The Broken Needles

Emily had always known that her grandmothers were witches. She had seen them making smelly brews in their black old cauldrons. She had watched them growing plants overnight. She had secretly taken a peek at their midnight broomstick rides a few times behind closed curtains. But, when they took her into a circular clearing at the center of the woods, not even the full moon could prepare her for the grotesque truth waiting silently there.