She stood in a group of five, all young except the one in the centre. He was craggy and white-haired and wore a tattered purple blazer. An orange crest on the breast pocket read: Chatswyrth. The older man hefted a fat leather book and said, ‘This tome also tells how to banish it.’ Then he began to read. The words were strange and unnerving, a series of scratchy noises that sounded as if they were clawing their way out of his throat. As he spoke, his face trembled, his jaw parting as if he were being gagged. He clenched the book, his knuckles white, his eyes straining. The young people froze in place. Through his spectacles, the white-haired man’s eyes glimmered as if something inside him were trying to elbow its way out. You think you can control me, call me to do your bidding? said the demon, speaking through the man, his voice a gasp of hot air. The man’s lips began to crack, his face contorting as though something behind his skin had collapsed. He went to the young man nearest him and reached inside the boy’s open mouth.
