🕯️ The Witch of Endor

 In Endor’s grove where shadows creep,

And twisted trees refuse to sleep,

A woman dwelt with haunted grace,

A veil of night upon her face.

She knew the herbs, the stars, the flame,

She knew the dead by whispered name.

Though kings had cursed her ancient art,

She held the veil, she knew its heart.

One eve, beneath a moon so wide,

A stranger came with grief as guide.

His cloak was torn, his voice was low—

He begged the dead their fate to show.

She warned him once, she warned him twice,

But sorrow is a blade of ice.

She drew the circle, lit the fire,

And called the shade from funeral pyre.

From earth arose a ghostly form,

With eyes like ash and breath like storm.

The prophet Samuel, pale and stern,

Returned to speak, returned to burn.

“Why call me forth?” the spirit cried,

“Your crown is cracked, your sons shall die.”

The stranger wept, the witch stood still—

The wind grew sharp upon the hill.

And when the dawn began to rise,

The king departed, blind of eyes.

The witch remained, her fire cold,

Her tale a secret never told.

But still on All Hallows’ Eve they say,

She walks the grove in ghostly gray—

And if you ask the dead to speak,

She’ll answer once… but never twice.

🕯️ The Witch of Endor: A Spooky Mystery

As told by the woman who raised the prophet

They call me witch.

But I was once a healer,

a whisperer of herbs and dreams,

a keeper of the old ways before the king’s decree turned my craft to crime.

I lived in Endor,

a village of shadows and silence,

where the wind spoke through olive trees

and the dead sometimes answered.

The Law came down hard.

Saul, the king, cast out all mediums and spirit-talkers.

He feared what he could not control.

But fear is a poor shield against fate.

One night, cloaked in desperation,

a stranger came to my door.

Tall. Hooded.

His voice trembled like a man already mourning.

“I seek a spirit,” he said.

“Bring up the one I name.”

I knew the law.

I knew the risk.

But something in his voice—

a crack, a grief, a doom—

made me listen.

He swore no harm would come.

He promised protection.

And so, beneath the moon’s pale eye,

I drew the circle,

lit the flame,

and called into the veil.

I expected illusion.

A flicker.

A shadow.

But what rose was Samuel.

Not a trick.

Not a shade.

But the prophet himself,

wrapped in robes of judgment,

his face carved from thunder.

I screamed.

Not from guilt,

but from awe.

Even I, who had danced with spirits,

had never seen one so real.

The stranger fell to his knees.

And Samuel spoke—not to me,

but to him.

“Why have you disturbed me?”

he asked.

And then I knew.

The stranger was Saul.

The king who had banished me

now begged the dead for answers.

Samuel’s voice was cold.

He spoke of disobedience,

of kingdoms lost,

of sons who would not see the dawn.

When the spirit vanished,

Saul collapsed like a broken altar.

I fed him.

Bread.

Meat.

A final meal before the storm.

He left before sunrise.

And I returned to my silence.

But the veil had thinned.

And I, who had once whispered to shadows,

now heard them whisper back.

They say I was evil.

They say I was cursed.

But I was only a witness—

to a king’s fall,

to a prophet’s wrath,

to the truth that even the dead

do not forget.

🌊📖✨🪶📚🌀🕊️🎙️👣