Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
A Night on Witch Island
Have you ever been to Witch Island?
You know the one I mean. That island out in the river (or: lake) where the witches go for their...doings.
You've heard the stories. Nobody else goes out there.
(Well, there were those kids that once. Did you ever hear what they saw there? All that weird shit carved on the rocks? The big pile of ashes? The bones? Did you hear what happened to those kids?)
You've seen the fires out there among the trees at night. You've seen the shadows of the dancers.
You've heard the drums, the crazy singing.
You've heard the howls.
The screams.
No, nobody goes to Witch Island. I've never been there either.
I sure hope we get there, some day.
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