By the time the sun was fully up I was patting the last shovelful of rotten vegetation and maggoty skins into place. To anyone happening upon the clearing, their graves would be invisible. Any smell or flies seeming to rise from the heap of waste they’d left behind. Anyone looking for them would have to hunt for a long, long time. Much like the second fisherman in my story, they had dined with the witch and vanished without a trace.
