Old Jani had borne Laksmi’s insults for over a decade, and it had become tiresome. Ever since losing her husband, the farmer’s widow let loose tirade upon tirade to anyone who would listen about the old woman who had killed her husband. Laksmi had sought Jani’s help for her ailing husband; the witch tried her best, but the man’s unpredictable reaction to the medicine finished him quicker than the sickness would have.

Laksmi’s farm was near the main road into the village and she ran out to meet every horse, every carriage, for the last ten years, to warn people about Jani. Once Jani’s business had been profitable; people had come from neighboring villages and beyond to seek her aid. Now she could barely support herself; the income from those who paid Laksmi no mind was hardly enough to buy the necessities of life. She had tried on several occasions to talk to Laksmi, but every time was met with venomous words and one time, even a knife.

What made matters worse was that Jani could not harm Laksmi, and the farmer’s widow knew it. No one had ever spoken ill of Jani’s mother, Loris. Loris used the old, dark magic as well as charms and healing herbs. If someone wanted his enemies to suffer, he would go to Loris and the next day his adversary would suffer the most painful boils, sickening illness or inconvenient diarrhea. It was even rumored that she had once killed a man with her magic. Loris had lived long and well, wealthy and respected by all.

Jani, unfortunately, could not bring herself to use the dark spells. She simply didn’t have the heart for it. Her mother’s books of dark magic collected dust in the cellar because Jani could not muster the necessary emotion. Dark magic grew from fear, hatred and anger, and Jani had never been comfortable with those emotions. So she suffered Laksmi’s constant interference, hoping to someday have enough money to move to another village.

One day, however, as Jani was on the road to town, she spotted a chance to rid herself of Laksmi once and for all. In a ditch beside the road lay the body of Almer, one of the most hateful men in town. Angry when he was drunk and drunk almost always, Almer never had a kind word for anyone and would, in fact, provoke a fight with anyone he met on his way home from the tavern. Surely, Jani thought, had Almer the wits for her chosen work, he would perform her mother’s darkest magic with a smile. She leaned over the ditch; Almer smelled worse than ever, and bugs were crawling over his pale, dirty skin. She touched her fingers to his neck. Almer had indeed provoked the last fight of his life.

Standing over the corpse of that hateful man, Jani had an idea. There was a spell she had read long ago in one of her mother’s books, a dark spell that required little more than a few words and the work of her hands. The emotion, in fact, was to come from the spirit of someone like Almer, whose body would be transmuted by the spell.

Yes , Jani thought, that’s what I will do. The old woman covered Almer’s body with branches and leaves and went back home for her wheelbarrow and a piece of canvas. Upon returning to the site of Almer’s murder she quickly wrapped the body in the canvas, wrestled it into the wheelbarrow and headed back home.

That night was the perfect night for the spell; the first night of the new moon. Jani dug a hole behind her shed, wide and deep enough to bury Almer standing up. She sowed the plot with salt and planted Almer in the hole. She covered the body with dirt and watered the ground with her urine. The sun was beginning to brighten the sky by the time she was done. She collected her tools, washed up and went off to sleep. It wasn’t likely she’d miss a customer anyhow.