He kept quiet. Waiting for the reassurance from his friend that the witch wasn’t waiting for him on the other side of the corner. As soon as his friend gave him the signal, he ran for the exit of the run down apartment building. Before he could reach his destination, the door slammed shut.

Long, yellowed, finger nails suddenly grabbed his chin, and the beady eyes that belonged to the wicked witch peered into his soul.

“Aren’t you a fine thing!” she exclaimed.

In the peripheral of his vision, he was able to see the figure of his friend grabbing the discarded metal pipe from the floor. In the blink of an eye, he had hoisted it onto his shoulder and appeared right behind the old witch.

He looked up, and suddenly felt the strike of the cool pipe on his temple. His body collapsed, as blood trickled down to his neck.

He faded in and out of consciousness, as he heard the old witch cackle.

“Good job my dear son,” the witch said. “He’ll never know what hit him.”

His friend loomed over his body, the stench of liquor hot on his breath. “An eye for an eye. You steal from a witch, you face the consequences.”