It was midnight.

The moon filtered in through the curtained windows, blood red.

Thick, black, putrid smoke filled the room, making it difficult for the person standing in the middle of the pentagram to breathe.

The voice rang out, unhuman. Cold and death enveloped the room like a smothering blanket.

“Is this what you want?”

The person hesitated.

After a moment, he spoke.

“Yes.”

With a flash the voice was gone, and the room fell to darkness.