In the dead of night, you hear nothing but a *drip* *drip* *drip*.
‘No one is here,’ you tell yourself as you slowly walk towards the attic.
Your breath sounds heavy against the midnight air.
‘Breathe, just breathe,’ you repeat.
Not yet to the stairs, you’re not sure if you should turn around or keep going.
‘I have to keep going,’ you say confidently.
Up the stairs you go, one at a time, tiptoeing as if you don’t want to be heard by the moon.
You open the door and you are blinded by a bright green light.
You gasp and fall backwards.
You try to scramble back, but the witches have already seen you.
They cackle as they say, ‘this is just what we need for our witch’s brew.’
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