--Daria--

“WE INVOKE THEE! WE INVOKE THEE! WE INVOKE THEE!”

Nothing happens.

Not that I really expected anything. Nothing ever happens that I can tell. This is the third time I’ve done a ritual with Fiona, my co-worker from Tri County Community Action Charity Thrift Store.

On my first day at the new job, Fiona saw my necklace and made some assumptions. There’s a pentagram, an amethyst, a tree of life and all kinds of charms and symbols on the necklace and its happened a lot that wiccans and witchy people assume that I’m into the same stuff they’re into.

It was my Aunt Celia’s necklace. She was into it. I loved her and I miss her, and I wear this necklace in remembrance of her. I don’t mind when people mistake me as ‘witchy.’ It brings back fond memories of weekends at Celia’s which were the best part of my childhood and—well I don’t have any beliefs about the afterlife or spirituality or anything like that. As far as I can tell, there’s no such thing as afterlife, souls, spirits, ghosts, angels, demons or anything. We live, we die, that’s it. Game over. And I don’t want to bring anybody down by telling them that. That I think all of the rituals, crystals, everything is for nothing.

Fiona is a true-believer though. She actually reminds me of my aunt. And I don’t have any friends here, and since I’m a single mother of nine year old twins I have no time for a social life. Inviting Fiona over for strawberry daiquiris and invoking a deity was fun.

We’re standing naked in my dining room, ash and paste smeared over our bodies, symbols chalked out on the floor, salt lining every window sill and threshold, candles burning at each point. Our arms are raised, heads thrown back, loose hair streaming down out backs as we hold for a moment just in case something happens.

Every time we do this, Fiona acts like something really big and obvious is going to happen. When it doesn’t, she never acts disappointed. We just clean up all of the salt, chalk and candles and try again whenever the mood hits her.

This latest ritual is a spell that she found in a book she bought online. It’s supposed to be the personal grimoire of—I don’t know who. The eBay listing really sold it though. Making out like it was powerful and kind of cursed and they just want it gone!

I’m skeptical, but Fiona was 100% sold and so excited when she won the auction.

To me the ink on those pages looks new and ‘distressed’ to appear old. I keep that to myself.

“Mom? Why are you naked?” This comes from a child standing on the stairs in over-sized footy pajamas, brown hair mussed, gripping a squishy stuffed rhinoceros.

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“Ah! Jesus!”

You can tell Fiona didn’t grow up in this by the way she yells and covers her naked tits, like nudity is harmful to kids.

I walk to Jessie, accidentally smearing the line of salt at the doorway.

“I’m just helping Fiona with a ritual. What are you doing up, honey? You have school tomorrow,” I ask as I lead her toward the bathroom. If I’ve learned one thing the hard way it’s that kids should be encouraged to go pee at every opportunity.

“I had a dream,” she says. “There was a smoke-person in my room.”

“That sounds scary.”

She shakes her head, bobbed hair bouncing around. “They were nice. They said sorry for bothering me and asked if I needed any help. Then they left.”

“Huh.”

“It woke me up then I heard you…”

She uses the toilet, washes her hands and I grab my robe out of the bathroom then help her back into bed. It takes all of five minutes, but by the time I come downstairs Fiona is at the door dressed and ready to leave.

“Daria, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think—!”

I wave off her concern. Jessie isn’t hurt at all by witnessing naked women standing around candles.

I open the door for her, but don’t walk her out because my robe is kind of slinky. “It’s okay, Hun. I’ll see you Saturday.”

She gives me a side hug. “See ya, good night!”

“’Night.”

I watch through the blinds for a minute until her uber arrives.

Not for the first time I wonder what Fiona gets out of this. Every spell and ritual we have done together, all at her suggestion, have been for me. She thinks I’m lonely, sad, etc. So we’ve been doing spells to attract love, build community, and stuff like that. I appreciate the gesture because I am new in town, but to me Fiona seems like the lonely one.

Maybe she’s using me as a guinea pig?

Maybe this is a phase, like a new exotic religion she’s trying out?

All I know is I’m in too deep now to turn around on her and say, “Actually, I don’t buy into this at all, and all of this effort is wasted on me.”

Maybe if I can make some friends, go on a couple dates, I could attribute them to her spells, thank her, and give it a rest. The first few times it was fun, I felt nostalgic because it reminded me of the things I used to do with my aunt. It’s getting a little old now.

I’m about to go to bed when I walk past the dining room and see that it’s full of smoke.

What the hell?

Did one of the candles fall over or what?

I rush into the room, but it’s empty. Fiona has cleaned everything up, just like every other time.

I wave a hand through the smoke and—it’s cold. The smoke it freezing cold causing me to shiver as my naked skin breaks out in goose-bumps. I step back and it goes away.

Reaching out, I touch the smoke with the very tip of my finger—still incredibly cold!

My hand slaps against the wall behind me until I hit the light-switch.

Oh. My. Fuck.

My throat tightens and a feel a scream welling up, but the noise that comes out is a squeaky whimper as my knees fold and I fall to the floor.

The thing in front of me is made of smoke, black, sooty smoke and two glowing eyes and it’s got this demonic vibe.

Dizziness sets in and blurred vision. I need to take a breath, but I’m terrified of breathing is this awful smoke. My body is frozen, cold and immobile.

It moves toward me, floating above me. As I stare in bug-eyed horror, the smoke coalesces, solidifies into a very tall, slender person. A person with tall horns arching over their head and a tail slithering around behind them. All deepest, darkest black except for those eyes like two moons shining down at me from the thing’s great height.

“What is it you want of me?”

It’s voice is a slithery whisper. There is no mouth, just these words projected at me.

I—I can’t speak. I don’t know what to do.

Anther whimper/squeak bubbles out of my mouth as I lean back, falling.

Then I pass out.