I Met the Vampire Witch

A Séance Encounter with Anna Maria von von Stockhausen

I met the vampire witch, it was during a small, private séance in an old manor house on the outskirts of the village — the kind of place where the air feels heavier somehow, as if it remembers everything that’s happened there.

The lights were low.
The candles flickered.
And every ear in the room was tuned to the sound of my voice.

We’d already made contact with two spirits that night, both gentle, both curious. But then the energy shifted. The temperature dropped. And I felt something step forward — not in the physical sense, but in the way a presence makes itself known.

The name came to me all at once.
Anna Maria.

The Energy in the Room Changed

It was sharper, colder.
I don’t scare easily — not after years of mediumship — but this was different.
When she spoke, it was more an impression than words. Images. Sensations. The metallic taste of blood. The thick scent of damp earth. The sound of water rushing over wood.

She showed me her hands — pale, dirty, nails broken — clawing through soil. I knew instantly what I was seeing.

This was her story.

Her Side of the Legend

Anna Maria’s voice — or rather, her thoughts — carried a bitterness that still lingered centuries later. She told me she had been accused of witchcraft in life, but the greater fear was something else: that she “fed” on the living. Not in the way a hungry mouth feeds, but in the way a desperate soul clings to the warmth of life it’s been denied.

She described being hanged. The feeling of rope, the snap of bone, the strange moment where pain becomes nothing.
And then — the cold earth.
And then — breath again.

Death Wouldn’t Hold Her

Each time she returned, it was harder for them to accept. She spoke of being dragged from the lake, her skin waxy and blue, but still feeling the urge to stand, to walk, to find her way home. She told me of the stake — the burn in her chest, the darkness that followed — and yet waking again, the wound still there but no longer bleeding.

The guard at her grave? She didn’t deny what happened. She just said: “He would not move aside.”

The Last Burial

The villagers’ fear was almost tangible in her memory. She remembered the storm during the burning, the rain that refused to let them finish the job. And she remembered the final burial — far from the village, bound so tightly she couldn’t move.

When she showed me this moment, I didn’t just see it — I felt it. The pressure on her limbs. The crushing stillness. The silence.

And yet… there was no peace.

Why She Came That Night

When I asked her why she was here, in this room, with us, she didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I felt a wave of emotion — not anger, not even sorrow, but something like defiance.

“They feared me because they could not understand me,” she said finally.
“I will not be forgotten.”

And with that, her presence faded — not gone, but stepping back, as though retreating into the shadows from which she’d come.

What I Took from the Encounter

I don’t know if Anna Maria’s story happened exactly as the legends say.
Maybe she was just a woman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Maybe superstition built her into a monster.
Or maybe — just maybe — she truly was the vampire witch they feared.

But that night, in that darkened room, with every candle flame shivering in still air, I felt her.
And I knew one thing for certain:
Whatever Anna Maria was, she’s still not resting.

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I Met the Vampire Witch