The light of the half moon fills our backyard with shadows and light. It’s rays offering just enough details to see what I am doing, but not much else. Casting the one tree and shed in our yard into shadows, merely identifiable by their dark ominous present in an otherwise open area. No clouds hide the many stars still visible above our small town, especially with the power being out right now. A car can be heard driving on the road in front of the house, but no light gets past the wooden fence so I’m still concealed in shadows. A few generators also disturb the air, but most have been shut off for the night to save power.

I look at our back porch and notice how eerie it is without any lights inside. My parents have long since gone to bed and my brother only ever stays up this late to play games so I’m in the clear.

I unlock the shed with the keys I snatched from the key hook earlier. Normally I leave the stealing to my brother, but I need something from the shed. Something important. Something my parents would go ballistic about if they found me with it. Once open, I slowly ease the door open and slip inside the shed. Admittedly, it is more of a garage then shed, but seeing as how my father only keeps his broken drag car in it along with all of his tools. We call it the shed. Risking a little light, I light a small tea candle and set it somewhere were it won’t show in the window. As quickly as I can without making any sounds, I move over to his toolbox and open the top drawer. Inside is the pair of shears and the small trowel I need. I grab them along with some oil kept in a different drawer.

I blow out the candle and slip back outside, locking the shed behind me. I quickly walk over to the base of the tree and start digging with the trowel. After a minute, I find my box of trinkets and working tools. They’re not as fancy as others, but they are mine. I open it and remove the shard of quartz I found behind the school, an iron chain I swiped from a ditch, a rod of elm I polished myself, and my most prized possession. A small dagger with my preferred name etched in it. I close the box and place it back in the hole, covering it up just in-case.

I check the time on my phone and notice I only got a few more minutes until my birthday. Which coincidentally, is at exactly midnight. I toss everything in the center of our backyard and grab the oil. I slowly drip it out in as perfect of a circle that I can get. Once done, I quickly grab the quartz and place it gently on one side of the circle, with the shears opposite it. I place one of the tea candles I got on another side and a small bowl of water on the other. One item in each cardinal direction. Finally I step into the center and take my dagger in my left hand and the chain in my right.

I look up at the sky and sigh softly as I wait for the right moment. A slight breeze ruffles the air and I get the strangest sense that I am being watched, not from our house, but from the shed. I turn my attention over to there yet nothing has changed. I shake my head and hear a slight buzzing sound indicating that my alarm has gone off.

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I take a deep breath and start chanting. The words are gibberish, but that is not what matters. What matters is the intention. The spell, according to google, is meant to bring one luck and happiness, and the universe knows I need both. As the chanting continues, I wrap the chain around the dagger three times before slashing it across my palm. I let my blood well up before holding my hand over each of the objects on the ground. Invoking the names of the elements as I do so. Once done, I take my rod of elm out of my pocket and slash it across the air. It apparently symbolizes severing the ties of negativity surrounding me.

As I finish the ritual, that same feeling of being watched returns. This time, much stronger. I whip around to spot whatever is watching me, yet nothing is there. I try to dismiss the feeling as I wrap my hand and gather up my materials. The ring of oil is easy to dispose of, just burn it before quickly stamping it out. A quick few scoops of dirt hides it effortlessly in this dead grass. I dig up my box and hide my tools back in it. Taking care with my dagger to wipe the blade clean first.

Once hidden again, I turn towards the shed only to see something that should not be there… or well. Someones. Three people cloaked in shadows stand between me and the shed. At first I think they’re my family, but their heights and outlines don’t match. Then I realize that they’re probably robbers of some kind. And I just buried my only weapon.

“Bloody hell,” I mutter to myself as I grab the only thing still left to me. The shears.

I’m not a fighter so I try to find a way away to escape, yet even as I try to move. I find myself paralyzed. Not even my eyes will move away from those three, and now. They’ve started towards me.

I try to speak, yet no sounds come out. I try to breathe, yet even my lungs seem frozen. I try to focus, to analyze. To do the one thing I am good at, problem solving. I got maybe ten seconds before they’re in arms reach. Ten very short seconds to counteract some sort of fear based paralysis. The best thing to do is to close my eyes and breathe, but I can’t. So instead I need another option. Eight seconds. I recall one time reading an article on focusing on a single thing as a good way to calm the nerves so that is exactly what I do. I focus on the pain from the dagger. Five seconds. I focus every fiber of my being on that pain and how much I want to put pressure on it. Three seconds, I can almost make out their faces, yet I ignore them. I feel my fingers twitch right as a fist connects with my jaw.