by Mark Lukens
“Where did you find those symbols?” Aunt Coats asked J.T.
“On the same website where we found the ritual. I still have the symbols drawn in this notebook.”
He showed her the pages where he’d copied the symbols from.
She studied the symbols for a moment and then nodded as if everything was satisfactory. She looked at J.T. and tapped the page in his notebook with a gnarled finger. “When we’re done with this, when we get this demon out of this house and away from all of you, then you need to destroy these symbols. And you need to destroy that film on your computer.”
J.T.’s heart skipped a beat. That footage he shot was his ticket to Hollywood, to fame. It was actual proof of the supernatural on film. But then he looked at Tyler who had gone into the living room and curled up on the couch with the TV on and the sound turned all the way down, and he knew he had to do it.
Aunt Coats seemed to pick up on J.T’s hesitancy about destroying his footage. “You can’t have any trace left behind. You can’t leave any doors open for it . . . not even a crack.”
“When are we doing this . . . this thing?” Mom asked. “Tonight?”
Aunt Coats shook her head. “We’ll do it tomorrow night, right at midnight. And we all need to sleep out here in the living room together.” She looked at Tyler in the living room. “That thing’s going to try even harder now to get him.”
4.
J.T. slept in his sleeping bag on the floor next to the couch. Mom slept on the larger couch. Tyler was curled up on the smaller couch in front of the TV. They were all asleep as Aunt Coats leaned back in the big recliner. She sat there with her eyes closed, but she wasn’t sleeping.
Footsteps sounded from down the hall . . . something coming this way.
Tyler moaned in his sleep, his face scrunching up a bit.
J.T. sat up like a piston, staring at the hallway where the footsteps were coming from. He looked at Tyler and Mom—both were still asleep. Then he looked at Aunt Coats. Her eyes were open in the murky room. The only light came from the lightbulb underneath the microwave over the stove.
The footsteps stopped, but a shadow raced around the room, flying around and blending in and out of all of the other shadows in the living room and kitchen. The shadows circled them like sharks.
Aunt Coats was on her feet in a second. She was still fully dressed; she even had her work boots on. She whispered something that J.T. couldn’t understand, words in some other kind of language. She also had a string of old animal bones in her hand, rattling them.
The shadows closed in around them. Aunt Coats hurried over to J.T. and Tyler. Mom was awake now and huddling closer to them.
J.T. felt the shadows breathing on them, and he could smell the rotting warm breath, a breeze from a slaughterhouse. He couldn’t see the shadow very clearly—it seemed to be shimmering in and out of existence, black shadows almost solidifying into tentacles and legs and gigantic spidery hands.
Aunt Coats chanted louder. She rattled the bones in her hand harder.
Tyler moaned as he sat up, his eyes wide open in the darkness. He hid behind Aunt Coats like she was a shield.
Just when J.T. thought the shadows were going to form into a solid thing and rush them, Aunt Coats’ chants became screeches, and she shook the bones at the shadowy things.
And then with a rush of wind, the shadows were gone.
Tyler was crying. Mom was crying, too. She hugged Tyler and then reached her hand out for J.T. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.”
5.
The next day they all slept on and off in fitful naps. Mom had to go into work for a few hours. She took the list with her so she could pick up a few of the items. J.T. still had some of the items in the house: the bowls, the rope, the thirteen candles, and the different colored chalks. He got these out and started drawing the symbols on the front door like he’d done last Friday night.
“Keep the bowls empty,” Aunt Coats told him. “And don’t light any of the candles tonight.”
J.T. followed every one of Aunt Coats’ instructions—he didn’t want to screw this up.
Night came quickly, and they ate dinner together in silence. Aunt Coats cooked this time, making some kind of stew and adding more of her herbs and spices from her leather satchel.
After dinner, J.T. made another crucifix out of two pieces of wood, making it as similar to the one he’d used last time. He also laid out the circle of rope and salt in the living room. It was in the same spot as before, only this time it was much bigger so it could fit all of them inside.
J.T. printed out four copies of the spell he and Tyler had recited last Friday night, and he handed one to each of them. “At midnight tonight,” Aunt Coats said, “we’re going to read this spell backwards . . . everything in reverse. All of us together.” She looked right at Tyler. “You, too. You have to do and say everything at exactly the same time we do. You understand?”
Tyler nodded. He looked scared to death, but J.T. was glad to see that he was at least showing some kind of emotion and not walking around like he was in a trance. At least there was a faint look of hope in his eyes now.
6.
Right before midnight all four of them gathered at the front door, all of them ready to knock on it thirteen times in unison. They had left some of the lights in the kitchen and living room on, but Aunt Coats told them that the lights would go out as soon as this started so J.T. got flashlights for all of them.
Aunt Coats said a quick prayer with them, all of them holding hands. She asked for God’s forgiveness for all of them and their sins, and she asked for strength.
It was time.
J.T. watched his cell phone, and as soon as it was midnight he yelled, “Now!” They all knocked on the front door simultaneously, thirteen times, and then they opened the door up to the night outside. They walked backwards down the path through the candles to their circle of protection. They had their printed copies of the spell, and they began reciting the words backwards.
“Boone Mr. forth come.”
“Boone Mr. forth come.”
“Boone Mr. forth come.”
“Thee to offered gifts these accept and.”
“Free are you and welcomed are you.”
For a moment J.T. didn’t think this was working. He was afraid they weren’t going to get Mr. Boone out of their house and away from them.
The lights flickered. A sudden storm was picking up just like the last time they had performed this ritual. J.T. saw the front tree outside the open door, the leaves and branches shaking back and forth, the wind howling. But the rushing of the wind also seemed to be coming from inside the house, too. The lights went out. They turned their flashlights on and kept reciting the spell backwards.
“Chimes toll midnight the when then and.”
“Times thirteen knock will we.”
“Thee invite we enter and home our to come.”
“Plea our hear . . . forth come Boone Mr. oh.”
J.T. saw the shadows coming alive all around them. It looked like the racing shadows were solidifying, just like they’d done last night. But this time the forms were easier to see. Strands of shadows protruded out of the walls, floors, and ceilings. It looked like a root system from a gigantic plant was growing out of the walls. And maybe that’s what this thing had done . . . rooted itself in their home, their world, growing bigger and stronger, more complex until it would finally ensnare Tyler . . . and then the rest of them.
Aunt Coats began chanting in that strange language, just like she’d done last night, and her words seemed to be drawing those roots out of the walls, floors, and ceiling. There was a moaning and screeching sound as the strands were pulled free. The strands of roots changed into tentacles and feelers, many of them whipping around. Once all of the roots were free, the mass of shadows contracted in on itself and formed into a man.
For a split second J.T. thought the man standing there was his dad. He thought he’d heard his dad’s voice calling him.<
br />
No . . . it’s not him. It’s just a trick.
The man was Mr. Boone now, his features somehow defined even though his face remained in shadows underneath his tall hat. But J.T. could see the curve of a smile on the man’s face, the sharp teeth, and the glowing red eyes. Mr. Boone ran right towards them . . . right towards their circle of protection.
Oh God, he was going to enter their circle . . . he was going to get them!
Aunt Coats jumped out of the circle of protection, still chanting the entire time and rattling the bones in her hand. At the last instant Mr. Boone changed directions and crashed right into Aunt Coats, then through her, knocking her down to the floor.
The house was shaking. The storm outside was raging like a hurricane. Aunt Coats wasn’t moving anymore. Mr. Boone rushed past their empty bowls, and they were filled as he moved past them: wine in one, rotten fruit riddled with worms in another, and blood in the last one—all of their offerings returned. The candles lit one by one as the thing raced past them, and then it was out the door and into the storm.
The front door slammed shut.
The storm outside died down immediately.
The lights flickered and came back on.
They all rushed over to Aunt Coats who was still on the floor. And she wasn’t moving.
“Aunt Coats,” Mom said with tears in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
Aunt Coats didn’t look injured, but J.T. was afraid that she’d been mauled somehow by that demon. But there was no blood on her, nothing looked broken . . . she was just lying there. Dead? No, he could see her chest barely rising and falling.
“Aunt Coats?”
She opened her eyes and managed a smile. “It’s okay, dear. I’m going to see Howard now.”
“No,” Mom wailed and looked at J.T. “Call 911! Get an ambulance here!”
7.
J.T. cleaned up the circle of protection and cleared the bowls and candles away before the paramedics got there. Then there was a blur of movements as the paramedics rushed inside the house, the lights from their emergency vehicles splashing across the open door, the engines of their vehicles rumbling. They put Aunt Coats on a stretcher, but she wasn’t responding. She was already gone. She looked younger somehow, J.T. thought. She looked like she was at peace, and he swore he saw the ghost of a smile on her face.
Aunt Coats was pronounced dead on the way to the hospital. The official cause of death would be a heart attack, but J.T. knew what had really killed her.
8.
In the days that followed Mom took care of the funeral arrangements for Aunt Coats. They all flew to West Virginia where Aunt Coats wanted to be buried next to her husband Howard. A lot of Mom’s family was there, people J.T. hadn’t seen in a long time, and some he’d never seen. He couldn’t believe the number of people that had shown up.
They came back home and tried to piece their world back together. J.T. had followed Aunt Coats’ instructions and gotten rid of the footage on his laptop and anything else linked to the ghost of Mr. Boone.
He also threw his video camera away. He was done with it now.
9.
J.T. sat in his bedroom at his desk two days later. He’d finally gone back to school, and he was pretty far behind in his studies now. He felt exhausted and drained, depressed. He felt responsible for everything that had happened, for the horrors that Tyler had gone through, for his aunt’s death. It was all his fault, and that stupid video camera of his was what had started it all. He’d decided that he wasn’t going to be a filmmaker now. He wasn’t going to Hollywood. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone anymore. And now, with his dreams dead, he didn’t know where to go from here. He was adrift.
At least Tyler had gotten better. He was back to his old hyper self now. He still had nightmares at night, and they probably weren’t going to go away any time soon. Mom let him sleep with his light on, and he had three flashlights beside his bed that he checked every night before going to sleep.
There was a knock at his bedroom door.
“Yeah.”
No answer. For a split second J.T. thought Mr. Boone had come back. Mr. Boone was right outside the door, his roots embedded throughout their house again, all of those tentacles pooling together to form the shadowy man who would enter his bedroom.
The door opened and it was Mom and Tyler.
J.T. breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe his nightmares weren’t going to go away any time soon, either.
Mom had the video camera in her hand. “I found this in the garbage.” She laid it down gently on the bed.
“I don’t want it anymore.”
“I know you think this is your fault—”
“That’s because it is.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But you need to learn from your mistakes.”
J.T. looked at Tyler—it was his little brother’s forgiveness he needed the most.
Mom pulled a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket and handed it to J.T.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a letter from Aunt Coats. It came a few days ago. She sent it from the airport in West Virginia right before she got on the plane to come here.”
J.T. read the letter. He was shocked. Aunt Coats had already made arrangements before leaving. She had left her home and farm to a relative in West Virginia, and she had left stocks and bonds to Mom that totaled nearly two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. But the most shocking thing was that Aunt Coats said she would be seeing her husband soon. She knew she was coming here to die, to be the sacrifice for that thing . . . and that’s what she said in the letter: The ghost of Mr. Boone needed a sacrifice—she’d written his name down in the letter. How could she have known?
Tears slipped out of J.T.’s eyes.
“Big group hug,” Mom said.
J.T. and Tyler hugged their mother.
“My guys,” she whispered.
J.T. could feel their forgiveness now, and he knew that they were all going to be okay.
This was a hard story for me to write at first. I remember I struggled with the first few pages for quite a while. I knew I wanted to write a story about a teenager who tries to find a spell on the internet to summon a demon so he can film it documentary style—isn’t that what all teenagers want to do? At first this story was going to be about a group of kids, but then I started re-thinking it, jotting down a few notes here and there over a period of months (while I worked on other stories and books of course), but I kept coming back to this one. I have a lot of story ideas that pop up in my mind, and after tinkering with them for a while I just know if they’re not going to work. I hate to abandon some of them, but if I’m not totally satisfied with it then I don’t want to write it. A few of the ideas have actually coalesced into stories over the years with some major effort, but a lot of others kind of fade away into that deep dark pit I call my subconscious. But those stories that do hang around and nag at me to be written, those are usually the ones that sometimes practically write themselves. And I was afraid that this story was going to be one of those tough ones that I had to grind through and perhaps never be totally happy with. But once I got working on the story again, changing it to a teenager and his younger brother, then I knew I had my story, and from then on it was a breeze to write. In fact, I just kept writing and writing. I never planned for this story to get this long, but sometimes the story kind of takes over in a way.
THE DISAPPEARED
DAY ONE:
Jeff noticed three things when he woke up that morning. The first one was that there was daylight shining through the vertical blinds that covered the sliding glass doors that led out to the pool deck. And since there was daylight streaming in, that meant he was late for work.
The second thing he noticed was that the electricity was out. He was lying on his right side when he opened his eyes and saw that the alarm clock on the table next to his bed was dark. No blinking red numbers—it was completely out. No power at all. He looked up at the ceiling and saw that the cei
ling fan was off.
The third thing he noticed when he rolled over was that his wife wasn’t in bed with him.
“Shit,” he muttered. He was supposed to be in early today to help open the Dunkin’ Donuts store that he managed. He would need to call Larry, the district manager, and let him know that he had overslept. He grabbed his cell phone which was beside the dead alarm clock on top of the metal framed and glass-topped end table, the twin of the table on the other side of the bed—Cheryl’s side of the bed. The tables matched the bedframe and the black wrought-iron mirror on the wall. Cheryl was big into matching home décor.
Where was Cheryl? How come she wasn’t in bed with him? And how come she hadn’t woken him up when she’d realized the power was out? She knew he had to be at the store at seven. She knew the earful he’d get from Larry because he was late.
Jeff pressed the power button on his phone, already rehearsing his excuse in his mind: The power went out, but I’ll be there in thirty minutes. As he pressed down on the power button to bring his phone to life, he wondered why Larry hadn’t called him by now.
And then Jeff got his answer: his cell phone was dead. He held the button down for several seconds, but it wasn’t firing up. Maybe the battery had died in the middle of the night. He could plug it into the charger . . . if the electricity wasn’t out.
Maybe he should take the battery out and then put it back in.
Jeff got out of bed and headed towards the bedroom door which was a set of double doors just beyond the hallway where his small closet and Cheryl’s much larger walk-in closet separated their bedroom from their master bathroom.
But he stopped in his tracks when he glanced back at the bed.
Something was wrong.
He saw Cheryl’s pajama top on her side of the bed, the pajama top that she usually wore to bed, the pink and wooly one. The sleeves of the shirt were poking out from under the covers like someone was still sleeping there. But Cheryl wasn’t there.
