Fiction

The Nine Circles 1 Albert Kendall sat alone in his basement. It was a large basement beneath an even larger house, detached and isolated from its neighbours, and Albert very much preferred it this way. Albert sat among the paraphernalia of his craft. Heavy, ancient tomes adorned bookshelf’s while circles drawn in chalk covered the bare concrete floor and walls. Intricate designs, and carefully drawn symbols were added, and a whiteboard with detailed instructions written in black, dominated the centre of the room. The door at the top of the narrow staircase creaked open and bright light spilled into the basement. “Father, Mr Murdoch is here. Shall I send him down?” “Yes, thank you Harriet.” Replied Albert, marvelling at the beautiful slim shadow of his only child standing in the doorway. At only twenty years …

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