In the depths of the forest, a solitary figure stood, her sobs echoing through the trees. She was an abandoned witch, banished from her coven and isolated from all she had known. The weight of her loneliness and sorrow bore heavily on her fragile frame, causing her to tremble with every tear she shed. Her once vibrant and colorful robes were now tattered and stained with dirt, a reflection of her broken spirit. The beautiful pendant that once adorned her neck, a symbol of her magical prowess, now hung limply, its enchantments long faded. The witch had been exiled for practicing black magic, a forbidden art in her coven.
Lynn Von Korff is a member of the PPA who grew up in the neighborhood and said the Tower was a staple in her and others’ childhoods. Korff recounted going up Tower Hill with her brothers and friends to sled down the then-treeless slope in the winter.
Ring said the Tower was designated as a historical building after decades of not being used and became a place the neighborhood visited and often held celebrations, such as the 100th anniversary of the Tower in 2014, but ceased operations during the COVID-19 pandemic. Too many people have such blind reverence for business methods and profit motives that they cannot distinguish between public and private good and the sometimes vastly different challenges involved in each.
The witch had been exiled for practicing black magic, a forbidden art in her coven. In her desperation for power, she had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. Yet, as she stood in the darkness of the forest, she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret, a yearning for the life she had left behind.
The Disturbing Case of the Dead Witch
I thought I lived in a safe neighborhood, until I discovered the corpse, smashed up against the front of this house.
October 24, 2016 Save this storySave this story
Save this storySave this story
Illustration by Tomi UmI live in what my wife and I like to think of as a safe neighborhood. Recently, however, at a house just up the street, I have noticed disturbing evidence of possible criminal activity, or, at the very least, a violation of local zoning laws. What stopped me short one morning as I was walking our dog was the sight of a “human” corpse smashed up against the front of this house. I put the word in quotation marks because I’m not quite sure to what category the poor dead creature belongs.
It was as flat as a pancake and had evidently hit the house at a high rate of speed. To me, it appeared to be a witch. Among the seasonal decorations at the house—a plastic pumpkin, a sheaf of Indian corn, a silhouette of a black cat arching its back—this grisly, flattened body, with a witch’s hat still in place and a broom also stuck to the siding, sent a shudder of revulsion mixed with pity down my spine. One could picture the accident all too clearly. A young witch, hardly more than a child, is flying too fast on her broom, then: crash! The little arms outstretched on either side, the green fingers spread in a hopeless last-minute attempt to soften the impact, were enough to break your heart.
The negligence of the homeowner was all the more shocking because he (or she) happened to have a cemetery in the front yard. Small, gray, plastic tombstones announced that Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolf Man were all interred there. Surely it would not be too much to hope that the unlucky little witch be given a decent burial as well, even if she was not a celebrity.
One of the mourners who was visiting the cemetery, a lanky young fellow who wore a hockey mask and carried a chainsaw, stood unmoving, as if in shock, beside the Wolf Man’s grave. “Did you know him?” I asked quietly. The grief-stricken fellow did not reply.
A troubling detail about the grave of Dracula caught my eye. It was a skeletal arm reaching out of the well-manicured lawn. If Dracula had in fact been buried alive, as the skeleton arm seemed to suggest, that made a certain amount of unfortunate sense; when you spend your days lying in a coffin, you do run the risk of this kind of mixup. But how did no one see the arm waving in the air, after it had laboriously burst through the sod? And why was it ignored, waving and waving, ever more slowly, until death finally arrived, blessedly, for the supposedly deathless vampire? Rigor mortis then set in, followed by weeks and months of rot and decay and scavenging by local animals, until the bones of the arm were all that remained. What kind of clueless homeowners could fail to notice such a hideous process taking place on their own front lawn?
Enough was enough. I walked to the front door and rang the bell. A handsome, smiling couple in late middle age answered. We got to talking. And that, in short, is how I happened to run for and be elected to the Parsippany school board.
If the story had ended there, all would have been well. But, sadly, a sequel occurred to darken that happy outcome. It started out quite innocently. As the school-board president, I proposed a new policy mandating that only healthy snacks be given to trick-or-treaters. The ordinance was duly voted upon and passed, and I offered to keep an eye open for any violators. Going around the neighborhood and looking in windows, I noticed that the Hampst family seemed to have some snack-size boxes of Milk Duds ready in a wooden salad bowl by the door. I went around to the back and met Mr. and Mrs. Hampst coming in from the garage. I told them, very politely, that the treats I had observed in their front hall were not allowed. Overreacting, Mr. Hampst began to shout and turn red in the face. In a matter of seconds, he had a heart attack and dropped dead.
Of course I felt terrible. I thought that the very least I could do was offer to defray some of the funeral costs, and suggested to my helpful neighbors with the front-yard cemetery that we give Mr. Hampst a plot there. They proceeded to inform me that it was not a real cemetery (italics mine). Now, I had wondered why the mourner with the chainsaw remained in the exact same position for hours and even weeks without leaving for food and other necessities, but I had not wanted to pry, and my neighbors did not go out of their way to correct any mistaken impression I might have had.
I’m sure there’s a lesson somewhere in all this. Building community takes patience, time, and (sometimes) a regrettable loss of life. But we also have a double standard. The fact remains that a long-dead, decaying young witch is still plastered against my neighbors’ house. Let’s try a little thought experiment:
Would the corpse of a full-grown warlock, a male individual with some power and influence, be subjected to such indignity if he happened to be flying on a much larger broom and ended up smashing into the wall of someone’s house? I think we can all agree that the answer is obvious. ♦
The report offered two other options: $50,000 to keep the structure standing or $1.3 million for extensive repairs to have it be regularly open for visitors.
Her tears continued to flow, mingling with the rain that fell from the sky. The forest seemed to empathize with her pain, the leaves rustling mournfully in the wind. The creatures of the night stood silent witness to her anguish, their eyes filled with pity and sadness. As the witch continued to weep, a glimmer of hope flickered within her. Perhaps redemption was still within reach. But she knew that to earn her way back into her coven's graces, she would have to undergo a journey of self-discovery and transformation. She needed to prove that she was capable of repentance and change. With a newfound determination, the abandoned witch wiped away her tears and stepped forward. The path ahead was uncertain and treacherous, but she was ready to face whatever challenges lay in her way. She knew that she had to confront her demons, not just within herself, but also within the world she had once sought to control. And so, the abandoned witch embarked on her journey, leaving behind the safety and familiarity of the forest. She knew that her tears of sorrow would no longer be enough. It was time to embrace her pain, to learn from her mistakes, and to show the world that she was more than just an abandoned witch weeping in the shadows..
Reviews for "The Sorrowful Song of the Abandoned Witch"
1. Sarah - 2 stars - I was really excited to read "Abandoned Witch Weeping" after seeing all the rave reviews it received. However, I found it to be incredibly disappointing. The plot was confusing and poorly developed, making it difficult to feel engaged or invested in the story. The characters lacked depth and personality, making it hard to connect with them. Overall, I found this book to be a major letdown and would not recommend it to others.
2. John - 1 star - "Abandoned Witch Weeping" was a complete waste of my time. The writing style was awful, with clunky sentences and poor grammar throughout. The story itself was overly dramatic and lacked any real substance. I found myself rolling my eyes at the predictable plot twists and the unconvincing dialogue. I cannot understand how this book received such positive reviews, as it was a complete disaster in my opinion.
3. Emily - 2 stars - I was drawn to "Abandoned Witch Weeping" due to its intriguing title and captivating cover, but unfortunately, that's where the excitement ended. The book was slow-paced and lacked any real tension or suspense. The characters were one-dimensional and lacked any meaningful development. The overall world-building was weak, leaving me feeling disconnected from the story. It's a shame because the concept had potential, but the execution fell flat for me.
4. Michael - 2 stars - I was genuinely bored while reading "Abandoned Witch Weeping." The storytelling felt disjointed and failed to hold my attention. The narrative was predictable, and the ending was unsatisfying. The author's attempts at creating tension and suspense were feeble at best, leaving me feeling underwhelmed. I would not recommend this book to anyone looking for a captivating and enthralling read.