“Clouds of power in darkest night bring the light that ignites and frights,” cried the old crone.
The night sky split wide open, sending a blinding flash of light crashing onto the forest floor.
“Send Brimstone and Hellfire. Teach the impudent fools a lesson that I am not to be trifled with,” the woman cackled.
Another flash and a fir tree exploded in flame. “That’s the spirit. The fools will see whose power is the mightiest,” the crone said.
In the distance, screams and frantic cries rang out as skyfire rained down on the village and its farms.
“I summon the three to do my will. Darkness, come and swallow up this land. Fire, char the earth, and smoke to steal away their breath. Come and bring the reaper in your wake,” cried the witch.
The sky glowed with a million dancing embers as home and barn burned, leaving only smoldering ash.
“Time I be off. Let this be a warning to all. Never mock a witch bearing gifts,” the croan said.
The morning light revealed a horrifying sight. The land was black, and the smell of death hung in the air.
The only item untouched by the conflagration was the harvest festival’s cake table. A single lopsided apple cake sat untouched at its center.
The judges didn’t survive the cataclysm, leaving the baker’s identity unknown. Townsfolk proclaimed that the devil himself made it, and if touched, you would go straight to Hell.
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