I don't remember much about the drive out to the woods, other than it was extremely crowded in Antony's car and he was driving at absolutely insane speeds. We somehow managed to cram all of our magically enhanced artifacts into the vehicle and Chaucer insisted on squeezing in this time as well. I wouldn't often describe my mind as being blank, but in this instance I believe it was. I was operating on pure instinct and adrenaline. Also, I seriously think we got there in about two minutes. As much disdain as I felt towards Antony's sports car, I has to concede it was impressively fast.

It was also very obvious we had arrived at the right destination. Mist was pouring out of the edge of the woods in thick sheets and you could feel an aura of sickness, evil, and rot emanating from inside the tree line.

I couldn't really grasp the enormity of what we were about to attempt or the scale of the odds that were stacked against us, so my major concern as we embarked into the woods was visibility. Once we began to press our way in the mist became so thick it was more of a fog with the consistency of pea soup. I could barely make out the outline of Antony a couple feet ahead of me. Chaucer had elected to fly and although he hovered just a little above me I could only occasionally catch a glimpse of the motion of his flapping wings.

"How are we going to find her in this miasma of evil mist?" I asked.

"Listen, man," Antony called back over his shoulder. "You hear that?"

I started to say no, but then I caught the faint tones of some sort of music coming from somewhere in front of us. I strained my ears until I could hear it a little more clearly. "Why, if I'm not mistaken, that sounds like some of the finest jazz music I've ever had the pleasure of encountering."

"Jazz music? What the heck are you talking about, dude? That's clearly the most balls-to-the-wall headbanging rock riffs that have ever been performed."

"Awk!" Chaucer squawked from somewhere overhead. "What a beautiful sea shanty!"

I deduced that we were each hearing something different, something intended to entice each of us individually. "Has it occurred to you that we might be walking into some sort of trap?" I asked. "I'm inclined to think the witch wouldn't want to attract undue attention to herself right now so we don't do exactly what we're planning to do and interrupt her."

"I don't know, man," Antony said. "I heard this exact same music the last time I encountered her. I think it's just the sound of evil."

"This doesn't sound evil to me," I said. "It sounds... amazing!"

"Exactly! Evil's, like, tempting, dude. That's what makes it so heinous. If it didn't have an attractive quality to it, none of us would give in to it."

"I guess that makes sense," I concurred. "Very well, let's follow the music. Although I suggest we proceed with caution."

"No worries, dude. Caution's my middle name. For reals. It's on my driver's license and everything. My parents were on some weird drugs when I was born. Also while my mom was pregnant with me. I guess that's why I'm a little crazy."

"It would explain a lot," I agreed.

"Awk! Shakespeare is my middle name!" Chaucer chimed in.

"So it is, good buddy. So it is."

The music grew progressively louder as we made our way further into the woods. The mist continued to surround us, an oppressive white sheet. I lost all sense of time as we continued walking. Five minutes may have passed, or it could have been five hours. I really wasn't sure.

Just as the music seemed to get deafeningly loud it suddenly stopped and the mist dissipated as we abruptly emerged into a clearing that was lit up with an eerie blue magical glow. In the middle of it was an altar covered in runes and standing in front of it with her back turned towards us was a dark figure in a long hooded robe. I knew with complete certainty it was her. The dreaded Witch of the Misty Woods.

I froze in place feeling utterly paralyzed with fear and doubt. How in the love of Balzac did I get myself into this situation?

She was chanting something in a demonic language and I watched in silent horror as she pulled out a long, jagged and rusty knife. She rolled up the sleeve of her robe on the left arm, revealing a thin, age-ravaged limb consisting of loose, wrinkled skin covered in warts, blemishes, and long stray hairs. She proceeded to cut a long gash the length of her arm with the knife and as the dark oily blood poured out she collected it in a bowl that looked as if it were made out of the top of a human skull.

I knew she was in the process of casting the spell and I knew I should do something to try and stop her, but my body refused to obey any of the signals my brain was sending to it. I had never been so terrified in my entire life.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw some motion and realized that Antony was fiddling with his oversized machine gun.

"Gonna blow this hag to smithereens," he mumbled to himself as he wrestled with it. "How do you get the safety turned off on this thing again?" He kept pulling the trigger, but nothing was happening. He proceeded to take a peek down the barrel, which even I, a complete gun novice, knew was a stupid thing to do.

Somehow he avoided blowing his own head off as he swiveled the gun around and got it pointed in the direction of the witch. "There, that ought to do it. I think."

He pulled the trigger again and this time a huge magical blue fireball shot out of it. The kickback knocked Antony onto his back and he pulled the gun up as he fell. The fireball sailed high over the witch's head and incinerated a treetop on the far side of the clearing.

The witch paused her incantation for a brief moment as she turned her head and glanced at us. I could see her eyes, which appeared yellow and bloodshot before they began to glow in a dull red color. She seemed almost completely unconcerned by our presence and with the merest flick of her wrist a swirl of red energy shot out, hit Antony's gun, and reduced it to a pile of ash within a matter of seconds. She turned back to the altar and began chanting again.

The ease with which she had dispatched with Antony's weapon was disheartening, but on the other hand, we had succeeded in interrupting her spellcasting, if only for the briefest of intervals. Still, it gave me hope that maybe we could somehow manage to pull off this insane, poorly planned, half-assed scheme of ours. We certainly hadn't exhausted all of the tools in our kit yet. I had my typewriter with me and I had a lot more confidence in my skills with it than I did in Antony's skills with his gun.

This realization finally shook me out of the paralysis I had been in. I sat down cross-legged on the ground, set my typewriter in front of me and began to type furiously. I didn't really think about what I was writing. I simply let the words flow out of me in a stream of conscious fashion. As such, I wasn't making a lot of sense. Strange phrases like "baboon barb wire motorcycle" emerged from somewhere in the deepest recesses of my psyche.

As they did so, something began to happen. Miniature images made out of magical blue light began to form in the air above my typewriter. They took on strange shapes that vaguely resembled the bizarre phrases I was typing. Like a monkey with wheels for arms and legs and sharp points sticking out of it.

As I realized what was happening I started trying to shape my thoughts in directions I thought could conceivably help our cause, like "witchslayer sword" and "enormous magic defeating dragon."

Soon I had assembled a small army of strange magical light creatures and weapons. Once I had a few dozen I typed out "and they all attacked the Witch of the Misty Woods." My odd creations burst forward into the clearing and began to assault the witch. In the meantime I started typing out some reinforcements as I kept one eye on the action to see what was happening.

Numerous little light beasties swarmed around the witch, including one gargantuan sized dragon. They stabbed, prodded, poked, and generally harassed her, leading her to once again pause in her incantation as she attempted to swat them away.

They admittedly did not seem to be causing much in the way of physical damage to her, but they were proving to be a much more effective distraction than Antony's gun had been, and soon I had typed out even more weird magical soldiers and sent them into battle.

Chaucer joined my little makeshift army and began swooping at her, clawing and pecking at her face as he dive bombed her.

"Keep doing whatever it is you're doing, bro!" I heard Antony shout from somewhere over my shoulder. "It's working! Hang tight a minute longer and I'll back you up with my magic guitar!"

I typed as rapidly and furiously as I could. I didn't even have a clue what I was typing anymore, I just let my fingers go as more and more magical light objects flowed out of my typewriter and joined the fray.

Apparently Antony had been setting up his amplifier and plugging in his guitar because suddenly a large wash of noise filled the air. He began riffing and as he did so, bright green bolts of light shaped like musical notes shot out of the neck of his guitar. They flew across the clearing and slammed into the witch.

We really had her on her heels for a little bit there. One of Antony's musical notes hit her square in the back and sent her sprawling over the altar, causing her to drop her skull cup of blood in the process. I really thought victory was at hand, but then she let out the most shrill, earsplitting, bloodcurdling shriek I'd ever heard in my life at such a volume that it drowned out Antony's guitar playing.

I had to stop typing to cover my ears before my eardrums burst and Antony had to cease his monster guitar riffage to do the same thing. In the meantime the witch spread her fingers and waved her arms around and all of my magical creations suddenly disappeared into puffs of smoke. She wiggled her long claw-like appendages in our direction and another swirl of red energy flew towards us, reducing Antony's guitar and amplifier to dust in the blink of an eye.

Only Chaucer was left attacking her, but she got her timing right and managed to swat him into a nearby tree, whereupon he collapsed into an unconscious heap of feathers on the ground.

A toothy, satisfied grin spread across her face as she turned back to the altar and began chanting once again. She didn't even bother doing anything to Antony or me. It was as if she considered us insignificant.

But she didn't know I still had one tool up my sleeve. Yes, it was all up to my magical copy of Ennui in the Everglades to save the day now.