This is an article written some time ago for Phil Hine's website (www.philhine.org.uk). Reproduced by kind permission of a good friend of mine.

Electronic Voice Phenomena and Evocation
This series of experiments with electronic voice phenomena (evp), arose out of the flurry of interest created by the movie – White Noise with Michael Keaton and a number of articles in Fortean Times on the subject. For those who don’t know the movie is about a man whose wife dies and he establishes contact with her via electronic recording devices.
In fact this is a practice that started not long after the invention of magnetic tape recording. People who had to listen for long periods to tape recordings, particularly with the volume turned up high and thus getting the ‘white noise’ effect, reported hearing what sounded like human voices.
In the past decade the interest has soared, fuelled partially by the Internet. Those interested in making recordings for themselves and who wish to listen to sound files of evp recordings can do no better than trying the American Association of Electronic Voice Phenomena website – www.aaevp.com. This site gives recommendations on types of equipment to use including digital recordings and tips for beginners.
All references, as far as I could find them, seemed to be directed to recording the voices of the dead. In fact it seems that evp is the new Ouija. Many experimenters made recordings, if not at home then in cemeteries or reputedly haunted houses etc. I was curious to find out if this method of recording could also be used to make contact with other types of spirits such as those used in sorcery.
Even before I embarked on this series of trials I did wonder if perhaps my interest was not in part sparked by the desire to ‘prove’ the existence of spirits in a direct and physical way. Although I have carried out many evocations and obtained results there remains a desire to see the spirits manifest physically as if only then will they be judged as ‘real’. It is interesting that the West generally is regarded by itself as ‘materialistic’ and even in matters of the spirit we don’t quite trust them if a physical manifestation is absent. Isn’t this why the conjuration of spirits to visible appearance exerts such a strong fascination? Of course, having carried out a number of these evocations the sorcerer realises the difference between ‘visible’ and ‘physical’ and perhaps a residual disappointment remains.
I decided to carry out the experiments in three parts. The first would be to try to record evps by making a general invitation to any passing spirit to leave a recording. This is the instruction given to try to record the voices of the dead. Because of the difficulty of listening so closely to long recordings the suggestion is that the time be made short so I opted for ten minute sessions with a general invite at the start and occasional repetitions during the period.
The second part was to banish then draw an invoking pentagram for an earth elemental and call one forth by vibrating the name of one for a period of time. Once this had been done to ask a series of questions leaving thirty seconds for a response.
The third part was to perform a full evocation placing the tape recorder in the triangle of art for the duration of the rite.
All the literature I could find on the subject of evps said that it was necessary to make many recordings at first until one had ‘developed an ear’ to hear the voices. When I read this alarm bells started ringing as I realised that undoubtedly a certain amount of projection would go on as the brain tries to make sense of random signals made by the device. This is the same as seeing images or figures in a dark room the brain fills in the gaps in perception and residual emotional states can strongly influence perception in this way. Despite this I thought that it would be interesting because my own experience has shown that such projections can themselves attract ‘odd’ coincidences and would therefore be worth investigating.

The results were as follows:

For the first part I made seventeen recordings all had a large amount of static or white noise as background. A number of tapping sounds and heartbeats could be heard on some of them. After a while the white noise began to sound like distant voices and sometimes like people shouting a long way away. It wasn’t until the twelfth recording that I heard a female voice whisper “Leave it there”. From what I had read it seems that having ‘developed an ear’ then voices come thick and fast. I did not find that but the following few recordings did produce audible voices or odd noises. On recording thirteen I heard syllables: ”Hon-ey ma-ka p-p-p-p” and then a series of sounds like a metal rod striking a pipe (all recordings were inside a room at night with door and curtains closed).
Next I moved onto the calling of elementals spirits. Only one produced another voice recording. Having been vibrating the name of a spirit on playback I heard a deep voice whisper “We’re it”.
Finally I carried out two full evocations (circle and triangle of art) with the device in the triangle. The first was for an elemental spirit and produced no recorded result. However I saw him in the mind’s eye well enough although he was not particularly communicative even there. The second evocation was o a goetic spirit – Bune. I called him for a request unconnected with the evp experiment but had the tape running in the triangle anyway. Although no voice was heard there were some unusual results. Upon playback I notice that once the conjuration to the spirit had been recited the level of static suddenly increased almost drowning out my voice for the next part of the ritual. The noise level dropped just before the licence to depart. As soon as I had finished the licence there was a sound of a train whistle and then a couple of thuds like heavy footfalls.
So what conclusions could I draw from all this? Is it really anything more than parlour tricks for the curious?
I have to admit that I’m not going to be channelling a new Book of the Law by this method. To be honest although it is exciting to hear evps I cannot say that it will be playing a major part in future evocations. What about the little voice in my head, the Doubting Thomas who wants his physical proof? Well of course he will continue to ‘explain away’ every event no matter what paranormal phenomena occur. There is a part in the book ’Jurgen’ by Joseph Cabell where the protagonist is show n the secret at the centre of the universe by the god Pan. He responds by quite simply refusing to believe it. Pan replies, in an aside, that the gods are powerless against such foolishness. Perhaps in the end I will just have to learn to live with that voice of unbelief and stop blaming the spirits for their lack of direct physical manifestation.
One final thing, when I was considering what to write up for this article I happened to look in my dream journal. Three nights before I wrote my intention to undertake these experiments in my magical diary I dreamt that I was part of a team investigating a haunted house. I have no conscious recollection of that dream having any influence on my decision to try out evp recordings.

Ah! Don’t you just love it when those little synchronicities happen?

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Clyde Westerley had a dirty little secret.

It was not a drug habit, although he had freely smoked, snorted, shot and popped every narcotic available as well as peddled for extra cash during his undergraduate years. Neither was it the calculated back-stabbing of colleagues for promotion when he joined ‘Westerley Construction’, the family business. It could have been the uncanny exposure of corruption of competitor firms vying for Government money as part of their inner city re-building programme, whilst flaunting his own back-handers with unbelievable impunity, but it wasn’t that. Neither was it the three deaths for which he had been directly responsible, the bodies now forming part of the foundations for the glass skyscraper in which he sat. One could be forgiven for thinking it must be his rampant promiscuity, the way in which he daily rang up the employment agencies asking for a temp for ‘a special project’, who would duly arrive and within minutes would find herself stripped and humped on his desk, or chair, or floor or in the lavatory, wherever the fancy took him. In the meantime his faithful and long suffering wife, Cordy, would be unawares of his utter infidelity, as she was forced to stay at home to ‘give the children a proper upbringing’ as he had once instructed her.

It was none of the above or any of the other ‘sins’ committed with copious regularity, which made up the fabric of Clyde Westerley’s life. No, his dirty little secret was that fourteen years previous he had made a pact with the devil.

To be precise it hadn’t been THE devil rather a devil. In fact quite a minor one in the infernal hierarchy but it had been sufficient for his needs at that time.

Clyde was a classic spoilt brat from birth. It was true the family still chaired the multi-million pound construction company founded by Clyde’s great-grandfather. It was also true that as a result Clyde’s father, when money was referred to, would describe his income as ‘comfortable’ whilst giving a nod and knowing smile. But this alone does not a spoilt brat make! The truth was Clyde was just plain lazy. Although one hesitates to say these days he was over-indulged by his mother and barked at by his father, with no bite Clyde soon learned to ignore the ‘regimes’ his father would set him. If it was ‘bedtime at 9pm’ it would last no more than an evening then he would get his way again. This was coupled with the fact his mother believing her ‘darling’ too hard done by colluded in his escapes. This pattern continued throughout his formative years up to and including his time as an undergraduate at the University of Liverpool studying Business (His father refused to pay for any other course as he told the adolescent Clyde “No-one else will see fit to employ you and if you must come into the business you had better learn something about it first!”).

His first year away from paternal control and maternal support, Clyde entered his Byron-esque phase. Growing his forelock foppishly and wandering about in baggy clothes clutching small leather bound volumes and sighing a lot. Clyde set out to live the undergraduate life to the full. With a small coterie of like-minded individuals they weaved a romantic tapestry around themselves believing by looking back they were going forward to make their lives art in themselves. The truth was the philosophy behind what they were doing varied depending on how much binge drinking and the level of narcotics in the bloodstream. Naturally sex too featured highly on the agenda or ‘pursuing beauty’ as they would euphemistically call it.

The corresponding lack of attendance at lectures meant that Clyde and his ‘chums’ found themselves facing the end of year exams with the distinct possibility that none would be returning for a second year of prodigality. Clyde may have been lazy but in fact was blessed with brains, clever if not wise. The one thing that could not be countenanced was to have the parental grant withdrawn. His father had given him a large sum, much larger than the loan available to most of his peers. This had been in part a gesture of hope on his father’s part that the extra cash would mean they would not be bothered by whining phone calls during term. As the summer term drew to a close and reality began to dawn, Clyde was gradually realising that some kind of remedial action would be necessary. In fact the answer came out of the blue and from a quite unexpected direction.

The university library had a section of rare works that it kept under lock and key and was accessible only to research students (read post-graduates and teaching staff). However it was known that a number of eighteenth century French pornographic illustrated texts were kept there. This cache having been donated by some anonymous donor during the sixties became a tantalising siren to many undergraduates for being kept under lock and key. Clyde overcame this problem by dating one of the assistant librarians. Despite the fact that her job was on the line if caught Clyde managed to talk his way into the restricted section by exploiting her weakness for designer clothing.

Needless to say the French manuscripts were less of a ‘tickler’ that he had hoped. Nothing that could not be bought from the top shelf of the newsagents – the ones wrapped in cellophane. Suffering a disappointment he looked around to see what else had been judged forbidden by the university authorities when a small notebook sized volume caught his eye. As he pulled it out his thought was that it must be at least Renaissance. Upon opening it he noted it was handwritten, a scrawl which he made out was Latin. The page he opened to had a number of odd characters written on it only two of which he recognised, the astrological symbols for Mars and Saturn. Flicking back to the front his broken Latin managed to de-cipher the title as “Of pacts with devils and diverse sorceries”. A wry smile broke out on Clyde’s face. The Byron lifestyle was one thing but Sir Francis Dashwood and his Hellfire Club now that might be interesting. What was more a wild party based on a bit of Black Magic theatre may be a selling point and a way to supplement income further. Clyde pocketed the book without his companion seeing and trusted to the fact that such a volume would not be in high demand and would therefore not be missed for quite some time.

He was a little slower than he would have liked in translating the book, as his Latin was rusty, however Clyde became quite engrossed in the project.

The book purported to give a record of some anonymous French magician’s dealings with one Lucifuge Rofocale described as the Prime Minister of Hell. This came as a surprise to Clyde as it had never occurred that Hell might be ordered into a governmental type system. The little book went on to reveal that underneath the PM were ministers, kings, dukes, earls and countless other aristocratic titles all the way down to local officials. Each station had a list of names of demons with ‘seals’ odd abstract drawings that Clyde gathered were supposed to be like personal signatures used to call them from the depths. At the front were detailed directions on constructing the magic circle and implements plus conjurations for summoning and dismissing the whole hierarchy of this infernal bureaucracy. It seemed obvious to Clyde that before revealing this novelty to anyone he should have a go himself just to make sure the theatrical effect worked. He found a derelict house, not difficult in Liverpool, and broke in using an upstairs room and reckoning that in candle light the ripped remains of the ‘My Little Pony’ wallpaper should be invisible and therefore not detract from the evil atmosphere he hoped to create. He had skimped a bit on the full preparations of implements. His wand had not been cut from an ash tree at dawn on Midsummer using a golden sickle but had been picked up from the kitchen drawer at this digs. It was in fact a wooden spoon with the end cut off and painted red. His ‘sword’ had not been tempered in the cockerel’s gall but was a letter opener acquired from a second hand shop. Still he was only after the effect, he had not really considered for one moment anything might happen.

Well of course something did happen! He had chosen a local official to begin with called ‘Argun’ guaranteed to give the magician powers to beguile women to undress for him and to discover an enemy’s secrets. Having set the whole thing up to his satisfaction and practiced all the movements and conjurations a few times he was beginning to get the hang of it when from the corner of the room just beyond the light cast by the guttering candles on the circle’s perimeter he heard a man clearing his throat. Clyde nearly leapt out of his skin as a slim well dressed dark haired man stepped forward. As it turned out it wasn’t Argun but his personal assistant who apologized profusely for the non-appearance of his master but regretted that he was away on other business. Clyde, despite the fact that he had not really expected to meet with a real demon, was inclined to believe the little man for two reasons. One he was only about four feet tall and the other his eyes glowed red with a sort of flickering effect. Having gained his composure Clyde lost none of this unique opportunity and decided to play it for what it was worth. He complained bitterly that he had done all the book was required in good faith and that it was quite unfair that Argun did this no-show. The little man raised his hands in horror and said that Clyde was mistaken to think that his efforts were in vain that he himself was fully authorised to grant the powers and arrange the ‘paperwork’. When Clyde inquired about this paperwork it turned out that for the granting of these favours a pact would have to be signed handing over property rights of his soul to Argun after seven years duration. The little man was at pains to point out that contrary to popular belief the handing over of ones soul was a painless operation and nothing to worry about and then proceeded to inform Clyde about the exciting things he could get up to with his new powers. Clyde signed on the dotted line without hardly realising and no blood necessary just a biro with a chewed end that the little man produced with a flourish from his breast pocket.

All went very well for Clyde the beguiling of women was great but the knowing your enemies secrets was fantastic! What this gave him was the general power of clairvoyance and the ability to home in on anyone to read his or her thoughts. This made exams easy as most others had revised which meant it did not matter that Clyde had not. So passing his end of year exams secured his next grant and he saw his education out with a descent degree. This power too proved useful when taken at last into the family business. His father had given him a long lecture about not being given special treatment and that he would have to prove his worth etc. Clyde during all this picked his father’s brains only to discover that the rather nice secretary was indeed providing a full and satisfactory service to her boss and promptly made his mind up, in true Oedipal style, to snatch her from under his father’s nose.

In this way Clyde was able to make quite a bit of headway up the corporate ladder, impressing his father with his foresight. His colleagues did not feel the same way; frankly they felt he was both unpleasant personally with his tantrums and self-obsessions and uncanny with an ability to know what everyone was thinking. However no one could doubt his effectiveness.

The years slipped by and it wasn’t until late one afternoon that Clyde received an e-mail ‘From Hell’ .

Dear Clyde,

Just to remind you that the seven-year lease on your soul expires on the 23rd of this month and ownership will revert to His Unholiness Argun Chief Officer in the Department of Prolonged Anguish.

We hope you have received satisfactory service from our department over the period. It has been a pleasure to do business with you.

Yours truly,

FitzArgun – (Son of Argun)

For the first time in many years a cold oozed down Clyde’s spine. He had forgotten what fear was like. The hairs rose on his neck and for a moment the computer screen seemed to recede far, far away- but only momentarily. Then it rushed toward him and slugged him full in the belly winding him. He made his excuses and quickly left the office.

Cordy sat in the kitchen, it was 5 pm and she was on her second G&T. She liked to get a couple under her belt before her husband came home and complained about how she hadn’t cleared up the breakfast things. As she popped the second ice cube into the glass she heard Clyde’s car pull up the gravel drive, she hesitated only a moment as he slammed the front door and went straight upstairs without a word. She heard his study door slam and its echo around the cavernous hallway.

Clyde went to behind the picture, the small wall safe and in a moment had it open and the ancient volume in his still shaking hands. His translation notes he had written in the margin but his careful pouring over them for three hours did not reveal any get out clauses. His heart began to sink further into an abyss. Despair welled up into his eyes and following a wave of anger where he managed to tip over a couple of items of furniture he was over come with a deep feeling of pity – for himself.

He glanced at his Rolex it was 4 am. He had been there for nearly twelve hours with no respite. He realised his exhaustion, both physically and emotionally, and in that moment slumped down onto a green chesterfield sofa. How long he sat like that he did not know when suddenly a shadow fell across the light from the desk lamp. With a start he looked up and before his could stop it a shriek flew from his lips.

The four-foot woman in neat pinstripe skirt suit also jumped back a bit but regained her composure and managed a smile. Somehow this did not detract from the weirdness of her scintillating red eyes but she was obviously trying to make the effort not to frighten him. She apologised for appearing unannounced and assured Clyde that she had not come for the debt but to offer help. Clyde now gave his full attention.

Pulling herself up to her full height she proudly announced that a new product was now available for those clients who were coming to the end of their pacts. After some spiel about how terrible it was to be dragged off to hell at the end of seven years of having it all your own way, she said that many customers had expressed regret at how short the time was for something so immortal as a soul.

“So we decided why not give the option of increasing the loan so as to consolidate the old debt and give a few extra powers thrown in for good measure? Now doesn’t that sound like something you might be interested in Clyde?”

Well, Clyde had to agree that it was, but how could this happen, what did it mean and most importantly what did it cost?

With dexterity she came and sat close to him, her heavy perfume beguiling him and as she explained he allowed her smile and obvious enthusiasm for the new ‘product’ to calm his nerves. It meant that a new pact would be drawn up but with a much more powerful devil, higher up the hierarchy, than Argun. This new ‘lender’ as she was at pains to point out “devil is so anachronistic, don’t you think?” would settle the debt and the loan would be transferred. Plus because the new lender is more powerful he can grant further powers for the fulfilment of many more pleasures and desires than the old one. “But why would you do this?” Clyde asked.

“You must understand that each devil works independently he receives commission for each soul gained so there is considerable competition between devils to win souls even off each other. This is why a few enterprising demons recognised a niche in the market for soul bartering. This way it can give extended time for humans to enjoy their hellish benefits and an opportunity for up and coming devils to win souls by making better deals than their peers. I have to tell you (she positively swelled with pride at this moment), it has created quite a revolution down there after many years of entrenched traditional soul-selling.

Clyde could see no other option and having flicked through the brochure of alternate lenders with which she helpfully provided him, a new ‘lender’ was selected. His name was Belezel, a duke no less, with additional powers of blighting neighbours crops (she confessed that some of the older devils had not quite got the hang of current market needs but upgrades were happening all the time), and smiting ones enemies. Clyde could definitely do with some of that. All his old powers would also be preserved.

Another seven-year deal was drawn up and e-mailed to him. Clyde even put his virtual signature on it (the small print said this was acceptable). Clearly Hell was determined to move with the times.

Clyde, back to his old self, went from strength to strength. Not only did he rise to push out his father from the business (quite literally, his father suffered a fatal fall down the staircase at home alone. The verdict was accidental, although the coroner did comment upon the strange cloven bruising on his buttocks but disregarded it in connection with the death as there was no evidence of foul play). The business too flourished and rival firms fell like nine pins, Even when one tried to frighten him off by hiring gangsters to rough him up the three perpetrators ended up as part of the concrete foundations of the new Westerley Tower that eventually graced the skies over the financial district of the city.

But the arrow of time does not stay still and unlike Zeno’s arrow arrives at all destinations sooner or later. And so at the end of the next seven years another courteous e-mail arrived ‘from Hell’ notifying Clyde his time was once again up. However this did not unduly perturb him as he imagined he could strike a similar deal as the last one.

His dismay was equally profound when having made tentative enquiries he discovered that under new infernal regulations only two pacts could be made for any one soul. The letter he received explained that the regulations had to be brought in to prevent ‘certain unscrupulous elements’ taking advantage of the ensuing free-for-all of de-regulation.

This was how Clyde found himself sitting at his desk at 9pm at the top of his glass Babel watching the digital display on the lift indicate his most unwelcome creditor on his way up to collect the debt- finally.

It is sometimes said that human beings work best in a crisis and it was at this critical juncture that Clyde had a brainwave. He dashed from his desk and ran toward the emergency stairs. He was fifty floors up and the lift indicator was still in the thirties. Jumping down the concrete steps in the icy air of the shaft he took them two at a time. level 49 ,and 48 passed him by and still he dashed down and down his laboured breath in his ears. At level 42 he heard the door bang open some floors above him now. He guessed they were now after him and the clip-clop footsteps above him confirmed the fact. Just two more floors to go, he racked his brains for the override security code and remembered it just in time as he landed on level 40. The footsteps above we closing as he punched them into the key pad. The electromagnets on the door buzzed as the door unlocked and Clyde slipped through closing the door behind him. He did not delude himself that it would hold off his pursuer for long but he was nearly at his destination.

Westerley Construction used only the two top floors of the Tower the rest had been sold off. At the time the Catholic Church had bought some floor space from him he had smiled to himself, if only they knew! When he discovered the office space was for Opus Dei he laughed out loud. The office manager had been to see him and been very welcoming showing him around Clyde saw they had even set up a small chapel for workers to pray during breaks and on days of obligation to attend mass. This was his destination.

He pushed open the polished teak door with their gleaming brass handles and fingerboards and entered at the same time he heard the door to the emergency stairs splinter and crash inward. He hoped his gamble was correct, as the automatic doorstop hissed to a close behind him the husky panting and thud-thud of hooves on carpet disappeared to a whisper. Clyde moved away from the doors and listened to the sound of snuffling that seemed to be like a dog checking rabbit holes. A faint scratching then a howl that chilled the blood. The sound blew Clyde flat on his face however he realised then that the creature could not cross the boundary into the chapel. It seemed some of the old tricks still worked!

He was trapped of course, and morning would not see any respite either Clyde did not believe that these were the sort to vanish with the first rays of dawn, no, they had come to collect a debt and he seemed to remember that God allowed that sort of thing, this sanctuary was only temporary, however all was not lost.

The tales of selling souls to the devil is as old as Christianity and during the last couple of weeks Clyde and seen fit to do a bit of research about others who had gone before along this same way as himself. He guessed that at some point someone must have been able to outwit Old Nick and he was going to do the same or go down trying. Then he had found it, an old tale that gave the answer so obvious really he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. There was a man who having fallen in with bad company had sought the help of the devil to make him rich and powerful. This had been granted in exchange for his soul. On his deathbed he confessed to the attending priest what he had done and the priest exhorted him to appeal to the Blessed Virgin Mary for succour. She answered and the devil was thwarted. It was the bit about dying that had made Clyde hesitate he wasn’t ready to shuffle off this mortal coil yet. However, eternity was a long time and he wanted to be sure that a place was reserved for him on the right side of the fence. He would see what was on offer so ignoring the growling sounds from the other side of the door he moved to half way down the chapel where the shrine to the Blessed Virgin Mary had been erected. Clyde noted it was the usual gaudily painted plaster statue on a plinth about four feet tall in blue and white robes with seven golden stars in a tiara around a beatific face, lips parted ecstatically, and eyes gazing lovingly but blind to a space where the adoring devotee would be kneeling on the leather kneeler placed conveniently before it. Her arms were down near her body but flaring out from her sides in a welcoming gesture to her supplicants. It was the worst sort of religiosity that made Clyde want to heave, but needs must when the devil drives. He almost chortled to himself but instead lay prostrate before the statue and begged “Our Lady, Blessed Mother” for his soul. This went on for some time and despite the urgency of the situation Clyde realised that he must have fallen asleep because as he awoke he realised that he was bathed in opalescent light from above him. For a moment he wondered if someone had switched the light on but as he raised his head he heard beautiful song, the words just escaping his hearing. It was She!

The statue was alive! Her garments wafted gently in some ethereal breeze and the stars shone with golden hues around her head. The ecstatic smile though had been replaced with a pout and the soft eyes had hardened no longer blind but with Clyde in their sights. Then she spoke

“So Clyde, still running to mummy to pay off your debts, after all these years?”
“Holy Mary, Mother of God pray for us sinners”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!
“ No really! I mean it Queen of Heaven.”
“ I can believe that as there’s a demon on the other side of that door who’s just waiting to take you away as soon as you set foot beyond the threshold – face it Clyde you have no where else to go and you want me to get you out of the sticky stuff.”

Clyde tried vacillating but it was to no avail. He hadn’t quite expected her to be so rough he guessed that’s what happens when you believe the propaganda.

“OK,OK, I am up to my neck in it is there anyway out?”
She arched an eyebrow and a hint of a smug smile played over her lips.

“You’ve been an utter wretch and deserve nothing!”

Clyde began to feel better at once. He knew these insults were a positive sign why bother telling him how low he was if she wasn’t going to bail him out? As soon as the thought flashed he saw her face harden – damn! He was a fool, she could read them of course!

“You’re right sunshine, I will be bailing you out but don’t think it comes cheap”
Clyde had gotten himself up by this time the prostration had made it difficult to plead and now he thought he was going to negotiate it didn’t seem like a good position to start from.

“What’s the deal?”
“I want your life in return for your soul. It’s a hard time for those of us in the Faith business. Everyone has their own take on religion these days no one wants to dedicate their life to it. Everyone wants ‘spirituality’ but its cheap, superficial no one wants to make sacrifices for it anymore. Give me the old days anytime!”

She looked almost wistful.

“Sure, sure” Clyde was getting impatient and the howling from the door was getting on his nerves. “Cut to the chase”

She pursed her lips and with snake eyes laid her cards on the table.

“We’re short of priests, convert ordain as a priest take over a parish and I’ll call that two legged hound off you” She indicated the door with a nod of her head.

Clyde had not expected that but thought better of replying to that effect. If that was all that was on offer then at least he would have his life and his soul.

“Can I think about it?”

“No, it’s on the table for the next thirty seconds then it goes, I go and sanctuary is withdrawn your drooling friend gets right of entry.”

He was going to have to say yes and work things out later, the howling had increased, Clyde guessed his pursuer could hear the exchange and was not happy about having a soul snatched from his jaws probably loses a hefty commission. That last thought made up his mind.

“OK, I’ll do it”
“Good boy, Clyde” she smiled for the first time and snapped her fingers. The howling was suddenly cut short.

With his oppressor gone Clyde regained his stature once more.

“ Oh by the way Clyde don’t think he can’t come back if you don’t play ball. I want you to be a priest yes, but you give it the full commitment. You’re going to have to learn a lot.” Her smile became positively malicious “But then you have every incentive to do so”

She watched him turn and walk out of the chapel. She was sceptical about this new method of recruiting. In the olden days people had come forward for the love of God, now if you didn’t scare them half to death they hardly got off the sofa. But the new ‘Friendly Deal’ between Heaven and Hell and opened up new possibilities and certainly as far as recruitment was concerned the numbers had started looking up.

He had gone and the chapel was quiet once more. One last time the Blessed Virgin looked around the chapel, darkening, as she withdrew her light. It sure was a long way from those early idealistic days when she had first started out.

The light withdrew leaving the faint aroma of roses in its wake.

Have you ever bought something you couldn't really afford? Come back next week for a short story about Clyde Westerley who sold his soul to the devil for seven years and now time is running out. But is it possible to consolidate the debt? Read all about it in

0% APR - The Devil May Care Finance Pact!

In the meantime a visual interlude: