The rhythmic ticks of the old clock echo throughout the house. There was something oddly romantic and somewhat creepy about the old woman's house. The eaves and fretwork hinted at Hansel and Gretel. While the interior was more along the lines of Psycho.

I had been waiting for over an hour to see her. Rarely did she allow people access to her private abode so the wait was sure to be worth it.

"Still here?" the old woman said. She came into the room with labored steps, leaning heavily on her cane. "You must be hungry for a story."

"It's an honor to meet you, I've heard so much about you." I decided that flattery and a bit of buttering up would help me in getting her to open up. I place the small tape recorder on my lap and press the record button.

"Start asking your questions. Haven't got all day." She eased herself back into a worn chair. "I'll be wanting to eat soon."

I looked around, wondering how someone of her former glory could end up like this. The house was dismal at best. It was dark and near ruin. Cobwebs clung like dirty banners from the ceiling.

As if reading my mind, the old woman leaned forward, her dark beady eyes taking my reaction in. "Took me years to get this place to my liking." She smiled as she watched me shift uncomfortably.

"It, uh, definitely tells a story." I said, trying to be diplomatic.

"Clock's ticking," she reminded me. Absently, she brushed at the wiry gray hairs that crowded her face.

"What made you drop out of the public eye?"

A very nasty look came over her, and she tapped long yellowy nails on the arm of her chair. "I blame that Montgomery bitch!"

"Montgomery?"

"That woman who played a witch on television. So vivacious and cute. Twitching her bloody nose."

"Bewitched?" I asked, trying to understand if that was indeed what she meant.

"The very one." Again she leaned forward, those glittering pitch dark eyes penetrating mine. "T'was people that changed, not me. I still want to scare them. I still try to figure out how to snatch that little cherub down the street to eat him. I still love a good broom ride."

"So if you could tell the public one thing, what would that be?"

She pulls herself to the edge of the chair and grins at me with decidedly sharp stained teeth. "Tell them I have had to change who I am. I can't go out to hunt for them any more. I've had to learn new methods. And believe me, dearie, I have become quite good at it."

My blood turned cold in my veins. Sweat is started to collect and drip down my back. "Changed, p-p-please elaborate."

"Well, sometimes there's the arrogant and pushy door to door sales man. Then those delicious little paper boys pestering for their two dollars. But, dearie, I've saved the best for last."

I notice the wart planted on the side of her nose, the way the three black hairs seem to dance with each word she spoke. She is truly scary. It's almost as if she really is a witch. My fingers hit the play button to see if I caught her last statement. If I go back and check the missing person's records and there are in fact missing salesmen and paper boys, well, I'll have two stories.

"Don't you want to hear my most clever ruse?" she asks in a sinister whisper.

The recorder plays, my questions come out of the tiny speaker clear and each word enunciated. My skin crawls as nothing but silence follows each question. When I finally look up, the old woman smiles.

"I guess you know now, don't you?"

"Let a reporter come to interview you."

Her smile widens. "Time for supper, dearie." She lets go a cackle that resonates through the house, then raises her cane over my head.

Interview over.