Blair Witch 2
First published 3/16/2000

Blair Witch 2." A novel based on the soon-to-be-released major motion picture from Artisan Entertainment.

Chapter 1: Colonel Flint Chestly pulled out a cigar with practiced ease and stared again at the treeline. It had been three years since a group of young filmmakers had gone missing in those woods. Three years. And the civilian authorities still didn’t know what lurked in that mysterious thicket.

Well, thought Chestly, it was his turn now. Chestly bit off the end of his cigar and spat it out, then turned to Lieutenant Geoff "The Shark" Sharkson and barked out an order:

"Tell the men to move out! We’ve got some woods to clear! And Sharkson," he added, "Have somebody get me some matches!"

Chapter 2: They set up base camp in a clearing. There had been some mysterious stones piled up in little heaps here and there, but Chestly’s men had ground them into the dirt under the wheels of the Humvee.

"Shark!" Chestly barked, pulling out a pack of beef jerky with a nonchalance borne of long familiarity. "Take a team out into those woods and do a recon. And Shark," he added, "Have somebody get me a soda! This jerky’s dry as hell!"

Chapter 3: "Nothing so far." Sharkson’s voice was thin and tinny through the radio. "Just some weird stick figures hanging from some trees. But nothing dangerous."

Chestly nodded thoughtfully, his hand dipping into a bag of Snackwells with a panther-like grace.

"Wait a minute sir," Sharkson’s voice was suddenly urgent. "We just spotted something! Strange figures… they’ve got us surrounded!"

"So?" Chestly said into the microphone. "Shoot them!"

"Oh yeah," replied Sharkson.

For a few moments the small speaker filled the air with the sounds of battle. Chestly sat back and threaded a hotdog onto a straightened-out coathanger with a simple swift motion that bespoke long wiener-roasting experience. Eventually, the gunfire died off and Chestly heard the voice of Sharkson once again.

"Yeah, sir, there were some witches here alright. But we shot them."

Chapter 3: The bodies of the witches lay on the ground in orderly rows, their black pointed hats charred by powder burns and, underneath their dark cloaks, their red-and-white striped leggings spattered with blood.

"A few managed to get to their brooms and take off," Sharkson was saying, "but the Air Force shot them down. We managed to take about a dozen alive. Looks like they’ll be doing the rest of their witchcraft… in witch prison!"

"Yep. And it only took us about ten minutes of screen time to deal with them," Chestly remarked, discarding his finished tapioca container.

Sharkson nodded. The two men looked at each other. Somewhere, off in the distance, a chipmunk called out.

"Well," said Chestly after a while, "tell the men to break out the bongos and dance!"

And dance they did! Dance and dance and dance! For the remaining 110 minutes of the movie there was dance number after dance number after dance number!

Good choreography, too! You should have seen it!

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