Summoning Circle

On a night black as pitch the trees swayed to a song sung by the wind. Not a ballad nor a lullabye, not a torch song nor an anthem, but a dirge. Low whimpers and moans carried by the breeze to caress and keep the infinite darkness forever.

In this night black as pitch a shadow did draw in the soil three concentric circles. Centermost laid a tablet of charcoal, a rock of blood resin and the husk of a cicada then rounded widderschynnes before aflame was the candle on midnights rim.

The ritual smoke rose to join the sombre joy in evenings empire and with it came nightmares for all the world asleep. Yet awoke in this late hour was savoring the scene of dripping pitch from gnarled hands on this night, all hallows eve.

Welcome to The Night Club, where we embrace the darkness and all things that go bump in the night. Stay Spooky.

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