Nick climbs on a barrel, and then on to the thatched cottage's roof. He makes it about five feet toward the chimney when he hears an ominous cracking noise. Then he feels the thatching sinking beneath him. He struggles to cling to collapsing straw, but it's futile. He crashes into a heap of straw and lumber. The roof poles trap him holding him immobile as the startled old woman cackles with delight.
"Oh, this is auspicious! I just said to my cat that I wished somebody would drop in, so I could try out my newest potion. And you drop in literally!" the old witch chortles.
"Let's see the essence of swampcrawler? The foul phial of fowlness? Perhaps a swig of swine-ade? Or a cup cow juice? A beaker of beetle juice? A vial of viper's venom? A jar of jungle juice? A carton of corporeal transmogriphication? Ah--I know!" She reaches for...