Crooked Fingers

The man’s crooked hands struggled to flip the book’s pages. His frame shook with excitement and the infirmity of old age.

“Here it is.” He pointed with a twisted finger. “This is the incantation. The spoken words, the hand signs.”

Geoffrey looked at the words and the drawings of hand sigils the old man could no longer perform. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

He was terrified.

He was no caller of demons, but the old man wanted so badly to see the things. He would have to do this. For the old man, he would do anything.

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