The wind running through the woods was a relief from the heat of the day. She stood motionless amongst the trees deep in the forest. The night was alive around her. Tree frogs and crickets croaked and sung their nightly melodies. Leaves rustled nearby from nocturnal wildlife. Fireflies lit up randomly throughout the dark woods that portrayed their endless depths.
  The trees surrounded her and shrouded the night’s sky. She asked the trees to part their limbs using ancient language known as woodspeak so she could see the moon. They obliged and pulled their limbs and branches back that revealed the moon. It was September, and the moon was in its waning crescent. She stood patiently in the warm and quiet night, listening and counting hoots from nearby owls. At the seventeenth hoot, it was time to begin the spell.
  An empty cauldron she had brought sat in front of her. The required ingredients were in a bag that hung by her side. First were the guts of a fish. She pulled out a fish and removed a knife from her belt. She sliced off its head and expertly removed the guts. The fish guts slide off her fingers into the cauldron. Second were the eyes of an alive frog. The frog croaked as she pulled it out from the same bag, its legs tied together to prevent escape. It struggled as she squeezed down upon its head until its eyes popped out. One eye she popped into the cauldron and then the second one. Third were the legs of the same frog. They pulled off easily as she dropped them in. She tossed the rest of the frog onto the dirt as it desperately squirmed, trying to stay alive after its mutilation.
  Beside the cauldron rested an entranced snake, which was the fourth and last ingredient. A few words in the ancient language of witch tongue beckoned it up and inside the cauldron. With all the ingredients she required, she spoke the words to the spell and waved her hands over the cauldron. The waving of her hands was unnecessary, but she felt the spell could not work unless she eloquently waved them in a certain pattern. The spell was complete, and the cauldron suddenly filled with a boiling liquid that gave out an unpleasant odor; its familiarity swirled nostalgia. This was only a base spell for her spell work and she would build it upon with other spells layered on top of it.
  The liquid, which madly boiled with no source of heat, illuminated the night and her beautiful face in a red glow. She quickly extended her hands over the pot and said the words, in ancient witch tongue, to the beginning of the next spell. The liquid boiling subsided in the middle, while the edges still boiled. The surface in the middle became smooth as glass and caught the reflection of the waning crescent moon. She waved her hands around in a circular pattern. Then stopped and turned them in the opposite direction, but only a fraction amount, and spoke the words in the Celtic language. The speed of her hands had to match the words at certain intervals and timing, as a rhythmic dance. She had to practice the timing for months. Then, after she arrived at the correct count, she reached towards the reflection of the moon in the mirrored surface and delicately picked up the small image of the moon with only her index finger and thumb.
  The beauty of the moon and the power of witchcraft for her to accomplish this astounded her; mixed with pride at being able to accomplish this gave her such joy that nothing else in the world could come close to it. The light of the moon that she held in her fingers shone just as bright and lovely as the one still in the sky above her head. There was a power that radiated from it. She could feel the magnitude of that power deep in her bones. She took the moment in time to absorb the experience, for she knew there would be few of these moments in her life. Words flowed out of her mouth, softly chanting the rest of the second spell. The smoothed surface of the cauldron became a strong bubble once again.
  She turned the moon ninety degrees and saw it was thin as a hair. Tenderly, she snapped the moon in half and turned both pieces with the broken sides down, holding them over the cauldron. The moon dust sparkled and drifted downward as lightly as snow. A smile came upon her lips as the simple beauty of it filled her eyes and the night. The light of the sparkles was brighter than anything she has seen and winked out and on slowly down into the chaotic and angry boiling cauldron. The glow from the cauldron slowly changed from the red to a soft yellow as more and more moon dust fell in. As the last of the wondrous moon dust became eaten by the liquid below, she looked up and thanked the trees for their assistance in ancient woodspeak. Their tree limbs returned to the position that blocked the night sky once again. The trees never spoke back to her, but she always thought she could hear it in the creaking of their limbs as they moved.
  She then took a carrot from her bag. She closed her eyes and let out a large sigh, knowing what she had to do next for the spell would hurt. Grabbing ahold of the cool cauldron with the liquid bubbling inside, she lifted her dress and placed her right foot on the pot. She took the carrot and quickly inserted it inside of her vagina. The pain shot through her, as she was not ready for it. She removed the carrot and started chanting words in demonic immediately and fixed her gaze upon it. Throwing it into the cauldron fiercely, it sunk out of sight, then the liquid started whirring around without her stirring. Certain spells require pain of certain sorts to work; especially demonic. There were several tinctures she had that could dull the pain, but then the spell would not work. The pain had to be real, and it had to come from the spell crafter. The crooked carrot re-merged like a hand on a clock, which then spun around and the lightning changed from a soft yellow glow to a harsh red. More violent of a red color than before.
  Extending her hands outward, holding them over the cauldron, she started chanting a phrase in ancient witch tongue for the next part of the spell. Her vagina throbbed from pain, but she ignored it and forced herself to focus on the words. It spun randomly and at different speeds; looking and searching. The carrot suddenly stopped and held steady as an erect phallus, expecting and waiting for attention. The witch had kidnapped an unwed virgin woman from her father’s house. She placed an easy sleeping spell on the woman to keep her docile through the trip in the woods. Upon the carrot finding the unwedded woman, she sprung up from her sleep, fully awake and full of fear. As the carrot sank out of view within the boiling confines.
  The demonic words had coaxed the unwed virgin woman awake and what also awoken was a deep lustful hunger she never felt before. The woman looked around and saw the witch before her cauldron of the devilish red light and awful fumes that filled the night with steam. Her pale skin and white nightgown ate the harsh red light, casting the look of blood upon her. Even the surrounding trees in the harsh red light did not look like a peaceful forest, but a nightmarish landscape full of suffering and violence. The witch had her back to the virgin and ignored her and continued speaking the demonic words.
  The virgin that was raised as a purest had opened her legs and placed her hand on her crouch. It was the steam from the cauldron that filled the surrounding air into a lustful playground, a thick humidity that encouraged and enticed one’s skin. Something stirred in the brush nearby that sparked a small fear within the virgin, but it was a good fear mixed in with a strong desire to be touched. She crawled onto her hands and knees and hoped that it was someone that could help her with her lustful hunger.
  The witch, amongst all of this, was untouched by the lust or humidity. She remained speaking the words for the virgin and creating the atmosphere for what she needed. The virgin pulled up her dress and parted her legs; she eased her shoulders down and put her hips high, wanting and awaiting. A large thing stepped through the brush, naked and manlike except the head was one of a goat. The goat man was large and muscular and it seemed it could smell the sex of the virgin on all fours. It became erect immediately at the sight of her.
  Blood, sweat, tears, and a woman’s wetness followed by his calloused, rough hands on her breasts and hips as he did his manly duty. It was too much for her and not enough, as pain and pleasure mixed and confused her senses.
  The witch was indifferent to the carnal acts in front of her as she kneeled down in front of the woman, whispering the beginnings of the next spell in ancient witch tongue. This was the finality. As the man finished and the woman was left with no choice but to be done, the witch spread her arms out at her side and spoke louder. The entire scene changed as the light from the cauldron cast an icky dim green light. The air was no longer warm, and the woman felt immediate regret as she attempted to cover herself to hide from shame. She felt dirty sitting on the forest floor at night and bewildered at how she got there. Standing before her, the goat man towered over her in the sickly green glow. It looked upon her with a keen interest. Ideas of what it would do to her filled her with fear. The thing placed its hands upon its head and jerked it with a hard right. She wanted to scream at seeing it decapitate itself, but she was too shocked to react. The goat's head came off, and underneath it was a normal man. The witch stood up, speaking the words louder now. It was difficult in the dim light to see who the man was, yet he looked familiar to her. He held a haunting look from the green light casting deep shadows across his cheeks, chin, and eyes.
  She screamed out in disgust and horror at the sight of him. It was her father. At having such a passionate and sexual display of pleasure in front of her father, but with him as well, caused her to jump up and ran far from the twisted and awful scene of depravity and incest.
  Her father, confused at all of it, ran away as well. The witch had entranced him earlier and at the end, the memories came back to him, as though awakening from a dream. The witch took all their emotions from the air in front of her and channeled them into the cauldron. Multiple lights resonated, swirled, and flashed from the cauldron as the solution consumed and fed upon those emotions. Now all the layers from the previous spells were together, and she just needed to cast one last spell to reach her final spell product.
  Her hand rose, and the broom flew to it quickly. She dipped it into the solution and stirred it slowly. It had to be at the right speed and the proper number of stirs, or it would not work. She said the proper words in the ancient witch tongue. She pulled out the broom from the substance, and it went from a liquid to a solid. The spell was complete. She took the broom and pounded against it; it shattered and fell into the bottom of the empty cauldron, appearing as only a thin sheet at the top. It did not all shatter, only where the whisks of the broom slammed against it. She continued to knock the rest down and had to ensure to get all of it off the sides of the cauldron. The shattered pieces glowed with a light that allowed her to see in the darkness of the night. After making sure all of it was the inside of the pot, she started collecting it and placing it inside a small cloth bag she brought out from her satchel. The tiny crumb pieces she took and swallowed. She eyed the largest shard, satisfied with the result. She replaced the small cloth bag back into her satchel. Then spoke a few words of ancient witch tongue and made the cauldron shrunk to a mortar which she placed inside her bag. The broom she held and leveled it flat in midair and it hovered as she lightly sat upon it, not straddled. It floated her off the ground and into the night sky.

 

  A man entered her window without a care. He had tasted upon her blood once a week for months. She laid there from the heat of the night with sweat glistening on her lovely skin, pale as the moon. He sneaked down beside her and was ready to taste her sweet blood. It sank into the skin as a cookie in milk; soft and the blood soaked every pore. The shard she held in her hand penetrated his heart before his fangs reached her neck, inches away. She pushed the shard all the way into his chest, which vanished inside him. He stumbled away from her at the sudden pain of being stabbed. The witch sat up in her bed, feeling victorious. He clutched his heart and saw blood. He staggered to the window and fell out of it. What he did not know is that she had broken his vampirism and turn him mortal again. He landed, not knowing he was unable to fly, on his head and hit a large jagged rock which she strategically placed there. She predicted where he would fall without use of witchcraft.
  She walked over to the window to peer down and saw the man dead. A smile crossed her lips. Her spell worked. This was her first encounter with a vampire. She had to wait until the crescent moon of September to cast the series of spells to create the final spell product. Along the way, she had to prepare everything and practice all the parts. To find a virgin woman and kidnap both her and her father. So much work and so many spell hours she spent. There was only one chance and if she erred, then she would have to wait for a year. Her vagina was still sore from the carrot she used on herself only an hour ago, but it was small compared to his constant blood stealing assault upon her person. She returned to sleep and slept deeply and soundly.
  The next morning, a woman had entered her shop. It was the woman from last night who father had raped her under a spell. She was eager for help and the witch provided for her what she asked for but not what she needed. What she really needed was to forget about what happened, but that would undo the spell. The witch had never killed a vampire before and she would not take a chance of the spell being undone and the man returning as a vampire with a vengeance. The witch had said a few Celtic words, and the magic behind them, to prevent her pregnancy. That was what the woman asked for. The witch gave her instructions for something else she would collect from her at another time.
  She sighed after the woman had left. She knew her time was up in this town. Witchcraft required various items and the more powerful spells required more powerful things from humans; including emotions and blood. She could make the people forget, but it could undo the spell. Being a witch always took a heavy toll on her neighbors, and she had already taken too much from them. A witch with the right spells and ingredients could kill anything. Yet witchcraft required subtlety, time, planning, and patience. She could not defend herself against a sudden angry mob of townsfolk, unless she planned on it.