She lay crookedly in the stained trunk of Kertus’ rugged sedan, as the two individuals regarded her. Flakes of blue paint from the chipped exterior surround her. Kertus looks up at Brent with a sly grin, knowing he has done well. Brent runs his hand along the sleek cuts on her body, spelling out her name. They faintly glow purple, as if a dull fire rages within them.

“Betty” Brent mumbles, gently brushing the jagged glowing letters. They are cold to the touch.

“As requested” Kertus affirms, “However, I do not appreciate such a public meeting place.” Brent removes his hand and looks Kertus in his deep purple eyes.

“How much?” he asks, pulling out a faded leather wallet from his cheap jeans. Kertus regards Betty for a moment.

“We risk exposing ourselves meeting like this…” Kertus pauses, “five hundred dollars, given the dangers.” Brent sighs and hands him five folded one hundred dollar bills.

“Fine,” he mutters. Kertus’ slender hand extends from his trench coat and grasps the cash. He quickly tucks it away and gestures to Betty.

“Good luck, I hope you know what you are getting yourself into,” he says. Brent leans into the dirty trunk and pulls Betty out, brushing a couple stray paint flakes off of her.

“Right” Brent grumbles, holding Betty by her slender body. Kertus slams the trunk shut and extends out his boney hand to Brent. Brent just turns away, ignoring him. He wanders off to his car, a few spots away. As he approaches his SUV, an old couple glances at his direction. Their eyes widen when they spot what he grasps in his arms and they retreat behind their old, brown station wagon. He ignores them. When he gets to his like-new vehicle, he carefully sets Betty on the black leather seats in the back. He climbs into the front and drives off from the Walmart parking lot, still being watched by the terrified old couple.

Brent drives out of the city limits, away from the paved streets and suburban neighbourhoods. He travels down a few dirt and gravel roads, the tires crunching the small rocks and stones. Thick, lively forests of trees, young and old, border the roads like wooden fort walls. The vehicle is completely silent from any music or sound, aside from the occasional thump from the back. Not even the air conditioning is on. Despite the lack of a single other vehicle in sight, Brent never exceeds the speed limit at any point. The forest occasionally opens up for another dirt road, but he continues on his path, never turning to even regard them. He just watches the road ahead of him, seeing it approach and disappear behind him.

After driving for a while, Brent finally stops the car and sits for a while. A single vehicle approaches him, catching his attention. A father and son in a van drive past, singing in unison. Their faces are cheerful and joyous. When he finally sees the van disappear around a corner, Brent resumes driving down the bumpy road. The forest grows ever denser around him, nearly forming a natural tunnel. Sunlight from the setting sun still manages to sneak through the treetops, lighting the road he travels upon; then he turns down a dirt path into the crowded forest. His car barely fits down the muddy road, brushing against the stray branches of the trees. The sun seems to vanish, as the trees curve to block out the sky. Heavenly light no longer graces his path.

Brent drives deeper and deeper into the forest, until he reaches a clearing beside a small stream. The moon, full and bright, casts dull light into the muddy clearing. He stops his car on the far side of the clearing, away from the stream and steps out into the lunar brilliance. The silence of his surroundings is almost deafening, until he hears a thump from the back of his car. He slowly wanders over to the back of his SUV, carefully avoiding the deep mud puddles. Another thump. Brent rips open the trunk and stares inside. In the spacious interior, bound and mostly unconscious, lies a young blond woman. She shifts around uncomfortably, but doesn’t struggle. Her eyelids flutter, never quite opening to regard Brent. He grabs her by her bound arms and drops her onto the muddy ground. She slams into the muck, but not an utterance escapes from her gagged mouth.

When she finally comes to, she finds herself strapped to the ground, her body in the shape of a cross. Though faint, she can see the outline of a painted red circle surrounding her. She struggles against her restraints, but can’t seem to move her legs or arms. Her screams are muffled by the tightly bound fabric muzzling her. The ringing in her ears is even worse. She can’t even hear her own screams, no matter how much she strains her throat.

Brent slaps her across the face as hard as he can, silencing her cries. He walks back around to his car and opens the back seat, pulling Betty out. He brandishes her before the bound woman, showing her off in the dull moonlight. The faintly glowing letters catch the woman’s attention, her stomach drops. She screams even louder and shakes her head, tears stream down her face. Somehow, through all her shaking, her gag comes loose.

“No!” the woman screams, watching as the man turns around and opens a box in his SUV’s trunk. He pulls a red cylinder with a gold bottom out and places it inside Betty, before turning back. The woman watches in horror. “Please, I have a family! I have a son!” she cries.

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“No” Brent mumbles, approaching the woman. She whimpers and loudly pleads, but Brent doesn’t falter. He slowly walks towards her, holding Betty in his arms. When he stands above her, he plants his feet on either side of her torso and stops.

She begs and pleads to the silhouette of a man, standing above her. The ringing in her ears finally quiets and all she can hear is the soft trickle of the stream behind her. Brent bends down, enough that his face is visible to the bound woman.

“Fuck you,” he whispers.

Suddenly the woman’s eyes shoot wide open. ‘Brent…” she mumbles. Brent straightens up and looks down at the woman. “Brent?” she yells out, “don’t do this! It’s me, your wife! Betty!”

“I know” he mumbles, cocking Betty, the aptly named shotgun. The faint purple glow from the letters fades as he does. Brent lines up the bare muzzle with her forehead.

“Please, Brent. I’m sor-”

“No.”

The clearing flashes purple for a single moment. All the birds in the forest fly away. All the animals skitter into their holes. All the pleas and sobs go quiet. All, but the trickle of the stream as Betty’s essence turns it red.

Brent backs away from the mutilated corpse of his wife. He stares at her. Not even an omnipotent God could describe the feeling boiling inside of him. It’s relentless and horrible, yet purposeful. The painted circle surrounding Betty begins to glow bright red, along with the star within the circle. Brent had drawn a pentagram beneath where she was bound.

The moonlight fades for a moment, before fire erupts all around the Earth’s natural satellite. A full solar eclipse floods the clearing with orange light, complimenting the red glow from Brent’s crude artwork. Brent places down the now pristine shotgun in the trunk and sits down beside it, watching the unnatural scene unfold before him. The glowing pentagram begins to hum, louder and louder, until the earth beneath it seems to collapse in on itself. What remains of Betty gets swallowed in amongst the dirt and grass around her. From the hole that has formed comes dull orange light and echoing screams and cries by the thousands, maybe even millions. They harmonize into a single sound so horrible it makes Brent’s ears bleed. Though he had never heard such a sound before, it was instantly recognizable to him. The sound of eternal, unbearable suffering is hard to mistake.

Eventually the pit closes up, reforming the Earth to its original shape. The remains of the pentagram fade away along with the solar eclipse. Dull moonlight fills the clearing once again and all is quiet. All, but the gurgle of the bloody stream.

Brent stands to his feet and slams the trunk closed, sighing loudly. He scans the dense forest before approaching the driver’s door. Two glowing orbs catch his attention and he freezes. They’re like a pair of bright red eyes, glaring at him from the cover of darkness. Then another pair of orbs appear right next to them. Then more and more appear from all around, flooding the forest with harsh glowing eyes. They surround Brent, enclosing the clearing in their harsh glare.

From deep within the trees comes a rumbling and the eyes all disappear. The rumbling gets louder and louder. Brent backs towards the stream, as a large silhouette pushes through the trees, snapping twigs and branches. He keeps backing away until his foot sinks into the mud of the stream and he freezes. The silhouette enters the clearing, revealing itself to Brent.

A creature, far beyond Brent’s mortal comprehension, looks down at him. It’s size and shape are ever changing, and its thousands of eyes spiral on fleshy rings around its horrific figure. It’s voice booms out from everywhere, nowhere, and from within Brent.

“Choose” it whispers deafeningly. A large ancient tome is presented before Brent, with two options on each of the open pages. The words and symbols glow such a harsh red that it tears up his bloodshot eyes.

The left hand page has two options. The first one reads The Age of the Universe, while the second one reads Infinite Wisdom. Beneath the options is what appears to be a sample of said thing. Both of them are impossible for Brent to look at directly. It’s like looking at the sun if it was thousands of times brighter. Or maybe it was just inconceivable to his feeble mind.

The right hand page had two more options. The first one reads Unending Wealth. Brent completely ignores it and taps his finger on the second one. The tome shuts and disappears from existence.

“That one is extra,” the voice booms quietly. Brent nods his head and the being reaches its hand directly through Brent. It pulls out a bright blue blob that flickers brightly. He can’t seem to look at this directly, either; just like the images in the tome. The being draws a small pentagram and places the blob directly in the centre. Light appears from the circle and star, filling the clearing with red light once again.

The being bids Brent a quick farewell and disappears from existence in the blink of an eye, leaving him with the strange ritual. He just stands and stares, waiting for something to happen. Eventually, dust begins to pile up around the circle of the pentagram. All the dust starts to spin along the pentagram’s edge, making a large vortex. It spins faster and faster, turning violent and obscuring the blob in the centre. Then the blob shifts. A dark red glow emanates from the blob, slowly shifting into a humanoid shape. First the body forms, then the head, the arms, and finally, the legs. Though obscured, Brent recognizes it immediately. He collapses to his knees and sobs.

The vortex turns inwards, coating the humanoid shape. The glowing subsides, dissipating in the eyes of the newly formed person. Brent looks at them, his stomach in his throat. The short brown hair, striped yellow and blue shirt, black cargo shorts, and the white sneakers. It was all so familiar. All of it, except for the grotesque grey, bloated skin. Something was not right, Brent could tell. Through choked, sloppy breaths the person speaks.

“Fa… ther…?”