#holmes curses

Previously: The Devil’s Labyrinth Ritual.

Just as promised, I'm remastering this malison as Hangman won and is the new champion (yay — that means that stans won't kill themselves!). I'm currently listening to 34 Ghosts IV by Nine Inch Nails and, instrumentally, the song depicts a fun cowboy slowly descending into Hell's Wild Westerner. I think that this cowpoke archetype has been around for a while. Even America's First Serial Killer was a little New Hampshire farmer boy before developing an appetite for murder. As a true cowboy, I am not surprised that Virginia's own Hangman Adam Page was an embodiment of this archetype. If I recall, Jonathan Crane was also a Georgia field laborer before becoming the cadaverous Scarecrow. Unfortunately, due to unforseen circumstances, this is probably the last time I will be discussing Page ( @reachoutandtouchfaith-pccw, you can have him — you've liked him before I did anyway).

This curse mainly targets adults who abuse kids. Whether they're tormentors, predators, the parents themselves, etc., even those who hide their abuse behind charm, religion, or social status aren’t spared. The curse sees the truth. A pastor who preaches love but hurts his kids? A wealthy CEO who pays off scandals while his children tremble in silence? They all pay. Every act of harm they commit is reflected back onto them, amplified in intensity. A slap stings like burning coals, harsh words echo endlessly in their mind, and neglect leaves them in crushing isolation. They are haunted by the true depth of the pain they caused, feeling the child’s fear, sorrow, and helplessness as if it were their own. Whatever suffering they deliver, they endure it three times over — once for the act, once for the betrayal of trust, and once for the stolen innocence. Of course, this was written after (kayfabe) Page avenged his child.

Most curses I’ve written are flexible — tools that can be aimed at anyone who wrongs you. But this one? It has a conscience. It doesn’t just burn, it judges. It seeks out those who harm the defenseless and makes them feel the heat of their own cruelty. And it only goes after a specific type of target. There's fire involved — and not just in the simple use of candles — so please use common sense and take precautions because this is a huge hazard. If you're going to perform — get a fire extinguisher or a bucket of water, do not perform this indoors near flammable objects, do not leave the fire unattended, and do not proceed if you’re inexperienced with fire magic. Non-pyromaniacs and pyrophobics, beware and proceed with caution. The rest, do so at your own risk and discretion. Still willing to light the match? Then do so with clarity — and a steady hand. But don’t say that I didn't warn you, vengeful and ruthless cowpoke.

Participants:

One practitioner

Mandatory Materials:

Vial

Lancet

Whiskey

Gasoline

Matches

Campfire

Black salt

Carving tool

Pumpkin seeds

Cinnamon incense

Printed picture of the abuser

Candles, one red and one black (that was blessed during both Feast of the Black Flame and September 4th)

Directions:

Begin at your chosen location by extinguishing all artificial light. Cast a circle of pumpkin seeds around yourself to prevent backlash, light a campfire and the cinnamon incense to call forth spirits of retribution, take the red candle and carve the following symbol, and place the candle beside the candle that was blessed during the events described. Stand within the carefully drawn ring of pumpkin seeds and reaffirm their control over the energies both summoned and contained. “By the seeds shown, by flame and bone, no harm returns, I stand alone. Spirits of vengeance, hear my plea, as I will, so shall it be. Spirits of heat and fire, destructive in your ire, be kind to me. Haste, haste, haste, horrid spirits, haste! Speed, speed, speed, scary spirits, speed! Fast, fast, fast, fateful spirits, fast! 'Tis night! 'Tis night! And the Devil's light casts glimmering beams around." Once preparations have been finalized, you may proceed.

The core of the curse lies in a meticulously prepared powder — a blend that fuses blood, salt, and spirit. This powder symbolizes the cumulative impact of sin, suffering, and retributive justice. In a small vial, place three pinches of the dirt, two pinches of the black salt, and six drops of your own blood — along with some ash, iron filings, and cursed herbs if you'd like. This act — symbolizing personal sacrifice — elevates the magic to a uniquely personal level. Once the ingredients are in the vial, you must shake the mixture three times in a counterclockwise direction. "Dust of the dead, salt of despair, feed the flames, curse the air. A macabre blend, a sinister brew, igniting fears, old ones renew. Sorrow and anger hang heavy and thick, each crackle of fire, a sorrowful lick. Innocence cut short, souls left to roam, in the cursed air, (target's name) shall find no home. By the Hanged Man's spirit, so be it!"

Fire hazard ahead. Place the image carefully beside the blazing campfire. Visualize the printed picture vibrating with dark mist. Then pour a generous measure of whiskey and gasoline over it. The bitter, burning liquid is emblematic of the abuser's fate. It represents the erosion of their control and the inevitable disintegration of their spirit. "As this liquor burns, so too does your soul. As this image drowns, so too does your control." Afterward, light the black flame candle, as it will serve as the beacon of the abyss, drawing in ancient shades. Next, the red candle is ignited, as it is critical in focusing the curse — the carving on its surface is not a mere embellishment, it is the very rune that channels the fiery energies towards the abuser. "Ride on out, spirits o' them rebel dead, wherever tyranny's got its cruel ahead. Hear the hollers o' them silenced and worn, rise up, outlaws, and let vengeance be worn."

Call upon the cowboys. “Yer six-shooters, once fired in defiance o' the law, now blaze with fury agin' the abuser's claw. Yer trusty steeds, once ridin' through the dusty land, now carry harm to the oppressor's hand. Chernobog, Dullahan, Hanged Man, Hangman, Strange Man, ride with us, spirits, and let them abusers bid farewell to power, farewell to their cruel might. By the code o' the wild, by the heart o' the brave, we'll hunt them abusers to their final grave. So let the spirits o' the outlaws ride, and let them tyrants tremble with fear inside.” Cast the picture into the fire, along with the vial of graveyard dirt and black salt. The resultant conflagration is described with visceral detail: the crackle of flames, the billowing of dark smoke, and the surreal flash of sparks that seem to resemble ghostly visages. Remain transfixed by the flames, envisioning the collapse of the abuser’s existence and their world dissolving into ruin.

Before leaving the site, extinguish the campfire, the candles, and any remaining incense. It is obvious that if you don't, a wildfire may occur as a result. Self-care after a curse is just as important. Offer a simple yet heartfelt prayer for the sanctity of personal resolve and shield yourself from any malevolent forces that may seek to follow you. Some may also choose to chew on licorice root or tobacco, harnessing their protective properties, while others may offer a libation of whiskey to the spirits that have been summoned during the ritual (I personally think you should do both). You should consider sleeping under the watchful gaze of the stars and allowing your dreams to carry you away on a ghostly horse, galloping towards safety and leaving behind any lingering malevolent energies. Afterward, you may confidently proceed to the final step of the curse, which will happen outside of the site.

Carefully gather the ashes from the burnt image along with the residual drippings of candle wax. These remnants are considered the physical remains of the curse’s power — they bear the imprints of every anguished cry and every sinister incantation. Transport the gathered ashes to a predetermined location that is heavily charged with fate. A crossroads at midnight is a classic site in occult lore, symbolizing the meeting point of destiny and choice, and the ashes would be interred here beneath the guard of ancient trees. Alternatively, the ashes may be scattered or buried in a location that the target often visits — ensuring that the curse’s influence is never far from them. "By the Hangman's noose, by blood and bone, this curse is sealed, this deed is sown. No mercy granted, no respite found, until the abuser is six feet underground. No escape from the fate that's been spun, by cowboy shit, the deed is done."

Additional Notes:

One thing that I'll always be is the pumpkin cowgirl (as well as a walking corpse!), regardless if I write about Hangman Adam Page or not. After all, I still have Jonathan Crane and the Red Dead Redemption franchise, not to mention that Spiritual Murderism was literally built on a serial killer cowboy's legacy! But I feel like I should stow him away because... clearly, his Holmesian era is done (I'll pick him back up if it happens again one day, though). Now, you may be wondering what will make the curse more potent. One thing you can do is take a heated steam bath beforehand as it removes unwanted energies. Another is holding hot peppers in your mouth for an extended period of time. Remember that it is paramount that you dress the part as a cowpoke, especially wearing a necklace of rope or chains as a reminder of the price you've paid. When performing, remember not to get scared and note that this cannot be undone.

For the recipient of this curse, the malison is marked by a slow, inexorable spiraling into a horrible existence defined by a decline of physical health, misfortune, tragic accidents, inexplicable disturbances in their environment, and the persistent feeling of being haunted by unseen presences. As aforementioned, this reflects their actions back onto them, so for two of many examples: a gaslighter who makes a child believe they’re "crazy" for reacting to abuse twists the gaslighter’s own mind — whispers will be heard, shadows will be seen, and the grip on reality will be lost, just as the gaslighter tried to do to the child; every touch a predator forced on a child scalds their own flesh; etc. The only way for the target to make it stop is through genuine, lasting change: either full accountability with remorse, protecting rather than harming young’uns, and/or actively working to heal those they’ve hurt. Until then, the curse remains.

Proceed only if you are willing to accept the price. DO NOT use any more or less blood than what is asked, DO NOT have electronics around (print this), DO NOT perform at any other time, DO NOT be an ingrate, DO NOT only leave your own taglock there rather than yours and the target’s taglocks, DO NOT have a lack of intent, DO NOT step out of the pumpkin circle, DO NOT accidentally break the vial before tossing it into the fire, DO NOT answer if the fire whispers your name, and please ABORT the ritual if anything goes wrong. If you choose to sleep under the stars, ABORT the ritual if you dream of being intimidated by a rider on a black horse and can't gallop away in time, and PROCEED if you dream of riding free under the moon. Obviously, if any step is done incorrectly, the consequences could be worse than anything you could imagine. Rest now, pale rider. I’ll dig you back up when you and hellfire call for blood again.

Because they asked to be tagged: @adampage and @bloodycowboyclub. I hope you like reading online internet creepypasta curses. And as prompted, here's a poem involving both Hangman Adam Page and gold:

Golden tears drip down the cowboy's face,

Molten hues in the Devil’s light,

Each drop a coin from a cursed place,

Paid out for sins he can’t recite

As the wind hums a dead man’s tune.

His spurs, they whisper of empty graves,

And the vultures croon beneath the moon,

The saloon lights flicker — black then red,

Like the eyes of the things he’s slain

As their voices rise from the dust he treads,

Calling his name… again.

At high noon’s kiss, the sky turns brass,

A burnished lid on a simmering grave,

His shadow stretches — twisted, vast —

A gilded noose for the souls he craves;

So hide your gold, and hide your breath,

Previously: This is Arson Ritual.

Whilst perusing the shadowed recesses of those dread forums dedicated to the macabre revelries of Halloween Horror Nights, I didst unearth a most singular and long-abandoned ritual in that ghastly section of Tumblr. Originally known as the “Screamhouse Hex”, this curse was once the property of a certain sinister scribe who called themself @yourtimehascome666 — an appellation most foreboding, which suggests a hub of macabre writings and morbid reblogs, all centered upon the eerie specter of one Dr. Albert Caine in its unholy prime. ‘Tis melancholic that this once-thriving community has since crumbled and been forgotten about, yet by fate, I was led to stumble upon its lingering vestiges. Moved by a solemn duty to preserve such knowledge, I have taken it upon myself to preserve and update the essence of this rite, weaving its dark directives into my own grim tapestry.

Many of its practices are rooted in authentic and ancient spiritual traditions, such as the use of graveyard dirt — a most potent substance, drawn from the resting places of the dead, its properties shaped by the nature of the spirit whence it was taken. Broken mirrors are also traditional symbols of bad luck. It is a most fitting scourge for those who are associated with suffocation — be it of the body, heart, mind, or the soul. Claustrophobic enemies, abusers who smother others under the weight of cruelty, censors (including CEOs who wouldst stifle the voices of whistleblowers), landlords who cast people into the cold — all are ripe for its malevolent embrace. In these wearisome and Trumpian times, such an instrument of retribution may prove most efficacious. And let it not be forgotten that those ravagers of the earth, the defilers of nature’s sanctity, shall likewise find themselves ensnared within its grasp.

Thanatophobes and necrophobes, beware and proceed with caution. The rest, do so at your own risk and discretion.

Participants:

One practitioner

Materials:

Shovel

Lancet

Flat rock

Mirror shard

Three dead flies

Target's backyard

Recording of spooky hospital sound effects

Rusted nail, preferably one pulled from an old coffin

Four small bones, one painted green, one painted red, one painted blue, and one left white

Source of dim lighting to be able to see, such as a flashlight, a candleholder with candles, or a lantern

Grave dirt, ideally collected from a nameless grave (especially that of a criminal/murderer)

(Optional) Chalk

(Optional) Wilting flowers

(Optional) Taglock of target

Directions:

Begin at 3 AM. You can either use a candleholder, a flashlight, or a lantern for dim lighting. Dig a shallow hole in the earth with a shovel near your target's house in a spot where it is hard to find. Find a flat rock that will serve as the headstone (if you want, you can write a message on it or a rune). Consecrate it by sprinkling a little bit of the grave dirt over the headstone. Do not fret if it is eventually stepped on by the target, it will only accelerate the curse.

Take the Bones. Hold the green bone aloft to the North. "Bone of Decay, Death's friend, mark the boundary of The Living's End." Place it at the Northern edge of the circle. Hold the red bone aloft to the South. "Bone of Cremation and what fire ate, mark the boundary where all Fates await." Place it at the Southern edge. Hold the blue bone aloft to the West. "Bone of Passage, Acheronian and Stygian pure, mark the threshold they cannot endure." Place it at the Western edge. Hold the regular bone aloft to the East. “Bone of Pneuma, where the breath is stilled, mark the boundary where death is fulfilled.” The space is now enclosed.

Call Upon the Caretaker. Play a distorted recording of surgical sounds while pricking your finger with the lancet and letting six drops of it fall onto the mirror. "One for silence, two for dread, three for the worms beneath their bed, four for the air turning to lead, five for my despise of the living — six for my love of the dead. He who delights in the process of prepping a corpse, I call upon you in this hex, of course. By rust and rot, by suture and seam, rise from where the damned scream. Come with your shears, come with all of your blades, come up from the depths of Hades. I know you'll act on your own if given the chance, in moves that are silent in a last macabre dance — so come forth to this cemetery at night, and to that who lives closely, give (the target's pronoun) fright."

Wait for Response. If you feel an unsettling presence, hear the scrape of medical shears, smell the overwhelming aroma of decomposition, or even a full-blown apparition, you may proceed. Your target's time has come and Albert is delighted to be assigned with torturing your enemy. Abort the ritual if a response is not given within the next three minutes, you suddenly find cuts across your flesh, or you suddenly fall ill. If a sign isn't given, he is simply not there and you probably performed a step wrong — but if it is any of the other two, he is displeased and it is in your best interest to not continue lest to piss him off any further.

Bury in Nameless Grave. Drop the dead flies inside. "Little wings, no air to breathe, just like (target's name) smothered by my seethe.” Whistle or hum some notes of a nursery rhyme (maybe Hush Little Baby, This Little Piggy, or Eenie Meenie) and immediately trap your breath against the mirror shard — this "catches" the malevolent energy in the air. Press the shard against the rusted nail, then drive it into the dirt. This ensures that they hallucinate being buried alive. “Nail your joy, nail your sight, nail your lungs shut — no more light.” Cover it all with the rest of the grave dirt.

Leave it Be. Vacate the premises without looking back, whistling or humming the rhyme again. “Here is something you seldom see: a dark, baleful, successful malison upon a person who has no heart.” For potency, before walking away, place an offering (I heard that he enjoys wilting flowers the best) and a taglock of the target on top of the makeshift cemetery. If you don't, the ritual may or may not work, or it may even affect you instead since you either used your own blood without using something that Dr. Caine can use to track down your enemy or he deems you as an ingrate who deserves to experience what you were planning on putting on your target in the first place. So... be careful.

Additional Notes:

This ritual MUST be performed, alone, in your target's backyard. If you were to perform it in another person's backyard, it would affect said person instead, and having other people partake in this malison would also affect them as well if they do not abide by the rules, which is why it is highly suggested to be solitary when performing this. Furthermore, do note that as with all of my Holmes Curses, this cannot be reversed or undone. As with all Spiritual Murderism rituals, do not get scared, let go of any preconceptions of it being "evil" or "bad", and keep it good and healthy. Be in a great personal space — clean, happy, and in a good mood. Be in your good senses.

Do NOT be surprised if you see him in the days after performing this ritual. This usually means one of two things, and you better hope that he's there to ask you what you want specifically done rather than harm you instead. Thus, again, I repeat, do not your own hands rather than the shovel, do not misplace the bones, do not use any more than six drops of blood lest he takes you as payment, do not inhale before catching your breath in the mirror, do not look back, don't whistle or hum a different rhyme, do not be an ingrate, do not only leave your own taglock there rather than yours and the target’s taglocks, and please abort the ritual if anything goes wrong. Obviously, this ritual involves summoning a spirit that delights in suffering, and if any step is done incorrectly, the consequences could be permanent, lethal, and far worse than anything you could imagine. Proceed only if you are willing to accept the price of any mistakes that may have been made.

Previously: This is Arson Ritual (Revisited).

This is a guide on how to get revenge upon someone that you truly hate, someone who has worsened your life intentionally. It will not be an easy journey, and there is no guarantee you will emerge from this ordeal unscathed, but if you are truly serious about this hatred, if your heart burns with unspeakable vengeance, then you will need every ounce of determination that you can draw from your reservoir of hate. The outcome is rational thanatophobia and ornithophobia if you’re someone who gets scared easily. You will always be unsettled by the sight of crows and the hushed whispers they bring beneath their ebony wings. You'll feel as if they're watching you, keeping track of every vice and of every sin, and not just of you — of everyone and everything. Almost as if they exist only as observers and relayers of wickedness to the Lord of Scarecrows that awaits, with silent anticipation, to serve as the executioner.

As far as I know, the ritual Lord of Scarecrows has only appeared in one location besides YouTube: the Creepypasta website, where it was posted in October of 2014 — more than a decade ago — by brahesTheorem, who hasn't posted anything since. My sense is that it's an invention of the user after reading the Man in the Fields Ritual and 11 Miles, an undeniable combination of the two but instead of cursing yourself, you're cursing an enemy, so the intent is a tad bit different but the directions are similar. I will say, though, that scarecrows have been part of rituals for a long time, that these aren't fabrications of the digital age and actually have grains of truth to them. For instance, in pagan traditions, humanoid figures made of straw or corn were sometimes used in harvest festivals to represent field spirits (e.g., the "Corn Dolly" in British folklore). They also embody the cycle of death in agriculture, so... yippee-ki-yay.

Like I said in the previous curse, Jonathan Crane is an embodiment of one of my favorite archetypes: the creepy cowboy. Sometimes, he's so creepy that he literally looks like a corpse risen from the grave, depending upon which version we're talking about. One thing that makes him so compelling is how he contrasts with Gotham’s usual villains (well, except for Season 4 Jeremiah Valeska, but that only lasted for a season and Jeremiah is only in Fox's Gotham). He’s not a flamboyant showman like the Joker or a brute like Bane —he’s a quiet, calculating specter, more likely to stalk his prey from the shadows than engage in a flashy showdown. He's the lone wanderer, the harbinger of terror, the master of fear, the lord of despair, the man who turns the mind itself into a lawless frontier. Thus, he would be a perfect figure to invoke in witchcraft curses, especially those tied to fear, nightmares, and psychological torment. Phobics, beware!

Participants:

One practitioner

Materials:

GPS

Cloth, ideally coarse and white

Scalpel, preferably made from obsidian

Vehicle, preferably a well-fueled and well-maintained one that you won’t mind taking through rough and open country

Directions:

Arise at dawn and steer your will. Note that you will not have pit stops on this trip. The general direction in which you travel is of little consequence, but you can greatly expedite this process by moving away from any urban areas — the more rural your location, the closer you will be. Follow the crows — seek out the roads where they nest upon the powerlines and turn down streets where you see them fly. You will likely become lost and may find yourself driving in circles, but take heart, as this is only bringing you closer to your goal. Crows are intelligent creatures, and if you are patient, they will begin to lead you. If you happen to lose sight of them or they do not appear at all, return home as the time is not yet right. You may attempt the trip again at a later date, so don't worry. True revenge knows the meaning of patience.

As the day wears on, and the crows lead you forward, you will begin to notice a shift in your surrounding area. You will find yourself in places you never knew existed overgrown by the festering wilds. There will be no other cars at this point as you have crossed over into the Lord of the Scarecrows' domain. You must persist now, whatever should come your way. Very soon, they will begin to take you off of the roads themselves. You will have to travel across open fields and terrain. If you have a good vehicle, it should be able to navigate most of these challenges, but eventually, there will come a point at which you can drive no further, and whatever form this impediment takes, you must thereafter proceed on foot. You may only take the scalpel and cloth with you. Make sure to park your car and save its location on your phone.

Exit your vehicle quickly and reach the location. The crows will slow when they see you on foot but they will continue to progress. They are called here just the same as you, so be swift. When you come across a thick glade of ancient trees, start visualizing. As you pass through the trees, you will see a greater multitude of the dark birds than you have ever seen before. Yet in spite of their numbers, there will be an overwhelming quiet over the area, with the only sounds being the faint rustles of the wings of new arrivals. As you reach the edge of the wood, you will find it open into a large field, surrounded on all sides by the forest. The ground itself will be withered and barren, ringed by the blighted remains of plants. The air here will be cold and acrid, and you will likely begin to feel weak as the very ground you stand on repels the life (or half-life) inside you.

Find the Lord of the Scarecrows in the center of this place. He will be erected on a cross, his form made of rotted skin and bone, and his face obscured by a hood. Approach him but be reverent. Take both the scalpel and the cloth, kneel before it, state that you wish to make the offering of a sinner, then make an incision somewhere upon your body. Gathering your blood, scrawl the initials of your intended target upon the cloth while you think upon the sins this person has committed (it does not matter how trivial, all that matters now is the hate that burns in you). When you have finished, insert the cloth between its teeth, slather the knife with your, and plunge it into the heart of the effigy. "My sacrifice is made". You will no longer hear the tranquil silence — the air will be filled with whispers, with the recitations of sins and wicked deeds. Do not linger here.

Make haste to leave. You will have little time left before the sun sets beyond the horizon. Night in this place is not hospitable to intruders, and the seething things that skitter and click in the dark are always hungry. When you return to your vehicle, begin driving until you reach the road, then go as fast as you can toward the direction of the sun. The shadows of this place will begin to grow and shift, but if you have followed these directions perfectly, just as the sun sinks down, a blinding flash should consume the horizon, and when it fades, you should be back in the world of the living (and half-living), your car idling on an empty but normal street. You can stop visualizing now. Find your way back home using the GPS and rest. You have earned your reward — be patient as it will happen over the next year.

Wait. The victim whose name has been offered will not meet a swift or merciful end, but instead, they will endure a year-long dissolution, a slow and deliberate erosion of all that once sustained them. Over the course of twelve months, every pillar of their existence —health, fortune, relationships, mind, body, and spirit — will crumble, leaving them a hollowed shell, bereft of hope, before death at last grants them the only relief left. In their last days, they will be utterly alone. Their body will be a prison, their mind a tormentor, and the world around them indifferent to their agony. When death finally comes, it will not be a release they greet with peace but a final defeat. Their last thoughts will be of despair, their final breath drawn in sorrow. And then, at last, your vengeance will be complete, or at least, I hope.

Additional Notes:

I've never really shared a recipe here before, so I think I should start now as this would be perfect to take with you when you get thirsty. In a bottle, mix in water, apple cider vinegar, fresh lemon juice and lime juice, ginger, molasses and honey, mint, mullein, and ice cubes. Cowpokes call this drink "Switchel," and many of its ingredients would certainly boost the ritual. For instance, mullein is sometimes referred to as “Graveyard Dust” and is used as a substitute for graveyard dirt, molasses is used as an embalming fluid in some cultures, honey is often used in Greek necromancy, apples are associated with death, etc. Furthermore, vinegar is rumored to slightly thin blood, and a few sips might make it flow easier. The drink can also sharpen your senses, steel your resolve, and purge hesitation. So it's good. Snacks can be leftovers from Cracker Barrel you had.

Only proceed if crows guide you. Crows are psychopomps (spirit guides) in folklore, and their absence signals that the ritual isn’t ready yet. Forcing the journey without their guidance may lead you to a dead end. And do not second-guess their path either as that will sever the connection to the Lord of the Scarecrows. Don't linger after the offering has been made, leave immediately after the scalpel strikes and drive towards the setting sun. Remember that hate sustains the ritual and your anger must be genuine as the ritual feeds on it — half-hearted revenge won’t satisfy him. A lukewarm offering may curse you as the sinner instead. And like usual, don't be an ingrate, don't only leave your own taglock there rather than yours and the target’s taglocks, and please abort the ritual if anything goes wrong. Proceed only if you are willing to accept the price.

Previously: The Auld Néaltrú Ritual.

Have you ever drawn labyrinths or mazes? Or at the very least, during childhood, played the popular paper puzzle game where you have to find the exit by drawing it with a pen or pencil? Well, if you have and you want to incorporate it into a curse, you can do just that. What I have here is a curse that's inspired by the deceptive design of Jeremiah Valeska’s notorious bunker and its dreadful reputation. Much like viewers watching the layout of Xander's home, this ritual forces its target (or targets) to question if the inner sanctum of one’s mind is ever truly safe. It is an ode to the idea that a labyrinth can be not only made of walls and passageways but also of memories and misfortune. The exit, the way for the target to make the effects stop in this case, would be them accepting that there is no exit — and thus, finding one. Not even remorse can help them, and like with all Holmes Curses, this can neither be reversed or undone.

The concept of a labyrinth has flourished throughout myth and literature — from the ancient Greek myth of the Minotaur to H. H. Holmes’ Murder Castle. Similarly to the aforementioned, this curse is designed as a trap, as it sows confusion and torment, rendering its target as a lost wayfarer in an endless maze of shifting passages and unaccountable, spectral echoes. Much like an invitation, the curse offers a veneer of comfort only to ensnare the soul in disorientation by unseen forces. And, since it is a maze, it is a double-edged sword: the very structure shields and hides the caster from being found out about while it puts the target in perpetual torment, appealing to the heart's hidden sorrow. Often, the most seemingly-innocuous structures conceal the most dangerous secrets, just as a welcoming home can hide a trapdoor leading to a dark dungeon — a duality that resonates with the darkest recesses.

Prior to the ritual, bathe in cold water while confessing past transgressions in your mind or in whispers, dress in garments meant to evoke both stealth and solemnity (deep, dark robes embroidered with subtle patterns of twisting corridors or a hooded mantle that shrouds your identity), and spend time in meditation or reflective solitude (clear your mind and open your senses to the possibility of the unseen — the deeper your introspection, the more responsive the secret passage will be to your invocation!). Consider setting the ritual on a night when the constellations are believed to be in harmonious alignment with dark energies, or at any other time that shadows deepen and the air grows heavy, such as a fog-laden midnight, a storm-tossed night, etc. when the weather itself seems to conspire with the curse. Beware and proceed with caution at your own risk and discretion, although this curse will keep you hidden.

Participants:

One practitioner

Materials:

Lancet

Taglock

Incense

Leather-bound book

Broken mirror fragments

A white carnation and a black feather

Riverwater mixed with crushed opal chips

Key that appears to change form based on perception

Black candle that was blessed during the Feast of the Black Flame

Fine ash collected from the burned remnants of old maps and journals

Stack of weathered notebook pages filled with incomplete and contradictory blueprints

Directions:

Begin at your chosen location by extinguishing all artificial light. Ideally, it is to be performed within a long-abandoned manor, a decrepit mansion, a forgotten warehouse, a neglected wing in an antique estate, or a specially prepared chamber — each hall, passage, and corner resonating with unseen energy. Choose a central room, and with the ash, sprinkle a thin line along the perimeter to create a circle that is to contain the energies being called forth. Stand at the center. Lay out the stack of weathered notebook pages on a flat surface. Light the black candle that was blessed during the Feast of the Black Flame and set it next to the blueprints. The dim, wavering light of the candle is meant to coax the hidden corridors from their state of dormancy. Allow the soft light to begin blending with the dark corners of the blueprint, symbolizing that what was once unseen is now called forward.

Carefully study the zigzagging corridors and intersecting pathways depicted. With a piece of charcoal or a quill, gently trace your intended route by drawing over any faint markers along the walls and selected paths that evoke hidden routes. The traced routes are not to be followed as an exact map but rather as a symbolic representation of the labyrinth that will now be woven. Using a fingertip, take a few drops of the riverwater and delicately anoint the charred lines on the scroll. As the liquid meets the parchment, envision that the energies contained within begin to stir, ready to cause the target trouble. This act binds sorrow with the blueprints of the labyrinth, channeling it into the very framework of the curse. Hold the mirror fragments up so that their fractured surfaces catch both the candlelight and the dancing shadows. "Reveal the unseen, open that which is locked, let hidden doors whisper their secrets."

Light the incense and allow its fumes to permeate the area, and place the key at a door. As the incense drifts, allow your eyes to fall upon the walls marked on your blueprint. At this point, step out of the circle and slowly run the key along the edges of a door that appears less worn, perhaps one that has a small detail hinting at secrecy. Insert the key into the lock even if the door appears unexceptional. As you do, envision the key dissolving the barrier between the seen and unseen. Using a fingertip, take a few drops of the riverwater and delicately anoint the inner rim of the doorway in a spiral pattern from the center outward. With the ash, lightly scatter a pinch along the doorway’s threshold. Visualize the ash as a binding agent that ensures that the energies of the past will aid the malison. "Unlock the veil that hides the dread, open the door where danger’s led. Unravel the veneer, unveil what is misplaced."

Keep drawing. Open your leather-bound book to a page containing ancient, cryptic inscriptions. With a fine-tipped quill, inscribe a series of symbols that represent disorientation, horrific change, and eternal sorrow. Then turn to a clean page, solemnly draw a compass with corresponding colors (Brown for North, Crimson for South, White for East, and Blue for West), and inscribe the following next to it. "I, the bearer of scars brought onto me by (target's name), do bind this passage with unyielding bars. Let peril reign with every furtive drip and breath, may all who enter face their foretold, ignoble death." Return to your blueprints and re-trace the drawn path with a dark ink. Note any faint things — a whisper of wind, a shift in the temperature, a creak of the wood, a ripple in the shadow — as these are the affirmations of the curse’s impact. Retrieve the key and seal it with melted wax mixed with rainwater.

Carefully remove the mirror fragment from its previous position and embed it in the immediate frame of the doorway. Secure it with a sprinkling of the ash and six drops of your own blood as fragments of your own essence. "In surrender, I offer my own blood so that this curse may forever take its toll. May my sacrifice serve as the final nail, binding hidden peril with an unbreakable tale." Stand at the doorway with your eyes closed, and slowly extend your hands outward. Visualize the energies of the room — gathered from candlelight, swirling incense, and the murmur of distant echoes — coalescing into a single, pulsing beam of dark energy. Allow this to infuse every inch of the maze and let its power descend into the metaphysical space. Sit and observe in silence for several minutes — you may see startling images that manifest as you look into the darkness beyond the door. Do not be alarmed.

Drift. Close your eyes and imagine that every sorrow, every whisper, and every twist of the corridor weaves itself into the tapestry of fate. Your thoughts merge with the vibrations, and for a few moments, you are no longer an individual but rather a part of the labyrinth. Carefully listen. Then allow your eyes to wander over the entire space. “No full-living step shall cross these boundless corridors unscathed! Let this barrier bind the sorrow of the past! In the quiet shadow of this forsaken room, I call forth the secrets buried in gloom. Let walls betray, let doors unseal, the hidden path I now reveal. Beneath the mask of normality, let danger flow, so that the perilous passage might at last show.” Although unseen to the naked eye, the newly-made barrier prevents any abrupt escape and ensures that the labyrinth will continue to evolve. Leave the offerings — the carnation and the feather — on the blueprint, along with the target's taglock.

Additional Notes:

The ritual is most effective when undertaken in decaying places, where the whispers of a forgotten past hang in the air like cobwebs. The structure itself must appear to have been designed with deception in mind — secret rooms, shifting corridors, and doors in unexpected places. The construction should echo the design of a maze and rooms should intersect in nonlinear ways, like an estate where staircases lead to basements that then spiral up to attics, creating a disorienting, cyclic pattern. The structure should be labyrinthine by nature, with intricate layouts and unexplained features. Look for features such as concealed rooms behind moving bookcases, mysterious panels in the wall, or a staircase that seems to end without explanation. The edifice should be steeped in secrets and evoke an unsettling sense of history — a place where every creak and shadow hints at hidden corridors.

The maze exhibits a will of its own, evolving as the target’s personal history unfolds rather than remaining static. New corridors, hidden memories, and altered passages can emerge to reflect recent actions, ensuring that the labyrinth is never fully predictable or resolvable. Its maintenance is essential to keep the secret corridor active and malevolent. Every corner might trigger vivid hallucinations of past misdeeds, flashbacks, and spectral manifestations, and the cursed individual might experience a steady erosion of trust in their surroundings. They also may face fatal consequences and supernatural beings that were gradually drawn. The malison does not discriminate, its peril is inexorable, and it is impossible to escape its clutches. It is an infinite cycle — where every escape leads to another unexpected dead end or new passage. Again, thanatophobes and necrophobes beware.

Previously: The Chill of the Crypt Ritual.

Ah, the fear of losing control of one’s own existence, resulting in the common weakling known as the perfectionist, stems from a deep-seated need to manage outcomes, as we all know. But did you know that it is indeed possible for a clever witch to exploit this fragility through curses that weaponizes compulsions, and they have done so all throughout millenia? Nature has made it so that people can acquire néaltrú (or, in English-speaking terms, memory loss, perpetual confusion, and the withering erosion of the self). Derived from the Irish Gaelic néal (“cloud/fog”) and trú (“decay/withering”), the Ancient Celts believed that unseelies could infect people by stealing memories and ruining their lives — and that the people who were afflicted couldn’t stop it until these sadistic fae were satisfied! A witch who wanted to work with them against a sworn enemy would often perform mallachts — incantations meant to curse — and other forms of cursework. Nowadays, néaltrú can simply be translated as “dementia”. For that reason, I’ve come to think of it as the Last Coil of Awareness Ritual. You may feel that this is in poor taste, though, depending on your point of view. It’s to be remembered that I’m only here as a spell informant — don’t direct your hate towards me.

Dementia awareness has been flourishing since Everywhere at the End of Time has been made public. Using songs from the movie, The Shining (yet another Holmesian thing), it simulates this psychological disorder and the loss of the self, tracing its progression from minor symptoms to the complete disintegration of memory, progressively falling further and further away from what it was at Stage 1. As the six-stage album progresses, the music disintegrates: familiar tunes fray into dissonant loops, swallowed by reverb and static, while ambient drones overtake the soundscape. By Stage 4, coherence collapses, melodies stagger like disoriented thoughts, and by the final stages, the once-vibrant compositions dissolve into a cacophony of fragmented tones and eerie silence. This sonic decomposition mirrors the harrowing trajectory of dementia — not just memory loss, but the erasure of identity itself.

The version of this ritual we’re going to be looking at today is more up to date and remastered, utilizing the leader of the O’Driscoll Boys, Colm O’Driscoll, as a figure to call upon. He is quite fitting, I must admit, as he is an Irish Native and, at times I headcannon, an unseelie (at the very least, he mirrors them). His presence in this ritual symbolizes surrender to entropy, the deterioration of identity. It also uses things in nature that he represents — snakes, the creeping decay of mold and crawlies, etc. Despite being a country known to be snakeless, serpents are part of Irish culture nonetheless — snake cults, serpentine gemstones, and slithery knots have made themselves at home there. Snake handling is more Appalachian in nature and was popular during the Wild West, and knowing Colm, is something he's done thrice before. Snakes, typically rattlers, are passed among congregants for handling during rituals. And, if you look at Colm’s hat, there is a rattlesnake on it. So, at the Devil's Hour, when the world grows silent and the shadows of old rise, invoke this unholy curse. May the venom of the serpent guide your hand, may the mold and the crawling throng of nature’s forsaken spawn seep into your soul, and may the spirit of Colm O’Driscoll (whose brutality haunts the hearts of all) be your eternal ally. Let your adversary's memory rot, their mind unravel, and their very self disintegrate into the fog of oblivion — a final dirge for the end of awareness.

So, if you've got a Dutch of your own to curse, here's how to perform the ritual. Do so at your own risk and discretion.

Participants:

One practitioner

Materials:

Athame

Sacred serpent

Grove, preferably populated by oak trees

Slate, preferably crude and blackened

Snakeskin, wrapped around your wrist like a bracelet

Gathered clusters of thick, greenish mold from damp ruins

Goblet of murky water filled with writhing insects and crawling vermin

Directions:

Beneath the cold glare of stars, begin the rite in the chosen area. As the dusk bleeds into a choking silence, lay the materials upon the cold, cracked earth. In this moment, you hold the tools to unleash an inevitability: the collapse of memory, certainty, and finally of self. Then here, on these cursed grounds, call upon the spirits of decay. Let them be harbingers of dread in the soul of your target. “Spirits from the grave without a soul to save, be kind to me. Spirits of the trees that grow upon the leas, be kind to me. Spirits of earthbound dead and hellbound dead that glide with noiseless tread, be kind to me. O mighty Serpent, whose sinuous coils bind fate accursed, your fangs dripping venom of ancient lore, I clasp you close, your cold scales reflecting the undoing of mind and memory. As your scales flow, so too shall the mold seep deep into the crevices of thought, and as the creepy crawlies scurry through barren dreams, so shall Colm O’Driscoll’s wrath consume every shard of my Dutch's former self. Go ndéana an diabhal goid do chuid cuimhní cinn! Go ndéana an diabhal goid do chuid cuimhní cinn! Go ndéana an diabhal goid do chuid cuimhní cinn!”

In the gathering gloom, unfurl the serpent. Stand tall before your accursed space, the serpent and snakeskin coiled tightly around your wrist — a testament to the curse’s impending effect. In your grasp, the creature shall pulse with ancient malice, its scales reflecting the wan light. Let its presence be both a guide and an enforcer. Gently, yet inexorably, caress the serpent along your forearm. As its sinuous form ascends, bind the fate of your target to the slow spread of decay and the erosion of memory. “O thou serpent of forbidden lore, with scales that mirror the fragments of lost yore, bind the mind of my sworn enemy, strand by fragile strand, so their thoughts scatter like shadows upon barren land. Anail nathrach, do che'l de'nmha. Anail nathrach, tiera nathrach. Anail nathrach, orth' bhais's bethad, do che'l de'nmh.” Feel the cold slide of scales against your flesh, the serpent’s hiss carrying the promise of corruption. Its presence, commanding and unyielding, is the physical emblem of the curse’s true potency.

In this next phase, you must meld some of the materials together. Spread the thick mold upon a crude, blackened slate and allow its spores to rise in the stagnant air. With the cursed blade, score incisions deep into the surface of the slate, each stroke a mark of the target’s future disintegration. Gather the unholy horde of creepy crawlies, releasing them over the mold as they writhe and huddle. Their tiny legs, carrying the ceaseless pulse of decay, become attendants to the curse. “Let the mold, the creeping blight of decay, enshroud the mind in its insidious embrace; like tendrils of despair, may its spores embed in memory’s hidden space. And with each crawling creature, may confusion rise, each mindless scuttle a herald of the brain's demise. As Colm’s shadow lurks behind every fragment of shattered thought, so too shall certainty fall, and forgetfulness be wrought.” With deliberate motions, stir the mold and the crawlies together — their mingled essence a physical manifestation of the creeping, inexorable loss of clarity. Allow this abhorrent mixture to settle in a goblet, reserved to receive the final recitation. The answer to clarity is dissolving, each insect’s tiny body marks a memory choked away by the encroaching sickness.

Now, it is time to summon the specter of Colm O’Driscoll. His name, a sinister whisper from a past drenched in blood, shall serve to anchor the curse in the realm of irretrievable loss. With the athame drawn, trace an inverted pentagram in the air, each movement linking the target’s fate with that of Colm’s ruthlessness. “Colm O’Driscoll! Phantom Stranger and the Dark Lord of Decay's Great Feast, whose very name is a dirge for honor’s defeat, I call upon your spirit, relentless and severe, bring your bitter judgment upon this wretched fear. Let your gaze, cold as winter’s unyielding chill, pierce the veil of memory, your malice to fulfill.” Allow your eyes to close as these words echo into the darkness. Imagine Colm O’Driscoll’s hardened visage emerging from the shadows — an ever-watchful sentinel ready to cast his doom upon the mind. The hilt of your athame should glow faintly as his legacy intertwines with the curse, ensuring that forgetfulness and confusion will be the target’s everlasting companions.

For those who follow the commandment of “honor thy father and thy mother”, this here rule's only good if “honor thy children” is followed right along with it. Y'see, Hangman's got a special kinda vengeance for those who have been wronged by adults. For in his eyes, those who would dare to abuse their own or others' children are no better than the vilest of sinners, deserving of the most severe of punishments. And he will stop at nothing to ensure that their transgressions are met with the full force of his retribution. He's got a mighty big stick for those that abuse little ones. Why, he even torched Swerve's house after that no-good varmint threatened his young'un! He ain't afraid to unleash the fire an' brimstone! Note for fire hazard ahead: non-pyromaniacs beware!

Materials:

Pumpkin seeds.

Cinnamon incense.

Curse candle. Along with a carving tool.

Black candle. Blessed during the Feast of the Black Flame.

Matches.

Graveyard dirt. From a Boothill or the grave of a notorious outlaw.

Crushed black salt. 

Vial.

Picture of the abuser.

Your parents’ or your own whiskey. Used as an alternative for gasoline.

(Optional) Gasoline.

(Optional) Campfire. 

Directions:

Begin by making a circle of pumpkin seeds around yourself, burning cinnamon incense and carving sigils of torment into a candle, and putting said candle next to the black candle that was blessed during the Feast of the Black Flame. Infuse it with your intent for vengeance against the abusive adult.

In a vial, mix graveyard dirt and crushed black salt. It should be from a Boothill or the grave of a notorious outlaw.

Place the picture of the abuser in the center of your ritual space. Ensure it is the focal point of your intent. 

Pour a small amount of whiskey over the picture, allowing it to soak into the image as you visualize their existence consumed by the flames of your curse. If the ritual space is on the ground somewhere around a campfire, ensure that the picture is placed on the fire, and drizzle both whiskey and gasoline on it, creating volatile energy that will fuel the destructive power of the curse. 

Light the candles and speak the incantation, calling upon the spirits of outlaws to rise and deliver harm. “Ride on out, spirits o' them rebel dead, wherever tyranny's got its cruel ahead. Hear the hollers o' them silenced and worn, rise up, outlaws, and let vengeance be reborn. Yer six-shooters, once fired in defiance o' the law, now blaze with fury agin' the abuser's claw. Yer trusty steeds, once ridin' through the dusty land, now carry harm to the oppressor's hand. Chernobog, Dullahan, Hanged Man, Hangman, Strange Man, ride with us, spirits, and let them abusers bid farewell to power, farewell to their cruel might. By the code o' the wild, by the heart o' the brave, we'll hunt them abusers to their final grave. So let the spirits o' the outlaws ride, and let them tyrants tremble with fear inside.” If you’re at the campfire, add the remaining mixture of graveyard dirt and black salt to the flames, infusing the curse with the potent blend of darkness and retribution.

Focus on the image, visualizing their world crumbling around them, their past sins consuming them from within. If outside, allow the fire to burn out naturally.