14 Aug,2025 By Fake Travel News
In Haarlem’s shadowed canals, where ancient windmills stand like sentinels, a mushroom-fueled vision revealed a looming catastrophe. This is my account of a supernatural pilgrimage through the Netherlands, racing to save the country’s windmill guardians from a technological apocalypse.
Content Warning: This article discusses psychedelic experiences, occult practices, and apocalyptic visions. Reader discretion advised.
I’m Luna Bramble, a gothic travel writer who chases Europe’s haunted corners, from Paris catacombs to Transylvanian castles. But nothing prepared me for the Netherlands.
On September 21, 2024—autumn equinox—I arrived in Amsterdam with Raven (a chaos witch) and Zephyr (a tarot reader). A Dutch witch’s warning from a Prague festival echoed in my mind:
“The mills are dying. Something dark approaches.”
We headed to De Adriaan windmill in Haarlem, a 20-minute train ride from Amsterdam. The journey felt like slipping through time, with windmills dotting the countryside like ancient talismans. Haarlem’s Art Nouveau station mirrored their curved blades, hinting at a deeper design in this land of canals. De Adriaan was indeed a grand spectacle.
Willem Van Der Molen, De Adriaan’s keeper, spoke of the mill’s history with reverence. As he showed us the grinding stones, once used for cement and tobacco snuff, he mentioned the sails’ positions—like the St. George’s Cross for a short rest or standby state—carried hidden meanings tied to the elements.
Climbing to the mill’s crown, I glimpsed dozens of windmills on the horizon and felt a chill: a fleeting vision of their blades going still.
That night, back in Amsterdam, Raven shared her foraged Liberty Caps. “The mushrooms want to speak,” she said. Zephyr’s tarot pulled The Tower thrice, signaling catastrophe. As the psilocybin took hold, reality melted into swirling gears and wooden blades.
In my vision, I stood in a field under a blood-red sky, windmills pulsing with golden and purple auras. Then, electric blue pulses—unnatural, technological—crackled from storm clouds. The mills spun faster, their ancient wood shrieking until one exploded in a shower of splinters.
The destruction spread, each mill’s collapse a scream in a growing chorus. A voice from the earth whispered:
“Few endure. The keepers who honor the old ways. Save what can be saved.”
Before awakening, I saw two quick flashes. One pinpointing the date November 15, 2024, and the other showing a resolute De Adriaan surviving the disaster, its sails in the St. George’s Cross position.
I woke with a pounding headache and a sense of dread. I quickly painted a depiction of the disaster I had seen during my psychedelic experience.
The vision said November 15, 2024. Zephyr’s research confirmed a solar storm and nationwide 5G rollout scheduled for November 14. The pieces fit: modern technology threatening ancient structures. But who’d believe a gothic blogger’s mushroom vision?
At dawn, we returned to De Adriaan. I told Willem everything—the vision, the electromagnetic pulse, the date. He didn’t scoff.
“My grandmother said the mills have spirits. Three nights ago, one told me to trust a dark-haired woman with warnings from beyond.”
“I wrote a journal entry about a dream last night.”
“I stood beneath the mill at dusk. The sails were in the ‘mourning’ position – one blade pointing down. I heard it: a low hum, like a cello bow dragged across bone. The air shimmered. My compass spun. I think I saw Luna’s shadow in the gears.”
My heart raced. He agreed to rally other keepers.
Over weeks, Willem connected us with mill operators across the Netherlands. Many reported eerie signs:
Not all believed us, but most agreed to set their sails in traditional St. George’s Cross positions on November 15, honoring ancestral wisdom.
My waking visions intensified—flashes of electric storms, the date 11/15 in coffee foam and clouds.
Strange texts in archaic Dutch appeared on my phone: “Iron lightning hunts the wooden children. The marked mills endure.”
On November 14, the 5G rollout began despite our warnings, dismissed as conspiracy ravings. But the keepers were ready. At De Adriaan, Willem let us stay overnight. By 11 PM, auroras lit the sky—rare for these latitudes. Electricity buzzed in my teeth.
At 3:17 AM on November 15th, the storm broke.
Solar wind collided with Earth’s magnetosphere in a cascade of electromagnetic fury. Across the Netherlands, 5G towers began resonating with harmonic frequencies that should have been impossible. The air filled with a high-pitched whine that seemed to come from the planet itself.
And then the windmills began to sing.
From my position at the top of De Adriaan, I watched in horrified fascination as mills across the countryside started spinning. Slowly at first, then faster and faster as the electromagnetic resonance found the exact frequency that turned their wooden structures into massive tuning forks.
The sound was indescribable—like a chorus of banshees mixed with the screaming of tortured wood. Throughout the Netherlands, windmills spun themselves toward destruction, their ancient timber unable to withstand forces they were never designed to resist.
But De Adriaan held steady. Willem’s sails, positioned in the traditional St. George’s Cross, created just enough asymmetry to break the resonance. The mill shuddered and groaned, its timbers creaking ominously, but the blades maintained their stately, controlled rotation.
And then something miraculous happened.
Across the countryside, I watched as dozens of other mills began to stabilize. The keepers who had heeded our warnings—who had positioned their sails in protective configurations—found their mills slowing, settling back into their ancient rhythms. Not all had survived the initial pulse, but far more than I had dared to hope.
As dawn broke over the Netherlands, we counted not devastation, but salvation. Of the country’s 1,200 historic windmills, 127 had survived the electromagnetic storm. Every mill whose keeper had honored the old ways, who had listened to ancestral wisdom and positioned their sails according to traditional signals, had weathered the supernatural tempest.
The spirits had prevailed.
Zephyr and I shared a celebratory joint at a local cafe. Raven was there, too, but she never lets herself get photographed.
The media called it “The Great Windmill Event,” blaming a freak solar-5G interaction. Scientists noted surviving mills used traditional sail positions, creating “aerodynamic interference.” We knew better: ancient wisdom trumped modern hubris.
Willem, now a folk hero, credits all keepers who listened. “The old ways saved our heritage,” he says. The 127 mills, dubbed the “Sacred Network,” sparked a cultural renaissance:
Willem asked for my input on a book he was writing about the whole experience. I provided him the following poem.
“Wail into the godless wind—
Let your trembling frame remember
When we gathered at your feet
And hope burned brighter than ember.”
De Adriaan remains a symbol of resilience. Willem’s tours still climb the ladders to Haarlem’s skyline, but now visitors see surviving mills as proof of community and ancestral wisdom. The Netherlands rediscovered the power of listening to the past.
Visit De Adriaan at dawn or dusk for maximum eerie vibes. Bring Dutch bread as an offering. The Amsterdam-Haarlem train, nicknamed the “ghost train,” may spark visions—keep a journal.
Tell Willem that Luna sent you; ask about sail positions during the dark moon for deeper insights.
Best Times: New moon, storms, Celtic quarter days (Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh)
Offerings: Grain bread, carved wooden tokens, small bells
Transport: First morning train from Amsterdam Central
Accommodation: Hotel De Oude Doelen (blessed for sensitive travelers)
Gear: EMF detectors, dowsing rods, salt for protection
The 127 mills prove spirits still guide us, and a gothic blogger’s vision can save a nation’s soul. The Netherlands rediscovered that listening to ancient wisdom isn’t backward—it’s survival.
Modern technology and traditional knowledge don’t have to be enemies. When we honor the past while embracing the future, we create something stronger than either alone.
“Stay witchy, fellow travelers. The spirits are always speaking—we just need to listen.”
About Luna Bramble: Gothic travel writer and occult investigator specializing in supernatural tourism and prophetic experiences. Author of “Shadows Across Europe: A Dark Wanderer’s Guide” and “Psychedelic Prophecies: When Ancient Wisdom Meets Modern Chemistry.” Based in Salem, Massachusetts, when not chasing visions across the European countryside. Follow Luna’s supernatural adventures: @LunaBrambleGoth
The non-fake disclaimer: Fake Travel News is a satire travel blog. We have fun creating and exaggerating travel stories from around the world, but we also love travel and the very real magic it grants to the human experience. For non-fake information on the Haarlem windmill, you can visit the following link: Home – Molen De Adriaan
