You instinctively take advantage of the darkness and withdraw back into the woods. The girl's eyes narrow with disappointment.
"Come out right now!" she insists.
You say nothing. You can sense by the sound of her steps that she is coming in the right direction, though. Did she see you after all? You know that you can't run
or she'll spot you, although she is only, what?—ten? eleven? at the approaching sound of footsteps. Slowly your mind is accepting the idea of being caught. Your
will to hide is fading.
The steps stop. You sense that the witch girl is standing right behind you. In seconds, you hear the leaves just in front of you being splashed with water... or
something. You peek around the tree to see the girl tossing her transforming formula blindly into the woods, trying to hit you. And she's damn close, too! But
before you can react, you feel a trickle run down your pant legs.
You concede the fact that you've been hit, and before you can realize the inevitable, you are hit with a horrible cramp in your legs.
"AAAARRGH!" you bellow, falling to your knees with a crash in the forest. The girl takes sight.
Your heels are drawing in on your calves, cramping terribly, as your toes are pulling hard against the lining of your shoes. Gradually, the feeling in your toes
disappears.
"What the hell is your problem, little gir...RRRGHGHowwww!" you struggle as you are hit with horrible stomach pangs.
"Nothing," she muses, "now let me ask you, what the hell is YOUR problem?" You scream for help as you feel your knees being sucked inward toward your
intestines, your feet breaking the case of your shoes revealing a sweating, transforming hind hoof.
"You are guilty of the same crime as those four boys," she says, "SPYING! And you let two of those spies get away." Your ribs ache as your torso stretches and
expands, filling itself from nowhere, pound by pound. "All men are pigs, and all pigs get what they deserve!"
"Oh God!" you shout, "ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts," you mumble over and over. You can feel your jaw throbbing with every beat of your heart, stretching itself wider
and wider, revealing two blood-stained knobs: your tusks, grinding and scraping their way into the witch-girl's view. Your nose stretched larger and larger, pressing
upward, tensing hard against the rest of your face.
You continue to sputter in unimaginable agony as the folds of your ears came undone, growing heavier and more outstanding by the second. You can't imagine
those two boys on the hill having gone through this, and in your desperate mind, you wish the other two boys were getting it now instead of you. Still gripping your
own gut, you begin to feel the fire molding your hands together into crude hooves. But now, all you can do is grunt what you think is yourself saying, "God help me,
I'm in so much pain!"
"You probably should have just came out of hiding, man," she says, "I had no beef with you..." But your brain can't register what she's saying to you. The last of
your humanity disintegrates as your skull presses hard against the front of your face, stretching the skin horribly, shaping a long pig's snout to the tune of disgusting
cracks and snaps.