The Welcome to another edition of creeps and peepers.

I'm Dan Cummins, and I'll be sharing another original short story of the fictional horror variety,

a continuation of the last two tales.

And then we'll say goodbye to Marina, at least for a while.

At some point, it would be nice to revisit her and hear her origin story.

Until then, I hope you like the way this one turned out.

I highly recommend noise cancellation headphones for the ultimate experience.

Hope you enjoy this new nightmare.

Time now for the tale of Burn the Witch's Three, the final toll.

17 years later. Early summer 2025. It was a beautiful night. Perfect weather. Sixty-seven, maybe 68

degrees, with a light cool breeze coming in off the water. While his wife and two daughters

slept in the house behind him, Brad Collins sat out next to his fire pit, overlooking a few

sailboats anchored out in Buzzard's Bay, and he sipped on some

delightfully smooth scotch. While he did have neighbors near him in the coveted, gated

coastal enclave of non-quit, it didn't feel like it on a night like this. He couldn't hear

them at all. Wouldn't be able to, even if they were awake and out under the stars like he was not over the soothing

sounds of the waves rhythmically lapping up against the beach like god's metronome less than a hundred

feet away not over the worrying chirping buzzing and cooing of various nocturnal insects birds and other

creatures he couldn't see his neighbors either, from where he sat,

banked to the sharp curve of the coastline,

thick clusters of old, perfectly manicured beach and white oaks,

and walls of stacked rock over a century old that surrounded his property.

...