"So we're testing my blood sugar levels? ...but I'm not diabetic?" Henrietta's brother, Bradley Biggle, was hesitant to her plan.
She shrugged and then said in a very serious tone, "Bradley, you're going to die. It could be eighty years from now or tomorrow. We have to do this today to make sure it's the former." She pricked his finger and collected his blood in a petri dish she pilfered from science class. After she placed the cap on it, she started off for her room, leaving her brother confused at the table.
"Hen, wait! Are you gonna tell me the results? Do I have low blood sugar?" She tuned his voice out the closer she got to her room. Pete was still laying on her bed inside, this time drawing in his sketch book.
"Cool tree. So not conforming to all that popular Halloween shit out right now." Delicately laying the petri dish on her desk, she looked at the book she had opened, making sure she had collected everything. "Got that. Yep. Everything's here."
"The roots are really veins, they're shriveling up because people pollute the ground and it kills it." Pete had completely ignored Henrietta's mumbling, since he was used to it. "And it's falling into an endless cycle of darkness because it's living but can't get nutrients."
"Awesome," Henrietta mumbled as she grabbed the ingredients, mixing them together and then looked around. "...so where do you think I draw the symbol?"
"Um, I don't know. If it was me summoning the ultimate darkness to fuck me hard, I would have Michael put it on my ass. In a haunted house. It'd be so romantic."
"Uh-huh." Henrietta looked around, frustrated. She was going to drip part of the ingredients on the floor if she didn't hurry up and decide where to put it. Making a split second decision, she grabbed the petri dish and started drawing the symbol on her chest, trying to make the lines perfect. After she was three fourths the way through, she said in a monotone voice, "This is the closest I will ever get to my brother."
"That's so dark." Pete commented, appreciating her thought.
She finished, then set the dish down. She could feel the liquid dripping on her skin, but she was pretty sure she had done it correctly. Pete had turned to look at her, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he stared blankly at her chest and then said, "This is as disappointing as the time we tried summoning Chuthlu."
"I did everything right. This proves my life is an empty shell and nothing will complete me." She felt a sting of disappointment, but her face remained emotionless.
"Maybe it didn't work because we're already in Hell." Her friend sat up on her bed, then crossed his legs and put his hands on his ankles, leaning forward. "You look beautiful with that color on you."
"Beauty is disappointing." She glanced at the recipe, then realized she hadn't said the incantation. "Oh." With a hurried whisper, she spoke the Latin and then waited. "...Ah, life is just more disappointment."
"Your Latin was painfully good, though." Pete attempted at reassuring her, and then went back to his drawing. "I almost felt it dying again from the most commonly used language as you spoke it."
The antichrist put his feet up on his hassock, scrolling through his dash on his phone. His demon servant walked over with his tea, and set it on the table next to him. He grabbed it silently and sipped it. "I wish my father would quit liking all my comments. It's annoying."
"I can imagine, sir," The servant said sympathetically, walking out of the room. Damien sighed, leaning back in his velvet chair, rubbing the armrests made of compressed skulls of various sizes.
The silence was actually nice, but he felt sort of lonely. His last romp had decided to go monogamous and it was really bumming him out. Monogamy, hah. Loser, he thought. A frown formed on his lips as he stared off at the grandfather clock, which ticked loudly. It slowly erupted into flames as he glared at it. "Fucking ticking. Who fixed that thing, I thought I broke it for the last time. Hello, who the fuck needs a grandfather clock that actually works? Who doesn't have a phone? Don't you shitheads use our company cell plan? You're part of the fucking framily, idiots!" He watched it burn, ashes floating off of it and sinking to the floor. When no one commented, he sunk back into his chair.
"That was such a perfect comeback, someone should have agreed with me or laughed at their stupidity." He puckered his lips in disappointment, then sighed. "I need to put up a job position for a yes man."
Suddenly he felt his skin crawling, like bugs were underneath his flesh. He looked at his arms and started brushing them off, thinking he got some sulfur on it when he walked past the lava pits. "What the fuck-" his body erupted into black smoke and he disappeared.
"So if it had worked, what would you have done first?" Pete asked, laying on the floor next to Hen. She sighed, staring up at the ceiling that she had painted black, staring at the glow-in-the-dark paint around the edges, spiraling inward to make the darkness look like it was taking over.
"Probably made him set something on fire. Like the whole town." She put her hands behind her head, feeling the bulge of her long pinned up black and dark purple dreadlocks on her hands. "It would have been awesome. We would roast marshmallows next to burning buildings."
"That's sick." Pete said, staring at the ceiling intensely. "I would probably dance around the fire."
"I would let you as long as it's not twerking. If you twerk I would have him set you on fire."
"Fuck twerking," Pete affirmed, and she let herself smile just a tiny bit. That was when she realized the glow-in-the-dark paint was disappearing rapidly on the black, turning the entire ceiling black. At first, she was so amazed at how awesome it was that she didn't say anything. As they laid there, their breath turned white and formed puffs of smoke.
There were only two words spoken as this happened.
"Fucking awesome."