She wasn’t there. Fled on her broomstick I told the others, gone to join the Devil in his fiery underworld.
I made sure they noticed signs of her kinship with Old Nick. That black cat of her’s hissed when we came in, that had them on edge, and then there were her jars of herbs and tinctures. Many in that crowd had been to her over the years to seek help with maladies but that has soon been forgotten and I had them all thinking they were potions she used in her witchery.
I’ll have this cottage for my own. She won’t dare show her face here again.
