Awkwardly removing my face from the prickly bark, I peeled myself from the tree and fell onto the crimson leaves below. As I scrambled to my feet, I dusted off debris from my black robes and threw a vindictive glare at my broomstick, which was, as luck would have it, still lodged deep into the trunk of the tree.
     "Third time this week," I grumbled aloud, "and it�s only Monday."
     I paced around the perimeter of the tree and anxiously ran my fingers through my auburn hair. "How will I get my broomstick back? It�s my only means of transportation, and I must deliver my speech to the Honorable Witchery Counsel in less than an hour, but this crisis will surely make me late!"
     I sighed wistfully. "Oh, if only I were an ordinary witch like my sisters�black hair, cacophonous cackle, and green skin complete with hairy warts. I�d be the most heinous witch of them all! Then I wouldn�t be so clumsy or unpredictable at all!"
     The various thoughts swimming through my head came out in a disconnected manner, and I would have been more careful to sound purposeful if I had known that there were any eavesdroppers.
     "Are you sure that�s what you really want?" The silken words drifted to my ears; whoever it was sounded affluent in persuasion. I�ve met plenty of creatures like that before, and the words they speak are just like that�yummy, baited honey drops. They taste good to the ears but are actually incognito, concealed like camouflaged chameleons.
     "Depends on how I can get it," I called before turning to face my predator.
     Upon the firmly planted broomstick sat a giggling green man, swinging his legs merrily and wearing an equivocal smirk on his face. Was he sly, or was he merely happy?
     He smoked deeply from the cork pipe he caressed between his protruding lips. The breeze carried its fetidodor of decomposed flesh to my revolted senses.
     "Need help getting this here broomstick out?"
     Slightly annoyed at his trivial question, I stamped my foot in haste; I had no time waste. "Of course I need help, dimwit. Isn�t that obvious?"
     His grin widened until his face nearly cracked. "Quite a spunky li�l thing, aren�t ya? I know just the trick so you can get your broom back and be like all your guild sisters."
     "What is it?" I asked impatiently.
     The gossamersmoke seemed to enfold his stout figure in a wispy, snowy veil�
     A blood-encrusted face projected through the fumes. Its yellow eyes whirled round in their sockets, and a putrid stench accompanied its blistering breath. The demon smiled guilefully. "Give yourself unto me."
     Unthinkingly, I backed away to escape its nauseating pungency. Somewhere among the rustling thickets, airy voices whispered, "Don�t do it Abigail! Don�t sell your soul! Don�t do it, Abigail�Don�t�Abigail�"

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