Aggressive [Frerard/Rikey]

4. Demons in Seattle (I wish)

The day had finally arrived.

The small group of seven had joined around Frank's house at night, Patrick back in working order, much to Pete's happiness. Frank's parents were gone for both a business meeting and a dinner with their coworkers that Frank knew would stretch long into the night, making this a perfect time.

The clicks of lighters echoed in the mostly quiet basement as bright candles began to illuminate the crudely drawn pentagram (which both Patrick and Lindsey were trying to redraw, since it was deemed too much for them to leave alone in the messy state it had been originally drawn in) on the basement floor, the sweet smell of the incense they had gotten for this ritual burning in the corner. Frank had remembered to turn on the ventilation, just in case the smoke in the room from all the candles and fire and shit got too much, which could very well happen.

But soon enough, the pentagram was drawn mildly better and everything was set up, holy water included, sitting pretty in a chalice on the middle of the pentagram, along with a knife for the blood. How they got the aforementioned holy water involved some lying, a lot of distraction, and stealing. And the pastor finding out and being very weirded out about what was happening. Yeah, Frank doesn't blame him. Having several punk rockers coming in and stealing holy water was definitely a weird thing.

And turns out holy water tastes terrible. Or maybe that's just the holiness against Frank's tongue. He doubts it though.

"Alright, you got it everyone? Everyone say the first incantation six times, and then the knife is to be used to cut your uh - left hand, starting with the biggest sinner and going clockwise, which is either me or Pete to be honest." Patrick let out a laugh as Pete crossed his arms, throwing a glare Frank's way as he read off the glowing screen of Jamia's laptop. "What? We're both the flaming gay guys here. But I mean, everyone at school suspects that I'm the satanist, and not so much you, so whatever. I'll go." Frank said, Pete finally cracking a smile as he did so. "And then do some more shit that you already know to do, and then we'll see if anything happens."

Everyone had gotten it it had seemed like - and they were ready to roll.

Dressed in darker clothing, the seven surrounded the pentagram at key points, the ritual had begun.

"Bush fecit novem undecim," Began to echo throughout Frank's empty home, uttered from the mouths of both the ones who took this seriously and the ones who were just playing along, not expecting a lot, thinking that all that would happen is well... nothing.

But oh boy, were they about to be proven wrong.

The basement air had started to eerily run cold, despite the warmth of the heater vents and the candles as Frank dug the knife into the palm of his left hand, biting his lip harshly as blood dripped down his wrist and into the cup. Damn, that hurt like a motherfucker. And they were expected to do this to both hands? Shit.

Soon the knife and the blood drawing came around the circle as they all kept chanting, all trying to ignore or forget the fact that the room had gone freezing. Frank swore he could see his breath spiral upwards into the air in front of him in the candlelight, and his heart began to race as he screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself to continue to chant with the rest of the group.

And then, just as the ritual was about to end, with the blood-holy water mixture in Pete's hands, him just beginning to smear it across the ground, something happened. Something that Frank before only considered straight out of a damn horror movie.

With a whisper, the all of the candles went out, plunging the seven into complete, heartracing darkness.

"What the fuck?!" Bob nearly yelled, Frank biting his lip so hard he was sure blood ran down his chin.