Next, I triedmy nephew is dying. Help. Nothing useful, again. I took another chug of vodka, my throat on fire.
I typed inhow to get what you need. Vague as shit, but I was beyond the point of caring. I combed through the results on the first page, finding nothing useful. I clicked to the next page and the next, sipping on the vodka throughout. I went through nearly thirty pages of results before finally clicking a link to an out-of-date website with a seafoam green and teal background and overly bold text, along with blue links to other sections of the website on the left side.
The curvy red title at the top of the webpage read:all your desires will soon be granted.
I leaned closer to the screen as I scrolled and read from the section heading “Calling Who You Need.”
Demons. This article was talking aboutdemons. I did not believe in demons, but I couldn’t stop reading. The article detailed how one has to be extraordinarily specific when summoning a demon, as you want to call one that specifically makes deals, not a demon lord or one who will cause unending havoc and chaos upon our world. Apparently, it was a fine line. I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced of this website’s legitimacy, but it was worth a shot. I had to trysomething.
I snatched a thinning notebook from my backpack and a yellow pencil, opening it to a blank page. On it I wrote:
1) Clear space, little to no obstacles
2) A sacrificeoran offering must be presented
3) Repetition may be necessary
I lastly copied down a quick summoning chant.
I knew where to go for this ceremony, but I needed anoffering. I had no idea what that could be, so I searchedofferings for demons. No murder.
I found a long list and decided on two items: black candles and red wine.
I had to do this now, before the alcohol left my system and my nerves shot back up. I closed out of the web, packed my notebook and vodka back into my backpack, and exited the library to ride back home. I fell off my bike a block away from the library, so I ended up wheeling it home on unstable legs. I re-entered the kitchen of my still-empty house. Back in the pantry, I snatched red wine. Perhaps my parents should have invested in a lockable liquor cabinet.
I then stumbled to the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a few scented Yankee candles. Next stop was the garage, where I found spray paint and spray-painted the candles black. This was likely not what the web meant by “black candles,” but I was making do.
I shoved all of my supplies into my backpack then hopped back on my bike, pumping the pedals so hard I knew I would be sore the next morning. I kept pumping until I got to a large wooded area. I dropped the bike at the edge of the forest, backpack on my back and still holding the unfinished vodka bottle. I jogged into the forest and kept pace for a while as the sun slowly sank in the sky. Once I got to my intended destination, a large clearing I’d come across before on a hike, I stopped. I knelt down in front of my backpack and pulled out the candles and the red wine. I lit the candles with a plastic lighter I pulled from my pocket then took my pocket knife and pressed the sharp blade into the tip of my pointer finger,cringing at the pain. I squeezed the finger so blood dripped out and onto the leafy ground of the forest. Then I started to chant the Latin summoning spell I’d found. I didn’t understand a word of it and knew my pronunciation was likely a bit off. I held the red wine tightly in my hand, ready to offer it to whoever may show up. Tears formed in my eyes as I continued to chant. For good measure, I did the chant a few times over.
The air was still, as if the forest was holding its breath in anticipation.
Then a man in an ill-fitted charcoal suit appeared before me. I flinched away, taking two involuntary steps back.
He surveyed me up and down, passing a solid form of judgment. His eyes flashed an empty black. “May I help you?” he asked, sneering at the sight of me.
“I need something,” I slurred, breathless and too drunk to be surprised that this worked.
“Doesn’t everyone?” the demon drawled. “So, what? You’re failing a class? Do you want the girl in fourth period to look at you? Do you want your parents to understand you? Is this something worth calling me for, Christopher?” I did not question how the demon knew my name.
“My nephew,” I said, winded still, “he’s sick. I want him to be better. I want his leukemia gone, and I want his cancer gone. I want him to be healthy. I don’t want him to be sick.”
The demon sighed, raising his eyes to the sky. “What a noble request. And you’re sure you want to do this for some snot-nosed kid? You have your whole life ahead of you, son. You’re willing to give it away for some six-year-old brat who may not live his life in a useful way? You don’t know that he’ll be a successful member of society. He may turn out to be a criminal or a politician, though, those really are one and the same.”
I nodded vigorously. “I’m sure,” I said. “I want to do this.”
“Fine,” the demon said. “If this is what you want, then who am I to deny you of that desire? Now, I see you have something for me.” He eyed the wine, which I handed over. It vanished, and in its place appeared a packet of paper. The demon held the packet and a pen that also appeared from nowhere out to me and said, “Initial here, initial here, sign here, initial here, initial here, sign and date here. And here”—he held the last page of the contract closer to me—“I need your thumbprint in blood.”
An invisible force pierced my thumb, causing me to hiss in pain. I pressed a shaky thumb firmly to the paper. I neglected to complain that he could have used my already bleeding pointer finger.
When I was done, the contract and the pen both disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Blood dripped down my thumb.
“There you have it,” the demon said, turning to leave. “I suppose we’ll see you in ten years’ time.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, feeling suddenly sobered.
The demon chortled cruelly. “What?” he repeated back to me. “You didn’t think that the wine was your payment? No. No, of course not. Your payment is your soul, young man. In ten years’ time, your soul belongs to Hell. Well, actually, it already does. In ten years’ time, at eight p.m. on this exact date, you will die. A reaper will come to collect your soul, they will take you to Hell, and we’ll own you forever. But fear not, because your nephew is fine. And he will continue to be fine. The cancer isgone. He will not die, not anytime soon, at least. He is healthy. And you are now ours.”
The demon disappeared. I stared at where he once stood, the empty forest floor, frozen in place, limbs unable to move, not that I even had the ability for that desire in that instant.
