famous sorceresses

The Curse of the Creeping Coffin is a chilling and haunting tale that has been passed down through generations. This eerie story revolves around a mysterious coffin that seems to have a life of its own. Legend has it that anyone who comes into contact with this cursed coffin is destined to suffer a terrible fate. According to the legend, the Coffin was first discovered buried deep within an ancient graveyard. It had a worn and weathered appearance, giving off an ominous aura. The villagers were wary of this newfound object, as they believed it to be cursed.

The villagers were wary of this newfound object, as they believed it to be cursed. However, curiosity got the better of them, and they decided to investigate further. As the villagers touched the Coffin, a strange and unsettling feeling overcame them.

History of Witchcraft: Witches Flying Ointment

My firm favourite of the witchy candles that I produce for my online apothecary (huh-hem, shameless plug/link to that here should you be so inclined) is Witches Flying Ointment, a mind-bending blend of spicy amber notes, with a wash of wood smoke, resinous herbals, and tangy neroli. The namesake, and indeed the intoxicating scent of this candle is inspired by the most wonderful nuggets of witchcraft history, that of witches flying ointment.

Now, the ingredients needed for a real-deal flying ointment would probably kill someone. As I like my customers (for the most part) alive, I don’t add belladonna and jimson weed to my candle aroma, as they are highly toxic, and whilst they are capable of inducing hallucinatory states, they can also prove fatal if too much is ingested.

References to ointments that make you fly, literally getting high, go as far back as Homer’s Iliad from around 800 BCE, when the Greek goddess Hera used an ambrosia ointment to fly to Olympus. Flying ointment, green ointment, magic salve, lycanthropic ointment, or my personal fave from Germany, Hexensalbe (love) is said to have been used as far back as the Early Modern period, and was a topical salve or unguent rubbed liberally on the body (usually under the arms, where it was more easily absorbed) to send the ointment-wearer “on a journey.” As some of the ingredients recorded are either hallucinogenic or deliriant, it has been suggested as the origin of the popular image of witches riding on broomsticks (more on that later), and also to explain the idea of witches flying off to the Sabbat - witch hunters at the time weren’t 100% sure whether witches were actually mounting a broomstick and sailing off into the night, or whether these recollections were delusions, placed in their mind by the Devil. As obnoxious men of the church, they weren’t so open to the idea of neither being the case, and the “journeys” actually being a result of this trippy folk concoction.

There are several accounts from the 17th Century which regale us with tales of brushes with flying ointment, or green ointment. The majority of these come from disgruntled menfolk who crossed paths with a woman having herself a grand old time with such sacred ointment, either cocooned in a deathlike trance-state or spinning tales of flying on broomsticks, communing with the Devil and their ilk and riding bareback on demonic beasts. It all sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?

Bartolommeo Spino, a Dominican clergyman from Pisa wrote his “Tractatus de strigibus sive maleficus” (Treatise on Witches or Evildoers) in 1525, and included a couple of accounts of men who had come into contact with someone under the influence, as it were.

One story concerned a physician friend of his who lived in Pavia in his younger years, while he was studying medicine. The friend arrived back home late one night, but didn’t have a key. Finding no one to let him in, he climbed up and over a balcony (as you do) and went to find the maid, angry that she hadn’t been waiting there on tenterhooks to open the door for him. When he found her, she was passed out on the floor, and could not be roused for love nor money. Evidently not that perturbed by this, he left her sparko on the floor and went to bed. The next morning, the maid was up and around, seemingly as if nothing had happened. He wouldn’t let it lie, persisted in questioning her, and she admitted that she had been on a journey. We would, of course, look at this account in a contemporary light and surmise that she might have just been completely knackered (especially if she was expected to work all day and wait up by the door all night in case someone didn’t have a key), or that she was worried about getting in trouble for falling asleep, so decided to pretend to be dead (haven’t we all been there?)

The second account in Spino’s treatise also leaves a lot to the imagination; and sounds more like the story of a man royally pissed off with his wife who is looking for forgivable reasons to do away with her. The story goes, that this man woke up one morning unable to find his wife. He searched their estate, and eventually found her, lying unconscious, naked, covered in mud, and, shock-horror, genitalia exposed, in a pigsty. You would think his initial reaction would be one of shock or grave concern, but instead, he figured that she was obviously a witch, and he should probably kill her. He hesitated, however, long enough for her to come back to consciousness, beg his forgiveness, and again, tell him she had been on a journey.

There are many accounts of brushes with flying ointment that go a little further south than the armpits. Coming back to the popular image of witches flying on broomsticks - the story goes that this idea was possibly borne out of the imagination of some blue-balled witch interrogators looking for sauce as they went about pricking witches (that’s a whole other blog post).

The history of witches salve, as with many recorded tidbits from the days of the witch hunting craze, are intertwined with sensational accounts of women’s sexuality. General fear and suspicion of both female sexuality and folk healing resulted in fantastic tales of sexual deviancy, such as communing with beasts; and reports of altogether ordinary concepts, such as female masturbation and desire, framed in the outrage of the religious men conducting the witch hunts. There is also an element of sexually repressed witchfinders and clergymen getting a little carried away, obsessing over salacious details and viciouly interrogating their female captives about their sex lives, dreams, dark thoughts and sexual history.

There are many references to women greasing up staffs, pipes, and sticks with flying ointment, and going for a merry joy ride. In the 15th Century, Jordanes de Bergamo wrote that “they anoint a staff and ride on it to the appointed place or anoint themselves under the arms and in other hairy places.” You get the impression that he didn’t mean the upper lip.

Ireland’s first recorded witch trial, that of Lady Alice Kyteler in 1324, contains the revelation that the accusers found “a pipe of oyntment, wherewith she greased a staffe, upon which she ambled and galloped through thick and thin, when and in what manner she listed.” Scintillating stuff, and possibly the first trial by dildo - although reading this sentence on its own, with no surrounding context, you wouldn’t necessarily jump to the conclusion that ambling around meant that she was frigging herself with her household appliances.

An important factor in these accounts is that people don’t deserve to be executed for masturbating, but stories like this helped cement the accused as guilty. The idea of a woman taking agency in her own pleasure, or even deriving pleasure from sex at all, was enough to condemn them in the eyes of the deeply religious and deeply sexist men deciding on their fate.

Contemporary accounts during the Early Modern period were noted in treatises and pamphlets which could have been read by Witchfinders peddling their trade throughout the country, spreading the ideas and leading questions they would focus on during interrogation of suspected witches. Pretty much all confessions were extracted under torture, which obviously completely negates their veracity, and also calls into disrepute the similarities between the accused’s statements.

There is some conjecture and difference of opinion on the original recipe of flying ointment, with all manner of psychotropic and toxic ingredients suggested, however, the fat of children tends to make a common appearance. During the 15th Century, a group accused of witchcraft in Bern, Switzerland were put on trial for purportedly spiriting away children and draining their juices to make a flying ointment. Francis Bacon wrote that the recipe called for, “the fat of children, digged out of their graves, of the juices of smallage, of wolfebane, and cinquefoil, mingled with the meal of fine wheat: but I suppose that the soporiferous medicines are likest to do it, which are hen-bane, hemlock, mandrake, moonshade, tobacco, opium, saffron, poplar leaves.” Well, at least saffron and poplar leaves are simpler to get your hands on and less likely to cause convulsions.

The idea for flying ointment was floated in the treatise to beat all treatises on witchcraft, the heavily misogynist and afeared-of-all-women-tome, Malleus Maleficarum, or Hammer of Witches, published in 1486 by Catholic clergyman Heinrich Kramer, who was at once terrified and fascinated by the idea of women. He was expelled from Innsbruck in 1484 after attempting to prosecute witches there and seemingly being obsessed by the sexual habits of the accused, and it has been suggested that he wrote the book out of “self-justification and revenge.” The book had repercussions around the globe and for long after its publication, being referenced frequently during the witch craze of the Reformation, its ideas forming the fundamental understanding of what it meant to be a witch in Early Modern Europe. More often than not, just being a woman was enough.

The Malleus Maleficarum mentions that flying ointment was made “at the devil’s instruction”, and that a key ingredient was “the limbs of children, particularly of those whom they have killed before baptism”. The Malleus Maleficarum also states, “when the member is in no way stirred, and can never perform the act of coition, this is a sign of frigidity of nature; but when it is stirred and becomes erect, but yet cannot perform, it is a sign of witchcraft.” See, no need to be embarrassed about erectile dysfunction, just blame it on witches! I think we can file most Hammer of Witches quotes under “pinch of salt” territory.

This treatise was pulled out, reprinted, and referred to again and again during witch trials over the coming centuries, and the ideas in it repeated and embellished upon, although by the point of King James VI of Scotland (James I of England) in the 17th Century, witchcraft had shifted more into the sphere of possession, rather than witches setting out to do evil and acting upon their own free will. (They were still executed, however, so no real gains were made there.)

Modern practitioners can buy their own flying ointments (there are many to be found on Etsy) and for the most part, these are in no way hallucinogenic but packed full of witchy herbs like mugwort, yarrow, and sage that smell nice and can aid in sleep and relaxation. I pop mugwort and yarrow into my Samhain candle (available all year as Halloween is a lifestyle, in my humble opinion) in keeping with the traditions of witchcraft, and because the herbal aromas marry really well with the more boozy, ambery aroma of the candle.

The Witches Flying Ointment candle is also not deliriant or hallucinogenic, but if you choose to use it as a ritual candle, spell candle, or for astral travel, well that is really up to you. Although the implications of Kramer’s Malleus reverberated around the world for centuries after he (and possibly Jacob Sprenger) wrote it, the notion of “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” is no longer so in vogue, although there are of course pockets of the globe where fear of witchcraft and those who practice it presides.

References to ointments that make you fly, literally getting high, go as far back as Homer’s Iliad from around 800 BCE, when the Greek goddess Hera used an ambrosia ointment to fly to Olympus. Flying ointment, green ointment, magic salve, lycanthropic ointment, or my personal fave from Germany, Hexensalbe (love) is said to have been used as far back as the Early Modern period, and was a topical salve or unguent rubbed liberally on the body (usually under the arms, where it was more easily absorbed) to send the ointment-wearer “on a journey.” As some of the ingredients recorded are either hallucinogenic or deliriant, it has been suggested as the origin of the popular image of witches riding on broomsticks (more on that later), and also to explain the idea of witches flying off to the Sabbat - witch hunters at the time weren’t 100% sure whether witches were actually mounting a broomstick and sailing off into the night, or whether these recollections were delusions, placed in their mind by the Devil. As obnoxious men of the church, they weren’t so open to the idea of neither being the case, and the “journeys” actually being a result of this trippy folk concoction.

Little did they know that they had awakened a powerful curse that was now locked onto their souls. From that moment on, the Coffin began to wreak havoc on the lives of those unfortunate enough to cross its path. People who encountered the Coffin reported experiencing unexplained incidents and inexplicable misfortunes. The Coffin seemed to have a mind of its own, appearing and disappearing at will. It would show up unannounced in people's homes, workplaces, and even at social gatherings, causing turmoil and terror wherever it went. As days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, the Coffin's curse intensified. Those affected by it faced increasingly dire consequences. They would be haunted by nightmares, plagued by illness, and plagued by misfortune at every turn. It seemed as though the Coffin was determined to bring misery and despair to anyone it encountered. Desperate to break free from the curse, the villagers sought out the help of priests, shamans, and witch doctors. They performed rituals, recited incantations, and offered sacrifices in hopes of appeasing the malevolent spirit that possessed the Coffin. However, their efforts proved to be futile, as the curse persisted. Eventually, the Coffin vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared, leaving the villagers both relieved and wary. While the curse had seemingly been lifted, the memory of the Coffin haunted them for the rest of their lives. To this day, the tale of the Curse of the Creeping Coffin serves as a warning to those who dare to tamper with supernatural forces. Whether the story is rooted in truth or merely a work of fiction, the legend remains a cautionary tale. It serves as a reminder of the dangers that can arise from delving into the unknown and tampering with ancient artifacts. The Curse of the Creeping Coffin stands as a chilling reminder of the consequences that may befall those who dare to disturb the rest of the dead..

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