Chapter 0: Witch one, Sister or Mother? {Part 2} {Page 2 and 3}

... The flickering light kept flashing red and green; back and forth. The red was, of course, the most dominant color that formed from the flame.
The witches knew he was out there and they by now that he would of casted the blood circle of David's Star. They would not be able to leave until the old man was dead.

The old man moved up to the house, limping every time on his right leg. His hand on his staff was becoming even more sweatier every second his heart was beating as he drew closer to the old house. His other head, wet from the blood, still holding the lantern.

He reached the top of the porch and took several deep breaths. If he was right, eating the soul and the witches heart's, would turn him back to a young one. His old wrinkly face would become flat and his gray hair would become its' glorious dirty blond color. Plus, his cholesterol would be much better and as well, his bladder problem would stop.

The old man looked back up at the dark door in front of him, his weak two- hundred year old eyes blinked. He touched the door with his staff, his heart pounding furiously. His whole body shaking. The screeching of the door's hinges wrong out and the old man winced. Leaving the screeching hinges to echo into the blank empty blackness of the house.

The echo had died and silence fell upon the old man, and that irritated him. He just couldn't tolerate the sound of the quiet. So he started to hum a little tune. But it felt awkward to start humming the certain tune so he stopped.

The man walked on the welcome mat inside the house. He was trembling violently and he knew they were there, somewhere in the shadows. Ready to attack him when his back was turned.

They whispered and they were sure they could take the old man, he looked weak enough.

The man put the lantern on the floor and withdrew his blood stained knife from his pocket and he held it up to shoulder level. His staff in his other hand, with sweat making it almost to hard to grab it properly.

The witches watched the knife. They were shaking, but at least had their fear under control. The man's knife was trembling in his hands. This was going to be an easy kill for the witches.

The closets one to the old man held her hand, the right, to her heart and muttered something indistinguishable. But no later had she said it, a blue little flame appeared.

The old man froze and gripped his staff even tighter, a new flow of blood came pouring down his arm. He took one step foreward, as if he didn't hear anything at all. But the second his left foot hit ground. He spun around and swung his staff. Making contact with the witch, she cried out and the old man's blood was flung at her. She screamed, as if touched by holy water or acid. She crumbled to the ground.