Stewart Keller - The Witch Of Shawnee Hills


Upon a cold grassy knoll, a tree stump stained with goat blood. A cottage 35 feet east with a roof tilted to the wayside. Idle bear traps and trip wires set upon the forest edge, anticipating the next unwary traveler.

The witch gazed beyond the wayside from her window, breath cold as an icicle. Fireflies circled her chimney, dancing with the wind. The hills once commonly traveled were no longer a safe passage.