Hi everyone! Welcome to my update. A few words from your author: Funnily enough, I have never summoned a demon and I am not a Satanist so there may be several inaccuracies in the following chapter. I got my info from various very scary websites, god bless the internet, and would like to say a hearty 'Don't Try This At Home' just in case! Now, enjoy...Oh, and please, please review, thank you!

Chapter Five: Under the Thrall

1767

He was running. It was springtime. Everything was in bloom and beginning the slow, wonderful journey into life. The trees were alive with soft, pink blossoms and ripe, green leaves shining with dew. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a gentle blue with small puffs of fluffy cloud dotted here and there. The lazy sun was just beginning to ascend to the heavens where it would shine warmly over the towns and villages below.

He was running, although he was not built for speed. His legs were far too short, his frame too heavy, and the tell-tale beads of sweat were starting to appear on his forehead. He did not notice though. He was happy because nothing made him happier than running to catch Gaston's prize. The musket shot had sounded mere seconds beforehand and the moment he had heard it, Lefou had started running. Gaston would hit it, of course he would, he never missed—and lo, there was the bullet, there was the soft thud as it pierced the heart of the biggest goose; the one leading the flock. The rest dropped formation and scattered all over the sky, all fearing the feel of a slug in their tails, but Gaston had used his one bullet—one was all he needed—and has used it well. The lone bird started to tumble towards the ground—fifty feet or so beyond the point where Lefou was now standing, his eye trained to the sky. Fifty feet away. He would catch it this time. He knew it. He started to run again.

"I got it! I got it!" he cried as he ran, feeling the fragrant air whistle past his large ears. Gaston was strolling along somewhere behind, watching his lackey. Lefou knew he was. If he could just catch this goose first time and feel the delightful thump of its body as it hit his chest, stroke its feathers with his sweaty hands, Gaston would smile, and when Gaston smiled at him, he often felt fit to burst with pride.

He was almost there. The bird was mere feet above him. If he just pushed himself that little bit more and stretched out his podgy arms a little bit further…

The goose landed on the floor, inches from where Lefou's feet stopped. He was so close. Suddenly, he began to feel dizzy. His heart-beat echoed too loudly in his ears. THUMP THUMP THUMP. He bent over and put his head in his hands. So close.

The heavy footfalls of Gaston's best leather hunting boots grew louder. They sounded angry. They never used to be, Lefou was sure of it, yet there they were, stomping along. Surely he wasn't mad. He'd tried so hard this time. He raised his head and craned his neck to look into Gaston's big blue eyes. Blue as the sky. They weren't blue though. Not anymore. They had been once. Now they were dark, so dark. How he wished they were blue again.

"Lefou…" said Gaston.

Inexplicably, Lefou began to sob. His voice was wrong. It was all wrong…but it was Gaston. He knew it was. Gaston, the proud hunter, whose picture hung on every wall. His friend.

"Shut up!" snarled Gaston, baring teeth that were maybe just a little too pointy. "You have failed me again, Lefou!"

"I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," sobbed Lefou.

"You can't do anything right. You're useless!" he boomed.

"I know…I know, master."

Wait a moment…Master? Where did that come from?

"Master?" chuckled Gaston. "Why, whatever are you babbling about, Lefou? It's me, Gaston."

"I know, Gaston. Sorry…I don't know why I…"

"Hmmm…," said Gaston, as he stroked his perfect chin. "On second thoughts, I think Master works well, don't you? After all, do I not tell you what to do? Do I not rule you? Do you not owe me your life?"

"Ye…yes, Ga…Master. I do," whimpered Lefou.

"Look at me, Lefou. Look what you did to me."

Lefou was obedient. He gazed at his friend, and was horrified. His once-handsome face was a mess, lined with angry cuts and bruises. His favourite red shirt was torn and bloody. His shooting arm was suddenly bent the wrong way. His other arm was dislocated. Gaston laughed and turned around. His skull was smashed in. Lefou wanted to vomit but nothing came out. His tears were flowing fast now.

"You did this to me, Lefou," hissed the thing that couldn't be Gaston. "It's all your fault."

Lefou couldn't speak for blubbering. The sky, the meadow, the trees in bloom—they had all disappeared. Everywhere was black.

"I was relying on you, Lefou. I needed you. You let him kill me."

"But…but…" sniffed Lefou. "I tried, Gaston, I tried! I couldn't get to you."

"That is a pathetic excuse and you know it! You let yourself be beaten by furniture! That is cowardly. No friend of mine would have let that happen!"

Lefou curled himself up into a ball, tears threatening to swallow him whole.

"I…I miss you, Gaston. I miss the fun we had together. I'd do anything for you. I tried, I really did."

Gaston knelt down next to him, and gently tilted his chin up to look at him again. His face…it was whole once more! Even his eyes were blue!

"You must try harder, Lefou. I need you to help me. You're almost there. Just a little bit longer."

"But…but…I can't do it! It's hopeless! I've tried everything!"

"You must never give up. Would I give up?"

Lefou shook his head dejectedly.

"Gaston?" he whispered. The bigger man knelt closer. "I don't like it. It scares me. Is there another way? What if it all goes wrong?"

"It won't go wrong. Not this time."

"Really? You think so?"

"Of course. I'm never wrong. You just need to try a little bit harder. For me. Can you do that, Lefou?"

Lefou leapt to his feet. "Oh, I will, Gaston! I will! I'll do it this time. I'll make you proud."

Gaston grinned, his teeth white and perfect once more. "That's what I like to hear! Now, go! Get started! Vengeance must be ours."

"Vengeance must be ours!" repeated Lefou.

As Gaston faded away, the daylight returned. The birds were singing and the grass was swaying gently in the breeze. The sunlight was brighter now and it shone in Lefou's eyes. He awoke. It was morning.

Seventeen years. Almost half his lifetime. That's how long Lefou had spent trying to avenge Gaston. Every new moon, regular as clockwork. He had repeated the ritual over and over again, but to no avail, and every time he wanted to give up, every time nothing materialised out of his chants and talismans, every time he realised his ordeal was fruitless, he dreamed of Gaston and his faith was restored. After all, Gaston was always right and Gaston needed him. It gave Lefou an enormous sense of well-being knowing that. Gaston needed him. It almost made the long hours of tedious torture worthwhile. Almost. Lately, Lefou was having doubts. The dreams had always been the same—the hunt, the bird, Gaston—but during the last couple of years or so, he'd noticed things. Things that weren't right, Things that made him wonder if it was even Gaston in his visions, or an impostor. Something was slipping.

Yet, he carried on. It was the same routine, month after month. He would wake up refreshed and then head into town. He liked being in town. It was once again what it had been before. Traders sold their wares from barrows. Wives bought their weekly groceries. Children laughed and played as they went to the schoolhouse. Even the tavern was busy once more. It was not the same place--it never could be—but it was a haven for the men of the town again. Gaston's portrait was still there, as was his chair, but now they were treated as relics, artefacts of a bygone era. He had started to become a legend, a myth. Some nights, the patrons would gather round the fire and tell stories about him, most of them greatly exaggerated.

"Why, he was near ten feet tall! His legs were like tree trunks and his hands were like the paws of a bear!"

"Once, he fought a giant stag with his bare hands! I saw it! Almost gouged him it did, but he fought back, and he got it! That there's its antlers on that wall."

Then, the crowd would gasp and whisper excitedly amongst themselves as the fire died down. Lefou never went in there anymore. It had lost its sacredness. He did not like the way Gaston was being reduced to a tall tale. They'd even started brewing an ale named after him. Lefou had tried it—it was nothing remarkable, it was not worthy of carrying Gaston's name—yet it was their best seller. He hated it. How dare they! None of them really knew Gaston, not the way Lefou knew him. Only he had spent every day with him, only he had been there through the good and bad times, only he truly cared about him. That was why he was the only person alive who could avenge Gaston's death, yet he also knew he could not do it alone. He needed help. That was what the rituals were for.

So it was, one moonlit night, like so many other previous nights like it, Lefou sat on the floor of his cottage surrounded by the many books he'd accumulated over the years and many examples of occult paraphernalia. He had marked a circle with white cord and placed black candles around its circumference. There was another circle outside that one formed from crushed herbs. It was supposed to protect him, yet so far it had never been needed. Lefou sat completely still in the centre and visualized the circle all around him. He wasn't even sure what or who he was summoning, but he knew in his heart, it would help him—if the ritual worked, that was. He drew a pentagram with chalk and lay down within it, aligned with its points. Mentally, he called out, and prepared himself for failure once more.

The candles went out. He was in total darkness. That had certainly never happened before. There was obviously a draught coming from somewhere. Curses! Now, he would have to start all over again. Lefou sat up, allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and screamed. Rather, he tried to scream but his vocal cords had been shocked into a state of silence.

There was a creature in front of him. It was almost invisible; blending seamlessly with the darkness, but it was definitely there. Its eyes met Lefou's and seemed to bore right into the back of his skull. For the briefest of moments, Lefou was elated. It has worked! After all these years! Finally! His joy did not last long, however. It was quickly replaced by fear. He was icy-cold, and he was terrified. His stunned mind desperately searched his memory banks for the best way of addressing a demon, for it did not speak to him at first. It just kept on staring. Could it be a hallucination?

Miraculously, Lefou found his voice.

"Are…are you the almighty being whose coming was foretold to me?" he squeaked.

"I am," it replied. Its voice, if you could call it that, made Lefou shudder. It sounded like dead leaves and shadows. A harsh, yet velvet-like whisper.

Lefou struggled to remember the next line.

"I embrace…no…I long to embrace…er…eternal…"

"I have been waiting for you, Lefou."

It knew his name, and it was ignoring the sacred texts that every book on the dark arts had said were necessary when first engaging a demon. What manner of forsaken creature was this?

"It is time. You have been patient and for that you must be commended. It takes a man of indomitable spirit and inner strength to endure what you have these past seventeen years. You have my respect."

"Th…thank you," gulped Lefou.

The creature grinned. Fool! it thought. This little man will be no sport at all! He bends so easily to my empty praise, and he accepts my words readily. It will be so easy.

"I…I am yours, oh great one. I am your devoted slave if you will help me right my wrongs. Your will is my own."

The creature grimaced behind its grin. What is this drivel he is spouting? Nonsense words from heretic's scriptures, no doubt. Mortals are indeed easily led, even by their own kind.

"I know what it is you seek, Lefou. I can help you attain it, but you must help me also. Are we agreed?"

Lefou rose shakily to his feet. "Yes, master," he whispered. "What must I do?"

The creature moved like a shadow and engulfed its willing victim.

"Listen carefully," it hissed.