The Derelict Shed

The air was brisk and the sky dark as the overcast blocked any light from the moon or the stars. Autumn had swept the country side and brittle red toned leaves carpeted the forest floor. Rodents could be heard scuttling around in the foliage underneath the cover of nightfall, foraging for food. They bypassed a small rickety shed, barely concealed within the timber. Inside were three youths sitting in a semi-circle with a makeshift bowl made out of aluminum foil placed between them on the mangled planks of the derelict structure.

They sat in all black, two boys and one girl, staring intensely at the contents of the bowl. A small breeze filled the air and rapped against the shed shaking the unsteady dwelling. The trio either didn’t notice the impending threat or ignored it entirely. They had fought their way through the crumbling thicket into the mutilated structure with bags full of paraphernalia that could have had them all arrested, intent on getting results.

Inside the crude basin, blood, bones, dirt, spit, and other unseemly additives swirled together in a concoction made with the intent to supply the youths with something they felt they couldn’t otherwise achieve: power. The threesome had called onto a stronger, darker, authority; whether out of desperation or narcissism was unclear; to provide them with their desire. Within the decaying walls of the shack they waited anxiously for some indication that they would indeed obtain their ambitions.

After a minute or so with no results they began to converse quietly, questioning as to if their ceremony had been enacted correctly. A faint blue glow illuminated their faces as they reread the ritual on the screens of their smartphones in irritation. They began to oppose each other, insisting someone had did something wrong, from getting the wrong ingredients to finding a bogus ceremony off of Google.

The wind began to pick up outside and the walls began to violently convulse around them, almost vibrating. Dust that had collected between the pieces of wood quickly filled the air choking the youths as they breathed in deep panicked breaths. All were suddenly engrossed with fear and began to struggle with the small rusted latch that acted as a door into the shed. Each nudge caused the shack to lean inward threatening a collapse though the latch itself would not lift.

The trio coughed violently, panic quickly advancing into hysteria. Suddenly the dust seemed to funnel directly into the mouth and up the nose of the girl. She clawed desperately at her throat to try to relieve the blockage. She tried to scream for help but made nothing but a gurgling sound as the oxygen quickly began fleeting from her brain. She reached out to her companions who sat in shock and horror doing nothing to help the poor girl as she gagged on the grime of the shelter. She slumped forward, head dangling limply in front of her as the last of the dust made its way into her airwaves.

Over their initial shock, one of the boys gingerly reached out towards their comrade to check her pulse. As his fingertips touched her nape, she jerked up, blood slowly leaked from her nostril. She stared at her friends with cold dark eyes and asked, in a voice incapable for a human to possess, why the group had called out to her.

The boys stared in silence and horror which caused the thing that was once their friend to grin, its lips spreading farther than they should have been able to. In a fearful, timid voice, one of the boys muttered the answer: power; which caused the thing to smile, the corner of its lips spreading almost to its ears. Then it laughed, one loud, booming cackle, so unexpected it caused on of the boys to urinate himself.

It nodded. It was money, respect, and power, always. The thing smiled at the boys, the big unnatural smile and agreed to give them power, for a sacrifice in which it would not say the nature of. The boys agreed and once again it laughed. Almost instantly the bottom of the shed fell away and they all dropped into an abyss from which nothing has ever returned. They were given the power to decline the demon’s offer and the sacrificed their lives.

Moral of the story: Don’t go messing with demons. Happy Halloween.20151028_132825

About the Author

Sierra Beeler is a freshman English major at UNC Charlotte. An aspiring screenwriter, she hopes to one day entertain the masses with a book series turned television show she hopes will "put J.K Rowling to shame." When not working on one of her many uncompleted projects Sierra enjoys meddling in other people's personal lives, being obnoxious in public places, screaming to heavy metal songs in the shower and crying over fictional characters.
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