The candles flickered in the dull red light that filled the room. A cloaked figure danced in circles around the white, chalked pentagram on the floor. He muttered under his breath to the beat of a drum that was being played from a dusty gramophone.
“Oriens splendor lucis aeternae,” he said.
The dust on the floor began to rise. The figure paused and raised his hands, his voice getting louder, “Et Lucifer justitae: veni. Et illumine sedentes in tenebris. Et umbra –.”
“HAROLD. ARE YOU CHANTING AGAIN?” The voice echoed up from below the floorboards.
Harold dropped his hood and sighed. He walked over to the door, careful not to upset the chalk pentagram on the floor. He opened the door as he heard a pair of footsteps climbing the stairs.
“Muuuuuum. I was almost finished.”
His mother stood at the top of the stairs. She had her hands on her hips and her lips were pressed tightly together.
“What have I told you about summoning demons inside the house? Go do your chanting in the hanger,” she said.
Harold tried hard not to roll his eyes. His mother was brandishing a wooden spoon from the kitchen covered in a dark red substance.
“But Dad’s working on the ridge,” Harold said.
His mother’s eyes narrowed sharply. She turned around to go back down the stairs as the smell of something burning became pungent.
“I don’t care. Just get out of the house.”
Harold huffed and went back into his room. He shut the door with precisely enough force to make the shudder reverberate around the entire house. A pile of books by the door fell over. Among them was titles like, A Practical Guide to Summoning, Pentagrams for Dummies and What can your demon do for you?
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