The witch hadn't dusted my typewriter, but whatever magic it had been infused with had clearly burned out. I tried a few test keystrokes, but nothing happened. Nonetheless, I was grateful she had spared the typewriter itself, as it was one of my most prized possessions.

So of course Antony, in his infinite wisdom, ran up and grabbed my typewriter and hurled it at the witch. It fell well short of making contact with her and instead smashed to bits when it landed uselessly on the ground.

"What did you do that for?" I shouted as I waved my arms in circles over my head.

"I had to try something," Antony shrugged.

"I've still got my novel! Did you forget about Ennui in the Everglades?"

"Uh, no offense, bro, but what is that supposed to do?"

"It's magic! Magic mixed with extremely powerful words! It'll do something!"

"I guess we're desperate," Antony sighed. "May as well try anything now."

"Don't worry. I have faith in my writing ability," I said as I stood up and opened the book to page one.

Out in the clearing things were definitely not looking good. Since overcoming our last assault on her, the witch had not only resumed casting her spell, it appeared as if she had made a lot of progress. A visible bright red aura was glowing around her and she seemed to have grown bigger. Her hands were whirling around in a complicated dance and they kept moving faster and faster until almost becoming a blur. Additionally a rift in the very fabric of reality appeared to be forming above her. A swirling blue vortex appeared inside it and began to spin with rapidly increasing speed.

There was no doubt in my mind. I had to do something now.

I cleared my throat and began to read from my novel. At first my voice was shaky with nerves and I stumbled over the words. But gradually I began to gain confidence as the familiarity of my writing began to take hold. I had lived with this work for a long time and had painstakingly selected each and every word with my very heart and soul. Every turn of phrase, every syllable, was exactly what I intended it to be in order to craft a work of massive importance. They were like my own children. I knew deeply that this was the key to our victory today. All I had to do was read my beautiful prose and there was no way we could fail in our mission.

And so I read louder and with greater surety. And then I felt the magic kick in. My voice suddenly boomed across the clearing, causing the trees to shake and the remaining leaves to fall to the ground. The book began to feel warm in my hands and it glowed with a deep golden light. I could feel the power coursing out of it and becoming amplified by my voice. I also felt an involuntary chill in my spine at the sheer awesomeness of my magically enhanced words. At the same time my powerful story began to touch me and I could feel tears of emotion welling up in my eyes. I felt with utter confidence this was the greatest literary reading of all time.

With a growing sense of excitement I could see that my words were having an effect on the witch as well. She stopped casting her spell as her arms dropped to her side. The glow surrounding her faded away and the spinning vortex slowed down until it came to a complete stop and started to dissipate. The witch turned around to face me, undoubtedly because she was completely enraptured by my masterpiece.

And then she let out the biggest, longest yawn I've ever witnessed in my life. She attempted to cover it with one of her gnarled hands, but her mouth was open so wide, it was an effort that was doomed to fail. Her eyelids began drooping and a droplet of drool formed on her lower lip before spilling out in a long string.

Her eyes snapped completely shut and she sort of collapsed backwards, only being held somewhat upright by the altar. It didn't look like a particularly comfortable position to be in, but she was out like a light and audibly snoring.

I stopped reading and snapped the book shut.

I've got to be honest, I was happy that my novel had succeeded in interrupting her spellcasting, but I was also feeling pretty insulted. Did this crone not understand the literary greatness she had just been subjected to?

I turned to Antony to acknowledge our victory, but he was seated against a tree with his eyes closed, his head tilted back, and his mouth hanging open. He, too, was snoring.

"Hey, wake up!" I shouted as I shook him vigorously. "We did it! We won!"

"Huh?" he snorted as his eyes blinked open. "Oh man, that was some intensely boring shit. Did you read that to me on August 31st? Is that how I slept for two straight months?"

"Obviously Magic Al must have weaved some sort of sleeping spell into the book because anyone with half a brain would be completely and utterly riveted by my novel. I wonder where Magic Al is, anyway? He said he was going to follow after us."

"I'm right here," Magic Al said as he stumbled out of the woods with a groggy look on his face. "I didn't put any specific spells into your book, I just enhanced its naturally inherent qualities. Sorry I didn't get here sooner, I was almost to the clearing and then I heard you reading and just became suddenly overcome with drowsiness. I must say, that is some remarkably dull writing."

"Hmph," I said. "Well, we're all entitled to our opinions, even when they're obviously wrong. In the meantime isn't anyone going to congratulate me on vanquishing the witch?"

"Yes, good show," Magic Al said as he stifled a yawn. "Well done."

"If you philistines don't mind, I'm going to go check on Chaucer. He took a pretty nasty blow from the witch."

"Oh yeah, I'll help you with that," Antony said. "I've always liked that bird."

We made our way carefully into the clearing, giving the witch a wide berth. We found Chaucer on the ground out cold with a sizable lump on his head. He was still breathing, so I took that to be a good sign.

We brought him back to Magic Al who was still standing at the edge of the woods.

"I think he's okay, but is there any magic you can perform that would help him heal?" I asked.

"My magical reserves are pretty depleted, but let's take him back to the shop and maybe I can figure out something to do."

"What about the witch?" Antony asked. "Are we just going to leave her here?"

"I think that's the best thing we can do," Magic Al said. "As long as she's asleep, which will hopefully be for quite some time, she won't be casting any spells. And if she doesn't cast it in the right time frame corresponding to the anniversary of your deal with her, it won't work. We've accomplished what we needed to do to prevent the spell from being cast and if we were to mess with her right now we might risk waking her up."

"We certainly don't want to do that," I agreed.

"Of course we could always just have him read that boring-ass novel of his again," Antony said. "Do you happen to have an audio recording of that? I suffer from insomnia sometimes and I think that could really help."

"Yes, well, perhaps I'll indulge in your music if I ever need to do research for one of my stories on torture techniques."

"Gentlemen, let's not bicker," Magic Al said. "We prevented the end of the world! We should be in a celebratory mood."

"I've got booze and drugs back at my crib," Antony said. "You guys are welcome to come join in."

"Wait, if we prevented the end of the world, where is everyone?" I asked. "It still seems mighty quiet around here."

I turned back to look at the witch. Her eyes suddenly flew open and she leapt to her feet with another blood curdling shriek.

And then a small airplane zoomed down from the sky and smashed into her.