Gateway to Pandemonium [Open Novella Contest III] || Completed

I

This story begins a few years before the present day.

I used to have a group of friends who lived telling each other horror stories and scaring each other. All the stories where fake of course, but the unnerving feeling and trill of the scare excited them. One night I was out with them and we were sitting deep in the woods around a small campfire. I actually didn't want to be there at all, I didn't even really like them. They were dull and not that interesting, but they had alcohol and drugs and I needed a distraction. Plus my best friend liked them and I liked him so how could I say no?

I never really was into any of the stuff, but that night I desperately wanted to forget everything around me. Forget what it was like to be alive. I didn't dare to do drugs, but I did drink the alcohol, even though it tasted terrible. We were all quite drunk or high by the time people began to tell their stories. We laughed and giggled and screamed at all the stupid things we were making up.

But then a girl, her name was Alyssa, suddenly got very serious and nervous.

"I know a story." She said with a shallow voice. I knew she was incredibly stoned, but somehow her eyes looked more alert than ever.

"It's called the Legend of The Gateway to Pandemonium and it's not just a story. It is real. My uncle and his brother tried it when they were teenagers. My uncle's brother was never found again after it. He completely disappeared off the face of the earth." Some people snickered at her cliché way of describing it, but she looked dead serious. I got the unnerving feeling that this story was going to be very different from the rest.

"If you perform the ritual stated in the legend you will be able to enter hell. You open the door and can find your way to the Devil himself to ask him anything you wish for." And then she started reciting the rhyme with a core chilling, hunting voice:

'thou who wishes to enter Pandemonium, give heed to the following:

One cup to be filled with the darkest red liquid known,

let dedication be shown.

Light the wick embedded in wax

when the moon is at its apex.

Await while the clock keeps ticking,

Until reflections starts ripping.

Solely then the hour has stricken,

that you may enter to the place that's forbidden.'

And then she fell quiet. Everyone looked at her, some even commented on her ability to tell the story so well but she did not react in the slightest.

The next day she was found dead in her bedroom; completely ripped open and blood everywhere. Her roommate was found in the same state in the room next door. The apartment was a complete mess and after a week of investigating the police concluded that they were murdered, but the murderer was never found.

The most noticeable thing of the scene was that every mirror was destroyed, apart from the one across form Alyssa's bed. It was completely clean and not a scratch to be found, even though the walls next to it were smudged with blood and filled with cuts on the wallpaper. It seemed as if someone had cleaned that mirror for some specific reason. You would think that something like that would scare a person from ever trying to do the ritual. But alas, I was desperate.

A week after Alyssa's murder, my life came to a crossroad. I had been playing with the ridiculous idea to try the ritual for myself. I needed to do something about what was happening, but knew that this might be a last and final act of a mad woman. But that night the decision was made for me. One call from the hospital was enough. If I didn't try that night, I would lose the best person in my life.

So half past midnight, when the moon was almost at its apex, I took a candle, a lighter, a cup and a knife and sat down in front of my mirror. I put my phone against it so I could see the time. Then I took the large kitchen knife a hesitantly cut across the palm of my hand. Squeezing my hand above the cup I let my blood drip into it. But it didn't fill up completely. Not wanting to take the risk by not filling the cup completely, although the rhyme did not specify the amount of blood, I took the knife in my now injured hand and cut the other as well until the cup was filled with a good amount. Clearly not having thought everything through I dripped blood everywhere on myself and on the carpet, plus I still needed to light the candle. After a few hurtful tries I managed to light the candle.

Now with the cup and the candle in my hand I waited as the last few minutes ticked by. My tired reflection stared back at me through the mirror. Sleek, dirty long hair framed my face and the candle light emphasized the purple bags under my eyes.

I questioned if I needed to say words to activate the ritual, since I felt so useless just sitting here. But while I waited, and the time of when the moon was expected to hit its apex passed, nothing seems to happen. I kept looking at my reflection. The sadness reflected back at me in the darkness of the room. It seems as if I became more and more sad as time ticked by.

But then my face in the reflection twitched. I jerked up and blinked. Scanning my own face I did not see anything happen that I didn't feel happening.

Then my reflection smiled. First it was only a small twitch of the lip. But then it grew and kept growing until it seems that my face was going to split in half. The eyes of my reflection grew wide, the eyebrows raised.

Suddenly it started freaking out, limbs jerking and bending in the most horrible ways. I wanted to look away but couldn't. I wanted to look down at my real body to see if what was happening in the mirror were happening in real life. Not only couldn't I physically look down, but I was so afraid that if I looked away now all would be lost. So I sat frozen as I looked on as my body in the mirror curled with pain as if being shocked by electricity over and over again.

With a blink of an eye the reflection was pressed up against the glass, the huge grin once again back on my face. It's eyes locked with mine and I felt it laughing. Yes, I did not hear a sound but I knew it was laughter. Hysterically laughing at me without moving a muscle.

Then it whispered: "those not afraid to look away, may enter."

And the mirror shattered.

--------

Would you dare to perform a ritual like this? I like to think I would, but probably chicken out. Leave a vote if you on the other hand would!

Freya X