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.
So You Want to Be a Witch?
So, you want to be a witch, do you?
Well, here's what you do.
Friday night, go up to the old Indian graveyard up top the ridge.
Take off every stitch of clothing and dance, dance for the Devil.
Then get dressed and go back home.
The next Friday, do the same, and the one after that. Nine weeks running, you do this.
On the ninth Friday, the Devil will come out from behind a birch tree and dance with you himself.
They say he has horns like a deer.
They say he has a foot like a bull's.
They say his eyes are the size of hard-boiled eggs.
Once he's had his way with you, he'll give you a little nip on the shoulder blade.
That's your witch's mark.
And then you're his.
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