by Mark Lukens
Next, J.T. laid out the circle of rope on the floor, making it large enough for both of them to stand inside of comfortably. Then he poured a line of table salt outside of the rope. This would be their circle of protection that they would stand inside of. At the front of the circle of protection, facing towards the front door, he laid their homemade crucifix down in front of it . . . just one more piece of protection for them.
Then he laid out the bowl of fruit, the bowl of wine, and the empty bowl in a group about ten feet in front of their circle of protection, which was the midway point between their circle and the aisle through the candles that led to the front door. The fruit, wine, and empty bowl were offerings to Mr. Boone, gifts to coax him into their house. But, of course, the empty bowl still needed to be filled with their blood.
“You ready to do this?” J.T. asked Tyler.
“You sure we have to do this part?” he asked.
“Yes,” J.T. said. “Blood is a critical part of the ritual. I already told you if you can’t do this—”
“Just do it,” Tyler said and offered out his hand to J.T.
J.T. used the Bic lighter to heat up the razor knife blade, and then he poured some rubbing alcohol over it. He’d read that either process could sterilize the knife blade, but he decided to use both just to make sure.
“Just close your eyes,” J.T. said as he positioned his little brother’s hand over the empty bowl on the floor. He had a towel on the floor in case he needed it, but his objective was to get as much of his brother’s blood into the bowl. He also had a supply of Band-Aids ready.
“Get it over with,” Tyler said and closed his eyes, turning his head away.
“Okay. Here it goes—”
“Ow!!!”
J.T. nicked the edge of Tyler’s palm, a slice about an inch long, but the blood flowed freely, dripping down into the bowl.
“You done yet?”
“Just a few more seconds,” J.T. said. “We have to get enough.” He gently squeezed Tyler’s hand, and his little brother howled. But J.T. held his hand tight.
A moment later J.T. had Tyler’s hand bandaged up, and now it was his turn. Tyler chose to watch as J.T. sliced the edge of his left palm and then held it over the bowl. They had coated the bottom of the bowl with their blood. J.T. hoped it was enough for the ritual.
After J.T. put a Band-Aid over his cut, he got his digital video camera ready and set it on the corner of the coffee table, tilting it up a little so it would catch the whole front door area in the shot.
J.T. lit the thirteen candles. He had set six candles up in a line on each side of the front door, and they looked to him like runway lights down an airstrip at night. The final candle, the thirteenth candle, was to be placed three feet beyond their circle of protection, behind them.
He shut off all of the lights in the house. Now all they had to do was wait until midnight.
“This probably isn’t even going to work,” Tyler said almost like he was trying to convince himself. He was slumped down on the couch and staring at the front door with the ancient symbols scribbled all over it. The flickering flames of the candles put out more light than J.T. thought they would have, but they also created eerie shadows that danced around the room. The corners were full of shadows that seemed to come alive with movement.
3.
It was eleven thirty—only thirty minutes to go until midnight. Actually the ritual was to begin a few minutes before midnight . . . it had to be timed perfectly, and J.T. set the stopwatch on his cell phone to get the timing down to the second. He had rock music playing on his MP3 player, some older heavy metal stuff from the eighties that was filled with satanic references. Not his favorite music in the world, but it seemed appropriate to set the mood.
And the mood seemed to be working on Tyler. J.T. suspected that his little brother might chicken out when the time came. If Tyler would’ve chickened out earlier, J.T. might not have minded—even he was beginning to get a little spooked by all of this—but he had gone to too much trouble and work to abandon this now. Their mom would be back tomorrow night, and this would be their only chance to try this and get it on film. It was a Friday night (which was important in the ritual), and now it was almost midnight, almost time to begin.
“If you can’t do this, then tell me right now,” J.T. told Tyler.
“I can do it.”
He didn’t sound convincing.
“If you can’t do it, then I don’t want you out here. I put a lot of work into this. I don’t want you ruining everything at the last minute.”
“I won’t,” Tyler groaned.
“You have to believe in this, too.”
Tyler nodded.
“No, I mean really believe in this. Mr. Boone won’t come unless we both believe, unless we both call out to him.”
Tyler sighed. “I believe,” he insisted.
J.T. stared at his little brother for a moment, and then he finally nodded. “Okay.”
They were quiet for a moment. The heavy metal song they were listening to had ended. They both heard the wind kicking up outside, tree branches in the front yard rattling like crazy. Something heavy hit the outside wall of the front of the house.
“What was that?” Tyler said as he jumped to his feet in front of the couch. He stared at the front door where their visitor would soon be entering.
“It’s just a storm,” J.T. said. He went over to his MP3 player and turned it off. He listened to the howling wind outside. This sudden storm seemed like a portent of bad things to come.
Tyler ran over to the front windows and peeked out through the drapes. He stared outside for a few moments.
J.T. joined him, staring out at the dark front yard. It was alive with movement, the tree branches waving around, the leaves rattling, debris flying down the street. The wind howled down through the eaves, whistling like a banshee.
“I’ve never heard the wind sound like that before,” Tyler whispered. “You think a tornado’s coming?”
“Come on,” J.T. said and glanced down at his cell phone. “We need to get ready.”
4.
At five minutes to midnight, J.T. and Tyler stood side-by-side in front of the front door to their house.
“I think we should lock it,” Tyler said.
“It has to be unlocked for him. We have to invite him in.”
Tyler didn’t reply, but he certainly didn’t look comfortable with the door unlocked. Tyler gripped his printed-out copy of the invocation that they needed to recite, the paper shaking a little in his trembling hands.
“Nothing’s probably going to happen anyway,” J.T. confided in Tyler. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Tyler seemed to relax a little.
“You ready?” he asked Tyler.
Tyler nodded.
“Okay. Let’s start reciting.”
They read the words on their papers, their voices becoming one:
Oh Mr. Boone, come forth . . . hear our plea
Come to our home and enter, we invite thee.
We will knock thirteen times . . .
And then when the midnight toll chimes,
You are welcomed, and you are free . . .
And accept these gifts offered to thee.
Come forth, Mr. Boone . . .
Come forth, Mr. Boone . . .
Come forth, Mr. Boone . . .
The wind shrieked outside, and the house shuddered from the force of it.
J.T. extended his fist towards the front door, watching as Tyler copied his movements exactly. J.T. had his stopwatch ready, the seconds ticking down to midnight. They both knocked on the front door thirteen times in a row, their knocks echoing loudly throughout the house.
Once the thirteen knocks were completed and it was midnight on the dot, they both ran down through the aisle created by the candles and jumped inside the circle of protection. Mr. Boone couldn’t touch you once you were inside “the circle of protection.” That’s what the website had promised.
/> It was midnight.
The wind howled louder than ever. The front door flew open and slammed against the wall. The doorstop was the only thing saving a huge hole in the drywall from the door handle.
Tyler grabbed on to J.T., closing his eyes and whimpering.
But J.T. couldn’t help staring at the doorway . . . he had to see.
A man stood in the open doorway, silhouetted there by the flickering candlelight. He was completely black, like a living shadow. He was taller than the top of the doorway, and lamppost thin. His ragged clothing fluttered all around him in the fierce wind like a nest of writhing snakes. He wore a tall stovepipe hat on his head, the brim pulled down low. His arms seemed impossibly long, and his hands so large, his snake-like fingers longer than any human fingers should’ve been. And then a pair of eyes opened up in the shadowy face, and they glowed red.
J.T. closed his eyes and looked away from the horror in their doorway. He held on to his little brother.
There was another rush of wind—the loudest so far—and then all of the candles blew out.
Darkness.
Tyler screamed.
The front door slammed shut.
J.T. felt like screaming, too. But fear had dried up his throat.
Footsteps thudded towards them in the cloaking blackness.
Tyler sobbed.
“Sssh,” J.T. told his little brother. “Stop.”
Tyler stopped screaming, but he moaned. “I don’t like this, J.T.! Make it stop!”
J.T. opened his eyes and looked around at the dark living room. He still had his cell phone in his hand; he’d been gripping it so tight he was surprised he hadn’t cracked the screen.
Everything was quiet in the house. The wind outside was gone now. The sudden storm had vanished as quickly as it had come.
The light on his phone!
J.T. used the flashlight on his cell phone and shined it towards the front door. The weak beam of light from his phone stabbed through the darkness.
The front door was closed, and no one stood between it and their circle of protection. He shined the light on his phone slowly around the living room, from the front door to the drapes over the front windows, to the recliner, and then to the couch . . .
“Is he gone?” Tyler moaned.
“I don’t think he’s in here anymore,” J.T. whispered.
“I don’t want him in here,” Tyler sobbed. “I want you out!” he screamed at the darkness. “Go away! Leave our house! You’re not invited here anymore!”
J.T. made a full circle of the living room, dining room, and kitchen with the flashlight on his phone. The light wasn’t very strong—it only shined so far into the darkness, leaving the farthest reaches of the rooms in shadows. The entrance to the hallway was just a black mouth in the dark.
“I think everything’s okay,” J.T. whispered. “I’m going to turn on some lights.”
Tyler was still crying, and he grabbed J.T. in a panicked grip. “You can’t leave the circle of protection!”
“Light will protect us, too,” J.T. told him. He didn’t know if that was true, but he hoped it was.
Maybe Mr. Boone hadn’t entered their house. Maybe he had remained in the doorway when the door had slammed closed again. Maybe the ritual hadn’t been perfect enough for him to enter. Maybe there hadn’t been enough blood in the bowl. Maybe they’d done something else wrong. God, he hoped so.
Or maybe he hadn’t really seen that dark figure standing in the doorway. Maybe he had let his imagination run away with him in those few seconds.
Yeah, that had to be it. He just needed to get some lights on in the house, and they would both feel a lot better.
“I have to turn the lights on,” J.T. told Tyler. “You want some lights on, don’t you?”
Tyler nodded. His face was shiny with tears in the weak light of the cell phone.
J.T. wrenched his arm out of Tyler’s grip. The flashlight on his phone had gone out—it only stayed on so long—and he had to push the button again to turn it on. He shined it around their circle of rope and salt. He still didn’t see anyone around them.
“Just wait here,” J.T. told his little brother. He was off and running through the darkness towards the wall at the far end of the dining room. There was a big wall plate of light switches there. The light from his cell phone bobbed crazily in front of him in the darkness as he ran.
The dining room wall with the light switches seemed so far away now, and the darkness seemed to rush in all around him, suffocating him. He had that tingly feeling of fear dancing all over his skin; he was sure that he would feel something touch him in the darkness, a pair of huge hands with snake-like fingers that would wrap around his arms, his neck, his face . . .
He even thought he’d heard a whisper . . . his name spoken lightly through unholy lips.
“Jonathon . . .”
He ran as fast as he could, but time and space seemed to have stretched out around him, the laws of physics altered with this thing’s arrival.
Maybe Mr. Boone wasn’t in here. Maybe he hadn’t come inside after all.
A blur of movement raced past J.T.’s peripheral vision, a darker mass in the darkness that moved with lightning-quick speed.
“J.T.!” Tyler shouted.
Had Tyler seen the movement too?
J.T. felt his heart stop in his chest, but his legs kept on running like they were on autopilot, a portion of his brain operating on pure animal-like instinct now.
Finally he collided with the dining room wall. He slapped at all of the light switches, pushing them up. Blessed lights came on over the dining room table and in the kitchen. He turned around and looked at the house, trying to look everywhere, searching for Mr. Boone.
There was nobody in the house except him and Tyler who still stood inside the circle of rope and table salt that they had laid down on the floor.
J.T. felt like he could breathe again. Everything was okay now. They were safe.
Nobody had been there, his mind whispered. I just imagined it, that’s all.
“It’s okay now,” J.T. told Tyler.
Tyler didn’t look so sure.
“You can come out of the circle now.”
Tyler still didn’t move. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Just go sit on the couch.” J.T. looked back at his digital video camera perched on the corner of the coffee table. He wanted to check the footage on it.
“You need to lock the door,” Tyler said like it was his demand before he would consider leaving the circle of protection.
J.T. sighed, trying to put on a brave face for his little brother, but he still felt jittery, his muscles still rubbery with fear, an electric surge trembling through his body. He marched across the living room, past their circle of protection, and then down the aisle through the burnt-out candles. He checked the door handle. The door was unlocked. He twisted the lock on the door handle, and then he locked the deadbolt. He stood there at the door for a moment, staring at the ancient symbols he had drawn on the door. The world was quiet outside now that the sudden storm was gone.
Something struck the living room wall.
J.T. whirled around like a cat, frozen with fear but ready to run at a moment’s notice. He looked across the room at the larger couch and realized that the noise had come from Tyler jumping onto it like it was a life raft in the middle of a shark-infested ocean of water. Tyler stood up on the couch, his feet sinking down into the cushions, his eyes round dinner plates of fear.
Okay, at least Tyler was calmed down for the moment. Now it was time to check the footage on his camera and then get this mess cleaned up before—
J.T. stopped in his tracks as he stared down at the bowls of offerings they had laid out on the floor for Mr. Boone. He blinked his eyes, not sure if what he was seeing was real or not.
This couldn’t be right.
“What’s wrong?” Tyler practically screeched. But he wasn’t concerned or curious enough to leave the couch.
&nbs
p; J.T. shook his head, at a loss for words for a moment. The fruit in the bowl was decayed, all of it sunken down, crushed under the weight of its own rot and covered with green and black mold. The wine and the blood were gone, both bowls dry as a bone.
He took a few more steps towards the circle of rope and salt and noticed that their homemade crucifix had been destroyed, crushed to bits of wood and pieces of twine.
Something had happened tonight . . . something had been inside their home. What he was seeing right now wasn’t an illusion, it wasn’t a trick of his imagination. This was real. Mr. Boone had been inside their home, and he’d been so close to them . . .
The camera.
J.T. rushed across the room and grabbed his camera off of the corner of the coffee table with trembling hands. He found the film file and started it again and watched.
“I wanna see,” Tyler whined.
“Come over here, then.”
“Why don’t you come over here?”
J.T. sighed and walked over to the couch. He sat down, but he was hunched forward and tense, sitting on the edge of it. Tyler moved over beside him, but he kept his feet up on the couch and off of the floor, huddling over J.T.’s shoulder.
They both watched the footage. The lighting was pretty decent for candlelight and everything was clear and in focus. He watched as he and his little brother stood in front of the door, the line of candles stretching out away from them. They both recited the invocation, the printouts gripped in their hands. Then he watched as he and Tyler knocked on the door thirteen times and then raced back to the circle of rope and salt.
He heard the storm outside on the film, the raging wind, the house shuddering. Then the front door flew open, and the candles blew out.
Darkness.
He backed the film up a second and froze it there.
Mr. Boone wasn’t in the doorway; at least he couldn’t see him there in the footage. There was only a split second of time between the door flying open and the candles blowing out. Tomorrow (when it was daylight) he would run the film through his editing software on his laptop and freeze it on that moment, enhance it somehow, filter the darkness, try to see if there was really someone there in the doorway.