Pumpkin Spice, стр. 32
“My cousin was a sorcerer, he knew more of black magic than you could comprehend. I know you’re smart, cowboy, I know you think you know all there is to know about them witches. Trust me when I tell you there is more to this tale.” The cowboy stepped up to the woman, their noses practically touching, “Why don’t you tell me?” The cowboy snarled. The women smiled, “Let’s have some tea.”
The cowboy sat on the front porch as the woman brought him tea, “I didn’t know if you took sugar or not.” She said as she handed him the mug, “Black’s fine.” He took a sip. The woman took a seat next to him and began to tell the cowboy a story. “It was eons ago when witches and men lived together. Then the great treaty separated the two kinds to their respective realms. Centuries past and witches planned a coo, they would invade our territory and dominate mankind.” The cowboy listened curiously as the woman spoke, “It was at the dawn of the invasion when the curse was set forth. A child was born of both witch and human, this child would supreme leader of both species.”
“Your cousin spoke of an infans.” The cowboy recalled, “Yes, he is referring to the child from the legends.”
“So, where’s this ‘child’ now?” The cowboy grumbled, the woman continued her story, “The child was never born, instead the witching world was cursed to solitary darkness. They could only emerge on the pentagonal year. My cousin, several years ago found markings, witches markings, in a cave not from our house. They were nothing a mortal eye could read; he used his sorcerer energy to transcribe these markings. It took the life out of him. He knew you were the only one to break the curse. You live without fear.” The woman sipped her tea and continued, “In those woods is a burial. Six feet beneath the surface is a small tomb. In it you will find the talisman which is said to encase the spirit of the dead child. Destroy this talisman and the season of the witch will come to an end. Forever.” The cowboy didn’t know what to make of this story. In all his years hunting witches he had never heard of a curse; they had always just been there. “How do I know I can trust you?” He looked deep within the eyes of the woman. “You’ve come this far, cowboy.” The woman didn’t say another word, she didn’t have to. The cowboy had already given her his trust.
It was the break of dawn when the cowboy collected his belongings, including a shovel, his shotgun along with his lucky gun, a bag filled with water, holy water and food. Then the cowboy entered the woods. These woods were much different than the woods he had been travelling as a witch hunter. The leaves were mostly dead, the ground wet, and the air cold. The haunting chill of the devil surrounded him. He was searching for a grave, not an easy task. The woods were quite expansive.
He wandered the woods for what felt like hours, the sun never changed its location above him. Surely time had passed, but he couldn’t tell, these woods were evil. A sweet aroma filled the air. Maple, he thought. It could only mean one thing; a witch was nearby. The cowboy readied his shotgun and slowly trekked along the wet leafy surface. A tree to his right suddenly burst into flames. Then one on his left. No sound or inclination of a witch in sight. The leaves behind him all raised a foot above the ground, they began swirling into a funnel and forming a figure. The figure hovered towards the cowboy, “Halt, Cowboy!” The leafy being bellowed, “What is your purpose in these woods.” The cowboy raised his shotgun, “To kill every goddamn witch in it. That a problem?” The leaves circled the cowboy, “There are no witches in these woods. The law forbids them.” The cowboy was bemused by this, “No witch shall enter these woods by order of the dark lady.” The cowboy raised his gun and shouted at the leaves, “Very well! I’m looking for the final resting place of the infans. Where is it?” The leaves hovered motionless. Not another word was spoken by them, they dispersed to the ground once again. Instead of laying still they travelled a path to the western side of the woods. The cowboy followed the leaves.
The sun was beginning to set when the cowboy was taken to an old abandon church. The walls had crumbled and collapsed over the decades, save for one. It was the northern most point of the church there was a cross engraved in the stone. The leaves stopped moving, they lay on the surface below the cowboy. The field surrounding the church was rich with green grass and evergreen trees. He could see snow in the distance, unusual for this time of year, he thought. Etched in the stone wall of the church were signs, they must have been the scripture Barry had read. The markings were nothing unusual to the cowboy, all markings of a witch he had seen on his previous hunts. He moved on passed the church. His feet were cold, the snow was now beneath him. That was when he saw it. The snow had all melted and through a pathway of evergreens stood a single maple tree. The tree was unlike the rest in