Illustration: “Dancing Flame” by Steve Cartwright (c) 2005
Five black candles were set on the points of a pentagram, in the center of which stood a lonely, desperate young man obsessed by the occult and the black arts. In his mind, necromancy seemed the only way to obtain that which he desired: friends who respected him, an attractive woman who would love him, power, and his own money to spend. As Craig said the words of summoning, a mystical darkness, evil and strange, surrounded him. He shivered in terror. There was real danger. If he was successful, an awful power would threaten his very being, his soul, his aura. If he lost control of that power, he would be sucked into the vortex to be lost and damned forever, to suffer excruciating torture for eternity. In order to prevent the demon that would appear from touching him or tricking him in any way, he needed to concentrate mightily. Nonetheless, if he succeeded, he would have the stupendous power of a dark angel at his beck and call.
In a loud and sonorous voice he called out the names of power and repeated the incantation that he had memorized from an ancient book. A loud clap of thunder sounded like the clap of doom, the room suddenly brightened from a flash of lightning, a torrential rain beat against the walls, and a howling wind tore at the ancient Victorian mansion where Craig had lived alone for years. The old house creaked and groaned.
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