Alright so...let's...do this
I take a deep shallow breath in and swallow the overwhelming anxiety that consumes my throat. I take a step forward and my shoes are the only things that click in the vast of the night.
It's 1 am, clearly nobody's awake at this time.
Alright well, most people aren't awake.
And when I mean people, I mean the people around my apartment. I don't really care if anybody saw me drive out here so late, but that little thought at the back of my head stays put. Little scary, but I know nobodys gonna give a fuck about what you do at this time.
And as long as nobody's following me then, well I'm good.
I'm just glad to find out that the Tweaks live decently far away from people.
Which of course doesn't help with the fact that my car has been suspiciously parked right beside the road.
But again, people wouldn't care, so I throw the thought out of mind and fold my hands into fists. I came here for a reason, and I'm sick of backing out.
I'm careful, avoiding puddles and murky shallow ponds of grass, stepping on only the dry areas of grass. When I come a little closer to the house, I give it a good glance. Pretty neat if you tell me, but the paint outside is starting to chip, the pillars crack and the grass is starting to reach the edges of the windows. Obviously the poor thing looks pretty abandoned, the original plum color has faded into a light touch of gray and pink.
Almost makes me feel a little bad for the thing, I heard a thing or two of what happened here. But I couldn't imagine that something so drastic could ever happen in something so...pretty.
At the end of the day, it's not my problem.
I walk up the steps carefully, the wooden planks below me scream and wail, so I keep my steps straight and simple. As long as I don't jump, or do whatever fucking activity that's going to crack these old steps, I'll be OK.
Then it faces me, the only thing holding me back from walking inside. The lock, a little rusty from its lack of use. Softly I pull out the weighty gray key from my pockets and pull it into the lock, push it in and twist it. Then when it doesn't budge, I put my hand on the door handle and twist it.
It cracks, but it doesn't twist. This is a joke right? I grin and push a little harder, but it doesn't budge. I feel humiliated a little.
Alrighty! So the thing is really freaking rusty, I huff, thinking about it for a second or two. But I know what to do, I've broken into my house a couple of times after my sister Tricia forgot to leave the door open for me at night. All you have to do is give it a little push. The locks here are made of shitty material anyway. This time, I focus on my breathing and position my shoulder up against the door. In three I'll jump and throw my body against it.
But when I count to 3, things don't...really turn out as planned. I close my eyes and throw my shoulder against the door, it's loud, and a strong crack can be heard from both ends of the door. It opens, but it's brisk.
The sudden familiar feeling of the door resting on my shoulder can't be felt anymore, and I open my eyes out of spite. I'm falling, I'M FALLING.
"AH!?" I yell, but it doesn't do anything, the minute the door slams against the wall, is the minute I fall down on my shoulder roughly. The pain bites at my skin and I can feel every pebble carve at my arm. Etch it's dents into my skin brutally. I can't taste it, but I can definitely feel the puddles of blood rise from my wounds, a couple the size of paper cuts.
The room echoes with the aftermath of the slam, the place rumbles and within seconds I find myself face to face with the floor.
Ah?? Fuck!?
I open my mouth and cough, it's dusty, definitely dusty. The dust fogs my surroundings and my eyes ache. Every inch of dust makes me feel as if I'm suffocating. Jesus Christ, I think to myself and bring my hand over to the ground. I'm a little startled, and I can't keep my legs from shaking. I'm bleeding a little, but it's not as bad, I just-I just gotta get this over it.
I shake my head in fair judgment and get my body to stand up, but holy shit it worked.
I'm inside, and all it took was a push, a few bloody hands and a hurting back.
Carefully I throw my hands in the air and fume the fog away, until I can finally get a look at the room around me. This time, I make sure to gently close the door.
"Ak-huuck" I cough, still a little dazed from earlier. From the outside, the house looked pretty neat, but from the inside...things tell a different story.
It's clear to me that in this house lived a happy family, smiles and laughter. Just, really, it's a pity. I look around and trace my eyes over the walls. Dents of claws around the walls and ceiling, my breath hitches and my body turns tense. It's frightening really, every decorative wallpaper has been brutally carved at. Claws are so sharp, it starts from the very top of the ceiling and ends just beside the windows. Now this is...this is fucking different. This is a different story, when I found my father, I found him sprawled in blood.
Now this...this just shows how desperate he had been. Had he been searching for the young boy? Scratching the walls in hopes that he might find him? Fuck this is horrible!?
Subtle I make my way over to the walls, my hands skimming over the peelings of claret wallpaper with such delicacy. The rough edges of the paint chipping and landing on my finger tips. The place is a disaster, there's books on the ground, ornaments laying around and-photos...?
I look down at the ground and kneel down, yeah there's photos alright.
But seriously...what...what happened to make this monster so...desperate?
Carefully I pull my hand closer to the one photo frame that catches my attention, its frame is delicately etched in blank ink carvings, where the bottom reads out ever so clearly "The Tweaks family." Softly I shake the image and get rid of the glass shards posing danger to my fingertips, then I see it clearly.
So this is the Tweaks huh? I bring a gentle finger above the image, dusting the dust off of their faces. It's just a family portrait. First my eyes glance at Mrs Tweak, then at Mr Tweak who smiles and lays his arm around the only kid in the family. Tweek, a messy haired blondie with a dopey smile.
His smile makes me giggle a little, he reminds me of someone. His toothy smile, lovely smile and happy family. Someone's life who was just beginning to feel amazing.
Damn.
I sigh, and place the photo somewhere high up on a stable shelf. I know I shouldn't be scurrying around their personal stuff like this, but I couldn't help it. Curiosity got the best of me. It's sickening.
I give it one last look and turn around, I haven't forgotten why I've chosen to come to this house in the first place.
The book should be somewhere around his parents room right? Cartman didn't really give me any other snotty specific instruction other than, "go get me that book Craig!" Gee, so much for being specific, Cartman! I yell out, laughing a little at the echo of my own voice.
Gently I make my way over to the stairs and put my hand on the railings. This house is old, pretty old, so if I don't want to end up falling and in a hospital bed, I have to hold onto these railings and beg God I won't fall.
Every step makes a louder cry than the one before it, and it's starting to pick at my worries. Geez, I mean, couldn't it be...any louder? The sound practically cascades around the whole damn house! Finally after what felt like ages, I take the last step and pray it won't be my last. But it isn't, I'm still alive.
And there to my left should be the parents room, nothing better than a sign that screams "parents room" . I snicker and trace my fingers over the "live love life" sign. Then gently I put my hand on the doorknob and give it a tender push.
Well, there it is.
No different state than any other room in this house.
A complete mess.
"Ah, uh, hello?" I softly whispered, keeping my head just lightly inside the room.
Craig don't be stupid, of course nobody's inside, I shake my head and bring a hand over my hair. I soothe the stands from my forehead and walk inside.
When I think finding it is gonna be a hassle, I find it perfectly placed on the bed. It looks old, but the writing outside is still obvious to the human eye.
Honestly, why would Cartman even want this crap? I chimed, flipping through the pages with a hand. Blah blah enchantments and a whole bunch of bullcrap and-
What the hell is this?
My finger stops on a specific page, at first it looks like a joke, a bunch of scribbles and big bold letters spelling something out that I don't quite understand yet. Out of all the pages in this book, this is the only page that's scribbled in black ink, as if someone maniacally tried to get rid of every drop of evidence from these pages...But I don't get it, why would anyone ever go through such an extent?
Whatever, I close the book shut and snuck it into my bag. Well my job here is done isn't it? Now it's time I get to the fucking point.
Let's summon a fucking demon, yeah!?
Do I know what the hell I'm supposed to do??? No! But let's do it anyway.
In exchange for the weird book, I pull out my own book from my bag, along with a couple of candles and a couple of whatever. Yeah so, I'm not really an expert in this, but I was in too much of a rush, okay?
Keenly I position the candles around me in a circle arrangement, each candle being somewhat a few centimeters away from the other, then I pull out a bag of salt and toss it around the candles. I've never paid attention, but I think this is a sort of protection spell? Not that it mattered anyway, I never found these protection spells necessary.
What's the point of feeling the thrill, if you can't even get yourself to experience it without being scared.
But maybe, the fact that I'm actually doing this, barks at me and contradicts what I just said seconds ago.
Because suddenly the idea of actually summoning something, makes me nervous.
This is dumb, isn't it?
No no, just shut up Craig. This is my chance, the only place I'll ever be able to do whatever the fuck I want without getting in trouble. The church condones practice outside of the church, but when it's done in a place where the church doesn't know anything of. Then what's gonna happen?
And well, I suppose if Cartman were to snitch, it'd be over for me anyway. Maybe this time I'll actually be able to beat him up and leave the scene before they find out that it had been me. He's a dead man anyway, so don't care.
Plus, I'll just summon a diminutive demon, exorcise it and get out of here. It'll be like I was never here in the first place.
Easy peasy, right?
And who cares! Maybe I won't even summon anything at all, so what is there to be worried about.
Maybe I'm inexperienced, I've never summoned nor exorcised a thing in my life. And well...shit that sounds pretty rough, and I might as well just be really damn clueless. But if I can manage to prove them all wrong.
Then it'll be worth it.
The pleasant thought runs to mind, and I like the ring it brings to my name. Craig Tucker, best exorcist to exist. The thought gets me a little giddy and I have to smack myself back into reality.
Here goes nothing, I close my eyes and kneel down before the candles. I bring a hand above the circle and roughly sketched chalk lines, and remember the spells from my last spell. The ones Mr Mackey taught me...for beginners...right don't laugh, they're useful, OK?
The words leave my mouth like they've always done, first I start off slow, then rush my speech. And then when the last words come to my lips, I scrunch my eyebrows and pray hard.
I wait 10 seconds, then a minute.
Then two minutes.
Okay what the fuck!? I literally did everything and said everything that I had to say and do. So why...why is nothing happening. This is practically the best moment of my life, no big fat laughter coming from Cartmans mouth, no annoying chuckles.
Fuck.
Nevermind, I'll just try again.
I proceed to follow everything that I did earlier, this time I go slower, speak slower, paying a more attentive tone to the way I say things.
This time, 3 minutes go by and I'm losing hope.
"FuckSAKE!!" I yell, I'm frustrated alright. No matter how many times, how many times I try, it all comes rolling back to me-
My little fit of grunts and groans stops halfway and I catch a glimpse of a short subtle piece of paper falling down to the ground. It's shriveled, but it still contains the type of livelihood you'd expect in a couple of Lilacs.
Out of curiosity, I kneel down and pick it up. Carefully I unravel it and look at the writing. It's just another ripped out piece of paper, but the scribbles and black ink writing resembles that of Cartman's book. I know I said that I was going to mind my own business, but the words on this paper are rather readable.
The words are easy to read and slide off your tongue softly. And it only takes me a few seconds to realize that it's a spell.
Then a dangerous thought pops up in my mind.
I'm gonna try it.
So what!? I couldn't do a simple spell, and now I want to try something that looks like it's been pulled out of someone's experienced ass.
When I think it's all simple haha's and giggles, my eyes catch a glance of the last message on the piece of paper, now this, this catches me off guard. In red bold italics it says "blood." Now you don't have to be an expert in this field to understand that when a spell asks for blood, it means it.
Great, sounds like an awesome idea.
To offer a sacrifice to a spell way out of my league.
Ah fuck this, of course it's a good idea. I chuckled and grabbed a small shard of glass, pricking a small hole into my finger.
Shit, the things I do for crap like this huh? I lightly hover my finger above the candles, making sure every candle gets a taste of my blood. I'm serious about this.
Then after that, it all comes down to the piece of paper in front of me, I hold it carefully, gently reading the words in my mind and trying to figure out the syllables one by one.
One by one, the words pop out of my mouth so delicately, so attentively. Until the last sentence rings the final blow off my tongue.
"Demon."
"Reveal yourself to me, that which is bound by blood."
Suddenly a cold breeze trickles up my spine and I lose control of my breath. But other than that, nothing happens. No sudden burst of energy, no screams no-
Are you serious, is this shit even working?
Right, okay okay you fucking devil! I'll wait longer for you to pop up, huh!? Is that what you want!
Are you taking your sweet time!
Go on, take your damn time! I groan and stand up, I've taken the hint. I can't summon shit for the life of me.
And, I'm sorry for having just the slightest hint of hope that maybe just maybe this could work. I feel like I'm on the verge of tears, but I'd rather punch something than cry it out.
"I'm leaving you prick!" I yell for one last time and make my way over to the door.
.
.
.
Then the sudden chills hit my back for one last time, the door closes and the candles blow out within seconds. The room is a pitch black cascade of anxiety Molded into a small ball in the back of my throat.
I lose my breath, and the very hope comes back to punch the shit out of my face. I'm looking around the room anxiously, with my heart hanging from my lips. Every sound makes my body quiver.
This...this wasn't what I had imagined.
My life's on the line, and it's my fault.
"Fuck!" I coughed, feeling the dust build up in my lungs, someone's inside the fucking room with me. And whatever it is, I hear their footsteps running around the room, slamming against walls and wailing the casual "gah!" And "shit!"
I'm stuck, terrified.
The book. I need my book.
The panic was way down my throat and into my chest, but I knew that I had to do something about it. Roughly I opened my bag and ran my hands through my stuff. I grabbed onto my book and pulled it out.
Shit! I bit back at my lips and yelled, "who are you!"
But the voice never replied back, then after the footsteps begin to ease, I look over at the window and that's when I see it.
Two eyes followed by the illumination of the moon raining down on it.
This wasn't just anybody.
I had summoned a demon.