By Leonard Treman
Jorgen De Kogen was a specialist in the hunting and disposal of witches. Due to his extreme tactics, the only group that would employ him was a radical Islam ultra-nationalists group because of his tactics. As evil as he could seem, he was very efficient at what he did.
They needed to catch the witch and planned to force it to blow up an embassy. The job of Jorgen was to capture and find a way to manipulate the witch into helping them. This usually meant taking the witches loved ones and holding them hostage. If she attacked and couldn’t be captured she was to be shot at that very moment. Jorgen, however, hadn’t failed yet, and didn’t intend to now. He’d get more of the needed artifacts; he’d get more witches teeth.
Jorgen pulled up into the house; his three ultra nationalist cohorts with him as they walked up to the suburban house on Porter Street in that small New York neighborhood. The three men silently prayed then screamed, “For the brotherhood,” as the shot gunner shot the handle off the door. The three extremists ran in smashing vases as they went. Jorgen walked in casually, walking over the mess his cohorts left behind carefully.
Immediately upon entry a man who they presumed to be the husband was shot as he looked up from his paper, for those who harbor a witch, die like one. The man fell to the ground bleeding and the mother screamed. The three ultranationalists gathered the remaining three members of the family in the next room.
The youngest, a girl of maybe 5, started screaming, “Where’s daddy?” evidently she hadn’t seen her father die. One of the ultranationalists replied, “He’s in hell, just like you will be soon.”
The 5 year old girl was scared shitless and was completely silent from that time onward. Her mother yelled, “You’re the one going to burn in hell you dirty terrorist, I know what you’re after.”
Jorben spoke up, “Then make this easy, help us and demonstrate your abilities.”
The mother started into a cold sweat. She stared into the eyes of the nearest ultra nationalist and he began clutching his chest. The man fell to the floor screaming and throbbing, than he exploded sending blood and bone shards onto tables and walls.
“Good, now put this on and come with me,” Jorben said putting a black hood over the mothers head.
Suddenly the other two men dropped to the floor and started throbbing. They would die if the spell wasn’t broken. It was then that Jorgen realized the possibility that the entire family was a link-witch. A link witch was when a demon infused itself within the minds of a group of people. They all could be trained with time to become witches.
The two other ultra-nationalists exploded and by this time everyone had a bit of blood on them. Jorgen was soaked in it. “I’m wearing protective beads,” you can’t harm me.
The mother gasped, and then Jorgen pulled her legs out from under her and started to slam his fists into her chest. “I dont-,” he said thrusting a blow into her stomach.
“Need you-,” he said with another ruthless blow.
“I can use-,” he said as the pummeling continued.
“Your kids,” he said and stopped beating her. She was gasping for breath on the floor. Jorgen bent down and lifted the mother up in his hands. She ripped the beads from his chest and quickly he thrust a pistol to her mouth, which was deflected by her beautiful white teeth.
She wouldn’t open her mouth to let him put the gun in. Her teeth were clamped shut. Such a strong will to live; but every will could be broken. Every person could be left a hollow shell if properly motivated to empty their soul.
Jorgen smirked and turned the gun downward to her foot. He fired and the woman screamed in agony. This was his opportunity, to save the teeth for harvest. He soon thrust the gun into her mouth to the back of her throat causing the woman to gag, then fired three shots into the back of her throat causing the woman to stop screaming and fall back onto the ground gasping for air as blood poured out the back of her neck into a puddle on the ground below her. Jorgen then turned to the woman’s two children huddled at the floor nearby.
“Eat your dead mom or you’ll be wearing your dead sisters skin,” the man said to the woman’s thirteen year old daughter. Suddenly, as the man went to pull the trigger, his finger froze. Then his arm froze. His arm was completely asleep, as if it were paralyzed. Before Jorgen knew what was going on, his own gun was to his head. This was the work of a master witch.
Jorgen looked around for the person who he missed. There were only the two little girls. He thought, Is it possible that it’s one of these brats.
“I’m not a brat, I’m a master witch,” the older of the two girls said.
Jorgen was shocked beyond belief as his whole body went numb.
“Care to dance with me?” the young master witch asked as she grabbed Jorgen’s hands.
The two of them began a sort of waltz back and forward as she demonstrated her power over him, by not only controlling his body, something only highly adept witches can do, but he was dancing eloquently. She was spinning on her tip toes faster and faster as the world seemed to contort around them. Jorgen could feel it, he wasn’t going to be leaving this place- no, he wasn’t going to be leaving ever, this was hell.
The girl began to laugh hysterically in shrill high pitch screeches as she began to spin in the air on what looked like ribbons. They weren’t ribbons, they were the reassembled flesh of his comrades. At first Jorgen thought she’d gone mad with power, but instead she had revived her family who were now spinning abnormally fast in circles on their tip toes. They looked completely normal.
Jorgen though, Oh god, they were already dead before I got here.
The girl stopped laughing and replied, “Exactly, I killed them long ago.”
Jorgen then took a gulp, he was about to detonate the c4 he and his comrades wore.
“It looks like our little dance is over,” the young witch said, and Jorgen fired that long awaited bullet from his own gun, into his skull.