Pumpkin Spice, стр. 33
It was night by the time the cowboy hit something hard below the surface. He was just over five feet deep. Sweat was protruding from his forehead. He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He reached down and removed the small casket from the ground. This must have been the talisman the woman had told him about. The casket was made entirely of wood, with gold plating on the sides. The initials B.H were inscribed on the top. The casket itself was just bigger than a typical shoebox, much heavier though. The cowboy laid it on the ground at his feet and opened it. There was no soul inside, only the decaying form of an infant. He gasped before slamming the casket shut.
By the time he exited the woods the sun was rising again. He didn’t feel like he had been in the woods for an entire day, but the sun didn’t lie. The woman stood outside of her home and watched as the cowboy walked towards her with the talisman in his hands. She rushed towards the cowboy; a bright smile filled her face. “You did it. You found the talisman.” She said. The cowboy was out of breath, “Water would be nice.” He said to her. “Now what would a cowboy witch hunter need water for?” A voice said from behind the cowboy. An old raggedy voice, a recognizable voice. The cowboy turned to see Barry standing behind him, “Barry?”
“Howdy.” Barry smiled, “Thanks for going in them there woods and getting that for us. Y’know, cause us witches ain’t allowed in there.” He lifted his arms and shouted a spell knocking the cowboy unconscious.
When the cowboy came to, he was surprised to find himself tied upside down to a tree. This was his first time being bested by a witch, and the first time he had encountered a warlock. He looked on as Barry and his cousin stood on top of a pentagram with the talisman at the centre. They were in the middle of a field just outside the woods. The cowboy had been tricked. No witches were allowed to enter the woods, and Barry and his cousin concocted the plot to lure the cowboy in and collect the talisman for them. He watched on as the warlock and witch, now dressed in all black with pointed hats, and a broom stick by the woman’s side, were going to destroy the casket. Or so he thought. The witch stood over the talisman and bowed before it, the warlock did the same. They began humming an incantation. The casket rose from the ground, a light shone through it. They weren’t going to destroy the casket; they were going to use a combination of their powers to bring the unborn child to life. It all began to make sense to the cowboy. The woman had told him their plan, he was just too delusional to understand. This child was born of witch and human blood, and bringing it back to life would reunite the two worlds. Witches would rule as they did way back before time began.
The cowboy needed to put an end to this before the warlock and witch followed through. He had devoted the better part of a decade to hunting and killing witches, it all came down to this moment. He curled up and reached for his feet, it was a struggle, he probably should have concentrated more of his time on doing sit-ups. Finally, he reached the rope. He tugged and tugged, it slowly loosened. The winds were picking up, the incantation was beginning to take. He wasn’t able to break himself free, the rope was tied together with a curse. Suddenly the witch turned to him. “Our sacrifice my dark lady!” And she pointed to the cowboy. The ritual needed a live human to sacrifice. A life for a life. Lucky me, the cowboy thought. The warlock, without leaving his position from the pentagram, pulled the cowboy forward. He tried as hard as he could to stay where he was but the spell from the warlock was too much for the cowboy. He was soon hovering above the talisman. The witch waved her arms, green electricity emanated from her palms, she directed the electric bolts towards the cowboy sending an electric charge through his body. He tried to shriek in pain, but he couldn’t make a sound. The electric charges raced through him until he was rigid. He was stuck. No chance of survival. He called out to the witch and the warlock. He told them they would burn at the hands of Satan for all eternity. The coven laughed and hissed at the cowboy, “When we complete this ritual, we will be more powerful than Satan!” The warlock shouted out. The cowboy found that when the warlock spoke the spell was released momentarily. The cowboy used the time to free his hand. He decided to try it again “Satan? You two dimwits could never be as powerful as the dark lord.” This time the witch and warlock both focused on the cowboy and shot electric bolts at him. His body pulsated in the air. With his free hand he was able to reach into his underwear and pulled out his tiny lucky pistol. He always knew it would come in handy. He reached out and shot the warlock in the forehead then the witch, knocking them both to the ground. The cowboy’s body crashed down with a thud. Landing on the casket wasn’t the most comfortable or preferred option, but it was better than his essence being transferred into some centuries old dead witch baby.
He grabbed the casket and