Sean Best's Blog - Posts Tagged "consuelo-and-cristobal"
Consuelo and Cristobal
My fascination with witchcraft began at an early age because family, friends, neighbors, anyone who knew anything at all about my maternal grandmother whispered rumors that she was a witch.
My grandmother knew this of course, but she didn't mind. According to what grannie told me, the rumors got started in part because she had an uncanny intuition that made it seem as though she could actually see future events well before they happened.
Another reason for the rumors is that she brought water to a boil outside by building a fire under a large iron cauldron. She poured soap flakes out of a box into this steaming water, then threw her laundry in and stirred it around and punched it down in the boiling sudsy water with a stick that had been bleached white and worn smooth from years of repeated use.
I helped grannie build her laundry fires and I helped her rinse the laundry in cool well water that filled a number 3 washtub nearby. I even helped hang the wet clothes on the line to dry.
Another contributing factor to my grannie's formidable reputation as a witch came from the fact that she had familiars - as in witch's familiars. They had names, too, because I often overheard her talking to them when she (as I erroneously thought) didn't know I was listening.
I asked grannie about Sack'n'Sugar, Vinegar Tom, and Brown Jenkin. She told me they were her familiars and that she would fight up to the knees in blood before she would lose them, but that's all I ever got to know about her familiars. I suppose a witch's familiars are something very personal....or very dangerous.
My dear old grannie's house was built entirely of mismatched lumber and was topped with a rusty tin roof. Behind her house was a grim and gloomy swamp in which lurked spooky shadows and from which emanated eerie sounds both day and night. My grandmother, being a witch herself, naturally knew a lot about witches and she told me volumes of some of the most terrifying tales I've ever heard. That's how grannie would get me ready for bed at night - by telling me stories about witches. With my imagination thus fired, you can visualize what my dreams were like.
Grannie used to warn me about a beastly creature that lived out in that dark swamp behind her house. The creature of course was very big and very scary with huge razor sharp teeth and claws and a vigorous appetite for small boys.
Maybe she didn't want me venturing out there to get lost or snake bitten, or perhaps the swamp monster was real. Whatever the case, dear Sybil, I wanted to share this information about my background with you so that you'll have a fuller understanding of my nearly obsessive interest in all things occult. Supernatural horror is, to me, an irresistible lure.
I want to say that in my experience I have discovered that witches and their ancient craft are real.
I can provide evidence to substantiate my exotic claim in the form of the following. I'm going to share with you the beginning of a new novel which formulated in my mind during the last 24 hours. The ideas for the novels I write are generated from spells of witchcraft. I literally light candles and chant incantations to invoke original ideas and inspiration for character, scenery, and plot. I was thinking of calling this new novel Spawn of Witchcraft, yet since it is a horror story of lethally passionate romantic love, I decided to name it after the lead characters of the story - Consuelo and Cristobal. I shall now endeavor to copy and paste the start of the new novel into this messenger application so that you may bear witness to the manifestations of real twenty-first century witchcraft. I hope you like it.
Consuelo and Cristobal
“See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove on that hand that I might touch that cheek!”
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II Scene II
“There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work, and time for love. That leaves no other time!”
Coco Chanel
A grim flow of scarlet oozed from the motionless bodies that had so lately been animated by the vibrant passions of life and love. The thick hot blood spattered in the chill October rain as it streamed from the hard unfeeling concrete sidewalk over the curb through the gutter grate and into the dark sewer below. Like a gruesome sculpture, the corpses lay arm in arm, her head upon his chest.
Horrified bystanders gathered round to view the macabre spectacle and emitted muffled cries of bewilderment and dread. Huddling together in their drab raincoats under black umbrellas, the shocked assembly of disbelieving onlookers had very much the appearance of mourners massed round a burial.
The sirens of approaching emergency responders wailed balefully in the distance in haunting resonance with rumbles of rolling thunder that issued like tolls of a death bell from the bloated bellies of iron-gray storm clouds that sagged gloomily low overhead.
But you want to know how things ever got so far as to terminate in such an unthinkable heart-wrenching tragedy. You want me to go all the way back to the fateful event that set this inevitable course of ruination in motion. You want me to start at the very beginning and tell the whole ghastly tale in all its gory details omitting no particular no matter how abhorrent. After all, it is these seemingly trivial matters, the least little wrong turn at the fork in the road of destiny, that so often lead to such a piteous and lamentable end.
Very well, if you really must know, I shall tell you the entire grievous story. It all began, ironically enough, thirteen years ago on just such a dreary day in the fall of the year as that upon which it finally degraded, by degrees of worsening desperation, to its mortifying cessation. But, before I begin, ask yourself the following questions: Do soul-mates really exist? Is there such a thing as divinely ordained love? For every person living and breathing on Earth at any given time, is there only one other person with whom they can experience true love? Do you believe in witchcraft? Whatever your viewpoint now, no matter how firmly embraced, when you’ve heard this story, you may change your mind.
My grandmother knew this of course, but she didn't mind. According to what grannie told me, the rumors got started in part because she had an uncanny intuition that made it seem as though she could actually see future events well before they happened.
Another reason for the rumors is that she brought water to a boil outside by building a fire under a large iron cauldron. She poured soap flakes out of a box into this steaming water, then threw her laundry in and stirred it around and punched it down in the boiling sudsy water with a stick that had been bleached white and worn smooth from years of repeated use.
I helped grannie build her laundry fires and I helped her rinse the laundry in cool well water that filled a number 3 washtub nearby. I even helped hang the wet clothes on the line to dry.
Another contributing factor to my grannie's formidable reputation as a witch came from the fact that she had familiars - as in witch's familiars. They had names, too, because I often overheard her talking to them when she (as I erroneously thought) didn't know I was listening.
I asked grannie about Sack'n'Sugar, Vinegar Tom, and Brown Jenkin. She told me they were her familiars and that she would fight up to the knees in blood before she would lose them, but that's all I ever got to know about her familiars. I suppose a witch's familiars are something very personal....or very dangerous.
My dear old grannie's house was built entirely of mismatched lumber and was topped with a rusty tin roof. Behind her house was a grim and gloomy swamp in which lurked spooky shadows and from which emanated eerie sounds both day and night. My grandmother, being a witch herself, naturally knew a lot about witches and she told me volumes of some of the most terrifying tales I've ever heard. That's how grannie would get me ready for bed at night - by telling me stories about witches. With my imagination thus fired, you can visualize what my dreams were like.
Grannie used to warn me about a beastly creature that lived out in that dark swamp behind her house. The creature of course was very big and very scary with huge razor sharp teeth and claws and a vigorous appetite for small boys.
Maybe she didn't want me venturing out there to get lost or snake bitten, or perhaps the swamp monster was real. Whatever the case, dear Sybil, I wanted to share this information about my background with you so that you'll have a fuller understanding of my nearly obsessive interest in all things occult. Supernatural horror is, to me, an irresistible lure.
I want to say that in my experience I have discovered that witches and their ancient craft are real.
I can provide evidence to substantiate my exotic claim in the form of the following. I'm going to share with you the beginning of a new novel which formulated in my mind during the last 24 hours. The ideas for the novels I write are generated from spells of witchcraft. I literally light candles and chant incantations to invoke original ideas and inspiration for character, scenery, and plot. I was thinking of calling this new novel Spawn of Witchcraft, yet since it is a horror story of lethally passionate romantic love, I decided to name it after the lead characters of the story - Consuelo and Cristobal. I shall now endeavor to copy and paste the start of the new novel into this messenger application so that you may bear witness to the manifestations of real twenty-first century witchcraft. I hope you like it.
Consuelo and Cristobal
“See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove on that hand that I might touch that cheek!”
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II Scene II
“There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work, and time for love. That leaves no other time!”
Coco Chanel
A grim flow of scarlet oozed from the motionless bodies that had so lately been animated by the vibrant passions of life and love. The thick hot blood spattered in the chill October rain as it streamed from the hard unfeeling concrete sidewalk over the curb through the gutter grate and into the dark sewer below. Like a gruesome sculpture, the corpses lay arm in arm, her head upon his chest.
Horrified bystanders gathered round to view the macabre spectacle and emitted muffled cries of bewilderment and dread. Huddling together in their drab raincoats under black umbrellas, the shocked assembly of disbelieving onlookers had very much the appearance of mourners massed round a burial.
The sirens of approaching emergency responders wailed balefully in the distance in haunting resonance with rumbles of rolling thunder that issued like tolls of a death bell from the bloated bellies of iron-gray storm clouds that sagged gloomily low overhead.
But you want to know how things ever got so far as to terminate in such an unthinkable heart-wrenching tragedy. You want me to go all the way back to the fateful event that set this inevitable course of ruination in motion. You want me to start at the very beginning and tell the whole ghastly tale in all its gory details omitting no particular no matter how abhorrent. After all, it is these seemingly trivial matters, the least little wrong turn at the fork in the road of destiny, that so often lead to such a piteous and lamentable end.
Very well, if you really must know, I shall tell you the entire grievous story. It all began, ironically enough, thirteen years ago on just such a dreary day in the fall of the year as that upon which it finally degraded, by degrees of worsening desperation, to its mortifying cessation. But, before I begin, ask yourself the following questions: Do soul-mates really exist? Is there such a thing as divinely ordained love? For every person living and breathing on Earth at any given time, is there only one other person with whom they can experience true love? Do you believe in witchcraft? Whatever your viewpoint now, no matter how firmly embraced, when you’ve heard this story, you may change your mind.
