Welcome, friend. Have a seat by the fire. Make yourself comfortable.

A true witch, it is said, could conjure without speaking, without uttering a word, could spellcast with mere thought,

and the deeds that she or he might accomplish were astounding, elemental, and sometimes horrifying. For those that

dabbled in the dark arts often used their deadly gifts to serve cultists and covenants,

to serve those filled with malice and insidious desires,

to serve powerful, twisted, ageless men

who would seek to pervert these gifts.

Men like Saul.

The soul.

You're listening to Camp Fire Radio Theater.

Tonight we conclude our 70s-era truck stop saga and pick up where we left off with a feared cultist holding the upper hand,

and our heroes in a most precarious situation.

Our tale is from the pin of John Ballanty, entitled The Resurrectionist.

Music The Resurrectionist. This is your come to Jesus moment, cow. Damn it, what the hell is that?

Daddy, are you okay?

Sound like piercing, isn't it?

I can keep this up on it, until your brain is a pile of mush. It's up the same.

You can wave.

You take the ground.

Not on my watch.

Christ, what the hell was that?

You all right?

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