Blackthorn Undead Witches Coven Snapback Trucker Hat

Deep in the Blackthorn Forest, where sunlight rarely pierced the canopy, four figures stirred beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient oak. Long ago they had been sisters, witches bound by blood and power, burned at the stake by fearful villagers who thought fire would cleanse their curse. Yet fire only blackened their bones and cracked their skin; their souls lingered, feeding on bitterness until the earth itself birthed them back as something colder, something eternal. Their return was whispered of in taverns miles away, though few dared to set foot among the shadows to see if the stories were true.

The witches walked the forest in silence, their movements stiff yet deliberate, their eyes glowing like embers in hollow sockets. Each carried remnants of who they once were: a charred staff, a cracked crystal pendant, a scorched grimoire with pages too stubborn to burn. Where they passed, the air turned bitter, and plants twisted unnaturally, bending toward them as though to drink their poison. Even the owls and wolves that once prowled freely learned to avoid the witches’ paths. The forest itself seemed to bow under their presence, groaning like an old house settling in its grave.

At night, they gathered around a ring of blackened stones where once their coven had thrived. With skeletal hands, they traced patterns in the ash, whispering incantations that made the ground tremble and roots rise from the soil like serpents. The wind carried their chants, low and rasping, through the trees, and travelers lost on the road often claimed to hear their voices calling—half warning, half invitation. Those who followed the sound were never seen again, though strange lights flickered between the trees when the moon was high, like lanterns leading souls astray.

The villagers nearby lived in constant unease. Crops spoiled overnight, milk curdled in its pails, and children spoke of pale women with smoke in their mouths standing at the edge of their dreams. Some brave men tried to hunt the witches, armed with silver blades and charms from priests, but the forest never let them leave. Those who entered were found weeks later, if at all—skin ashen, lips sewn with thorns, eyes staring blankly at the sky as though waiting for someone to finish a spell. It became clear to all: the Blackthorn Forest belonged to the sisters now, and they had no intention of yielding it.

Yet even among themselves, the four witches were restless. They had returned not just to haunt the living, but to finish the work denied them in life. Legends spoke of a ritual incomplete, one that required a bloodline yet unbroken in the village that betrayed them. Each night, their murmurs grew more urgent, their circle of fireless light burning brighter. And as the seasons turned, the forest seemed to lean closer, as though it too awaited the moment when the undead sisters would step beyond their trees and into the world that thought it had rid itself of them forever.

YUPOONG CLASSICS RETRO SNAPBACK TRUCKER CAP 2-TONE

• Trucker cap with premium mesh panels
• Matching plastic snapback closure
• Matching under visor, 8-row stitching on visor

Leatherette is richly textured, water resistant, easy to clean, and durable enough for the rigors of daily use.