Length: 1,523
Rating: T
Warnings: Cursing
Summary: Darcy Invidia is a 15-year-old who was born into a family of dark witches, but her parents forbid her from dabbling in witchcraft. One night she takes it upon herself to play around with her father's Ouija board, and she gets herself into the beginning of a drawn-out mistake.
Dark hair, emerald eyes, and ivory skin. Three things Darcy Invidia shared with the long line of dark witches she came from. Based out of Leeds, her family built a bad reputation for themselves. With a knack for hexing, jinxing, and conjuring all things dark and mysterious, the Invidia's have been not only shunned but feared.
While Darcy's parents still practiced black magic, they had made it clear to her that she was to never take part in the art. It was simply far too dangerous.
Darcy was very much the kind of girl that respected her parents and their rules, but at the age of fifteen, she couldn't help but be overcome with curiosity toward witchcraft. Everything about it intrigued her. The plants and potions. The spells and demons. Every last bit of witchcraft held her interest.
Her father had left his Ouija board on the kitchen table one night. Darcy saw that as the perfect opportunity to get involved in the craft. After her parents had gone to bed, she crept out of her room and tiptoed to the kitchen. She sat in one of the wooden chairs at the table that was placed in the center of the room she stared at the spirit board. She had a vague idea of how to use it, but she didn't have nearly enough knowledge on how to use it correctly. Though she knew she shouldn't. Her thoughts raced in an effort to make a decision on whether or not to experiment with the board.
Darcy's hands found themselves impulsively finding the planchette and moving it in a circle around the board. One, two, three laps later the planchette was rested in the middle of it.
"Are there any spirits here?" A whisper escaped her lips. Barely audible, she was careful to speak in a hushed tone so that she wouldn't wake her parents.
The planchette began to move slowly at first, but it quickly became more aggressive. Darcy's hands were neither guided up toward the "yes" or "no", nor did they float across letters that spelled out a word. Instead, they repeatedly moved in a figure-eight motion.
"What do you think you're doing?" A low voice broke Darcy's infatuation with the action taking place at her fingertips. She jumped at the sound of her father. Her hands involuntarily removed themselves from the planchette, and it collided with the refrigerator after flying across the kitchen. "Get your shoes on." He demanded. Darcy did as she was told and waited by the front door for her father.
Odin was his name. He had a talent for conjuring dark spirits, but forbid his daughter from doing so. Despite his constant explanations as to why taking part in such a practice was dangerous, here was his daughter using his Ouija board.
"Are you out of your mind?" His voice broke the silence once again. He joined her at the entrance with the board, planchette, and holy water in hand. "Out." He demanded.
"Where are we going?" Darcy asked in a hushed tone. Her father was silent as he rushed her out of the front door. They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity. "Where are we going?" Darcy asked again, more demanding this time.
"To dispose of the board." Her father sighed, frustration lacing his breath. "Why did you do it?" Before she could answer he spoke again, "After all these years of your mother and I having told you not to get involved not just with witchcraft, but the dark side of it. Do you even know what was happening back there?" His voice was low and hushed, but rage saturated each word.
"I was communicating with," Darcy paused before continuing, "something."
Her father stopped in his tracks to turn and face his daughter. His glare bored into her emerald eyes. "Do you know what that something happened to be?" His jaw clenched as soon as the words escaped his mouth. A bulging vein was in his neck was visible despite the darkness. Darcy was silent in return. Her father lowered his voice before uttering the words, "It was a demon, Darcy."
She opened her mouth about to say something but quickly closed it when she realized her part of the conversation was futile. Instead of asking him any further questions, she followed her father in silence. Eventually, they came to a halt in front of a cemetery. Her father pushed the iron gate open and rushed to the darkest corner of the cemetery. Her father's six-foot-something stature was well ahead of her five-foot one. Darcy quickened her pace in order to catch up, quickly becoming short of breath. Once she took the place by his side, her father forced the Ouija board into her hands.
"Dig a hole in the ground at least a foot deep." His low voice seemed amplified in the dead of night.
"With what? We don't have a shovel." Her brow furrowed, and though the question escaped her mouth Darcy already knew the answer that was coming.
"Your hands. You wanted to do some of the darkest, dirtiest work you can in the magic world, so you can do the dirty tasks that come along with righting your wrongs." Her father growled through clenched teeth. With a frustrated sigh and the roll of her eyes, Darcy got onto the damp, winter ground and began to dig the hole with her bare hands.
"Break that into seven pieces." Her father demanded once the hole was sufficient in size. His gaze never left Darcy's dark figure as she carefully broke the thin wood into seven pieces. "Now sprinkle some of this on to all the pieces. Gently put them in the hole, and then pack the dirt as tight as you can when you bury it." Darcy took the bottle of holy water and followed the instructions her father had given. Once finished, they began the trek back home. The walk seemed to be much shorter on the return trip.
Upon their arrival, the house was dark and silent. Darcy didn't bother to turn on any lights as she attempted to beeline to the bathroom so that she could wash the mud from her hands.
"Just where the hell have you two been?" A sharp voice erupted from the pitch-black house. The voice belonged to Lilith, Darcy's mother.
"Darcy, would you care to explain?" Though it was worded as a question it was a clear demand from her father.
"I'd love to." Darcy mustered through clenched teeth as her father turned on the light to the living room. Her mother was sitting in one of the crimson, velveteen armchairs that occupied the space.
"Please, enlighten me, dear." Her mother's tone was tense, and her glare held Darcy's gaze.
"I used dad's Ouija board and the planchette started moving in a figure-eight, whatever that means, and-"
"I'm sorry? 'Whatever that means?'" Her mother raised a brow. "Are you unaware of the situation you were in? Darcy, an evil spirit just communicated with you. That's what the figure-eight means." Her mother released a sharp sigh. "How come after all these years of us telling you not to get involved in the practice, especially the dark parts of it, you did it anyway?" Darcy went to speak, but all she could get out was a small croak before her mother continued. "I don't know what exactly you managed to communicate with, but I hope you realize that could have ended so much worse if you hadn't closed the board."
"She didn't close the board, Lilith." Her father clarified.
"Do you have any idea what you have managed to do? Are you completely out of your mind?" Her mother's voice steadily rose with each word that flew past her lips.
Darcy glared at her mother. She had inherited her father's cold glare which was useful in most situations. However, this cold glare stood to be insignificant when used on any of her family.
"Darcy Enya Invidia." Her mother snapped due to the glare she was receiving.
"I've already heard all this from dad!" Darcy exploded. "I get it! I made a mistake, I fucked up!" Her arms flew up as a form of surrender. She was aware of the mistake she made, but what more could be done other than disposing of the board. "What do you want me to do about it? I can't turn back time!" Her arms fell back to her sides, and she stood still waiting for her mother's retaliation.
Her mother's facial expression shifted from annoyed to thoughtful. She let out a sigh before she spoke, her voice much softer than before, "Just promise us you won't dabble in the craft ever again. We just want you to be safe."
"Fine," Darcy said before turning and storming away.
While the agreement didn't sound genuine, Darcy didn't associate herself with the craft again. At least not while she was living under the roof her parents provided her.