Chapter One
A Drunken Mistake
GABRIEL
The rumbling sound of someone stumbling about reverberated throughout the studio apartment, fringed with the clattering of objects being either knocked or thrown from their resting place onto the wooden floor.
Gabriel was thrashing about; his emotional state was erratic and deranged, partly because of a recent life event and partly because he was sloshed, plastered; basically, he was drunk as a skunk. In his current state, he’s decided, in a sudden moment of drunken brilliance, that the only way to make things right would be to summon a demon. With that in mind, he’d haphazardly followed some instructions from a book he’d randomly bought some time ago and created a summoning circle in his living room.
As he’d drawn the circle, using a combination of some old candles he’d had under the kitchen sink “for emergencies” and the container of salt that lay in one of the kitchen cabinets. All the while, he’d thought about the life he’d wasted with his ex-partner, Owen, and how he’d suffered years of abuse and torment from the man, fuelling his drunken rage.
‘Now he can suffer the pain and anguish I had to endure.’ He mumbled, his words slurring and partially incoherent.
He figured if he made a pact with a demon, he could enact his revenge. Owen wouldn’t die, but he would be tormented, abused, and begging to die. He wanted him to suffer for days, weeks, or even months because it’s what he believed would be acceptable revenge for his despicable ex-lover, especially when he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.
He paused momentarily in his floundering as he pictured all the horrendous and vile things he wanted the demon to do to his ex-lover, Lucas, and he exploded with laughter. A blood-curdling, evil laugh you would associate with some cliche villain from a movie. His hazel eyes narrowed in focus as he looked at what he’d created and smiled. He was pleased with the results. It wasn’t finished, but it was very close, at least according to the book, which he squinted down at.
The pictures on the page were squirming about and fussy around the edges, thanks to the quantity of alcohol he’d consumed. He plucked up a bottle from the ground, nearly toppling over his own feet in the attempt, before taking a large gulping swig from the contents. The vodka burned his throat as he swallowed, further igniting the rage that burned within him. You’ll soon get what’s coming to you, you bastard.
Glancing once again at the book and then back at the floor, he wobbled for a moment before dropping the half-full bottle of vodka on the floor and heading for the small coffee table he’d moved earlier, to the right of him, to grab some candles, a bowl and some other small random items. Exchanging them for the book, he headed back to the circle, his feet unsteady and his eyes heavy with alcohol and sleep.
‘You’ll pay now, you bastard. You’ll wish you were dead.’ His words came out garbled and disjointed.
Attempting to kneel, he toppled over and landed funny, the items scattering about him. He shouted profanities, both from the pain and from dropping the items he needed. Scrawling on all fours, he scrambled to gather the needed items once more, so he could place them in and around the circle, as the diagram had shown him.
It took a lot longer than expected to get everything sorted; alcohol had made his movements sluggish and bumbling, and his mind a fuzzy mess of uncertainty and confusion. However, even in the state he was in, he was still able to accomplish what he’d planned. He even managed to light the candles without burning himself or the apartment down. He now sat on the floor with the book open next to him.
‘Stupid fucking ... how am I meant to read this. So goddamn small. Fuck!’ He moaned, his inebriated state still making his words a jumbled mess.
The badly crafted circle, with its bowls of water, salt, and some type of herb, that he’d plucked from the fridge but unable to read the name because of his hazed state, the knife, the make-shift cross that he’d stuck together using a silver spoon, fork and Sellotape, and lastly the Barbie doll, which was to be the sacrifice because there was no way in heaven or hell he was capable of killing a chicken or any other live creature. Yes, he was angry with a flame-filled rage he’d never known possible, and yes, he wanted revenge that meant a man suffering unimaginable pain and anguish, but murder. No, he wasn’t like that. He didn’t kill. He couldn’t kill. He wasn’t a monster. So, the Barbie doll was the substitute, and in his intoxicated state, it made perfect sense.
The candles flickered, making ominous shadows dance around the room, making everything look eerie and akin to a horror movie. He’d sat there for a good twenty minutes trying to comprehend the words written in the book to enable him to summon the demon, but with his mind so unfocused and foggy, he couldn’t make out the contents of the tiny text, and it infuriated him to no end. Finally, it became too much. He snatched the book from the floor beside him and chucked it across the room, screaming in frustration as he did so.
His face scrunched up, and he blinked several times as he searched the dimly lit room for his bottle of liquor, eventually finding it where he dropped it, lying in a pool of its own fluids; the wooden floor had soaked up all but a small portion of the bottle’s liquid. His face dropped, as did his mood. He gently picked up the discarded bottle and examined what was left inside. Barely a mouthful. He thought sullenly.
Picking himself off the floor, which took several attempts, as they nearly all ended with him falling back on his ass, he eventually stood and stumbled his way back into the kitchen to garner another bottle of liquid courage. Fumbling about the kitchen cupboards, he finally found another bottle, this one was rum and placed it on the kitchen countertop. Devouring the final drops of vodka, he discarded it onto the floor with a smash, the glass shattering everywhere. Not that he cared. With clumsy fingers, he opened the rum and took a long swig before turning and returning to the living room, using furniture as crutches to stop himself from falling to the floor.
With his bottle of courage in hand, he glared at his masterpiece on the floor in front of him. He scrunched his face, scrutinising every detail as he attempted to recall how it looked in the book. I’m sure it looks the same. Right? With a shrug of his shoulders and a quick sip from the rum, he plodded over to the centre of the circle, where he’d placed the knife.
‘Now, all that’s left is to provide the blood.’ He said to the flickering shadows, his voice a little shakier than before.
Muttering to himself incoherently, he stumbled as he leaned to pick up the knife, almost tumbling to the floor and dropping his bottle. Managing to steady himself, he tried again. Standing there, his hazel eyes glowing a strange orange colour from the candle lights, bottle of rum in one hand and a dinner knife in the other, he hesitated.
‘I need to do this.’ He groaned, ‘I need to make him pay. That cock-sucking bastard should know how it feels. He needs to feel the pain I felt.’ He spat venomously. Although his words were slurred due to alcohol, each one was etched with raw, surging emotion. His face was twisted in anguish, as anger-filled tears streamed down it.
Angrily, he took a larger gulping drink from the bottle, the heat hitting the back of his throat wrong made him cough and splutter, almost toppling him to the ground. In a fit of annoyed frustration, he threw the bottle against the wall with a loud crash. Alcohol dripped down the wall from where the bottle smashed, fragments of glass fell to the ground, and were also embedded in the plaster where it hit.
Sweeping his blonde fringe from his eyes with a shaky hand, he focused once more on the badly crafted summoning circle around him. With a frustrated sigh, he looked down at the knife still gripped tightly in his other hand. Suddenly, a crooked grin formed across his thin lips.
‘I’m so gonna…’ he burped, tasting vomit on the back of his tongue before continuing, ‘gonna make you pay, Owen.’
With more effort than necessary, due to the alcohol consuming his system, he closed his eyes and began reciting the incantation, only to cause himself to wobble and sway erratically. Opening his eyes, realising this was safer, he took a moment to centre himself and, with a shaky, hoarse voice, he once again began to recite the incantation.
After three more attempts, he finally decided to hunt down the book he threw away and read it directly from the page, to get it right. Once he’d finished reading, Gabe glared intently at the little blade, his breath coming in short, sharp puffs.
‘Now, it’s your turn, Owen. Time to feel what it was like to be me. To feel the pain from the abuse and the betrayal, and to be treated like a worthless dog from the streets. This time, I’ll show you.’ At least, this is what he believed he’d said; however, what he said was more a slurred mess of strange sounds, hiccups, and anguished groans. However, this didn’t stop him from laughing bitterly, though he wasn’t sure if it was about the situation or himself.
He raised the knife over his left wrist, his eyes glowing with determination, fear, sorrow, and pain. Since Gabe had finally become free of his abuser and ex-partner, he’d thought of nothing more than to get revenge. Two years of therapy, and this lingering thought had never changed. He needed to get back at his abuser and make him feel even a tenth of what he went through, which helped him cope and move forward with his life.
Whenever the memories of his past became too painful to deal with, he would attempt to drink himself into a stupor, which would end with Tyler being there to stop him. She’d always be his saviour and rock, but even with her, he knew the only way he could truly move on was to get this revenge. If I don’t do this, I will never be able to move on with my life. I will always be stuck in the pain of my past, reliving all those horrific memories. Tears brimmed at the edges of his eyes, but he blinked them away. No more tears!
Just as Gabe moved the knife towards his wrist, ready to slice it open, he heard a click, and then the shadows of the room began to dance wildly. Glancing up, Gabe took in the visage of his friend Tyler. When his green eyes locked with her cobalt blue ones, he instinctively flinched at her cold, distraught expression that was etched on her face. Without even uttering a single word, he could tell she was beyond pissed.
She stood in the doorway, her raven-coloured hair swishing about her head from the wind blowing in from the open doorway. Her eyes were transfixed on him, never drifting away, making him shrink back and begin second-guessing his actions.
‘Gabe, what the hell?’ She asked, slamming the door and making him flinch.
‘I...I...’ He swallowed against the dry lump forming in his throat. His hands trembled as he considered what to do or say next.
His body trembled with anxiety and alcohol. He glanced at the knife in his hand and, for a moment, contemplated whether to proceed. When he looked back at his friend, he noticed that her eyes were no longer on him but down at the knife.
‘For fuck sake, Gabe, not this again.’ She growled, belligerently tossing the bag, which was on her back, onto the floor. ‘You need to stop doing this to yourself, he’s not fucking worth it.’
Gabe hung his head, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it. Inwardly, he flinched upon hearing footfalls on the wooden floor, knowing that his friend was walking towards him. His hand clenched tightly around the handle of the knife, bracing himself against her and preparing to slice his wrist, his mind made up.
‘We’ve talked about this, and I thought you’d agreed to stop all this.’ Her words made him look at her. Tyler had been his only friend during this dark time; she’d been on his shoulder to cry on and rock. He’d never gotten out of that relationship without her or stayed sane afterward.
Tyler now stood before him, eyes full of fear, with one hand outstretched, reaching towards him. ‘Please, give me the knife and we can put a film on, get some snacks, and forget all about this shit, okay?’
Gabe hesitated at her words. He remembered the other times they’d gone through the same thing; however, she’d always managed to talk him out of it, meaning they never got to the finale, where he had to offer up a sacrifice for the deal, namely, blood. His grip tightened on the knife handle again, causing pain to radiate from his knuckles. Not this time.
‘No!’ He screamed. ‘This time I’m doing it. This time I ...’ Tears began to stream down his cheeks, a sob ripping from his chest.
Gabe could see his pain being reflected in his friend’s eyes. She remained motionless, with her hand stretched out.
Tyler was the only person who knew exactly what he’d been through, except for his therapist-who he always thought didn’t give a shit or believe a word he said. She had been the one to pull him out of that darkness. Truth be known, he felt she could do anything for him, should he need it. A true friend. Gabe knew that if she had the money, power, and resources, his ex-partner wouldn’t still be around living his best life. She’d have made sure something diabolical had happened to him and would have provided Gabe with the picture to prove it.
TYLER
Tyler knew that no matter how many times Gabe attempted to summon a demon for his revenge and take back his life in some way, it would never happen, and that made it worse, somehow. They both knew that mage blood was needed for a successful summoning. It didn’t matter what ritual you created or how well you followed the book’s instructions; without the magical properties inherent in a mage’s blood, nothing would ever happen.
She’d been there the first time he attempted a summoning, which had ended in dramatic failure, confirming Gabe wasn’t a mage and causing his emotions to spiral out of control for days. She’d lost a job, having stayed home to look after him like the mama bear she was, and giving him reasons to keep living and moving forward, and not do something stupid, like committing suicide. Yet, even after the first failed summoning, he would eventually try again, and again, and again. Each failed attempt had left her to pick up the pieces, and with each failure, it felt like there was less of him to reassemble.
Tyler sighed wearily. She was already having a shitty day; she’d been fired, her car finally bit the dust, and then she’d had to walk home with a massive storm brewing overhead, not knowing whether she would get soaked or not.
‘Okay, Gabe, okay.’ She took a deep breath, ‘Look, how about we pack this away and try this another day when you’re not so drunk and there isn’t a ginormous storm brewing outside, which we need to prep for.’ Tyler motioned towards the broken bottle on the floor and the flashing lightning, illuminating the large living room window.
She waited a few heartbeats for a response but received only silence and a pained stare. Deciding he’d given up but was too highly strung, emotionally, to move, she inched forward slowly and tentatively reached out her hand in hopes of taking the knife from his shaky grip.
‘No!’ He screamed again, startling her. ‘You can’t have it, Tye. This is my only chance.’ He said, pulling away from her reach, a new stream of tears flowing down his damp and flushed cheeks.
Tyler’s heart ached for her friend. She wished she could take away his pain, his ex, and the memories of his past anguish. He’d always been able to pull on her sympathy strings since the day they’d met, all those years ago. Her mind raced over images of how he’d reacted in previous attempts, and she didn’t know if he’d be able to pull through this time. She knew this time was bad. With previous attempts, he’d been clear-headed and sober, but this was different. She didn’t know what had happened to cause this episode, but no matter, she needed to be there for him. God, I wish we had the money. Why is it that only the rich and famous can afford summoners? This world can kiss my ass.’
Swallowing hard against the sobs that threatened to escape, she spoke. ‘Gabe, please. Please let me have the knife, and let’s stop all this. Stop letting him torment you; he isn’t worth it. Please.’
She began inching closer again, hoping to get through to him and make him back down. ‘I can’t stand to see you so hurt like this, Gabe. Seeing you like this kills me, it does. So, please, give me the knife, and let’s sit down and talk.’
Tyler had managed to get her hands on his knife-wielding one and had almost managed to release the weapon from his iron grip, but before she had a chance to react, Gabe pulled away from her in a flurry of thrashing arms and sobs.
An agonising scream ripped from Tyler’s throat, as hot molten pain shot through her hand and up her arm. In his attempt to get away from her, he’d sliced open the palm of her hand; blood spilt effortlessly to the floor between them. Tyler couldn’t stand the sight of blood; she could already taste the bile rising at the back of her throat. She’d grab her bloodied hand with her other hand, attempting to stop the flow of blood, all whilst sucking in deep breaths to calm herself and not throw up.
Taking a second to remove her sight from her blood-covered hands, she glanced up at her friend, who was now curled up in a ball on the floor, the knife lying next to him, as he sobbed his heart out like a child, whilst repeating the word ‘sorry’, between sobs.
‘It’s okay, Gabe. I’m fine.’ She forced a smile, her heart breaking as she stared down at her friend. She knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her; it had been a drunken accident. Now, to get him to understand that and believe it.
Gripping her bloodied hand tighter, attempting to slow the blood flow even more, she added. ‘Look, why don’t we get all this cleaned up and ...’
Her words were interrupted as a gust of wind blew through the room, extinguishing all the candles and the only light in the room. Yet, no matter where she turned, the room was somehow lit with a green and red glow. This can’t be good. What exactly did we do? The shadows stretched, danced, and twisted, warping into strange, creepy shapes. The room began to heat up uncomfortably, followed by a violent gust of wind, which crashed through the room, tossing about magazines, small ornaments, and anything light that wasn’t nailed down. That included messing up her hair... again.
‘Fuck!
*© Copyright 2025 Gemma Newey (Misty Shade), all rights reserved.*
