This is a story of a hometown scandal.

A woman I once knew opened a witchcraft shop. Everyone was so excited to be a part of a pagan-based store in town. She was open to taking in people’s art and work and advertised on her Instagram, which seemed to get some traction.

I had worked with her at a previous location, so when she decided to move to my town, I was thrilled. I stopped working my day job and dedicated much of my time to working as a tarot reader, paid for walk-ins and existing clients. I also had an art stand in the corner of the store where I purchased furniture and showcased my pagan goods along with my artwork.

I was so excited that I wrote a press release advertising the shop and sent it to local magazines and news outlets. They came in to interview the shop owner, and there was a real buzz in the air. This was my first time being published, even though I forgot to put my name on the article when I submitted it. I later posted the article on my website, but eventually took it down to fully dissociate from the store after everything that followed.

The local radio station came in as well, and the shop owner signed up for paid slots. The shop felt alive with excitement.

I invited my best friends to showcase their art, all original pieces that fit the pagan and folklore theme. We were so excited to be showing together in the same space.

I invited a friend in her twenties, who had just graduated from college and needed stable income while building her career, to work an hourly position alongside me. We genuinely enjoyed our time in this beautiful shop, showcasing community art together.

While on a trip down south, I remember listening to a Crime Junkie podcast about a woman who owned a witchcraft shop and used spiritual language in ways that caused harm to others. The story stayed with me, not because it felt connected at the time, but because it challenged my ideas about trust, healing, and accountability within spiritual spaces.

I upgraded my cottage food license so I could sell cookies out of the shop. The shop owner continued to request more inventory, even though payment for items sold on a month-to-month basis had not yet been received.

I didn’t want to believe that the payment wouldn’t come. I encouraged my friends, telling them it would be sorted out. I was paid once for the first month, and one of my friends was paid for one month out of the four to five months we were selling. And we did sell. Artwork from all three of us moved through the shop. I also met other members of my community whose work was on display and selling. During slower moments, when there were no tarot customers, we built friendships inside the shop.

With the exception of one individual who frequently visited the shop at the owner’s invitation, the environment was generally welcoming. Over time, however, that presence made the space feel increasingly uncomfortable. Combined with ongoing uncertainty around payment, my hourly friend and I ultimately decided to step away, even though money was still owed.

Shortly after, my associated artists and I removed our work from the shop. There were countless text messages, emails, and phone calls asking for unpaid compensation for several months of sales and labor. We stayed quiet publicly. We didn’t want to stir the community. We hoped things would be resolved. We believed the promises being made and genuinely wanted them to be honored.

When it came time to collect payment, we were asked to stop by in person, only to be told that funds were unavailable. Other times, payment was promised through Venmo or checks that never cleared. We checked in on one another, trying to understand what had happened.

Some people received payment early on by standing their ground. Others did not.

The following month, the shop closed.

When it closed, many of us were left unpaid. After the shop closed, communication from the shop owner stopped.

This experience reflects a darker side of community spaces built around spirituality and creativity. It shows how trust can be misplaced, how silence can take hold, and how harm can go unaddressed. In a town already struggling economically, artists and makers were left carrying both financial loss and emotional weight. What lingered most was not just the absence of payment, but the absence of accountability.