Tuesday, 5 February 2019

Magic Number

by Shawn M Klimek 

lemonade over dry ice



In her black, hooded ceremonial cloak, the coven high priestess’ candlelit face might have been a disembodied head, floating above the altar. The otherworldly visage scanned her sisters. Each witch nodded deferentially as her stern eyes met their own. Inwardly, she counted. Only eleven had come—too few for the sacred, Ritual of Thirteen. She glanced morosely at the wax pooling around the shrinking candles, sighed, and reaching a decision, struck the bell. The metallic tone lingered eerily.
“Sisters, she said. “Sadly, an even number cannot perform the ritual, but perhaps the night is not lost. Who’s up for Charades?”

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