by Eliza Nolan
Our view of the stage is fantastic. The front is decorated with row upon row of blooming poinsettias. The stage itself is set with several rows of chairs and bleachers for the choirs we’ve come to see. They’re all set in front of a giant Christmas tree that stretches up higher than the second balcony, nearly reaching the top of the stage. It’s covered in lights, giant gold and white glass balls, and the largest red velvet bows I’ve ever seen.
“I love how you did your tree in blue and silver this year,” Jenna says, eyes sparkling as she stares at the giant tree on stage. “But I thought you’d planned on doing red and gold.”
I shiver, not from cold, but from the memory. I examine the ground, while considering whether to tell Jenna about the bleeding tree. She is my best friend after all. But I don’t want to ruin the concert for her, so I shrug it off. “It was a last-minute change. I wasn’t feeling the gold.”
“Well, it’s exquisite!” she says. “You always do such a great job. Let me know when you post the unveiling photos. I can’t wait to see them.”
I smile, hoping it’s convincing.
I miss having Eva to talk to. I could’ve talked all this out with her. If I tried to tell Jenna, it would probably scare her off.
The bleeding Christmas tree.
My stomach twists because I can still smell the rancid blood as if it happened yesterday.
16
Eva
I read the book’s directions for the millionth time while I massage my shoulders. Across the way, Fiona is crouched next to one of five candles, setting out the bloodstone.
“Are you sure that’s the direction the sun rises?” I ask. “Because that’s what it says to do for the bloodstone.”
“I think so,” Fiona says. She keeps on saying that. Like it’s an acceptable answer.
“You’re not sure though, are you?”
“The app on my phone thinks it’s east. That’s as good as I can get. Sorry.”
I press my lips closed and grab a piece of chalk. I’m trying not to over-think the warning in the front of the book. The one about following the instructions exactly.
It’s only a game.
My stomach is all twisted up over a game. Still, if Fiona is going to insist we follow through with this—even to the point of doing the most complicated summoning in the book—I wish she would at least take it a bit more seriously.
Just in case.
The pentagram we’re using is intricate, complicated. I start by drawing out the large circle, then carefully add in all the lines—making sure they connect correctly. Then I get to work on the required symbols. I’m not sure what all of them even mean. The codex in the back of the book showed that several of them are for protection. One of them, the one with the most detail, and the one I take the most care with, is the name of the demon we’re summoning tonight. Aramadao. I’ve never heard of it before, not that I’ve heard of many of the demons in the book, but this one is supposed to bring good luck and fortune. That sounds like a good thing.
“Which incense are we using?” Fiona asks.
“Allspice, cinnamon, and sage,” I say, and then move across to where we’ve decided our protection circle will go and start on that. It has a circle with a triangle and several more protection symbols all around the outside and inside. “The allspice and cinnamon go over there, and the sage is over here with us.”
Fiona sets up the allspice near one of the candles by the summoning pentagram, then scrutinizes the different symbols.
“Is this the one for the demon we’re summoning?” she asks.
I nod. “You want to check my work?” I hold the book out to her.
“Maybe.” She shrugs but takes the book, and stands over the first of the two circles, biting her lower lip. “Gimme the chalk.”
I hop up and trot across to her, handing her the sidewalk chalk we borrowed from her kid brother’s summer toy collection. She crouches down and deepens a line that connects two arcs in the name of the demon we’re about to summon. Maybe I’m not the only one taking the book’s warning seriously.
17
Grace
Jenna and I lean forward, our arms on the railing of our theater box. I rest my chin on my arms and turn to her. She’s beaming with excitement and it’s contagious. I smile back.
The lights in the theater dim and the hum of the crowd hushes. Below, the singers silently march in through the aisles and stop at the front, off stage. The aisles full of members of the choirs.
A horn plays several notes to start it off, and I know the song from the second note. It’s “Joy to the World.”
My stomach twists, and a sharp pain shoots through my abdomen. I wince and grip the railing, then take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. I follow with another deep breath, blowing it out again. Cramps. I swear I have the worst cramps ever.
I send a little prayer to the goddess of menstruation that my period please not ruin this perfect evening. The pain eases, and I lean back in my chair, a smile on my face once more.
The choir begins to sing.
18
Eva
I pull off my beanie and toss it in the corner of the warehouse where we’ve stashed our bags, then unzip my parka and let it hang open.
“It’s not cold in here anymore,” I say.
Fiona is seated on the floor next to the safety circle, lighting the last of the candles. Her coat is unzipped as well, and we’ve both cast off our gloves. Her forehead wrinkles as she ponders my comment. “Candles wouldn’t do that, would they?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” It doesn’t seem likely that seven candles would have any effect on the temperature of this massive open warehouse.
“Maybe the owners leave the heat on really low to, like, stop the pipes from bursting or something.” She shrugs. “Anyways, you wanna light the incense and get into position?”
“We’re ready?” A chill runs up my spine as I take in the work we’ve done.
Five red candles surround the summoning circle. Their flickering flames illuminate the crisply drawn pentagram in the center, runes and symbols around the outer and inner circle and written throughout. A clay bowl near the center holds the incense.
“Sure,” I say and tiptoe into the pentagram, careful to not step on or smear any of the lines. I squat down with a book of matches and strike several. My hand shakes as I hold the match to the incense cones until they catch. As soon as they do, I shoot to my feet and hop out of the pentagram. It’s like hopscotch, but imagining there’s a demon chasing after me.
“Let’s do this.” Fiona waves me over to where she stands in the protection circle with the book.
I take my position next to her.
“Wait. I almost forgot.” She digs something out of her pocket. “Here.” She hands me a small stone. My eyes strain in the dim light of the candles to read an inscription carved on it. There are several symbols along with several letters.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s added protection.”
Does she know more about this stuff than she initially led on? Fiona’s staring at the floor in front of her.
“What?” She finally faces me. “I did a little research online after we found the book, and I found a way to make us some extra protection thingies. I didn’t think it would hurt. Besides, they’re kinda cool, right?” She shrugs. “Let’s do this.”
I scan the pentagram one more time then follow her finger as she points to the beginning of the summons.
We begin reading.
“We summon you, Aramadao, by the power of the great Inanna, that you appear before us, in order to answer the questions we ask of you. We conjure you, Aramadao.”
I watch the summoning circle, expectantly, then laugh a little, because of course nothing has changed. The candles still flicker, and the incense still burns in its pot. I search the plume of incense smoke for monster faces, but the twin streams flow up towards the ceiling with little wavering.
“Nothing,” I say.
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“Hang on.” Fiona holds up a hand. “Do you smell that?”
I inhale, cautiously, expecting the smell of the cinnamon and sage, or gore or mold or something creepy, but it’s not that at all. “It’s sweet,” I say. “With a little bit of a bite.”
“It smells kinda good, right?” Fiona tilts her head to the side in disbelief. “That is odd.”
“Totally,” I agree as I search our surroundings for anything that could be giving off the sweet aroma that hangs in the air, but all around the warehouse is still dark and empty.
“Let me check the incense.” I move to leave the protective circle, but Fiona grabs my arm, holding me in place.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to leave the protection circle once we’ve started,” Fiona says. Her eyes are wide. I can’t remember when she started taking this thing so seriously, but I carefully return to the center of the circle on shaking legs, because it’s becoming real for me, too.
19
Grace
The members of all the choirs are lined up on stage now after the first song. It’s amazing—so many beautiful voices. The program says over three hundred singers, on one stage.
All the women wear matching black dresses with taffeta skirts and red waistbands. Their hair and faces are done up, each one of them beautiful in their own way, eyes sparkling with joy. The boys stand proudly wearing charming smiles and matching black suits.
The room is silent. The conductor climbs up onto her podium, hands raised, and as they go down, hundreds of mouths open in unison.
There’s a blinding flash, and I look around, unable to see anything but pure white light. I grip at my throat and gasp for air, my entire being on high alert. Why can’t I see anything?
I can’t breathe. “Jenna,” I gasp.
Her hand touches my shoulder out of the abyss. Jenna! I can see her—but only her. She stands next to me in her long, red dress. Her eyebrows pinch together as she frowns. She grabs my arm.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” she says. “Sorry they didn’t tell you. Somebody should have told you.”
Jenna’s eyes wet and a tear forms. As she blinks, long black lashes merging, a drop—not the clear drop of a salty tear, but the thick red of blood—runs down her cheek. It’s as if her eyes are bleeding. One bloody tear is followed by another and another. She wipes them away, and when her hand pulls back, her cheeks are smeared with red. Her eyes open; they are completely black.
I whimper and slip back off my seat.
“Grace?” Mom’s crouched over me, her arms on my shoulders, eyes full of concern. I’m curled up in the corner of our theater box, the lights low.
I check the box next to ours to see if I’m causing a scene, but thankfully all eyes of the small group stare down at the choirs.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’m fine.”
I stand, and Jenna helps me back into my chair.
“Are you okay?” Jenna whispers and puts a hand on my arm. The only red on her face is her wine-colored lipstick, drawn on perfectly.
“I’m fine.” I nod, but I’m scared to look into her eyes. Scared I’ll see the same darkness there from a moment ago. It was another one of those waking nightmare dreams. I know it was. What else could it be?
The men and women lined up on stage are on to a new song. The orchestra plays at the behest of the conductor, and a few beats in, the voices of all the choirs sing.
20
Eva
“Should we read the thing again and see if the aroma gets stronger?” Fiona suggests.
“I guess.” I shrug.
Fiona holds the book up and we read:
We summon you, Aramadao, by the power of the great Inanna, that you appear before us, in order to answer the questions we ask of you. We conjure you, Aramadao.
We summon you, Aramadao, by the power of the great Inanna, that you appear before us, in order to answer the questions we ask of you. We conjure you, Aramadao.
We summon you, Aramadao, by the power of the great Inanna, that you appear before us, in order to answer the questions we ask of you. We conjure you, Aramadao.
Sweat drips down my back, and it’s not just from nerves. The place is warmer. I pull off my jacket and toss it into a corner.
The air around us is dry, and it feels charged. Underneath the sleeves of my sweatshirt my arm hair stands straight up from static electricity.
“Now it smells like roses,” Fiona says.
I nod, because the flowery scent has reached me as well.
The candles’ flames have grown, allowing me to see all the way through the warehouse to the furthest cinderblock wall.
Somewhere a woman laughs softly. It echoes in the open space.
I turn to Fiona, hoping to find it was her. But she’s staring right back at me, no smile or laughter, eyes wide with fear.
The laughter continues, and then the woman says, “You’re almost done.”
Her words send chills through me.
“Did you hear that?” Fiona whispers.
I nod. Gripping my protection stone tightly, I check our feet to make sure they’re still fully within the protection circle.
21
Grace
We’re several songs into the concert now, and I’ve had no repeats of the weird blackout. I feel relaxed once again and I’m enjoying myself. The song ends. I have the program in my lap, so I could check to see what’s next, but I decide to let it be a surprise.
I close my eyes in the remaining beats of silence and wait for it.
“Alleluia!” Smooth and sonorous. I can’t help but smile as the choir sings in unison.
Alleluia Alleluia Alleluia Alleluia
Alleluia Alleluia Aramadao Aramadao Aramadao
I open my eyes.
“What are they saying?” I ask Jenna. I don’t remember that word being in this song.
Jenna’s brows press together, then she smiles. “Alleluia.”
But their voices have all lowered and I’m pretty sure they’re no longer saying “Alleluia.”
Aramadao Aramadao Aramadao Aramadao
Aramadao Aramadao
Something about this word—Aramadao.
My head is dizzy, as if the whole world has flipped upside down. The vertigo is so gripping I grasp the handrail in front of me, for fear I might somehow fall over the edge. Is the theater box moving? I turn back to Mom and Dad, but they’re sitting in their seats, arms folded loosely in their laps. They’re watching the show. Jenna is on the edge of her seat, but it’s excitement I see on her face, not panic.
Fear courses through my veins. I don’t know what the word is they’re saying down there, but I do not like the sound of it. I don’t like it at all.
Very suddenly my skin begins to itch, and my body, or rather my soul, feels like it’s being pulled in all directions at once. And then it’s my physical body being ripped apart as the singers shriek “Aramadao.” I cover my ears, but the pain doesn’t stop. It gets worse and worse until I can’t take it anymore, and I scream out, long and loud, “Make it stop!”
22
Eva
Fiona grabs my hand and together we stand fixed in the protection circle. I search the surroundings for anything that could be the source of the voice and the laughter.
My heart pounds.
“Fiona,” I say, “if you’re messing with me right now, you should know that I would not only be super pissed off, but also eternally grateful. Please tell me you’re messing around and you’ve stashed a set of speakers somewhere around here.”
She frowns and shakes her head. “Sorry,” she says and grips my arm tightly to her.
“Let’s call it off.” My voice shakes.
More chuckles. “No, no, sweeties,” the disembodied voice says. “You’re not done. You’ve got to keep going.”
“Is this Aramadao?” Fiona asks.
Silence.
“What do we do?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. We aren’t supposed to leave the protecti
on circle until we’ve dismissed the demon. But in order to do that, we have to finish summoning her.”
“Couldn’t we dismiss her now?” I ask.
“I guess we could try.”
Fiona lifts the book and skims through until she finds the dismissal. She points to it, and we look at each other, nod, and begin.
“Go in peace to your dwelling until we call upon you again. May there always be peace between us.”
The laughter comes again, mocking, and the smell of roses intensifies. “Sorry, sweeties,” she says. “You’ll have to see this one through.”
“Crap,” I whisper.
“Agreed,” Fiona says.
23
Grace
I wake up laying on the carpeted floor in the hallway behind our theater box, with Mom, Dad, Jenna, the usher, and an embarrassingly large number of strangers hovering around me.
“Oh, thank God,” Mom says. “Are you okay?”
I nod. My head hurts a little, but otherwise I feel a million times better than a moment ago. Until I remember the scream. Oh God. Tears of embarrassment flood my vision.
“Did I interrupt the concert?” I ask Mom.
She smiles meekly but doesn’t answer.
Dad sighs, rubs my shoulder and says, “They’ll be starting again very soon. They paused to check on us. They’ve already called an ambulance, but they should be going again in no time.”
I push myself up, brushing away my mom who pleads with me to lie still.
“I’m okay,” I say. I glance over at Jenna. Her face is red, and she hugs her arms around her waist—appearing almost as embarrassed as I feel. “I don’t need an ambulance, Mom.”
Mom’s brow pinches together and she pins me with a look. “We’ll let them check you out, and then see.”
