10 Ways to Spiritually Evict a Nasty Neighbor

Because sometimes, the best home security system is spellcraft and spite.

 

The High Art of Hexing Without Breaking a Nail

Ah, suburbia. That pastel-painted purgatory where the most dangerous predators don’t lurk in the shadows, they host cacao ceremonies on weeknights and weaponize yoga pants like a second skin. It’s the kind of place where fences are white, smiles are tight, and the undercurrent of passive-aggression could power a small warlock enclave.

Now, I wouldn’t dare cast the first stone, unless, of course, I’d already traced a binding sigil into it with my nail polish. But allow me to share a personal story that exemplifies the need for this very guide. Think of it not as gossip, but as a spiritual case study.

Let’s talk about the “shaman” next door.

You see, for seven years, yes, seven, this woman lived across the street from my family and not once acknowledged my existence. Not a nod. Not a glance. Not even a half-hearted wave when we crossed paths on trash day. But the moment my husband arrived home from work? Oh, honey, she was Miss Suburban Hospitality. Big smiles. Friendly hellos. The kind of warm greeting typically reserved for golden retrievers and winning lottery tickets.

Then came the separation.

And wouldn’t you know it? Our resident “spiritual gangster” suddenly developed an insatiable interest in breathwork… and my husband. One date. Just one. That’s all it took for her to go from “barely-there neighbor” to smug little sorceress, flashing victory grins in my direction like she’d earned herself a trophy that once wore a wedding ring.

One fine day, she even had the audacity to wave at me, aggressively. Think Forrest Gump on the shrimp boat, but with the manic glee of someone who just microwaved your boundaries. She then proceeded to instigate an argument she clearly wasn’t qualified to finish. Unfortunately for her, that’s when I introduced Miss Scottsdale to my inner hood rat and metaphorically rearranged her chakras, starting with a verbal exorcism and ending with a spiritual colonoscopy.

 

And just like that, witchcraft entered stage left.

Not the fluffy, moon-kissed, rose-quartz-in-your-bra kind of witchcraft. No. I’m talking about the kind of ancestral shadowwork that sifts through your petty little grievances, carves them into candle wax, and files them under “Cosmic Reckonings, Vol. III.” This was the kind of witchcraft that bloodlines feel for generations.

Don’t worry, dear reader. I got the last laugh.

You see, before she moves out, and she will, eventually, I plan to give her the exact same reverence she gave me for the last seven years: absolute silence. I ignore her completely. Stone-cold, eyes-front, soul-deep disinterest. But you best believe I wave and say hi to all three of her polycule boyfriends like I’m hosting a barbecue on Mount Olympus.

If your spell doesn’t work immediately, don’t fret. Magick works on universal time, not Amazon Prime. And as we both know, revenge is a dish best served cold… and karma’s a b*tch with receipts.

Now, shall we begin?

 

 

Spell No. 1: The Scroll of Strategic Disappearance

(or: How to Write Someone Out of Your Reality Without Breaking a Nail)

Intent: To energetically evict your unwanted neighbor from your sphere of existence, spiritually, emotionally, geographically.

You Will Require:

• A black candle (unscented; you’re not here for ambiance, you’re here for results)
• Black ink and parchment (but printer paper will do, if your inner calligrapher is on sabbatical)
• An image of the neighbor in question (a photo, sketch, or artistic rendering born of spite)
• Red thread, ideally charged with intention and just the right amount of loathing

Ritual:

By candlelight, write the following with slow, deliberate flourish:

 

You are hereby banished from my presence, my property, and the realm of my concern.

Your aura is not compatible with this frequency.

Your energy is declined. Please collect your baggage and be gone.

 

Roll the paper into a tight scroll, binding it with red thread as you visualize them packing boxes, fumbling for a new zip code, or emotionally unraveling in a Whole Foods parking lot. Burn just the edge of the scroll over the black candle, enough to scar, not destroy. Then bury it under your favorite plant or at the boundary of your home. If you’re feeling especially poetic, do so in heels.

Effect:

A slow fade into irrelevance. They’ll feel awkward on your block, unsettled in your presence, and mysteriously repelled from your property like cheap perfume on fresh linen.

Spell No. 2: The Candle of Gradual Disappearance

(For When You Don’t Want Them Dead, Just Out of State)

Intent: To make your neighbor’s presence slowly erode like their credibility on Facebook.

You Will Require:

• Two black taper candles
• Two slips of paper: one labeled “Go,” the other “Away”
• A dish of coarse salt (because petty needs texture)

 

Ritual:

Etch the words “Go” and “Away” into the candles with a needle, toothpick, or ceremonial dagger, or, in a pinch, that eyebrow pencil you no longer respect. Place the candles side by side in a window that faces their home, ideally one with a dramatic curtain you can sweep open like a soap opera villain.

Light the candles nightly at dusk, whispering:

 

Go far, fade fast.

This space is sealed. This energy is past.

Melt your way out of my view,

And may you land somewhere dull, drafty, and blue.

 

Allow the wax to melt into the salt. After a week, collect the salt and sprinkle it along your front step, your sidewalk, or wherever they last violated your peace.

Effect:

An atmospheric shift will occur. They’ll feel unwelcome, even watched, not by you, of course, but by the very spirits that whisper “you don’t belong here” in a tongue only their nervous system and the Gods of old understand.

 Spell No. 3: The Rusty Nail of Regret

(or: Energetic Tetanus for the Soul)

Intent: To create a low, buzzing discomfort in your neighbor’s energetic field until they self-evict in search of peace they’ll never find.

You Will Require:

• One rusty nail (bonus points if it’s found and not bought chaos, likes scavengers)
• A slip of paper with their name, nickname, or an insult that rhymes with it
• A small pouch or sachet
• A shard of black tourmaline (for your own grounding, because you’re not trying to get dragged into their karmic quicksand)

 

Ritual:

Write their name with calm, collected menace. No need to press hard, your intention does the heavy lifting. Impale the paper with the nail, ideally while listening to something theatrical (I suggest Toccata and Fugue or that one Lana song that feels like a spell).

Place the nail, paper, and crystal into the pouch and knot it shut. Tuck it under your bed or somewhere quietly potent, under your altar, behind a mirror, or in the back of that drawer where old relationships go to die.

Effect:

They’ll begin to feel off around you, restless, clumsy, emotionally itchy. Eventually, their own discomfort will guide them elsewhere. Don’t worry. It won’t be subtle, and it will be glorious.

Spell No. 4: The Thorned Threshold Curse

(For When You Need to Build an Energetic Moat With Salt and Spite)

Intent: To create a metaphysical tripwire that discourages anyone with ill intent from crossing your sacred space.

You Will Require:

• A mix of salt, cayenne, and thorny plant matter (rose thorns, bramble clippings, or anything you wouldn’t step on barefoot)
• A black candle
• One match lit with the disdain of a thousand eye-rolls

 

Ritual:

Sweep your threshold clean. Lay a line or circle with your salt–cayenne–thorn blend. Light your black candle and whisper:

 

This line is drawn not in sand but in sovereignty.

You, who bring chaos and unwelcome presence,

shall pass no further. May your intentions collapse at my feet.

 

Let the candle burn for 11 minutes (or one complete Taylor Swift track, depending on your religion). Relight each evening for a full week.

Effect:

They’ll hesitate at your doorstep. Packages may be delivered with extra care. Jehovah’s Witnesses will skip your address. The energy around your door will hum like a boundary with a bite.

Spell No. 5: The Sour Space Syndrome

(or: How to Make Shared Areas Spiritually Uninhabitable)

Intent: To sour the energy of common areas so thoroughly that your neighbor avoids them like expired hummus.

You Will Require:

• A bowl of vinegar
• A handful of salt
• One penny
• Your complete and utter lack of shame

 

Ritual:

Place the penny in the bowl. Pour in the vinegar with a flourish. Add salt. Stir while muttering:

 

Let this space reject your presence.

Let your aura spoil, your joy curdle,

and your visits sour before they start.

 

Set the bowl near a common fence, property border, or area they tend to invade with their smug little chakra. Leave for three days. Then discard down the drain with a smug grin and zero guilt.

Effect:

They’ll feel repelled from shared areas, and likely from your general orbit. It’s not you. It’s the vinegar. And the vinegar is doing the Lord’s chaotic work.

 

 

Spell No. 6: Mirror, Mirror, Get the F*** Out

(For When You’d Rather Reflect Than Engage)

Intent: To deflect their energy, intentions, and wandering eyeballs back to sender, gift-wrapped in karmic consequence.

You Will Require:

• A small mirror (preferably round, handheld, or something dramatic you’d find in a Victorian boudoir)
• Black paint or cloth
• Red thread
• Your favorite “don’t test me” lipstick (optional, but recommended)

 

Ritual:

Paint or wrap the back of the mirror in black. Tie the red thread around the top, forming a loop to hang it near your front door, facing outward. This is not for you to admire your cheekbones. This is for deflection. For divine ricochet.

 

Before hanging, breathe onto the glass and whisper:

 

I am not your mirror.

Your projections, your shade, your side-eyes

may they turn on you with twice the sting.

 

Seal with a kiss, a smirk, or the middle finger (choose your vibe). Hang it and leave it. Check on it occasionally to admire how little you care.

Effect:

Their envy? Reflected. Their smugness? Boomeranged. Their intentions? As scrambled as their love life. Let them stew in their own energetic excrement. You’re simply the mirror, darling.

 

Spell No. 7: The Bottle of Boundaries

(Or: A Charming Little Curse in a Jar)

Intent: To contain and neutralize their lingering presence from your space—without breaking local ordinances.

You Will Require:

• A small glass jar with a lid or cork
• Dirt from your own property (your kingdom, your rules)
• A representation of the neighbor: their name, initials, or anything unfortunate they left lying around (perhaps a flower or two out of their garden) 
• Herbs: rosemary (for protection), mugwort (for banishment), black pepper (for extra bite)
• Black candle wax for sealing
• A cool demeanor and the heart of a slightly vengeful librarian

 

Ritual:

Layer the dirt, the personal identifier, and herbs into the jar like you’re making the world’s most passive-aggressive parfait. As you work, chant:

 

Here lies your access to me.

Bound, buried, bottled, and blackened.

Your energy is not welcome here.

Your narrative is expired. Your invitation revoked.

 

Seal the jar with black wax. Bury it at the edge of your property or hide it somewhere sacred. Do not open it. Ever. That’s how horror movies start.

Effect:

They’ll feel spiritually locked out. Energetically muted. You’ll sleep better, your plants will flourish, and your property will practically sparkle with boundary enforcement.

Spell No. 8: The Crow’s Call Curse

(When You Want Their Energy to Go the Way of Their Credit Score)

Intent: To remove someone’s spiritual tether to your space, preferably via unsettling bird-based symbolism.

You Will Require:

• A crow feather or black feather (ethically sourced, but let’s be honest, you probably just found it on a walk and took it as a sign)
• Oils: black pepper, basil, and a drop of your own perfume
• A slip of parchment with their name or “the one who overstayed her spiritual welcome”
• One black candle

 

Ritual:

Anoint the feather with the oils. Place it on the parchment and roll both together into a small bundle.

Light the black candle and declare:

 

Crow of night and silent sky,

Take this presence, let it fly.

Where it lands, I do not care,

So long as it is far from here.

 

Burn the bundle outdoors or at a crossroads if you’re feeling cinematic. If that’s not your vibe, a fire-safe bowl on your patio will do just fine.

Effect:

They will feel drawn elsewhere, distracted, off-balance, misaligned. Like a crow mid-molt. Your space? Peaceful. Their space? Spiritually foreclosed.

Spell No. 9: The Black Salt Ban

(For Spiritual Security That’s Sexier Than an Alarm System)

Intent: To guard your doors, windows, mailboxes, and metaphorical boundaries with the elegance of a cursed heiress and the precision of a ghost pepper.

You Will Require:

• Coarse sea salt
• Ground black pepper or black salt (available at any witch shop worth your time)
• A candle
• Your best slow-burn rage and a playlist that screams “I’m fine. This is fine.”

 

Ritual:

Mix your salts with intention. Move room to room, sprinkling just a whisper of your blend across thresholds, sills, and vents, anywhere energy leaks or creeps.

Light the candle and say:

 

Here I stand, sovereign and sure.

This home is closed to chaos,

To smug smiles and spiritual plagiarism.

Cross this line and feel the consequence.

 

Repeat weekly or monthly. Or every time you see her out watering her cheap carnations. Whichever comes first.

Effect:

Their energy hits your home like a bird into a freshly Windexed window. You’ll notice fewer “accidental” run-ins and more blessed silence. Your sanctuary, restored.

Spell No. 10: The Staircase to Oblivion

(For When You Want Them to Keep Stepping, Literally)

Intent: To energetically trip them up every time they come near. Not physically, unless the universe is feeling cheeky.

You Will Require:

• Red chalk or paint
• Cayenne pepper and coarse salt
• Rubbing alcohol
• A staircase or walkway they regularly tread upon, ideally the one they used to wave at your man like she was auditioning for Desperate Housewives: Spiritually Gentrified Edition

 

Ritual:

Clean the steps with the alcohol. Let dry.

Sprinkle your cayenne, salt blend subtly along the edges. Then, in chalk, draw a symbol only you understand: an X, a sigil, a quick doodle of a b*tch catching hands.

 

Whisper:

 

Every step you take hereafter

shall be met with misalignment,

inconvenience, and a faint yet persistent sense of dread.

Refresh as needed. Enjoy watching her tiptoe awkwardly forevermore.

Effect:

She won’t know why your stairs feel hostile. She’ll just know. And that’s enough, isn’t it?

The Last Laugh (and Wave)

Now, if you’re wondering whether I personally employed any of these deliciously devastating little spells, let me assure you: I would never publicly confess to anything of the sort; a girl doesn't hex and tell. Wink.

But I will reiterate this, before she inevitably packs up her sound bowls and TEMU-ceremonial feathers to spiritually gentrify a new zip code, I’m giving her the same respect she extended to me for seven years:

 

Absolute silence.

Like I said, I wave enthusiastically at all three of her polycule boyfriends when they pull up like I’m running for mayor of Don’t-Play-With-Me-Ville. I greet them with a smile so bright it’s practically a hex. And every time I see her face twitch? That, darling, is the universe confirming a direct hit.

So, take your time. If your spell doesn’t hit instantly, that’s not failure. That’s flair. The universe is simply marinating your revenge.

Because revenge, as we've established, is a dish best served cold.

And karma?

She’s a five-star chef. 

Hope your neighbor likes Karmic Justice Confit. ~