Here it is – the scent collection we spend all year planning, and the one our fans pester us for the most hints about.
To those for whom Halloween remains an anchor point for the entire calendar year, we proudly present a collection that will keep you in Halloweenie sights, smells, and visitations for the foreseeable future. (Trading Post update coming soon!)
We at BPAL will be reveling right along with you, witch-cackling the whole year round, reeking of autumn and ectoplasm.
Enjoy! Trick and/or Treat yourself.
++ BLACK PHOENIX ALCHEMY LAB: HALLOWEEN 2016
CARAMEL APPLE COOKIE
Brown sugar cookies with fat chunks of cinnamon-dusted apple and swirls of caramel.
DEVIL’S NIGHT 2016
Devil’s Eve, Devil’s Night, Gate Night, Trick Night, Mischief Night; whatever your name for it might be, the chaos is still the same. Contrary to popular belief, this festival of pandemonium isn’t unique to Detroit. Falling on October 30th, it is an evening of mayhem and destruction. On the gentler side, it may be celebrated by practical jokes, an egging, Ding-Dong-Ditch, or enthusiastic TP'ing of your most hated neighbor’s trees, and on the more violent side, arson and vandalism. This is the scent of autumn night, fires in the distance, with a touch of boozy swoon, playful sugar and soot-crusted musk.
HER STRONG ENCHANTMENTS FAILING
Her strong enchantments failing, Her towers of fear in wreck, Her limbecks dried of poisons And the knife at her neck,
The Queen of air and darkness Begins to shrill and cry, “O young man, O my slayer, To-morrow you shall die.”
O Queen of air and darkness, I think ‘tis truth you say, And I shall die tomorrow; But you will die to-day.
- AE Houseman
A final confrontation, alight with black fire and poisonous smoke: incense and bruise-purple toxins, a tangle of thorny blackberries, and pale rage.
Slices of apple dipped in golden honey.
FIZZY JACK O’LANTERN 2016
1.5 oz gin ½ oz dry sherry ½ oz lemon juice 1 tsp pumpkin butter 2 dashes of Averna amaro
Pour the gin, sherry, lemon juice, pumpkin butter, and liqueur to a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake that mofo and strain it into a rocks glass filled with ice and a strong, spicy ginger ale. Stir gently, and garnish with a cinnamon stick or human finger bone.
PUMPKIN LATTE 2016
Espresso, pumpkin syrup, smoky vanilla bean, milk, raw sugar, and a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Crystallized glittering shards of lightly spiced pumpkin sugar.
Truly the scent of autumn itself — damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.
The fear of Halloween. Menacing Haitian vetiver, patchouli, and clove with a shock of bourbon geranium, grim oakmoss, and dread-inspiring balsams pierce the innocuous scent of autumn leaves.
SEPTEMBER MIDNIGHT 2016
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects, Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters, Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us, Snow-hushed and heavy.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction, While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest, As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to, Lest they forget them.
- Sara Teasdale
A myrrh-darkened amber chypre sweetened by newly-ripened black pomegranate.
SPICED AUTUMN CIDER
Apple cider and dry red wine with a glug of maple syrup and a generous scattering of ginger, clove, and cinnamon, garnished with apple and tangerine slices, and dotted with black peppercorns for warmth.
THIRD CHARM 2016
The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad, And so is the cat-a-mountain, The ant and the mole sit both in a hole, And the frog peeps out o’ the fountain; The dogs they do bay, and the timbrels play, The spindle is now a turning; The moon it is red, and the stars are fled, But all the sky is a-burning:
The ditch is made, and our nails the spade, With pictures full, of wax and of wool; Their livers I stick, with needles quick; There lacks but the blood, to make up the flood. Quickly, Dame, then bring your part in, Spur, spur upon little Martin, Merrily, merrily, make him fail, A worm in his mouth, and a thorn in his tail, Fire above, and fire below, With a whip in your hand, to make him go.
There’s magic afoot: fiery red musk, luminous elemi, East Indian patchouli, champaca flower, cedar incense, ho wood, and hemlock accord sweetened with a peculiar sweet honey.
THE UNQUIET GRAVE 2016
“The wind doth blow today, my love, And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one true-love, In cold grave she was lain.”
“I’ll do as much for my true-love As any young man may; I’ll sit and mourn all at her grave For a twelvemonth and a day.”
The twelvemonth and a day being up, The dead began to speak: “Oh who sits weeping on my grave, And will not let me sleep?”
“’T is I, my love, sits on your grave, And will not let you sleep; For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips, And that is all I seek.”
“You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips, But my breath smells earthy strong; If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips, Your time will not be long.
“’Tis down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that e’re was seen Is withered to a stalk.
“The stalk is withered dry, my love, So will our hearts decay; So make yourself content, my love, Till God calls you away.”
One kiss of clay-cold lips: frozen white roses, frankincense, white gardenia, white sandalwood, and vanilla orchid.
A fair witch crept to a young man’s side, And he kiss’d her and took her for his bride.
But a Shape came in at the dead of night, And fill’d the room with snowy light.
And he saw how in his arms there lay A thing more frightful than mouth may say.
And he rose in haste, and follow’d the Shape Till morning crown’d an eastern cape.
And he girded himself, and follow’d still When sunset sainted the western hill.
But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side, Weary day!-the foul Witch-Bride.
(Aw, c'mon, Allingham. Foul is a pretty strong choice of words, dontcha think?)
Pale and lovely, with eyes belladonna-wide: hemlock blossoms and ghostly nightshade veiled by wisteria, white frankincense, black amber, and narcissus resin.
As in the Sabatt’s ancient round With strange and subtle steps you went: And toward the heaven and toward the ground Your steeple shapen hat was bent As in the sabbat’s ancient round.
Between the windy, swirling fire And all the stillness of Ihe moon. Sweet witch, you danced at my desire, Turning some weird and lovely tune To paces like the swirling fire. Your supple youth and loveliness
A glamor left upon the air: Whether to curse, whether to bless, You wove a stronger magic there With your lithe youth and loveliness. Upon the earth your paces wrought
A circle such as magicians made… And still some hidden thing you sought With hands desirous, half afraid, Beyond the ring your paces wrought.
Your fingers, on the smoke and flame, Moved in mysterious conjuring, You seemed to call a silent Name, And lifted like an outstretched wing Your somber gown against the flame.
What darkling and demonian Lord, In fear or triumph, did you call? Ah! was it then that you implored, With secret signs equivocal, The coming of the covens’ Lord?
Sweet witch, you conjured forth my heart To answer always at your will! Like Merlin, in some place apart, It lies enthralled and captive still: Sweet witch, you conjured thus my heart! – Clark Ashton Smith
Bonfire smoke rising through a cloud of ceremonial incense, encircled by swirling autumn leaves and a dribble of blood red musk.
In the vein (GET IT) of Boo, Suck It, and Spooky, this is a gushing font of sweet bloody black cherry cream and crushed dried blackberries.
++ HALLOWEEN 2016: PILE OF LEAVES
Every leaf tells a story.
DEAD LEAVES, RAW LEATHER, BOURBON VANILLA, AND CLOVE
DEAD LEAVES, TOMATO LEAF, AND BLACK PEPPER
DEAD LEAVES, BLACKCURRANT, AND TOBACCO TAR
DEAD LEAVES, CHAMOMILE, RED ROSES, AND WHITE TEA
DEAD LEAVES, HONEYED PATCHOULI, AND CHAMPACA BLOSSOM
DEAD LEAVES AND LAVENDER BUDS
DEAD LEAVES AND SUGARED CARDAMOM
DEAD LEAVES AND BLACKBERRIES
++ HALLOWEEN 2016: SINGLE NOTES
Black Phoenix’s cheeky interpretation of the iconic scents of the season. No actual single notes – or hags – were harmed during the creation of these blends.
CANDY BAG DEBRIS
FAKE SPECIMEN JAR
++ HALLOWEEN 2016: BOBBING FOR APPLES
A pastime thought to have its roots in fertility and mate-hunting divination. Presented, for your pleasure, a selection of apples to bob for.
White apple with violet and iris.
Red apple, cacao, and bourbon vetiver.
Black patchouli, apple pulp, and apple blossom.
Green apple, neroli, white musk, melon blossom, and champagne.
Red apple and patchouli with vanilla cream, white musk, red musk, and teakwood.
++ HALLOWEEN 2016: ALL SOULS
Poem by Edith Wharton, scents by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab.
THE DEAD CAN HEAR AND THE DEAD HAVE SIGHT
A thin moon faints in the sky o’erhead, And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead. Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways, Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays, But forth of the gate and down the road, Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode. For it’s turn of the year and All Souls’ night, When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
Twisted creepers of dying ivy, winter roses, shadow musk, and black moss.
THE DEAD CAN YEARN AND THE DEAD CAN SMITE
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees: It is only their call that comes on the breeze; Fear not the shudder that seems to pass: It is only the tread of their feet on the grass; Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop: It is only the touch of their hands that grope — For the year’s on the turn, and it’s All Souls’ night, When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
Agarwood, black musk, grave moss, and yew berries.
THE DEAD LIPS THAT THIRST TO KISS
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo But here, where such hundreds were lovers too? Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss, The empty hands that their fellows miss, Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green, Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between? For it’s turn of the year and All Souls’ night, When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
Cold white iris, benzoin, and bitter frozen aldehydes.
NOW THAT THEY RISE AND WALK IN THE COLD
And now that they rise and walk in the cold, Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old. Let them see us and hear us, and say: “Ah, thus In the prime of the year it went with us!” Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist, Forget they are mist that mingles with mist! For the year’s on the turn, and it’s All Souls’ night, When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
Bruised violets chilled by eucalyptus blossom, ice musk, and black cypress tar.
TO KINDLE A FLAME IN OUR FROZEN VEINS
Till they say, as they hear us — poor dead, poor dead! — “Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed — Just a thrill of the old remembered pains To kindle a flame in our frozen veins, Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart, As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart — For it’s turn of the year and All Souls’ night, When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.”
The dead’s cold black flame: opoponax, elemi, juniper, black musk, leather, and wilted mint.
THIS WAN WHITE HUMMING HIVE
And where should the living feel alive But here in this wan white humming hive, As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold, And one by one they creep back to the fold? And where should a man hold his mate and say: “One more, one more, ere we go their way”? For the year’s on the turn, and it’s All Souls’ night, When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
White patchouli leaf, beeswax, ambergris, and pale incense.
THEY LIE THUS CHAMBERED AND COLD TO THE MOON
And how should we break faith who have seen Those dead lips plight with the mist between, And how forget, who have seen how soon They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon? How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too, Who must do so soon as those others do? For it’s All Souls’ night, and break of the day, And behold, with the light the dead are away.
Cedar coffinwood, davana, tobacco flower, and white rose.
++ THE SPIRIT OF HALLOWEEN 2016: A Black Phoenix Salon Series
Behind every man now alive stand 30 ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living.
- Arthur C. Clark
A KNEELING CHILD WATCHING A GHOST, DEVIL AND PUPPET MAKING MAYHEM IN A ROOM
After: George Du Maurier
A chaotic, clanging scent - shadowy, sweet, and discordant: black licorice and teakwood.
A MAN IN ARMOUR IS CONFRONTED BY A GHOST AND A SKELETON
Creeping ivy and black yew, benzoin, and lichen-crusted bark.
A PALE AND GLIMMERING LIGHT APPEARED BEFORE HIM
Henry John Stock
Oleander smoke, white jasmine, ambrette seed, and cistus.
THE AVENGING VASE
- from Acme Magazine, 1906
Rose dusting powder, night cream, and upturned, scattered irises.
Askel Waldemar Johannessen
A haze of verbena, lemon rind, transparent amber, ectoplasmic green musk, ti leaf, and bamboo.
THE DROWNED MAN’S GHOST TRIES TO CLAIM A NEW VICTIM FOR THE SEA
Black kelp and opoponax, silt, and dark things dredged up from the depths of a seabed.
FOUR GRAVE ROBBERS AWAKEN A GHOST
A summoning: dragon’s blood resin, olibanum, galangal, bdellium, and myrrh.
THE GAMBOLS OF GHOSTS
Illustration for Robert Blair’s The Grave
Rivulets of beeswax and amber flame illuminating a pale blue midnight, eddying with phantom violets, olive blossom, and moss.
THE GHOST OF A WOMAN CONFRONTS HER MURDERER ON A STORMY NIGHT
Righteous rage thundering from beyond the grave: blackened cypress tar, bleached white cedar, asphodel, patchouli, and night-black musk.
THE GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA AWAKENING THE FURIES
An incense to call the Erinyes: opoponax steeped in black wine, spindle tree sap, nightshade accord, yew needles, and a drop of blood.
THE GHOST OF DARIUS APPEARING TO ATOSSA
A brazier aflame with Carthaginian olibanum, Ethopian myrrh, galbanum, onycha, and lingum aloes.
THE GHOSTS’ HIGH NOON
Sir William Schwenck Gilbert
A swank affair: moss and dead leaves - amber-gilded, wrapped in balsam and cracked leather – crowned with mums, with a shard of gleaming, bone-white orris root.
THE HAUNTED BEACH
Pale, moonlit musk, sea salt, and ambergris.
Terebinth, fir needle, and smoke.
THE SMITHFIELD GHOST
A spectral musk echoing the memory of neroli, rosewood, and frankincense.
Brown leather, tonka bean, guiac wood, and brown musk chilled by white frankincense, eucalyptus, and calla lily.
TUMBLING OVER A GHOST
Upturned grave dirt, English ivy, black moss, drooping pine, dried cypress, blackthorn, and candle wax.
Brown kelp and red algae streaked with black vetiver, driftwood, and sea moss.
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is common for many witches, pagans and covens to work magick or have
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