Folklore's Most Wicked Witches

Written By Kaelyn Moore

Have you heard about Baba Yaga who lives in the forrest in Russia and eats children down to the bone? What about the witch in Mexico who is responsible for men's disappearances to this very day. Today, we're diving into three scary tales of Witches 

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TRANSCRIPT

It was a sunny spring morning in the rural county of Lancashire, England. Six-year-old Mary Fenwick was at the edge of her family’s farm, playing with a hoop and stick toy she’d borrowed from her brother Jack -- without his permission. 


As she crested a hill, the hoop sped up, rolling out of reach. Mary chased after it, falling further and further behind, until it teetered and fell, landing with an unexpected splash! ()


Mary skidded to a stop. A short distance away, the hoop floated amidst a sea of green. What looked like a grassy field was actually a small lake blanketed in pondweed. Mary’s parents had warned her about ponds like this. The countryside was full of them, and if you weren’t paying attention, you could walk right in. But as she eyed the pond, it was her brother Jack’s voice that echoed in her mind: 


You know why Mum and Dad won’t let us play near the water, don’t you? It’s because she’s in there. The Witch. She grabs kids who wander too close. Drags them to her lair and eats them. That’s why they call her… Wicked Jenny.


The name sent a shiver down Mary’s spine. But, she thought, Jack just told her stories like that to scare her, and she was older now, braver. She wasn’t going to fall for it.


Jack’s hoop was still drifting across the pond, further away from the shore. Mary hurried after it, edging along the bank. When she was as close as she could get, she leaned out, reaching with her stick… but it was no use.


Frustrated, she eyed the hoop, still just out of reach. She looked at the murky black water covered in pond scum, a small bubble reached the surface from underneath and popped. Taking a big breath and gathering her courage, she knelt. Unbuckled her shoes. Set them on the bank. Hiked up her skirt. And waded into the pool.


Mud squelched between Mary's toes () as she fought through the web of vegetation. Finally, she could reach far enough and her fingers closed around the hoop. She turned and scampered back, grinning with relief. Silly Jack, there was no witch in this pond. But as she stepped onto dry land, something slimy and cold curled around her ankle. Like the pond scum had come to life


Mary looked back over her shoulder -- and screamed.


A pair of large, yellow eyes were poking out of the water, staring at her through stringy hair. It was a woman, with Green, rotting skin hanging limp from sallow cheeks. For a moment the woman was still, her cold hand holding Mary’s ankle below the surface. But then, The hag leered at her with dagger-like teeth and dug her nails in further. 


With a sharp jerk, the witch dragged Mary into the pond. (SFX, being dragged beneath the pond) The girl’s screams died as she disappeared beneath the water. Within moments, the surface stilled, pondweed re-forming in her wake, one single bubble rose to the surface and popped.(SFX) The only evidence of anything amiss was the pair of shoes resting on the bank and the hoop floating nearby.

This is Heart Starts Pounding. A podcast of Horrors, Hauntings and mysteries. I’m your host, Kaelyn Moore. 


Wicked Jenny is said to be responsible for countless missing children in England. She pulls them out of sight and into the water when they’ve wandered away from their parents. She’s green, and mean, like another Wicked Witch i know of. 


With Wicked coming out, it made me wonder, who are the wickedest witches who’ve ever walked our earth. And the stories I’ve found are CHILLING. I’m talking creatures in the woods who eat children down to the bone, a witch in Mexico who is supposedly still responsible for the deaths of young men, and a town in america that suffered a missing children epidemic. 


And as always, listener discretion is advised. 


Our first witch comes from Slavic folkore, and she’s as infamous as she is wicked . She’s known as Baba Yaga, a name that’s often translated as “Grandmother Witch.”


Like a lot of classic fairy tale witches, she's an old crone who lives in the woods, casts magic spells, and eats children. But Baba Yaga is anything but typical. She’s far more powerful, menacing, and stranger than the witch tales you were raised with. 


The best way to get to know her is through her most famous folktale. It’s a story about grief and fear and perseverance. A story told to remind Russian and Polish children that bad things happen to boys and girls who go into the woods at night.


This is the tale of Vasilia the Beautiful.

Twelve-year-old Vasilia stomped down the snow-laden path, breath fogging as she headed deeper into the forest. An icy wind swept through the trees, chilling her to the bone and causing her to hug her doll tighter. 


It was a terrible night to be out in the woods, but Vasilia’s stepmother had sent her on an errand. She was supposed to borrow a candle from their neighbor so she could relight their furnace. The one they called Baba Yaga.


When Vasilia’s birth mother was alive, she’d warned her to stay away from Baba Yaga’s house. The villagers said she was an ogre, and if you caught her in a bad mood, she would eat you, bones and all.


Vasilia didn’t believe in ogres, but she doubted her stepmother would mind if she was eaten by one. The woman had waited until Vasilia’s father was out of town, then sent her on an errand in the middle of a snowstorm. She probably expected Vasilia to freeze to death, but Vasilia was determined to complete the task. She would get the candle, return home, and show her stepmother that she wasn’t going anywhere.


And if Baba Yaga did turn out to be an ogre? Well, Vasilia had a way of dealing with that too. The doll she carried was magic. At least, her mother had told her that it was. She had given it to Vasilia on her deathbed along with the promise that Vasilia would never be harmed as long as she kept it with her.


Vasilia swore the doll had other magic powers. Sometimes she’d fall asleep before she finished her chores, only to wake to find them complete, like the doll had done them in the night. 


Vasilia held her doll close and trusted it would protect her from Baba Yaga, but it wasn’t much help against the cold. Just as her lips were turning blue, she glimpsed a light flickering through the trees. Desperate for a bit of warmth, she dashed ahead, until she emerged from the trees and came to an abrupt stop.


Standing before her at the center of the clearing was the strangest house Vasilia had ever seen. The small izba, or log hut, towered over the clearing on a pair of slender trees, like it was a giant tree house. 


The fence surrounding the house was made entirely of bones. Lanterns fashioned from human skulls stood atop each post, eyes flickering with eerie menace. 


Vasilia stood frozen in terror, clutching her doll like a shield. Before she could move, there was a sound like rushing wind -- the trees of the clearing parted and a woman emerged from the forest.


For a moment, Vasilia could only stare. Baba Yaga wasn’t an ogre, but she was ugly enough to be one. She had an obscenely long, hooked nose, heavily wrinkled, gray skin, and more age spots and warts than Vasilia could count. A few strands of white hair poked from her headscarf, and she smelled of rot. Glancing down, Vasilia saw that the witch’s left leg was decayed, exposing the bone beneath.


She approached Vasilia, getting so close the girl could smell her rotting stench. “I thought I smelled Russian flesh!” Baba Yaga snarled, licking her black-iron teeth.


It was too late to turn and run, so Vasilia gathered her courage and bowed. Then she introduced herself, explaining that her stepmother had sent her to borrow a lit candle so they could re-ignite their furnace. 


As Vasilia spoke, Baba Yaga’s grimace curled into a grin.


“I’ll give you a light,” she said, “If you’ll work for it!” Then she turned and sped toward the house, beckoning for Vasilia to follow.


As Vasilia neared the gate, the closest skull lantern pivoted toward her. The light within grew suddenly brighter… until Baba Yaga snapped her fingers.


“The girl’s with me,” she said.


The light died and the gate flew open.


The interior of the house was surprisingly homey and mercifully warm. A black dog sleeping by the stove lifted its head and growled as they entered, but Baba Yaga snapped her fingers again and it went silent.


The witch wasted no time in putting Vasilia to work. Her first task was preparing dinner: a pot of borsch, a side of beef, ten jugs of milk, one roast pig, twenty chickens, forty geese, ale, beer, and cider. Baba Yaga sucked it all down, leaving just a crust of bread for Vasilia.


Not that she had time to enjoy it. Once she’d finished cleaning up from dinner, Baba Yaga gave her an exhaustive list of chores. If Vasilia could complete them by morning, she could leave with the candle she’d requested. If not, Baba Yaga would eat her.


With that said the old witch flopped down on her massive feather bed and began to snore.


For the briefest moment, Vasilia looked around, paralyzed by the enormity of her task. Then, she moved, attacking the list with gusto - she fed the cat, then the dog. She tended the garden and oiled the gate. At last, she reached the final task: pick through a massive sack of millet by hand, separating the tan seeds from the black.


This task alone could take days, she realized. And dawn was hours away. Baba Yaga had set her up to fail. 


But Vasilia refused to give up. She started furiously picking through the seeds, sorting them into two neat piles. But she’d been working for hours. Her movements were growing sluggish… and finally, her eyelids fluttered shut. 


The next thing Vasilia knew, sunlight was streaming through the window and Baba Yaga was standing over her. “Well, did you finish?” the witch demanded. 


Vasilia opened her mouth to confess that she had not… until she noticed the two piles of millet beside her, one tan and one black. Her mother’s doll had come to her rescue during the night and completed the task!


“I have finished,” Vasilia announced. She watched Baba Yaga’s expression shift to disbelief, then fury. “Impossible,” she snarled. “Now I’m going to eat you just for making me mad!”


Baba Yaga demanded that Vasilia fire up the stove, then stormed out of the room. 


As soon as she was gone, Vasilia grabbed her doll and bolted for the front door. The black dog lifted its head as she ran past, but didn’t move from its spot. She had fed it the night before and it knew she was a friend. And since she’d oiled the gate the night before, it made no noise as she slipped out.


As she shut the gate, Vasilia snatched one of the flaming skulls from the fence. There was no way she was going home without a light after all she’d been through.


But just then, Baba Yaga’s howl rose from the hut. Vasilia didn’t look back - she dashed into the woods and kept running until her own house came into view.


Her stepmother and stepsisters looked up as she barreled through the door.


“What took you so long? We’ve been freezing,” her stepmother snapped. No concern for Vasilia’s safety, just anger she didn’t get there faster. 


Before Vasilia could respond, the eyes of the skull lantern began to glow. The jaws fell open and a jet of fire erupted outward, shooting right at her family. 


Her stepmother and stepsisters fell to their knees, screaming as the flames consumed them.

Vasilia backed away, clutching her doll to her chest while the lights of the fire danced in its black-button eyes. There was nothing she could do to put out the flames. She and her doll watched in horror as her step family was burned to ash.


When the fire died, Vasilia buried what was left of the bodies in the backyard along with the skull. A few days later, her father came home and she told him everything. After that, they moved far, far away.


And Vasilia never saw Baba Yaga again. 


That’s one version of Vasilia’s story that was passed around eastern european communities for generations, and I recommend checking out the full tale. One thing that’s interesting to note is, while Baba Yaga was said to be a dangerous, blood thirsty witch, at the end of the day, she sort of help Vasilia 


And That’s the thing about Baba Yaga. She’s wicked, yes. But in a lot of stories, she’s surprisingly helpful. Like an evil fairy godmother who intervenes in the most horrifying way possible, by barbecuing your step mom. You can’t trust her not to eat you, but if you keep your wits and your end of the bargain, she might just save your life. 


Because love her or fear her, she knows best. 

Our next witch comes from Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula, and she’s different from Baba Yaga in almost every way imaginable. Instead of an ugly crone, she appears as a beautiful young woman in a white dress, with long black hair and a siren voice to lure those who cross her path.


They call her the Xtabay She’s both a witch and a jungle demon, a spirit of the wilderness that’s haunted the Yucatan since the time of the ancient Mayans. And yet, people still fear her today, over 2,000 years later, because its said that she still lurks in the jungles of Mexico, luring in men and killing them. And in fact, there are recent stores of her doing just that. Like this one….


This story occurred in the 1990s, in the city of Merida. One morning, a frantic woman - we’ll call her Sofia - walked into the Komchén police station with her trio of young children. She approached the front desk and told the officer she wanted to report a missing person.


Her husband, Isidro, hadn’t come home the previous evening. This wasn’t like him - his friends often headed to the bar after work,but Isidro never went with them, and always came straight home. Sofia had already called their neighbors and the local hospitals to see if anyone had been brought in, but there was no sign of him anywhere.


The police took down the information but didn’t offer much help. He probably got drunk and wandered off they said, no need to worry. So Sofia took matters into her own hands. She contacted family and friends and put together a large search party. They combed the road between Isidro’s house and the bus stop he waited at each day, scouring the area for any clues. Maybe he dropped his wallet she thought as she scanned the tall grass near the road, but deep down, she was afraid she would stumble upon his body. 


See, in this area, multiple men had gone missing, and usually their bodies were found inside the jungle, torn to pieces. It made sense, The area was home to jaguars, pumas, and ocelots. Even the search party was afraid to go too deep into the overgrown woods. 


Sofia had already wondered if some animal could’ve surprised Isidro on his way to work and dragged his body into the trees. But there were no tracks, no blood. And after three days, the search party was called off. Sofia went to sleep that night with the unsettling fear that she might never know what happened to her husband.


Ambience- eerie


The next morning, a group of teens were walking the road to the bus stop when they spotted something up ahead. A stooped figure was sitting on a rock beneath a ceiba tree. 


It was Isidro, severely dehydrated and malnourished, but alive. 


Sofia got the call and rushed to the hospital with her family. Isidro was agitated and confused, but showed no signs of injury. 


When Sofia asked where he’d been, he couldn’t tell her. The last thing he remembered was walking home along the highway after work. He was just passing the ceiba tree when he heard a soft voice calling from the jungle, repeating his name. 


“Isidro…”


He turned, eyes sweeping the tree line, but he was alone. Isidro chalked it up to exhaustion and turned back around…


Not five feet away, a woman stood beneath the tree. She wore a simple, white dress. Silky black hair stretched down to her ankles, concealing most of her face. But the sliver he could see was beautiful…


“Isidro…” she repeated in that strange, musical voice. “You look tired. My home is not far. Come. You can rest and regain your strength.”


Isidro frowned, as they were still miles from town, and he didn’t know of any houses nearby. When he asked the woman where she lived, she smiled… then turned and pointed up into the jungle-covered mountains.


In the hospital room, Isidro fell silent, staring off into space, like he was re-living the memory. When Sofia demanded to know what he said to this woman, he just shook his head. He couldn’t remember. After the woman invited him home, Isidro blacked out. He woke up beneath the ceiba tree five days later. 


This was hardly a satisfying explanation as far as Sofia was concerned. Her relief at finding him alive was gone, replaced by the horrible suspicion. Did he go home with this strange woman? Was he off having an affair while she organized a search party? was any of the story true? Did he go on a five-day bender and dream it all up while passed out in a ditch? 


Isidro was no help. He stuck to his story, insisting that he’d been sober when he met the woman, but didn’t remember anything else. Sofia wanted to keep pressing, but he was exhausted, so she let it drop. And once the hospital released him, she brought him home to recover. 


A few days later, Sofia was recounting his story to some older relatives. She knew it looked bad, like she was a wife who searched all over for her missing husband while he was at a mistresses place. But As she got into Isidro’s meeting with the strange woman, the elders raised their eyebrows in a knowing expression. 


They had heard stories just like this, ever since they were little. They knew of the woman he was speaking of. And when she pressed them on in, they told her a story that was stranger than anything she’d expected.

Over 1,000 years ago, before any Euorpeans arrived in the Yucatan, Merida was the site of a Mayan city. Two beautiful sisters lived there who could not have been more different.


Xkeban was outgoing, warm, and charitable. She gave generously to the poor and took care of sick animals. But she also had a reputation for being promiscuous, and had a revolving door of boyfriends, who were regarded as lowlifes and drunks. Her neighbors called her a harlot and threatened to run her out of town.


Meanwhile, her sister, Utz-colel was the opposite. Cold, self-centered, and chaste. She never cared about anyone but herself, but people kissed the ground she walked on. 


At one point, the kind-hearted Xkeban stopped showing up in town. When her neighbors stopped by her house to check on her, they found a strangely fragrant smell wafting from the window.


Xkeban’s body was inside, watched over by the animals that she’d taken care of in life. It’s unclear how she died, but a strange flower had grown to cover her body.


The townsfolk were amazed. Despite her questionable behavior, her sweet smell in death proved that she was a holy person. They called it a miracle and decided they’d been wrong about Xkeban all along. As an apology for mistreating her, they threw a massive funeral, after which more of the flowers grew from her grave.


All of this attention made Utz-Colel extremely jealous. She started to say that when she died, her body would smell even better since it hadn’t been tainted by sleeping with countless strange men. Kind of a tactless thing to say about your dead sister. But she couldn’t have been more wrong. 


When Utz-Colel died a year later, her body gave off a putrid, rancid odor that covered the whole town. After they buried her, it seeped through the soil and killed any flowers left by her tombstone. In their place, an ugly cactus grew that continued to give off the pungent smell.


After that, people changed their tune about Utz-Colel pretty quick. Her purity was forgotten, and all anyone could talk about was how self-centered she’d been. 


They never guessed that her spirit was listening, seething with fury.


The ghost of Utz-Colel fled the village in a rage, disappearing into the jungle. She decided that if the villagers preferred her promiscuous sister so much, she would become just like her.


In the dark of the jungle, the ghost became the horrible demon witch known as the Xtabay. 

Ever since, the Xtabay haunts the area. She preys on men who cross her path, especially drunks and men of Mayan descent. She seduces them with her hypnotic voice and lures them into the jungle. Once she’s had her way with them, the Xtabay delivers a horrific death. She eats their hearts or throws their bodies off the nearest cliff, or down a well into the underworld. In some stories she, transforms into a giant snake and swallows them whole.


Pretty wild - but that’s the story Sofia’s relatives told her. They were sure that Isidro had encountered the Xtabay. And I don’t know if Sofia believed that, because the record ends there. But whatever happened, I can imagine the gap in Isidro’s story would’ve been tough to live with.


If he did meet an Xtabay, maybe the fact that he survived means that he stayed faithful to his wife. Maybe she let him pass since he wasn’t a drunk, or didn’t have Mayan blood. Or maybe the witch knew that sending Isidro home would cause even more damage than killing. That the pain of not knowing would gnaw at Sofia forever.


If there’s a lesson to the Xtabay’s legend, it's that the witch didn’t learn hers. She chose to emulate her sister’s promiscuity rather than her kindness, failing to recognize how jealousy and selfishness caused her to rot from the inside.


Her story reminds us that wickedness isn’t always ugly, and evil doesn’t just come from the wilderness. It’s born close to home, inside human hearts.

For our third story, let’s head over to the United States, a country with no shortage of wicked witches. In towns all over the US, people whisper about the spirit of a witch that haunts the nearby woods. 


While the details of these legends change from place to place, you’ll find a familiar refrain: The witch was a talented healer. A woman who provided folk medicine to the community. But because she was different, or ugly, or lived outside of town, people decided that she was evil. They persecuted her and killed her. And it was that crime - that ignorance - that turned her into a vengeful spirit.


It’s like these legends are America’s way of grappling with its bloody past. The fact that in the 17th century, many towns murdered innocent young women in senseless witch trials. 


I actually come from a place like this. My hometown is the site of the first witch hanging on US soil. Alice Young lived right down the road from me, and she was my age when she was hanged in 1647, 45 years before the Salem Witch trials. So I’ve seen how that trauma still lingers. The guilt and fear never go away. They fester. And I think it explains why, in so many American legends, the witch is also a victim. She doesn’t start out wicked. She’s not evil. Just misunderstood.


This is not one of those stories.

It begins in the 1930s, in the city of Gadsden, Alabama. Across the country, Americans were suffering from the Great Depression, but Gadsden was booming. Heavy government subsidies created a lot of construction jobs, and because of that, people were flooding to the area for work.

But while it was growing, Gadsden was still a small town at heart. Travel a few miles south of Broad Street and you’d hit dairy farms. A few miles north, you’d find dense woods that went on and on. For the old-timers, those woods had long been off-limits. Parents told their kids to steer clear of the trees. But the newcomers either didn’t hear the warnings or ignored them. 

And slowly, their children started to disappear.

It was just a trickle at first. First one child went missing. Perhaps he fell into a river while out playing. But then Two, then three, then a half dozen. It wasn’t until someone at the local paper put it together that they realized the children of Gadsden were disappearing at a rate much higher than the rest of the country. 

No one knew what was going on. Was there a serial killer in their town? Were kids running away? Well, one day, a young boy named Elijah came running into town, scratches all over his face, his shirt torn to shreds. He had been playing in the woods with his brother and they had seen something. They’d seen glimpses of a large black dog out for a walk with its owner, the strange woman who appeared to live out in the woods. 

She was young and beautiful, with raven-black hair and emerald eyes. But the young boy said as she walked back towards her property, he noticed the arm of a young child sticking out of the dirt. He turn and ran as fast as he could, and now he couldn’t find his brother. 

Oh, that’s Sarah Torbit, the adults told him. According to the old timers, Sarah and her infant son lived in a cabin a short distance from Hinds Road. No one knew who her son’s father was, and that caused some side glances from people in town, so Sarah thought it best to live further away from everyone. 

One of the elders told him there was nothing to worry about, that Sarah was just an odd woman who lived in the woods. But another woman disagreed. She had a hunch Sarah had something to do with the missing children. 

Under increasing pressure, the mayor of Gadsden held a town hall to address the problem. And everyone from the community came. Some parents arrived holding the missing flyer of their child, including the parents of the little boy who lost his brother in the woods. They were quick to bring up the issue of Sarah, but the newer residents tried to brush it aside. They wanted solutions, not a witch hunt.

But then the old woman stood up, and what she had to say had everyone in silence.

This woman had lived in Gadsden since she was a young girl. Even back then, her parents had told her to stay clear of the woods and the woman who lived in it. The one with emerald eyes and raven hair who went by the name Torbit.

The newer residents weren’t exactly impressed by this revelation -- everyone knew Sarah’s family had lived in the area for a long time. That woman was probably her grandmother.

But the old woman disagreed. She said the woman who lived in the woods back then looked exactly like the Sarah Torbitt they knew in 1939. Eighty years later, she hadn’t aged a day. 

This, she said, was proof that her parents’ warnings were true. Torbit was a witch who had sold her soul to the devil in exchange for eternal youth. 

For close to a century, she’d been murdering the children of Gadsden and using their bones and blood in her occult rituals.

And with more people moving in, she was only getting stronger.

The town hall erupted into chatter. ()That’s ridiculous, someone shouted. But the little boy knew what he saw in the woods, the definitive sight of a childs arm, covered in dirt, sticking out of the ground like it was reaching for him to come save him. He worried where he brother was. 

Ambience- dark

When the meeting ended, his parents left the hall holding onto each other. The little boy walked behind them, kicking rocks on the ground, when he heard something coming from the treeline next to the town hall. A laugh. He looked to his right, and could see the moon reflecting off of the strange sight of a woman with raven hair bent over backwards in a bridge position, her upside down face twisted into a frightening grin. The boy stopped and looked at her, and she gave another laugh, and then scuttled back into woods like a spider.

That night the boy told his father what he had seen, and his father believed him. He knew something was going on with Sarah, and he was determined to find out what. He organized a small search party with his neighbors, and that same evening they set off into the woods to find the woman. 

Night was falling as they neared the cabin. The men were hurrying down the path, torches in hand. A breeze was rustling through leaves when they smelled an overpowering stench. It was coming from a small cave, hidden amongst the trees. One of the men volunteered to check it out. He took a torch and crept inside while the others waited.

He’d only been gone a few minutes when they heard  his blood-curdling scream. The man came sprinting out of the cave, face pale, eyes wide with terror. When they asked what he’d seen in the cave, he just shook his head and whimpered. He’d been struck mute. 

Before anyone else could investigate the cave, there were more shouts from further up the path. Part of the group had continued on, and had come across a small pond with dark objects floating in the water.

Then the moon peaked from behind the cloud, flooding the pond with light… and the men started to vomit. 

The water was deep crimson. The pond was filled to the brim with blood. And the objects floating on the surface were arms, legs, and torsos. 

The dismembered bodies of the missing children. 

Once they’d gotten over the shock, the men raced down the road to Sarah’s cabin. Smoke was rising from the chimney and they could hear her inside, singing a lullaby.

The mayor pounded on the door and shouted, “Is that you, Torbit, you witch?”

The lullaby stopped. And in its place came a high, cruel laugh. 

By this point, the men were shaking with rage and fear. They hadn’t planned on doing anything aside from investigating, but after what they’d seen had changed that.

They hurled torches through the windows and up onto the roofs. The flames swept up the walls, and within seconds, the cabin was a billowing inferno. Within minutes, it was so hot, the men had to move back a distance to watch. Despite the intense heat, Sarah Torbit’s cold laughter continued to float from the cabin. It echoed over the forest and was heard all the way in town. 

To this day, the lot where Sarah Torbit’s house once stood is barren. No plants will grow there, but strange paranormal activities have been reported in the area for years. An enormous black dog has been seen in the area for years. And every now and then, people glimpse orbs of light dancing over the surface of the pond. These are said to be spirits of the murdered children.

And there have been stranger sightings, too. When the moon is full, the water supposedly turns red with blood. Sometimes, Torbit appears on the far bank, young and beautiful as ever. She kneels at the water’s edge and paints her naked body with the blood from the pond. Then, she goes dancing through the woods, singing and laughing. Anyone who hears her voice gets caught in her spell and becomes her next victim. 

And then there’s the cave. The man who entered it that night never spoke again, but people think he saw the body of the little boys missing brother. There are videos online of people investigating the cave. Many of them report strange sounds or smells. One woman said she went all the way to the back and found an enormous dog with all its skin flayed off, still alive and growling.

But just with any witch story, what’s the truth? Was sarah a misunderstood woman, or a bloodthirsty witch. You’d have to visit Hinds Road Cave yourself to find out. But maybe you shouldn’t. Remember, most wicked witches stories were originally meant as cautionary tales. They come in many different guises - from ugly hags to beautiful enchantresses. But they exist to remind us of the things we shouldn’t do. The places we shouldn’t go. 

Don’t play near water. Don’t go into the woods. Don’t talk to strangers. Even feeble old women can’t be trusted. And if you meet one with a bony leg and black teeth? Don’t stop to talk. 


Turn around… 


And run.


Kaelyn Moore
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