Authors note: this story was inspired by the writings of Cheerful Deviant. It's my first stab at this genre, I hope you all enjoy it. The action is F/F, if you aren't into that, this one probably isn't for you.
CET
* * * * *
Lightning flashed and the booming retort of thunder split the night, shaking the ancient farm house to its crumbling foundation. Dust and tiny pieces of rotting wood fell from the ceiling, mimicking the rain pelting down on the obscenely twisted oaks in the yard.
Mandy Richardson blinked hard and clutched the worm-eaten, leather bound tome in her hand. Murder had been done in this house back before Croswell had even been a town. Everyone knew the story; old man Yokam's eldest boy had always been touched. One night during a storm he took an axe and did his whole family in, eight folks altogether. The property had been considered bad luck since then, and with the exception of out of town folks, it had remained abandoned. The occasional people who did buy it, not knowing its grisly past always sold out and left soon. Vague rumors of a nameless fear and strange happenings scared most off within a month.
Mandy felt the fear, felt the clawing of unseen hands at her body and heard the restless whispers. She didn't care. Her eyes were still stinging from the 'in' clique's latest practical joke at her expense and while she could hear the whispers, they were drowned out by the echoes of laughter.
She could see them now, jeering, pointing, and enjoying her torment. She hated them, hated them all, especially Stewart, who had convinced his sister to play up to her. However, her hatred for Stewart paled in comparison to her hatred for Mrs. Moran because she sat there, sat there watching them and enjoying Mandy's torment. And when she had finally snapped and said shut up, the bitch had sent her to detention, given her three demerits, and ruined her Saturday. Nothing for them though, not even a reprimand. Mandy almost thought the bitch had dreamed the stunt up herself, so maniacal was her glee.
She couldn't help being gay, and the constant harassment, whispers and mean spirited practical jokes had finally taken their toll. Something inside the rail thin butch had finally snapped. The suppressed rage had welled up into an all consuming fire that burned out reason and her better instincts. It burned so brightly that it allowed her to overcome the crushing fear and mount the stairs to the second floor.
The book in her hand came from her father's library. He was a professor of languages at the local university, and had imparted his love to his only daughter. He had never showed her this book though. What sane man would expose his child to the Libro de Malo, the book of evil? How many times had she snuck into her father's library, intent on trying the spell she had found within its crumbling pages? Too many to count, but tonight her rage was such that she would try anything.
The upstairs room was just a flat loft. Floor boards creaked ominously, flexing under her weight. The old place would probably fall in on itself someday soon. From her bag she brought out the eight special candles. Her parents found her sudden fascination with candle making cute. They might have been more concerned if they had ever connected the break in at the college's nursing school with her interest. She had risked a lot there. She was sure she could have played it off as a prank and it was the only way to get human tallow candles in this day and age.
Mandy placed the candles in a circle, using her little brother's Boy Scout compass to align them with the eight cardinal points. She lit a small battery powered lamp, rummaged in the bag until she found her little sister's sidewalk chalk, and using various colors, painstakingly sketched the complicated pattern of lines and circles on the floor. She consulted the diagram in the book often and twice had to use her shirt to fully erase misdrawn lines.
From her bag she pulled out the small sterling silver creamer she had lifted from her mom's serving set. She hoped it would fit the bill, but was unsure as the book called for a solid silver ewer. She also drew out her brother's pen knife and finally the little white box that held the mouse she had taken from the sticky trap in their basement. She looked inside and saw it was barely breathing. She had to move quickly. A last pang of doubt passed over her, but she hardened her heart and thought of her English teacher, Mrs. Moran.
Hate overcoming fear she quickly stripped, lit the candles, and seated herself in the circle. She began with the first incantation, reading from the book rather than trusting her memory. She took the knife and slit the nearly dead mouse's throat, watching its blood drain into the creamer. The next incantation was more complicated and required her to pull out a strand of hair, an eyelash, and some of her soft blonde pubes. These items went into the creamer and she finished the incantation by spitting into it as well.
She took up the knife again and bit her lower lip, before beginning to speak. As the words flowed haltingly from her mouth she pricked each of her wrists and each of her breasts, allowing a drop of blood from each wound to fall into the creamer. Sweating now, she felt the fear almost as strongly as the hate. The storm was howling with unimaginable fury and the thunder came so loud and often the whole building shook.
With shaking hands she lit the small sterno she had swiped from the camping goods store. She put the creamer over the flame and called out the last few words in Latin as a crashing bolt of lightening rent the heavens, knocking out power in a three county area. Her camp light dimmed to almost nothing and she wondered if the battery was dying. It was then that she realized the room had grown dark. Not your ordinary dark, but an impenetrable blackness that slowly coalesced into a dark figure in the corner. Creeping tendrils of darkness oozed around the room, and for several minutes Mandy sat there in abject horror as the inky psuedopods tested the symbol she sat within. She felt malice, deathless, ageless and implacable, like a living thing. Sweat poured from her body and terror clutched at her heart.
At last the tendrils withdrew and the dark figure took on the shape of a tall man with flaming eyes and gleaming teeth. Mandy was petrified, but inwardly exulted.
"Thou has summoned me. My time on this plane is short, what is it thou desires?"
"Revenge," Mandy said, her voice cracking.
The creature laughed, a hideous sound that raised gooseflesh on her body. The sound actually caused pain, it was so malevolent.
"Thy are afraid, as well thy should be. If thou had failed to complete the summoning or failed to protect thyself I would drag thee screaming into the void. An eternity of torment for mine amusement would be thy lot. But thy need have no fear. While the candles burn, I cannot harm thee. I may grant thee revenge, but thou must specify what thy wants."
"Don't you know?" Mandy asked in a tiny voice.
"All things that come to pass in this pitiful world are known to me, but it is not within my mandate to act upon thy wishes in the way I would find most pleasing. Thy must specify what thy wish, and thou must do so quickly,"
"Why quickly?"
"If thy summon me without specific cause, then thy protection is forfeit," he answered with a leering smile.
"Then kill them. Kill them all, starting with Mrs. Moran," Mandy said, her voice quavering.
"As you wish," the figure said, but she could hear the disappointment in his voice as he turned.
"Wait!" She cried.
"You try my patience girl!" The creature snarled, his accent changing from old English to something more modern as his form shifted to that of a bent old man.
"I command you! Until the candles burn away," she asserted.
