Midnight weirdness

Midnight weirdness.
It is my own competition
But I don't ''see it''
No inspiration.
I know the witch is there
For tourists she awaits
She has plans for surprises
And scary moments.
As she stands by the janitor's lodge
Next to the small chapel, she eyes
The crow on top of the crucifix
And prays to the Goddess of the crows
While spreading a few bits of dry food and other remains as a sacrifice.
And a small tribute to such greatness.
And she waits.
It is a full moon night
She feels radiant, powerful
And full of energy
As she waits for the arrival of a curious tourist or three
But all is quiet and all she hears
Through the gentle breeze
Is the plaintive sounds and moans
Of her ancestor,
The Great Witch Frieda
Buried in Plot 173.