She was dressed in black while casting her spell

While I was growing up, my parents were always at war with one another. It seemed like doors were being slammed every other day. My father’s car usually screeched out of the driveway, leaving tire rubber artwork or they angrily hollered and swore back and forth at each other.

Hell, I was told my mother even gripped a knife in her hand in an attempt to attack my father. They were always ready and fully loaded with ammunition each time their war went on.

Eventually, reconciliation would set in, but not for long. The battle would immediately begin all over again. Was this war caused by jealousy or another man? Who knows?

This went on for many, many years. According to my mother, she believed that all of this began with the woman dressed in black while casting her spell. The woman’s name was Mary and she was my father’s first wife. My father had three daughters, my half-sisters, with Mary. I never knew of these half-sisters until I was older.

Apparently, there had been some “hanky-panky” going on between my mother and father while he was still married to Mary. Soon after this, my father abandoned Mary and wooed my mother into his arms, having six children with her.

When I was a teenager, my mother told me a story of a woman clothed in black. It was the spookiest story I had ever heard. Nonetheless, it made perfect sense to me. According to my mother, while our family was out visiting relatives on a dark, chilly night, something bizarre happened.

When we returned that evening, a neighbor nervously told my mother that she observed a woman draped in black heading toward our house. Her eyes peered into the darkness and she cupped a lit candle in her hands, much like a praying spirit with evil in its bones.

The neighbor saw this spirit of a woman circling our house, engaging in some kind of witchcraft. My mother believed that this woman was Mary and that she used some type of witchcraft on the relationship between her and my father. My father had told my mother that Mary often engaged in such evil spiritual callings. This confirmed my mother’s belief.

Again, according to my mother, the relationship slowly began to unravel after that night, and it was never the same between them. This, in return, caused uproars and battles with doors often being slammed, a screeching car pulling out of the driveway, hollering and swearing back and forth, and even causing my mother to raise a knife at my father. There was some happiness and laughter in our home; however, this occasional happiness and laughter soon turned into uproars and battles.

Then, one night in 1980, the war between my parents ended, leaving them speechless and their relationship broken. This last argument caused my father to shut the door forcibly and screech out of the driveway for the last time, embedding that final piece of rubber artwork he so often created on the driveway—never to return.

My parents never saw nor spoke to each other again for as long as they lived.