Are You Wondering Where We Are This Year?

Frankly, at times, so are we.

It’s been a rough wild year for all of us at Sisters In The Shadows.

We are fighting pain, flare-ups, illness, changes in direction, changes of heart, physical issues, metaphysical issues, living arrangements…all sorts of tushie over tea kettle stuff.

We had been planning a different direction during and right after the last Halloween…and then…shift happened and keeps happening.

Will we return this year?

Only if things pop up and we post them (as Evangeline did earlier this month).

No promises there.

Will we return next year?

That honestly depends on where we all end up once all the physical ick, the mental ick, the spiritual WTF, and everything else settles down and we feel like coming back for a new round of Halloween.

We will keep you updated as we figure things out.

Until then…

Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain.




Stab me and tell me you love me, we all know you want to. The blood dripping over my body proves my worth to you, the wounds in my flesh your expression of gratitude to me serving you. The fact I can no longer stand matters not to you, as my face turns upwards towards you. My world tinted rose through the blood covering my eyes, you look like my god as you stand over me. Knife in hand you grab my chin, forcing my body closer towards you. An angelic grin covers your lips as you lean in towards me, licking the blood off my lips. You run your hand down my body one last time, my body shivering as my vision starts to grow dark. “I love you, my beloved”

Written By Evangeline Webber

Again, Changes Are Coming Here At Sisters

Hello there, dear readers.

We come to the end of another Halloween…and Tracy and I (Tabitha) sat down (on the phone) together and had a conversation about where we see Sisters heading in the future.

Next year, we won’t be having the “scarefest” bits and pieces…our focus is going to shift to more witchy fair–as in modern witchy, not horror, not fiction–we’ll be writing about real-life witchiness on the non-fiction scale…

One thing we are still debating is WHERE this writing will take place…will it be here at Sisters…or will it be over at our other blog, Sisters of Wyrd.

We are pondering — do we keep Sisters here in case we feel like throwing up some fiction?  Or do we do away with Sisters and let her lie as she is now, just an archive shadow of her former glory?

Let us know what you think in the comments…do we keep sisters–do we keep sisters for the witchy non-fiction–do we keep sisters for witchy fiction?

Thanks for standing with us all these years.  We hope you follow along on our new journey…



The Black Dog

It’s four o’clock in the morning.  Time for me to get up.  I am not a runner—but I am a walker.  I throw myself into sweats and sneakers and out into the cold dark I go.

You would think pre-dawn is a quiet time. Maybe in human terms.  There’s not much traffic.  Birdsong, however, is booming.  I like having this time alone to think, even with all the raucousness of my feathered friends.  Walking now is both my exercise and my meditation.  Without it, I might lose my mind.

I’ve been walking at the local high school track for the past few months.  It took me a bit to find a time and a place that put me in the least contact with other beings.  Humans have this awful need to talk while walking…and all I walk to do is walk and let my mind wander wherever it wants to go.

I get to the track and I start walking.  I close off all but the necessary parts of my brain and just go.  Slow, steady, meandering, one foot in front of the other.  It may not look like much to anyone else, but it is what I do.  I do it because it’s all I can do at this point.  I don’t pay attention to much around me, although I keep my “spidey’ senses alert, just in case.  My intuition has never been wrong nor has it ever let me down.

About halfway through my second lap, this huge black and grey dog comes barreling up to me like we’re old friends.  I reach out to ruffle the fur around his face.  He sort of grins and keeps moving.  I like company fine if it’s quiet…and this old boy is great.  Other than huffing along with my puffing along, he keeps my sedate pace.  I find it odd, but animals are animals.  Who am I to judge?  Maybe he just likes to walk with people here.  I don’t begrudge him that.

We walk another lap and a half when my ‘spidey’ senses pop off an alert.  I snap more alert and look.  The dog has already noticed.  He’s growling deep in his chest.  I see them.  Not real clear or anything.  I see enough to know it looks like two big brutes are stalking alongside the track.  It looks as if they mean to head us off a bit further up.  The dog switches sides with me so that he is closer to them than I am.  We both keep walking the track, well past the two guys.  Thanks to the dog, the dudes keep their distance.

After that, I’m ready to go home.  The dog walks all the way back to my house.  I try to invite him in, but he won’t budge.  I bring him a bowl of water and two scrambled eggs.  It’s the least I can do.  I sit and watch him eat.  After he finishes, he licks my hand gently and off he trots, the opposite direction of the track.

I go back inside and start getting ready for my day.

It’s lunchtime when I overhear two co-workers talking about the grisly murders that happened around five in the morning out at the high school track.

Wherever you came from, wherever you are, Dog, my friend, I cannot thank you enough for your kindness and protection.  I don’t know what made you choose me, but I am glad you did.


You Don’t Own Me

I cannot tell you how much I resent all the emissaries that keep showing up at my door—at all hours—demanding that I swear allegiance to this Queen or that Queen—RIGHT NOW!  Queen of Summer.  Queen of Winter.  What do I care?  They are of the Land.  I am of the Water.  Their business is none of my own.

I have had to abandon my home, the home of my mother’s mother’s people, in order to avoid these emissaries and their nasty tactics and egregious demands.  I must have some semblance of Peace in my life.  I am a solitary thing.  I prefer to stay that way.

I decided to seek out the old breeding grounds that my mother had told me existed long before she was born….a place that had been abandoned long before her mother had been born.  Too much human interference back in those days, before the humans went away.  They left havoc, pollution, and noise wherever they went.  Perhaps now, after so many years, it would be safe to return there.

It took days of swimming, traveling, floating, drifting, but at last, I did arrive at the old breeding grounds.  There was no trace of my own kind; it had been too long ago since one of us had been to this place, much less used it for its intended purpose.  I nosed around, seeking out predators, searching for prey.  I needed to make sure I could protect myself from enemies, but I also needed to ensure my ability to eat.  I had to be able to survive here.

In the end, I noted predators, prey, vegetation, and I felt…at home.  There was a peace to be had here.  I swam down, far down, until I discovered the entrance to the lairs that had housed my kind when they were here.  A perfect hiding place.  Those Queens could send any of their people, but none of them could reach me this far out to sea, nestled this deep within the bosom of the ocean.  I was safe.

Until there came a day, many moons after my arrival, when I heard a tiny wheezy sort of noise.  One that I had once associated with humankind.  My father had once played me recordings of such things.  Humans were not supposed to exist on this planet any longer.  It had been a hundred years, at least.  And yet, as I rose forth to survey the noise, I saw what appeared to be a thin-framed, short creature.  Two legs.  Two arms.  Hairy all over his head.  He wore tattered clothing that fit him ill.  He made strange noises under his breath, as if always talking to himself.  I kept beneath the surface, simply staring, fascinated.

He leaped from his little boat onto the rocky outcrop where the seabirds nested.  He tore birds out of their nests by the throat, plucking up eggs as he came to them, throwing the parent birds aside as if they were debris.  He stuffed the eggs in a bag draped over his shoulder.  Once he was done, he bounced back into his boat, muttering and stammering to himself again.  He sounded quite satisfied with his haul.

Now, I am not adverse to bird eggs when the opportunity arises, but I would never steal so callously from these creatures.  This human-thing made me angry.  I flipped my tail, causing waves to thump against his boat.  He grumbled and pulled his ropes closer to him, pushing his engine to growl harder.  I guess he wanted to go faster, but his boat was not able to do so.

The whispers began from the back of my skull.  My Gran, my great-grandmother, had used to tell me stories from the days of humans.  She had told me of our kind and how we could ensnare such creatures and bend them to our will.  She had told me many stories.  Some of our kind had kept their humans as pets until they eventually wore out.  Usually, they were merely food.

I found the scent of this one too foul, but in my armored heart, I felt pity for the martyred mother and father birds this thing had treated so shamefully.  I felt the need to avenge them…

I pushed myself up above the surface of the water and began the Call that Gran had carefully taught me so long ago.  I spread my fins wide, sweeping over the surface, allowing my pheromones to coat the top of the water.  It took only seconds for the creature to turn around and stare at me.

I do not know what he saw.  Gran told me these man-things would see whatever it was they wanted to see when they looked at us.  The creature’s eyes grew huge.  A strange looked covered his face.  Water dribbled from his open gaping mouth.  I shuddered in disgust but maintained my ruse.

The man-thing hopped into the water, as if he were hopping up onto the land to steal the birds’ eggs once again.  He plunged into my waters.  I struck quickly, without mercy.  I tore him frantically to shreds.  Blood flooded out, drawing the attention of the bigger predators.  I allowed them to feed, stroking their quivering sides as they did.  I would not eat this flesh.  I could not bring myself to it.  The predators fed well; then the bottom feeders came to finish off the scraps.  Such is the way of life here.

I went looking for the eggs.  Perhaps I would eat them.  Perhaps I would return them to their parents.  I had yet to decide.  Alas, it was to no avail.  I could not hear the tinny engine.  The boat had vanished.  Perhaps a much larger predator than I had been aware of had helped itself to that tidbit.  Ahh, well.

As I curled up in a dusty corner of the abandoned lairs, it struck me that if I had the Power to do this to a human, a Land-dweller—perhaps it would work on others who come from the Land.  I was missing my own home.  Even if the Power proved ineffective on some creatures, I had proven to be strong, cruel, and relentless in my time out here.

I made up my mind to return to my own home.  The next emissary who showed up at my door was in for a drastic surprise.  I hope there are plenty of meat-eaters at home still because I wouldn’t eat those creatures any more than I would a human.

A Deal With God

Don’t look at me like that.  I know what you’re thinking.  I bear His shield.  I wear His uniform.  No longer do I belong to the one you call God.  I am no angel.

Originally, in the early days, when He recruited me, as He did with so many—of my kind and others—there was no greater gift than to be a part of His Inner Circle, to be a part of His plan.  To know His love was to melt into the concept of beatific Oneness with all that is.  I gave myself, my entire being, to Him, to His Great Work.  To do His Will gave my life purpose.

Let me make this crystal clear, the war that came—He had known about, from the moment of its conception.  He calmly watched the sedition grow and spread throughout the ranks.  He knew each one that was involved—and each one that was not.  There were no secrets from him.

He sent legions of us out on specified tasks.  Many of us flew to the far corners on His Word, carrying His Message, doing His work.    All over this world—He Sent Us.

While I was out on my mission, like all too many just like me, the riffraff launched their coup to overtake Him.  He threw them out, every one.  Then He slammed the Gate shut.  He closed the curtains.

He decreed henceforth any of us, any of us, outside of the Gate the moment the lock clicked into place were Banished, Cast Out, Fallen, Unwanted.

Me?  Me.  One of the countless left outside that Gate who had dedicated our every thought, our every breath, our entire beings, to this creature.  We who had never held a dark thought towards Him in our hearts, not ever.

We were, to a one, shamed, ostracized, condemned without trial, ridiculed, and ignored by those who we had thought our brethren.

I arrived at the gate to hear my own brother shouting “Fallen Whore” at me, over and over, jeering at me for not being Clean, for not being permitted to ever enter within once more.

My own brother, who had stood shoulder to shoulder with me as He had handed out our assignments.  I guess my brother was one of the lucky ones who finished his job quickly and returned in time to shun the rest of us.  I still wonder if he had had more information than he had shared with me.

It no longer matters.

I made a deal with God—and then He screwed me over without a second thought, even though He knew I was blameless, guiltless and innocent of all crimes.  He set me up.  Me, and many others, but I hold a grudge that makes that original crime against Him look piteous and small.

Like some kind of conciliatory act by Him, I still retain my rank, my powers.  All of we Fallen do, so it’s not as if it is just me.  But, to the naked eye of one of His Chosen, I do not appear any different than they do.

I look just like everyone else up there that can get close to Him.

I have no contact with other Fallen.  I did in the First Days after being cast out, but my hurt and my anger deemed it necessary for me to walk away from them, for their own protection.

I tried to tell the others, the Chosen, what had happened to me, to many of us, but my tale fell on deaf ears—which only incited me more.  Instead, they felt bold enough to throw epitaphs my way, to belittle and denigrate me.  They were the deciding factor.  They proved to me that I could no longer be Good.

If I can’t be Good, my only choice is to be Bad.  I always go full-bore with everything I do.  I went Bad, very very bad.  I am so good at it too.  I have more fun now than I ever did under His rule.

I have become a Hunter.  I hunt God’s Chosen Ones.  Angels.  Cherubs.  Messengers.  Guides.  Gods. Goddesses.  The Mouthpieces.  The frauds, the lot of them.

I don’t kill them.  Where’s the fun in that?

I don’t beat them, much.  Only enough to net them and take them down.

I sell them to the highest bidders.  Humans.  Demons.  Monsters.  Other Angels.  What do I care?  The only thing I know is no matter who I sell them off to, they all wish they were dead as soon as the money changes hands.

The money?  It means nothing.  I give it to animal sanctuaries and save the earth foundations.  I don’t need it

One day, there will come a Reckoning between God and Me.  I have learned throughout the Millennia.  I have trained, with the best and with the worst.  I have studied my opponent.  I know His strengths and His weaknesses.

I know His arrogance, above all other things, knows no bounds.

That is my ticket in.

He is too sure of Himself to think I would come for Him.  I want His head on a platter.  I know he won’t lift a finger against me.  He hasn’t in all this Time—He thinks He is safe from me.

Oh no.  I take away His minions, one by one, consigning them away to a life worse than any hell—to make Him suffer their loss.  To make Him feel their pain, just for that moment, before He releases His hold over them and allows them too to Fall.

One day…He will be mine.  He will be.