Logan and Trent were lounging around at the bottom of the witch’s garden eating the magic apples that had fallen from her trees. The garden was separated from the cricket pitch by a fast flowing stream but it was easy to jump across where it narrowed.

They had discovered the apples a year ago quite by accident. Since then they had been sneaking into the orchard at least once a week. The trouble with magic apples is one never knows what to expect. Last week, for instance, Trent had eaten an apple that gave him tremendous strength and a few months ago Logan had been endowed with a singing voice that made all the girls throw themselves at him. That had been a very good three days.

The apples they had eaten today however, were not so good. The teenagers lay in the grass, powerless to move. The witch stood over them, a cloud of bees swarming behind her.

“You’ve been very naughty boys,” she said in a silky voice. “Stealing a witch’s apples is a terrible crime indeed. I’m afraid you shall have to be punished.”