You were careful not to puncture the plastic biohazard bag as you struggled to fit it in your backpack. Your friend owed you big time for this one.
You enjoyed your job, but having to stay overtime was not the way you would typically choose to spend the free hours of your day. Unfortunately, one of your overachiever coworkers was closing as well, so you had to wait even longer than expected. She only left after you insisted on taking over her closing duties.
It took some convincing. You had to thoroughly explain how desperate you were to get out of some macho-man movie the guy you were seeing insisted on watching with you. It was a half-truth. You had no plans to spend any amount of time with him that night, but he had been heckling you for the past week about that fucking movie. Regardless, it did the trick since your coworker's fiancé was obsessed with the same one, and she proceeded to go on a full rant about how much she loathed it.
All that matters is you successfully got her to leave, finished closing in record time, and finally got that damn biohazard bag zipped up safe in your backpack. With that, you were out the door and on your way to help your friend in their "time of need."
Which basically translated to, "I need materials that are hard to acquire ethically, and if you love me, you'll help."
When you asked what on Earth they would ever need such a thing for, they told you they recently decided to dip their toes into the occult. What exactly that meant, you weren't sure, and you didn't want to know. You were just eager to drop off the biohazard bag and head home. You could see a nice hot bubble bath in the near future. Maybe a book and a fun little drink as a treat.
The brief walk to your car was surprisingly pleasant. You didn't feel as though you were heading home in the middle of the night anymore as the days were growing longer. And it was that perfect temperature where you could wear a t-shirt or a sweater and still feel comfortable. Spring was at last beginning to bloom.
The sun was just about to set as you pulled up to your friend's apartment building, which was thankfully only a short drive away from your workplace. You scaled a few floors until you got to their door. There wasn't even a chance to knock before it swung open, and you were yanked inside by the collar of your shirt.
The room was dark save for a few dozen pillar candles that were lit around nearly the entire perimeter of the living room. The kitchen countertop was littered with all kinds of spices, some in containers, some in ominous Ziploc baggies, and most just spilled out across the faux granite. Looking closer at the floor in the center of the open room, there was a star with a circle around it drawn out in what looked to be salt or sugar. In the middle of it was a large black candle with a pile of what you assumed were the herbs from the counter surrounding it.
"Do you have it?" Devon asked as they pulled your bag from your hands. "We're almost out of time. I got as much ready as I could, but this is the longest step."
"I'm sorry. We? There is no we when you're trying to sell your soul to the devil or- Look, I don't know what you're doing, but I'm not taking part," you said as you helped them carefully remove the plastic bag, bringing it to the weird seance circle-thing. You dreaded the moment they opened it. Some of its contents were rather fresh, but some were a week or two old.
"Nobody is selling anybody's soul," your friend scoffed, tearing open the plastic after failing to undo your rather tight knot. You were not about to have that shit leaking out onto your personal belongings.
They instantly recoiled. You've never seen their face so shriveled up. You wished you had your phone out to take a picture. They sat there for a moment before taking a deep breath and reaching their hand towards the bag's opening.
You were going to gag.
"Stop! What are you doing?" you shrieked, stepping to their side to prevent them from dipping their fingers in. "Don't you have gloves or something?"
"Did you bring me gloves?"
"You didn't ask me to bring you gloves."
"Then no, I don't have gloves."
"Can't you just leave it in the bag?" you asked, shaking your head in disbelief. Sometimes you seriously questioned your taste in friends.
"No, the book says I have to use it to draw these symbols around the pentagram," they say, sliding you the crustiest, dustiest book you've ever seen in your life. When you picked it up, you were worried it would crumble away from the way it crunched as you gripped the pages. Many of the words were blurred, including a portion of the title, which appeared to be in Latin.
You couldn't understand it, but you remembered them saying it was something to do with
summoning a demon. According to Devon, they can help you out with finances, academics, romance... You couldn't help but imagine some horned monstrosity threatening your boss into giving you a raise or breaking into your teacher's office to change your test scores.
"I can't believe you're actually doing this." You carefully handed the book back to them and walked over to their desk where you knew they kept some basic art supplies. A paint brush should work fine so long as they sanitize the living hell out of it afterwards.
You sat down beside Devon and watched them slowly dip the white bristles into the biohazard bag. The paint brush came out nearly black, as if they were painting with tar, but as it was pressed to the apartment floor, it left behind streaks of crimson. You had to lean away from the overwhelming stench of it. Iron and rot.
Devon had explained to you that they were initially going to use whatever blood they could squeeze out of a steak from the supermarket. The only problem was the ritual specifically required it be human. Obviously, that only left them with two options: Prick their own finger (though they doubted that would be enough) or murder.
That was, until they remembered what you did for work.
You landed yourself a job in a medical facility testing blood samples for all sorts of diseases. Sometimes you only had to determine the blood type or whether it would be viable for donation. Once the testing was done, the blood would be discarded.
To Devon, this meant you had unlimited access to such a valuable ingredient in their twisted little plan. It took quite a bit of convincing before you finally agreed. You were worried about the possibility of losing your job. Can you believe that?
The final symbol was drawn out, and you were wondering why you were still there. You told yourself you would be in and out. You wanted nothing to do with this. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity? Never in your life, would you have thought you'd be helping your friend with some demonic ritual.
You decided it was finally time to take your leave as Devon began chanting in Latin. That was enough fuckery for one day. God knows you want no part in whatever their little séance results in.
You barely get to your feet when the lines of salt begin to glow an ominous red. The floor within the pentagram started to crumble away into what looked like a void as you noticed your shirt being gently tugged in its direction. You backed away, not taking your eyes off of it.
There was a blinding flash, then the room was filled with a shrill, ear-piercing noise. It was as if a thousand souls were screaming out at once. You're sure you yelled out in alarm, though you couldn't hear it. Covering your ears did little to dampen the volume.
You were jerked forward suddenly as the soft pull on your shirt grew fierce. Glowing red chains manifested around your waist with matching pairs of shackles around your wrists and ankles. Your eyes followed them as they led back to the pentagram. Whatever they were attached to on the other side was a mystery.
"Devon!"
Your cry went unanswered, and you spared a glance towards your dear friend. Their eyes appeared to have rolled back in their head, still chanting mindlessly.
The chains around you grew tighter, causing you to whine in discomfort. To your horror, they continued to pull you closer to the void. You tried with all your might to fight against it, throwing your weight back, legs stiffly digging into the plastic wood flooring in front of you. It was all for naught as your socks deprived you of any traction.
You only slid closer and closer to that gaping hole.
You screamed. You fell. You clawed at whatever you could get your hands on.
Then the ground beneath you vanished, and the world went silent.