The Witch’s Number 13: Superstition, Ancestors, and the Stories That Bind Us

Numbers have always carried more than their face value. They become symbols, charms, or warnings. Some promise luck; others carry doom. Of all the numbers that haunt folklore, none is as infamous as 13.

In Europe, 13 has long been seen as cursed. A number that disrupts harmony, a seat no one wants at the table, a shadow that turns gatherings uneasy. From medieval superstition to modern horror films, 13 is shorthand for misfortune.

But in Nguni traditions — among the Xhosa and Zulu — power isn’t bound by numbers. It’s bound by the amadlozi (ancestors) and by intent. A witch (umthakathi) is not defined by sitting in the wrong chair, but by using ukuthakatha (sorcery) to cause deliberate harm.

This blog explores the witch’s number 13 in European lore, contrasts it with African perspectives on witchcraft, and shows how these ideas shape The Girl Who Knew The Medicine — my novel where witches aren’t bound by numbers, but by the stories told about them.

Would you sit in a circle of 13? Or would you leave one chair empty?

The European Curse of 13

The fear of 13 runs deep in European folklore. It appears everywhere:

• The Last Supper: 13 at a table, with Judas as the betrayer.

• Norse mythology: Loki, the trickster god, was the uninvited 13th guest who brought death to the feast in Valhalla.

• Friday the 13th: A convergence of unlucky signs — the crucifixion of Christ, the fall of the Knights Templar, the day no one wanted to marry or travel.

The number became tied to imbalance. Twelve was sacred — months of the year, apostles, signs of the zodiac. Add one more, and the symmetry shattered. Thirteen wasn’t just extra; it was excess. Dangerous. Wrong.

Witchcraft lore wove this fear into its fabric. A “true coven,” some said, had 13 witches. The image endures: 13 figures gathered under the moon, whispering curses. Yet historically, this idea was less fact than folklore. It reflected Europe’s obsession with order and its fear of whatever disrupted it.

Thirteen became shorthand for the uncanny, the unlucky, and the unholy. It was never just a number. It was a warning.

Nguni Witchcraft: Power Beyond Numbers

In Nguni traditions, witchcraft has little to do with numbers. The witch — the umthakathi — is not feared for sitting at the wrong place at the wrong time. They are feared for their intent.

The umthakathi uses ukuthakatha — sorcery — to harm. This can involve poisoned muti (medicine), spiritual manipulation, or unleashing creatures like the tokoloshe. Their power comes not from unlucky symbols, but from deliberate malice and hidden rituals.

Here, the power that binds is not numerical but ancestral. The amadlozi (ancestors) shape the spiritual balance of a community. The healer — the inyanga or sangoma — channels that power to heal, guide, and protect. The witch, by contrast, twists it to harm.

This is where Nguni witchcraft diverges sharply from European superstition. In Europe, witchcraft often lived in accusation: a neighbour blamed for a bad harvest. In Nguni culture, it lived in intent: a person believed to wield genuine, malicious power.

The fear was not of numbers, but of the unseen — what a person might choose to do under the cover of night, aided by spirits that answer only to them.

European and African Witchcraft Compared

When we compare European and African witchcraft, the contrast is sharp but illuminating:

• Europe: Witchcraft was often defined by accusation. Witches were scapegoats, condemned for being different, poor, or inconvenient. The number 13 embodied imbalance and became a mark of danger.

• Nguni: Witchcraft was defined by intent. Witches were feared as deliberate agents of harm, bound not by numbers but by malicious choice and spiritual power.

Both reflect deep cultural anxieties — about survival, misfortune, and the forces we can’t see or control. Both also remind us that power is never just in spells or rituals. It lives in the stories people tell about them.

The witch’s number 13 is European. In Nguni traditions, the binding force is not arithmetic but ancestors, not superstition but belief in action. And yet, across both, witches are bound by something stronger than numbers: fear.

The Witch’s Number 13 in The Girl Who Knew The Medicine

In my novelette, The Girl Who Knew The Medicine, witches aren’t bound by numbers at all. They’re bound by stories.

The protagonist inherits a calling she didn’t choose — a disruption rather than a destiny. Her power isn’t measured by where she sits or by the unlucky number on a calendar. It’s measured by how others perceive her, the labels they cast, and the stories whispered around her.

The book was inspired by a Daily Maverick article on occult gangs in South Africa, alongside my own memories of growing up in a conservative high school. I wanted to ask: what happens when the hysteria of the 1600s witch trials collides with the anxieties of modern South Africa? What happens when rumours and rituals blur?

In The Girl Who Knew The Medicine, the witch’s number doesn’t hold power. Fear does. Stories do. They are the real curses — the ones that spread, cling, and define.

It feels fitting that the book has found its home with @13Tomes, a UK-based indie bookshop with a love for the eerie and the uncanny. After all, what better place for a story about witches than under the shadow of 13?

Conclusion: Would You Sit in a Circle of 13?

Thirteen has long been the witch’s number in Europe — cursed, feared, whispered about. In Nguni traditions, power is bound not to numbers but to ancestors, healers, and sorcerers.

Both perspectives reveal that witchcraft is never just about magic. It’s about fear. About the stories we tell to explain what we don’t understand. About who we decide to blame when the world goes wrong.

So the question remains: would you sit in a circle of 13? Or would you leave one chair empty, afraid of what the number might summon?

Perhaps the scarier truth is this: witches have never been bound by numbers. They’ve been bound by us — by the stories we tell, the fears we project, and the power we grant to shadows.

And in The Girl Who Knew The Medicine, those stories are waiting for you.