In the deep, dark, musty corner of the humid dripping basement of the house is a torch. Barely flickering, the torch looks sad and forlorn. Old and used up. Sputtering to put out any light at all, like a sad relic of the past. Yet it is still lit. How can that be? No one has been down here for decades. But for that matter what drew me down here. I will go no further, there are four steps left and they can just stay there. But oh, the torch draws me. It calls to me, it beckons me and whispers my name, softly, enchantingly. I am startled as I take one more step towards the wet and slippery stones of the basement floor. One more step and then another, and then another.