Oh it wasn't a wiccan shop. They typically sell all white arts stuff, difficult even to find a readymade black candle that isn't just a cheap piece'o'shit layer of black wax on a white candle. Which I find hypocritical at best if one WERE to want to engage in such practices, I should think any self-respecting perdition-spawn would be outright offended if called in a circle made of black candles white on the inside, LOL.
And don't worry FWM, I left out the details. Aside from the basics, and the target dying of cancer not long after. But yes, that was some very, very, very dark material in that book. I still have it as part of my library of many things, my own personal book-emporium. I'd be damn surprised if a wicca store would even allow that book in stock, the things in it you'd shudder if you read some of it. Hell I would. Not at first, but after actually employing some of the ritual material in the blacker parts of the book. That was, just as you describe, the blackest of dark. It was crawling with evil. And the worst part of it, was that BA entity, it WASN'T bloodthirsty. No, not at all. It was an unquenchable, ever-hunger for suffering, for slow torture, for misery and pain. Bloodthirsty, would just be happy with ripping somebody to little pieces with a thrown tray of knives in a horror movie. This thing was worse than I've ever seen in any horror movie. I'll never forget the words growled in that gravelly, deep bass toned voice, from a 13 (just about) year old girl 'touched by another, forever be MINE!', as though the words weren't coming from her mouth, but being ripped from the air using her mouth as a way to vomit it forth out into the world. She didn't know the place had been used. Shit, she didn't even remember saying those words. I can still picture it now, in my head, the way she snarled and shrieked and shat those words forth, vomited them up from god doesn't even WANT to know where. No good deity anyway. I don't know to this day how a girl with her normal voice, could physically shape those sounds with a female barely teenage larynx and vocal cords. It was vicious, oily and at the same time, hollow and slow, despite the speed they were voiced and spat out like a mouthful of diseased, mouldy clotting rancid milk accidentally gulped. There was an eerieness to it, an echoing, slow, mournfulness yet delighting in virulence.
Only way I can describe it, aside from haunting, which seems too blase' about it, is Arch-Vile. And I mean to make no reference to the hell-being from the 'DOOM' series of videogames. Arch Vile, is the best wording I can think of that fits what she said. Or what was said with her. Not said BY her, but said WITH her. As if picking up a tool and using it, like a rusty chisel to strike sparks from flint rocks. And at the worst part of the same time, with a touch of her feminine young voice to it.
Creepy. As. All. Fuck. If you'd heard it, at the time, you'd never forget it, and you'd want to be sick at the sound of it. At one and the same time, with a melody to it and with a brutish grunted, coughed-up, vomited forth ruptured abscess full of hatred, as if playing a violin strung with human sinews with a bow made from the rotting scaly hide of a puff adder which had died from slow, painful disease resulting in its having starved to death.
I still can't forget it. I doubt I ever will. And yet afterwards the girl herself, she just kept walking on, after pausing, at least until later when she was thrown through the air, as if someone had picked her up by the throat and chucked her like a casually tossed snowball, she paused briefly to 'speak' those words, honeyed with the produce of a beehive fed upon the nectar of hemlock and aconite, and dripping with venom and pus, then carried on walking, as if nothing had happened. Like I'd asked her 'what the fuck did you just say' and she turned round, looked at me as if I'd lost the plot, since she hadn't said anything at all.
I might have to get it out just to have another read of it though, now I'm reminded of it. The book, I mean.
Lets just say though that no, your bloody well right I don't plan on putting that....that THING into use again. Certainly not that entity. Lets just say there are things that one should or can freely do on Samhain, and some that you really fucking shouldn't. Pretty sure you've guessed precisely which category that working falls into.
IIRC the girl, that was one year after, again on Samhain night. And you'll never have seen somebody research bindings and restraining of things without bodies so sodding fast in your life before. Or after
For something (the book) as unusual, and from the smell of the paper, the look and feel of the bindings (of the book) quite old, the low price tag was, looking back, with hindsight, rather conspicuous, although it wasn't at the time.
As for whether its ended...I don't know. All I know is that everbody I knew then with any experience in the left hand path, or wiccans, both coming together, all to bind that thing, the thing that I would know now as the Arch-Vile, by feeling of its nature, the thing that defies all my logical, scientific knowledge from the chain of events post its being called upon and directed to perform a task (and at that a bloody bad one that I shouldn't have), yeah, that'll do it. It isn't It's Name, bloody buggery no, I don't know what is, and I don't WANT to know what its true personal name is (if something that is not a person can have a personal name.), at least, the Name that applies to It and It alone, that I don't know or wish to ever hear spoken by anybody who does.
But for short, as a reference point, 'the Arch Vile' fits as good as any. Feels like it fits evil like a well worn leather jacket. Hell is comfy in the term, like a pair of Tartarus's favourite well-worn-in boots.
