I remember being told to keep to the middle lane at that time of night; it's the last one down on the left. It's a dark unlit lane so be prepared for startled wildlife jumping out in front of you as you drive through. I remember to stick to the point with the Professor and not to deviate for he'll try to analyse you and in particular any weakness he can uncover from the simplest questioning. There has to be a little give and take in discussion, but you don't want him to hold personal knowledge about yourself in case you allow a demon to seize its chance through its contact and fights with this demonologist. I was warned and take the warning seriously.

His study is darkened to natural light, the shades are drawn. Professor Edmund Katz and I sit in study armchairs slightly off to the side of one another rather than be facing square on. The Professor's desk, an impressive antique oak solicitor's type, is set back from us and centred between the chairs. Upon it, a banker's lamp with honey glass shade illuminating our presence in his room. It is a room whose interior you know to be full of strangeness. There is an air of anticipation within the dark shadows bordering around our pool of light. Out towards the shadows and at their far edge the room walls are lined with glass book cases containing collective works of hidden knowledge, ponderous thought and above all strategy in the dealings of the devil and his workings. Professor Edmund Katz for those of you who do not know is a demonologist.

The Professor lowered his face into his hands and laughed. I'd asked of the demonologist next mission, but he had seen through my question. Well his desk did appear to me untidy, an array of books and documents and loose sheets gathered and spread over the surface area. He shifted his weight a little and settled back into his armchair and looked at me. His eyes reflect the light in pinpoints of silver; I'm not sure whether to interrupt his moment, is he waiting for me.

"Well," said the Professor, making the word sound deep and drawn out. "Is it not written in Mark, that when Jesus asked the man what is thy name, and he answered, "Legion, for we are many." He paused then thoughtfully adding. "Our work carries on to this day, the work, our calling. Satan never rests my friend."

There is an ambiguity about him, genuine warmth and kindness yet in his face danger, what really looks back at you through those eyes. The hair on my forearm rose and in the silence of the room I can hear my heart beating.

"Are you a non-believer, Jonathan?"
"After listening to you I believe what you tell me to be the truth."
"Before you met me, Jonathan, maybe?" His voice a steady and even timbre, mesmerising, hypnotic, questioning.
"Experience has taught me, Jonathan, that a demon weakens the resolve of a non-believer, demanding the belief in it. It will exercise all its power it receives to make you believe. The duality of this universe, this dimension needs its co-parts to continue. To accept the will of this demon means we will also accept God into our hearts and by which in His strength we can vanquish the abomination."

He studied me before continuing. "I was once a non-believer, my friend, Jonathan..."