Guide Samhain: what I actually do on October 31, and what I do not

Samhain is the old end of the year, the night of October 31 into November 1, and for me it is the one night I do not work for anyone else. A plate for the dead, one white candle in the window, a page burned, three cards for myself. No costume, no ten times the power casting, no special that closes at midnight. If you want to know what a working witch actually does on Halloween, it is less than you would think, and most of it is quiet.

I am writing this because the week before Samhain is the week this trade behaves worst, and because the question I get most in October is not about spells. It comes from people who lost someone this year and want to know whether the night can do anything about it. So: what the night is and is not, what I do and refuse to do, whether the veil changes a burn, how to keep it at home with a plate and a candle, the three card spread I pull every year, and the specials to walk past.

What is Samhain, and what is it not?

Samhain is the Gaelic turn of the year: the harvest in, the first night of the dark half, the night the dead were given. Most of Halloween grew on top of it later, when the church put All Saints on the 1st and All Souls on the 2nd and the costumes came a long way after. It is not a party, not a power night for bigger spells, and not a seance.

My grandmother called it the night the house gets full, and that is the version I was taught. The year ends tonight. The dead are close, or at least they are thought about, and the difference matters less than people argue. You take stock, you set a place, you look at what is coming.

Whether a veil goes thin is not something I can measure, and I hold the belief loosely. What I can tell you is that this night has been handed to the dead by a great many people for a very long time, and that has a weight of its own. You do not have to believe anyone comes. You only have to behave as if they might, for one evening, and see what it does to you.

What do I actually do on Samhain night?

Four things, in this order, after the trick or treating is done: a plate, a candle, a page and three cards. Yes, I hand out candy first. The children on my street think I am the woman with the good chocolate, and that suits me. The rest starts when the street goes quiet.

The plate. Set at the edge of my altar before dark. A slice of bread, an apple cut across the middle so the star of seeds shows, and a little of whatever the people I have lost actually liked. Their food, not symbolic food. My grandmother gets the thing she used to make that nobody else could, and I make it badly every year, and I think she would find that funny. I say the first names while I set it, the way I would say them in a kitchen, and then I leave the plate alone. In the morning it goes outside, under a tree, for whatever wants it.

The candle. One white candle, unscented, in a glass, in the window. Lit at full dark and left to burn out on its own. It is for the ones who are welcome. A line of salt across the doorstep is for the ones who are not, a habit from a house where the door was always open. This is the only candle I light on the 31st. No clients, no names that are not mine.

The page. In the notebook I have had since I was nineteen, one page. What ended this year: people, a job, an apartment, a plan, a version of myself. Read out loud once, plainly, and then the page goes into the candle flame. It is the only thing I burn that night, and it is a cord cutting without the ceremony. If you do nothing else from this page, do this.

The three cards. Last, with the house quiet. What do I leave in the old year, what do I carry into the new one, what is already on its way. I read them the way I read for anyone else, including the parts I do not like, write them under the space where the burned page was, and look at them again at midsummer. The whole ritual takes less time than the candy did.

Is the veil really thinner, and does it change the burn?

Not in any way I would swear to. The candles I lit for clients on the first of November have burned like candles on any other night: some clean, some sooted, one or two that fought. What changes on the 31st is the room, and the person in it, and I would rather be honest about that than sell you a date.

Here is what I have actually noticed, for what it is worth. The white candle in my own window burns long and clean most years, and I put that down to a good glass and a still house, because I check for drafts on Samhain the way I check every night. The year it guttered was the year I left the front door open for the last trick or treaters. A draft is a draft on any date, and if you want to read your own candle tonight, how to read a candle burn will serve you better than the calendar.

What I do believe is smaller. On this night more people are thinking about their dead at once than on any other, and a house where that is happening feels different. Call that the veil if you like. I call it attention, and attention is most of what any working is made of.

Why orders from the 31st are cast on the 1st

Because the night is mine. Anything that comes in on October 31 is cast or written on November 1, in daylight, and you get a note on the day telling you so. It is the only time my same day promise runs a day late, and I would rather say it here than in small print.

The 1st is a better day for most of what people order anyway. For a witch, November 1 is the first morning of the new year. A road opener, a job working, a candle for someone new, all of those sit better on a clean first day than on the last night of the old one. If you ordered on the 31st wanting the date for power, I would gently tell you that the date adds nothing a trimmed wick does not, and your candle will burn on the 1st exactly as well as it would have.

The reading is the exception in one direction only: I write the three card reading for the turn of the year all week, before and after the night, and plenty of people order it on the 1st when the plate is still on the table.

The week this trade behaves worst, and the specials to walk past

In the last week of October the prices climb, shops that never mentioned the date suddenly have a countdown, and my inbox fills with people asking whether the ten times the power casting they were offered is real. It is not. A candle lit for your ex on October 31 is a candle lit for your ex.

The rest of what to look for in a seller is in how to tell a real spell caster from a scam, and what the ordinary prices are, with no seasonal surcharge, is in what spell casting costs. Mine do not change in October. A written reading is $19, or $37 in depth, on the 31st and on every other day.

How to keep Samhain at home: a plate, a candle, a page and three cards

You need an hour, a candle, something to eat and a piece of paper. No altar, no tools, no book, and nothing you have to buy from anyone. This is the whole of what I do, in the order I do it.

What you need

• A plate and something a person you have lost actually ate. Bread and an apple if you cannot think of anything. The food is the invitation.
• One white candle, unscented, in a glass if you have one. White because the night is for clearing and for the dead, and because it shows soot plainly if you want to read it after.
• Salt, a small handful, for the doorstep. Optional, and I keep it.
• Paper and a pen. The page is the working. Do not write it on your phone.
• A deck of cards if you have one. If not, the pen will do the same job.
• An hour after dark, with the candle on a clear surface, away from curtains and costumes, never left burning alone.

1. Set the plate before dark

Put the food on it, set it somewhere you will see it, and say the first name of the person it is for while you do. If you have not lost anyone, set it anyway, for whoever in your family did this before you. Then leave it alone. It is theirs now.

2. Light the white candle at full dark

Trim the wick, close the room against drafts, light it, and let it burn down on its own. Say, once, that the ones who are welcome are welcome. If you keep the salt, lay a line across the doorstep now.

3. Write what ended this year

Everything the year took, as a list, with no explanations. The person, the job, the apartment, the plan, the version of yourself that did not survive the spring. One line each. Stop when the list stops.

4. Read it out once and burn the page

Out loud, plainly, to the room. Then feed the page to the candle over a plate and let it go to ash. This is the only thing you burn tonight, and it is the most useful hour of my year.

5. Pull three cards, or write three answers

What do I leave in the old year. What do I carry into the new one. What is already on its way. Turn one card for each, or write the first honest sentence that arrives for each. Do not overthink them.

6. Write them down, and in the morning take the plate outside

Under a tree, on the grass, somewhere living. Then start the new year, which for a witch is November 1 and not January. Look at the three cards again at midsummer and see how much of it you knew.

One practical note. If there are children in the house and any of this frightens them, do it after they are asleep, and do not tell them the house is full. The night is for the living too.

How I read the three positions

The three cards are not a story with a beginning, middle and end. They are three separate honest answers, and I read each against its question before I let them talk to each other.

What I leave. A Major here means the year ended something larger than one person, and I take it seriously. A court card is a person you are still carrying, and the suit tells you how: Cups is love, Swords is an argument you keep having in your head. A Pentacle is a job, a home, money. The Three of Swords here is the kindest card it can be, because it means the hurt belongs to the old year and can stay there.

What I carry. This is usually the smallest card, and people are disappointed by it. They want the Sun. They get the Eight of Pentacles, which is work, or the Two of Cups, which is one person who stayed. The small card is the true one. What you carry into a new year is rarely grand.

What is on its way. I read this as a direction, never a promise. Wands is movement and restlessness, Pentacles is slow and solid, Cups is feeling arriving before the facts. The Tower here is not a disaster coming; it is something you already know will not hold, and the year is going to make you look at it. If this card is one you dread, that is the one to write down and check in June.

If the three contradict each other, I write that. A year can leave a thing and carry it at the same time. Most do.

The mistakes people make with the night

• Casting for someone new on the 31st. The night is for endings. Drawing work set on it burns confused, and the 1st is right there.
• Buying the special. The date is on the listing, and nowhere else.
• Trying to summon. A plate and a name is an invitation. A board and a demand is a different thing, and I do not do it or recommend it.
• Keeping the page. It is written to be burned. A list of what ended, kept in a drawer, is a list you are still carrying.
• Doing it drunk at a party. The year deserves an hour of your sober attention. Do it the night after if the 31st is spoken for.
• Expecting a sign from the plate. The plate is for them. It is not a test, and the bread will not move.

When Samhain is the wrong night for what you need

Most of what people want in late October has a better night than the 31st, and saying so is part of the job.

When I read the three cards for you

I shuffle at my altar with your three questions, the same three I ask myself: what you leave, what you carry, what is already on its way. I write each card where it fell, including the one you would rather not see, and then what they say together for your year.

• Standard, $19, runs about 900 words and answers the three questions for the year ahead.
• In Depth, $37, runs about 2000 words and reads the people around you as well, the ones you are leaving and the ones you are carrying. Take this one if the year was heavy and it has stopped being a single question.

You send your first name, the three questions as they are or in your own words, and the first names of anyone you want read into it. There is no birth date to send and no chart, and the story comes along only if you want it to. Order before 6 pm ET and the written reading reaches your email the same day, except on the 31st, when it is written on the 1st and I tell you so. Reply with questions and I answer. If nothing comes through, you get that answer in plain words. Outcomes and dates are not things I promise, and nobody honest does either. You pay through the checkout here, by card, Apple Pay or Google Pay, and the name on your statement is SABLEWITCH.

Ask your question, or read about the reading first.

Paying someone to read it? Read how to tell a real spell caster from a scam and what spell casting costs first.