The demons Familiar

Prolouge

    The room was cold and damp, air thick with condensation after the previous days rain storm. He, Matthieu, sat on the floor of an old home. With each movement the floor creaked and whistled, but he paid it no mind as he unrolled an old rag over top it.
    The rich red of the rag contrasted with the dark floorboards, and Matthieu was grateful for not having to use his brothers industrial metal flashlight; he swore that thing could blind a man if used the wrong way. He grabbed the twelve slim candles held within the rag, each a deep red with varying heights; he could only hope that Arthur, his older cousin, would forgive him for stealing his dining room candles for this.
    He lined the candles in a large oval, putting the longer new candles in the middle sections with the shorter older candles on the outskirts, and then pulled a bundle of white twine within a pocket of his red hoodie.
    Saying a simple chant as he wound the twine around each candle, and carefully tied the ends together; he looked over his oval carefully to make sure everything was still standing, and smiled when he saw that it was.
    Matthieu produced a rather large cylinder of salt from his backpack, pulling it free of its plastic prison; ritual or not he refused to have a backpack full of salt. Opening the tab on the top of the cylinder, he poured the salt around the oval.
    He closed the tab on the top of the cylinder, setting it off to the side precariously; pressing a finger into the salt circle and then licking his finger free of the grains, his brother made a noise of disgust but otherwise kept quiet. He pulled the final items he would need from his hoodie pocket; an old scrap of fabric from, one of his favorite hoodies that didn't fit him anymore which he turned into a pillow that now sat on his bed, with a red and white chevron bracelet tied to it, as-well as a paper box of matches.
    He set the scrap fabric in the center of the oval, and pulled a match free from its home.
    It took two strikes to light the match, but its warm glow filled the dark room. He mumbled the lines he'd been quick to come up with on the drive, making sure he wouldn't stutter.
    "Come to me. Wee spirit." His voice echoed in the room, sounding quite haunting in the old home. He lit the ends of the oval nearest to him, two candles burning like twins.
    He could see his brother shiver in the doorway as he continued onwards to the next set of candles.
    "For I have a need." The second set of candles burned with the first, lighting the room in its glow. He sped up slightly, uncomfortable having this much fire within a wooden home.
    "I only offer thee, the sins." He whispered, stumbling over a few words but keeping the pace steady.
    "That are my legacy." Four of the candles remained unlit, two were meant for him to whisper 'sins' he had committed; though the last two were meant to act as unity candles.
    "I lie to my brother almost every day." He lit of of the candles, and shuddered; he felt like he were being watched, but nobody was around him other than Alfred.
    "I'm not a virgin." He stuttered, mentally punching himself as he lit the candle.
    He lit the final two candles in quick succession to one another, then flicked the match out.
    The candles light flickered slightly, meaning something had arrived, and so he grabbed the scrap fabric from the circle. He untangled the bracelet from the scrap fabric, and began to put out the candles one by one; when the task was finished both unity candles sparked up again, so he put them out once more.
    He stuck his finger in the salt once more and licked it clean again, he was sure his brother was getting worked up over it from how he grumbled in the doorway.
    Using the piece of burnt scrap fabric, Matthieu pushed a hole in the circle of salt, only big enough for a small animal to walk through.
    The floorboards creaked and his brother let out a shriek, causing Matthieu to laugh. "Alfred that was me." Matthieu wiped a tear from his eye and doubled over in a fit of laughter. His brother simply glared at him from the door, the camera dangling around his neck from when he'd dropped it.
    "Not cool man. I thought some crazy demon was here to, I don't know, feast on my organs... or something." Alfred whined, looking like a child as he sulked in the doorway.
    Pulling the strand of hair that had fallen into his face to tuck it behind his head, Matthieu gestured to the oval of candles and then to the film equipment they had also set in the room. "Let's clean this up and go home."
    Ever proving Matthieu's theory of his brother being a lazy man child, his brother sighed and stopped the recording on the camera against his chest.
    He smirked knowing he got a victory tonight, and some interesting footage for their ever growing popularity.
——
  "-aster" a scratchy voice spoke.
    A cold hand was pulling on his shoulder, shaking him softly within his bed. He groaned, swatting the hands away from his shoulder and rolled back onto his side.
    The hand returned to his shoulder when he only wanted to go back to sleep, so he begrudgingly opened one of his eyes to peek outside of the warm duvet on top of him. The big blue letters of his alarm read '3:17', and he growled out.
    "Go back to bed Alfred, it's just a nightmare. Stay in here if you want, but just be quiet." He pleaded, assuming his brother had snuck into his room after having a nightmare, regretting his decision to play around with his brother.
    "Master." The scratchy voice made his blood go cold, he sat up in bed quickly.
    He scanned up the blurry figure before him, reaching for his pocket knife in the darkness. The figure handed him something, and judging from the bite of cold metal in his hands he assumed it was his glasses; although he'd managed to find the pull tag of his lamp, and in a hurry, turned his bedside lamp on.
    When yellow light flickered into the room Matthieu could make out the shape of a person, they were small and short.
    After slipping his glasses onto his nose he got a better look at them. A man, with short wild white hair, red eyes that flowed softly, yellowed blouse, trousers that puffed at the ends where they were tucked into black heeled boots, and finally, a red and white chevron bracelet tied around his slim wrist.
    He grabbed his pocket knife from off the  bedside table, holding it out in front of him defensively.
    "W-who the hell are you?" He stuttered, he panic in his voice battling against his raising level of fear.
    The man lit up, a wide smile spreading over his face. "My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, you summoned me to be your familiar." He said in a scratchy voice, sitting down next to him on the bed.
    "Eh?"