent colour to shine from it.
“I pass this stone to you. As my grandmother did to me. My time on this earth is ending. Cherish this always.”
Footsteps echoed in the hall. My mother entered the room. The conversation ended.
My grandmother returned to Lewis. I never saw her again. She died soon after, as she had predicted. I was heartbroken.
We all made the long, sad journey to Lewis. The cemetery faced the mighty Atlantic Ocean. The only neighbours were sheep, curlews, and seabirds. Women and children did not go to the cemetery, but my mother broke with tradition, a brave thing to do. I told her I was going too. She smiled and said she knew.
I stood there with the mourners, clad in their black mourning garb. I never understood the minister’s words, which were in Gaelic. I spoke a little but not enough. I put my hand in my pocket and clutched the precious leather bag. It felt warm, and I detected a faint beat.
A mist formed, hiding the scene, silencing the voice. I quickly blinked to clear my vision. I was no longer in the wind-blown cemetery by the ocean; I was on the shore. I was not alone. There was a bonfire in front of a cave, a female stood with her arms raised skywards. A howling wind appeared from nowhere, and the waves roared and crashed on the shore. I turned to watch, and to my dismay, I saw a small vessel heading for the rocks. Mist formed again, and the scene changed. A lone figure staggered up the beach, drawn to the fire and warmth and safety. The woman did not attempt to help. She smiled a slow, knowing smile. Her face was stunningly beautiful, white as snow, with glittering blue eyes, and long, jet black hair framed her face. Her body was dressed in flowing black robes. I felt a chill run through me. I knew I was witnessing the past. I knew instinctively she was Sith. I also knew at that moment in time, I was no longer a child but an adult. I shouted a warning, but my words were unheard; I was unseen.
She lured him towards her, she shed her robes, and stood naked. Her breasts were full and round, her skin smooth and inviting, her lips full of promise. Her vagina was hidden by a black curtain, which she was stroking seductively with her long white fingers. The bewitched sailor staggered into her body, and they fell to the ground. She caressed and stroked him, and he passionately kissed her while fumbling with his awkward, drenched clothing. He rose above her withdrawing his manhood, as he moved to enter her, she gave a bloodcurdling shriek, and with her arms raised skyward again a swirling mist descended. When the mist cleared, the man had vanished. All that remained was some kind of talisman. I couldn’t see it clearly. With a cry of triumph, she held it aloft. I stood rooted to the spot in horror. She turned her malevolent gaze in my direction, but she did not see me. The scene vanished. I was back in the cemetery.
. ************
Time has passed. My grandmother's powers have indeed passed to me, after her death. At first it was scary. I did not want to be different. Then I would hold the Moonstone, feel its warmth and pulse, and hear granny’s voice “Use your power wisely.” Most of the time, I did. I told no one. If my marks in Maths suddenly excelled, then it was down to hard work. If my flat chest blossomed into beautiful breasts that were the envy of my friends, then it was exercise and a careful diet. If I had clear skin, free from teenage blemishes, then it was my excellent skincare regime. My flowing red hair shone with streaks of gold, never going greasy like my classmates. I was aware of my stunning beauty, but never flaunted it. Indeed my closest friends often found their skin clearing in time for an important date, their breasts becoming fuller, their exam results always showed pass marks. I was not greedy. Only once did I use it for more mischievous reasons.
In sixth year, the school captain was hero-worshipped, every seveenteen year old girl fancied him, except me. I thought he was full of shit and so far up himself, he could practically see daylight. However, my dearest friend, Jane worshipped him from afar. I’d “helped” Jane in many small ways, mainly in her learning capacity, but she was no stunner. One Saturday night at a party, the hero of the hour moved on Jane. He asked her to dance. The lights were dimmed and teenage bodies clung to each other as they shuffled and necked to the slow music. In Glasgow we call that dance a Moonie, no idea why, we also call necking, winching. It was every girl’s dream to have a Moonie and winch at the end of the night. Jane was euphoric. I was thrilled for her, but I had my doubts. She was in a frenzy of wondering if he would ask her out because she had “got off” with him, another Glasgow term, on Saturday night.
On Monday in the 6th form common room, I spotted our hero laughing with his friends. Their conversation was quiet, but with my powers, I could hear them. He was laughing about “plain Jane” and the dare he’d fulfilled in “getting off” with her on Saturday night. I was furious. Yes, I used my powers. Next day in school, he showed up with his face covered in plooks (spots) he also had a very irritating itch in his crotch! In contrast, Jane’s frizzy brown hair was sleek and shiny, her skin glowing and her puppy fat had disappeared magically to reveal sexy curves. She was a sensation. No more plain Jane. Sorry Granny, but what are friends for? Jane never did go on that date. She went on many others.
That was the fun side, but there were dark moments, dark dreams. I never had any warning.
My first came, unsurprisingly, the Halloween after Granny died. I did not celebrate it.
Sleep overcame me as I remembered the previous year.
********
It was the bitter cold that struck me. I was in a clearing under some pine trees. Night was falling, snow lay thick on the ground. A cottage was ahead, the light streaming from the window, smoke curling from the chimney. I heard the sound of hoofs, muffled by the snow. As the magnificent horse approached the cottage, a man dismounted and, without knocking, went inside. The scene changed, and I too was inside. I felt the heat from the fire, but I was chilled. A woman welcomed the man. I knew her. I had seen her ensnare a man on the day of my grandmother’s funeral.
I was closer to her. Close enough to touch. She was stunningly beautiful, as before, but all I could see was evil. I tried to shout out, to pull her back, to warn him. I could not.
“You cannot change what has been.” Echoed in my head. I stood transfixed as the scene unfolded before me. Helpless to change its inevitable ending.
The Sith removed her black robes and stood naked before him. He quickly removed his clothing too, except for a talisman or charm tied round his neck with a lace of leather. She drew him to the floor, and her long, white fingers lingered in his hair as she drew him down to kiss him. Their bodies came together; he grasped her breasts, teasing her nipples. I could hear their laboured breathing. I was a voyeur, but an unwilling one. His hands moved down her body, finding their way beneath the black curtain to probe her inner core. She shuddered and groaned with pleasure, but I saw her face showed cold malice, not desire. Her nails began to scrape down his back. I was screaming for him to go. Not a sound was heard. He withdrew his hands and made to enter her hidden delights. I tried to close my eyes. Useless. As before, her nails, now talons, shot out, and that bloodcurdling shriek again erupted. A swirling, choking grey mist descended yet again. Once more, when it cleared, the horseman had vanished with only his talisman remaining. Again the shriek of triumph as she held it aloft. Her ice cold blue eyes flashed to where I was standing. She could not see me. I am convinced though that she felt my presence.
***********
I wakened in a sweat, the blanket and sheets twisted around me. I was clutching the moonstone.
The dark dreams continued. They were always the same. The seductive snare of the Sith, the disappearance of her victim, the claiming of the talisman, which I never, ever saw clearly. The blood-curdling shriek. The deathly chill and evil. The look to where I was standing. The decades and centuries changed as did the locations. On a rare occasion, the dream was different, the players different. Nicnevan, my ancestor, featured in these dreams. The first dream was unforgettable.
It was the end of the school year. I had been asked out by a boy I had fancied for some time. I had resisted using my powers to nudge him my way. We had gone to see a movie, and he had walked me home. The customary winch at the end of the night sent me to bed with a smile on my face and a wish that he had not been such a gentleman.
**************
The warmth struck me. I was in a field, clearly it was harvest time from bygone days. Workers had cut the harvest, sheaths of corn were stacked, happy people ate and drank before going home. I noticed a young man moving into the trees. He stopped by a pool. Waiting there was a female with her back to us. Her long red hair was streaked with gold; she was dressed in white. Light and love radiated from her. She turned; I gasped. This was me, but it couldn't be. The green eyes danced with fun and life. Her voice when she spoke was different from mine. She spoke in Gaelic, but strangely, I understood her words. This was Nicnevan. I watched the scene unfold. Again the unwilling voyeur. But was I? As she removed her robes, my body began to tingle, my breathing became erratic. The young man undressed swiftly. His body was firm and muscled, bronzed by the sun. His manhood was darkly fringed. They fell to the ground together. They kissed deeply, their eager hands explored each other's bodies. Their mouths then followed the path their hands had made. I was mesmerised. I felt his kisses, his touch, his scent. My nipples hardened, and my lower body flooded with new sensations. I was soaking. When he finally entered her, I gasped at the quick burst of pain. For a split second, my eyes met with Nicnevan. As with the Sith, she was alerted to my presence, but in that moment, I am sure she saw me fleetingly. As the scene faded, my last glimpse was of a talisman round her neck. I wakened again, clutching the moonstone, my pyjamas were wet.
**********
Summer and school ended, and so did my romance. After the sizzling dream, I had needed more than this boy and his gentlemanly ways. We parted as friends, and I began university. I still stayed at home with my parents. The dreams continued.
The most recent dream was vivid.
Again the change in Temperature alerted me.
I was back on the shore in Lewis, on the beach below the cemetery. Was it the same dream?
The Sith stood as before in front of the cave, dressed in black, her beautiful, cold face lit by the flames of the bonfire. Night was falling, but there was no storm. Only a deathly chill emanating from the cave. Silence enveloped me. No sound of wind or waves. Then I saw a figure approach the Sith. Again I cried out a futile warning. The man was tall and strode purposefully towards the flame and the lure of the Sith. She removed her robes, and the light from the flames caressed her breasts and the tempting dips and valleys of her body. Her body swayed in a sinuous trap. I noticed that around her neck she wore talismans.
He had reached her. She reached out and stroked his hair and face, seducing him with every move. His eyes never left her face. He did not disrobe. Momentarily, she looked puzzled. The knowing smile began, and she closed her eyes alluringly. She smiled seductively.
His hand shot out and grabbed the talismans from her. His other hand grabbed the talisman from his own neck. He held them aloft. She howled and lunged for him. The flames leapt high, the ground shook. She could not reach him. Slowly, the picture started to fade, but not before the figure changed from male to female, Nicnevan. Again our eyes met fleetingly.
Once more, I wakened in a tangle of sheets, clutching the Moonstone. It was warm, but something was different. I looked closely. There was an eyelet, which had not been there before. Was my Moonstone the Talisman from my dreams? I do not know.
***************
My present life was changing. With no current romance, I realised a bad boy was required to explore my unfulfilled needs from my dream. Ok, not a really bad boy, but definitely not a gentleman. I would not use my power. I only once used my power slightly maliciously. It was loyalty to my friend Jane, and he deserved it, if only for a day. I never did explain what really happened later that day though did I?
*************
When Jane appeared in the school common room after the party, she looked fabulous. The school captain couldn't take his eyes off her, along with everyone else. I could read his thoughts. His friends had dared him to “get off” with Jane. He had gone along with it. He had liked her for a long time, but knew he would be teased mercilessly if he admitted it. He knew she too, would have a hard time. What had happened was genuine on his part. Somehow he knew that the dare was known. It actually wasn’t. I never told Jane. I had just” nudged” her feelings away from him. He had lost his chance. He should have followed his heart, not his head. Miraculously, the next day his spots and itch had disappeared. So had Jane. She had agreed to a date with his best friend. I had learned my lesson. No more abusing my powers.
**********
It just so happens that the school captain attends the same university as me. I also lied when I said I was immune to his charms at school. I know what you are thinking. Did. I manipulate events to suit me? No. I really was looking after Jane, but if it meant she no longer fancied the school captain, then I could try. I am meeting him in the Refectory for coffee this morning to discuss some coursework. I won’t read his thoughts, I won't use my powers.
But my Moonstone will be in my pocket………just in case.
