Callista’s orange ‘74 Volkswagen Beetle rumbled through the roads of Baltimore, Maryland, horribly juxtaposing the slick skyscrapers surrounding the decades-old car. Amidst all of the tall, modernistic buildings—it looked like she was driving Cinderella’s carriage before the fairy godmother transformed it from a pumpkin. Lights from inside the massive buildings made the whole town seem like it was shimmering, which was in stark contrast to the atmosphere inside the car.  

      The cracked leather of the seats creaked as the other three sixteen-year-olds shifted uncomfortably and silently in the car, all dressed in an assortment of black dresses, suits, and stuffy dark velvet. In the past two hours, no one had spoken a word except for Callista’s broken radio cracking in and out of signal. The air seemed as dense as the last time they saw Sloan alive: that night they all went to that abandoned church back home, the surrounding neighborhood shrouded in thick fog.  

      Callista sighed and looked up at the rearview mirror to see her friends Adria, Nixie and Sloan’s boyfriend, Max, sitting in the back of her car, hunched together in their all-black clothes, avoiding eye contact like it was a fatal plague that would take one of their lives and cause the rest to attend a second funeral.   

      Callista started to turn her attention back to the road, but her eyes lingered on Adria as the girl leaned her head against the back window and sighed, her warm breath fogging up the glass. The girl adjusted her off-the-shoulder black lace top before reaching in a backpack at her feet and pulling out a small, yellow box about the size of her hand. Callista watched as Adria threw her braids, twisted with golden beads, over her shoulder before sliding a stack of colorful cards into her hand and shuffling them furiously.  

      Max scoffed. “Do you absolutely have to do that, right now?”  

      Adria rolled her eyes without pausing her shuffling. “Of course you wouldn’t get it. Our best friend just died. I think I deserve to cope however I want.” She continued to let cards fall into her palm haphazardly.  

      Max stiffened, glaring at Adria. “And my girlfriend is dead. You don’t see me asking pieces of cardboard how I feel about it.” 

      Adria split her deck in half, a card labeled The Devil and another labeled Justice cupped in either hand. Her nostrils flared as she stared into the city skyline. She inhaled sharply before retorting under her breath, “You didn’t treat her like much of a girlfriend.”  

      Max bared his teeth and jerked forward against the seatbelt before Nixie slammed her arm against him, pushing him back into the seat. The pumpkin-colored Volkswagen erupted with overlapping shouts from Adria and Max. They pointed their fingers like knives at each other and thrashed against the restraints of their seatbelts, reminding Callista of the cage fighters her grandmother used to watch on TV before they jumped into the ring. A few of Adria’s tarot cards fell onto the floorboard, making her cry in horror. Nixie took advantage of the distraction by clutching a still raging Max by the arm and pinning him back into his seat. Callista clutched the wheel tighter, breathing a sigh of relief.  

      “You are such a bitch, Max.” Adria snarled as she leaned over to extract her Rider-Waite tarot cards from a mixture of stale French fries and straw wrappers collected on the floor over the past few grief-stricken days. 

      Nixie sighed as she kept her palm pressed against Max’s chest. Max’s untamed, dark hair fluttered in his face as he panted heavily, nearly snagging on his eyebrow and septum piercings that Sloan used to gush over. His suit was creased because he wouldn’t let any of them steam or iron it before they left the hotel. Callista thought he looked as disheveled on the outside as she felt inside.  

      “Guys, fighting about it does nothing,” Nixie said in her most convincing (yet strained) soothing voice, “We’re all hurting over the loss of Sloan. Let’s all just handle it in our own ways and try to get home without killing each other, okay?”  

      Adria emerged from the floorboard with a handful of cards. She huffed as she slid the fallen cards back in with the rest of her deck, tapping them with the long, black-and-purple ombre acrylic nails she custom-made for the funeral, knowing Sloan would love them. “Nixie, please,” she rolled her eyes, “You actually get something to remember Sloan by. Unlike the rest of us.” 

      Max pushed Nixie’s hand away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Finally. Something we can agree on.”  

      Nixie sat back in her seat, looking down at the wide, leather-bound book sitting in her lap on top of her long, black-and-white tie-dyed skirt. She ran her hand over the roughly carved rune symbols lining the border that Sloan likely scratched into the leather with a pencil. Callista looked into the rearview mirror as Nixie took off her round, wire glasses to wipe her eyes. Her blonde hair was cut short in a pixie cut with streaks of muted blue. She had dyed it electric blue over the summer and tried to restore it to its normal blonde in time for the funeral, but it was stubborn. The once-neon blue now looked like strands of seaweed draped in her hair, which contrasted her pale, glacier blue eyes. As she pulled her sleeve away from her face, Callista could see them in the mirror, piercingly crystal and rimmed with tears.  

      Nixie placed her glasses back on her face and sniffed. “You know why she had to give it to me.” Her thumbnail flicked the rigid, yellowing pages of the book silently. The air in the car grew thick again.  

      The leather book belonged to Sloan, like her own version of the Bible. As long as Callista had known Sloan, she was always scribbling something down in the book or pressing herbs and flowers between its pages. Everything she ever learned was in that book: spells, drawings of and prayers to deities, summaries of tarot readings and rune stone castings, retellings of myths. That book essentially held Callista, Nixie, Adria, and Sloan’s entire belief system within its pages. If they truly wanted to, they could start their own church with the book. But their best prospective priest was now dead.  

      At the funeral, Nixie was pulled aside by Sloan’s mother, a haughty-looking woman in a long, dark floral skirt with several crystal pendants hanging around her neck. They spoke for a moment before she handed Nixie the book tearfully, saying that it would be safest with her.  

      As painful as it was to admit, Callista knew this was right. While she, Nixie, Adria, and Sloan had always been attracted to the spiritual and supernatural—the book would not be safe with her or Adria. Despite her own very defiant attitude, Adria’s parents were devout Catholics. Every ounce of Adria’s spiritual identity was stuffed into the red-and-black checkered backpack at her feet and hidden away from sight when she was home. If her parents ever found out that their daughter, who chose Saint Dymphna as her confirmation name, believed in actual deities from other mythologies—they would definitely send her to a Catholic boarding school thousands of miles away. For a second time.  

      As for Callista, her home wasn’t the safest place to keep Sloan’s bible either. Between an ongoing bitter divorce, an alcoholic mother, a father recently diagnosed with a fatal neurological disorder (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, meaning he would slowly lose control of his body before dying in a husk of himself), and a looming foreclosure—Sloan’s bible was definitely kept safest elsewhere.  

      Nixie was the best choice. Her parents were part of the ‘80s Burning Man crowd and never had a problem with their daughter believing in spirituality or dyeing her hair neon colors.  

      Callista sighed and looked at her own face in the rearview. Her wavy, brown hair was perfectly curled and pinned back with little bobby pins that had pieces of green aventurine glued on them (Sloan’s favorite crystal). Thin trails of mascara streaked her cheeks like watercolor paint, but she didn’t care enough to fix it.  

      She cleared her throat and held tighter to her crocheted, sunflower steering wheel cover. “Please leave Nixie alone. She did nothing wrong. Sloan’s mother made the right call.” 

      Adria gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Yeah. Right. Why are we even in Maryland? Sloan lived with us in Richmond her entire life. Why did her family bury her in Pennsylvania?” 

      Nixie continued to stare at the book in her lap, fanning through the pages with the edge of her fingernail. “She might be from Virginia, but her dad’s side has lived in Pennsylvania for generations. About eight generations are buried in that plot they have.” 

      Adria pulled The Fool out of her deck of cards and traced her finger around the young man standing carefree on the edge of a cliff. “Yeah,” she grunted solemnly, “but it completely breaks the pact.”  

      Callista stared into the lights of the Baltimore skyscrapers, the suspending feeling of dissociation overtaking her body like her limbs and mind were simultaneously going numb. The “pact” was created years ago when she, Nixie, Adria, and Sloan were about eight years old, and they found out all four of their great-grandmothers were buried at a small church in their hometown, side-by-side. The four women, as far as they knew, had no connection to one another. They took this as confirmation that they were destined to be friends, perhaps even their great-grandmothers reincarnated. Thus, despite Richmond Light of Life Church being abandoned and overgrown with ivy for over thirty years, the four girls made a pact that they would be buried there together, side-by-side. They did not expect for that pact to be broken, much less so soon.  

      Max leaned forward, rubbing his temples. “Please don’t remind me of that night,” he groaned.  

      Callista felt like her body had been struck with a tuning fork, an indescribable feeling of heaviness reverberating through her every cell. The “night” Max was referring to was the last night they had all seen Sloan alive. It was her birthday, ironically Halloween, which was entirely fitting. To celebrate, Sloan decided she wanted to hold a seance on the front steps of Richmond Light of Life Church and try to coax their great-grandmothers into speaking to them from the other side. Callista could vividly picture the four of them along with Max holding hands over an old, hand-carved Ouija board with half-melted, black candles in a ring around them. They asked for Sloan’s grandmother, Esther, to come forward and speak with them. For several minutes, it seemed like she did. As they asked questions like ‘do you watch over Sloan?’, ‘Are you happy to be buried next to our great-grandmothers?’, and ‘did you die peacefully?’, the planchette moved to answers such as ‘yes’ and ‘f-r-i-e-n-d-s’ and ‘p-e-a-c-e’. Things deviated when the planchette suddenly started jerking their fingertips across the board rapidly, spelling Sloan’s name, then ‘b-e-t-r-a-y-e-d’, then ‘s-u-m-m-o-n’, then ‘hello’, then ‘c-u-r-s-e’ and ‘a-t-t-a-c-k’.  

      Callista shuddered. She couldn’t remember all of the words the planchette spelt out, only that they tried to close out the board by saying ‘goodbye’ several times, but every time their fingers got close to the word, the board would start shaking violently. Eventually, Sloan started crying and screaming. She blew out the black candles frantically and jumped away from the board, cradling her hand like it had burned her. 

      A few weeks later, she was dead. The cause of death was unknown; even the coroner admitted defeat. Sloan died in her sleep with no history of medical issues, no apparent injuries, and no apparent sudden illness. She was just…dead. 

      Adria once again glared at Max. “You didn’t even want to be there. As usual.” Her voice edged towards the volume of a scream, a sob caught in her throat.  

      Callista silently agreed. Max was never supportive of Sloan’s spiritual practices. He didn’t really believe in any specific thing, which would have been fine if he didn’t constantly call Sloan’s crystals, cards, and altars to deities “freaky.” He claimed there was no scientific basis to it, therefore Sloan was essentially stupid for believing in it. The whole night at the church, he was scoffing and rolling his eyes until…whatever interfered.  

      Max steepled his fingers against his lips and exhaled deeply. “You know what, Adria? Nixie? Callista?” He straightened while spitting their names like they were poison, “Suck my—” 

      “OKAY!” Callista loudly interrupted, snapping herself out of her dissociative state. She pumped the brakes hard as they approached a stop light, sending everyone flying against their seatbelts, then smacking back against the leather seats. “We’re stopping at a gas station to calm down,” she declared, turning on her signal. “Look! There’s a 7-Eleven.” She jerked her head to the right, where a 7-Eleven with sleek neon signs was sitting proudly at the corner. “Perfect. You all could use some Slurpees or something.” 

      Adria snorted under her breath. “Yeah. Something. Like therapy.”  

      Callista ignored her as they rounded the corner and parallel parked beside the 7-Eleven. Callista gazed out the side window. It was by far the most intricate 7-Eleven she ever encountered. It was built directly into the corner of a two-story brick building with ornate windows and neatly trimmed bushes lining the outside. Callista turned off the engine and stepped outside, her passengers begrudgingly following her. For a moment, they stood in the glow of the orange-and-green neon lights.  

      “They don’t look like this at all back home,” Nixie noted. 

      “Another reason Sloan should have been buried in Richmond,” Adria sighed with a touch of annoyance, adjusting the backpack thrown over her shoulder. “Our 7-Elevens never look this weird.” 

      They all shut the doors behind them, and Callista locked the car with a click of her keys, triggering the headlights to briefly flash, which made the Beetle look even more like a jack-o-lantern. The four of them trudged towards the paint-chipped door, looking not unlike a pack of grim reapers as they ducked into the fluorescent yellow light of the convenience store. 

      As soon as she stepped into the unorthodox 7-Eleven, the soles of Callista’s heels stuck to the tacky, vinyl tiles. The sultry smells of hot dogs, pizza, and wings immediately seared into her nostrils. On the far wall, neon-colored ice churned in giant machines with a lambent Slurpee sign hanging above them. The scents of hazelnut, vanilla, and dark roast coffee burning in metal urns wavered through the air intensely.  

      “I already hate this,” Adria remarked with a sharp exhale. She wrinkled her nose, presumably trying to inhale as little of the overwhelming gas station food smells as possible.  

      Max loosened his wrinkled, lavender tie and draped it over his neck. “I didn’t expect us to ever have a mutual feeling.”  

      Callista continued to gaze around the 7-Eleven. Aside from its unorthodox exterior, it seemed fairly standard and unremarkable. Her eyes wandered over to Nixie as she reached for a pack of sour candies on the rack in front of them, twisting it around while still holding Sloan’s bible tightly against her chest. Callista didn’t notice her taking it with her from the car, but she held it like she could hug Sloan beyond the grave the closer she held it to her body. The same resounding, heavy feeling began to wash over her again before Nixie spoke up, “God, these things have been here forever.”  

      Callista’s gaze trailed to Nixie, who was holding the back side of the sour candy towards them. “Expired Halloween of 2002.” Nixie paused for a minute, pushing her half-moon glasses up the bridge of her nose before whispering, “That’s Sloan’s birthday.” 

      Max and Adria leaned in further, squinting at the ‘Best By’ date printed in bold, segmented numbers.  

      Max scoffed and puffed his chest. “That has to be a mistake. Either it’s a typo or the people that work here are lazy bags of shit.” 

      Callista, Adria, and Nixie collectively started to cringe at Max’s brutal words when a craggy, drawling voice pierced the air like a jagged butcher knife. “Watch your wordsssssss, boy.” 

      The four simultaneously jumped back. Callista followed the slithering voice to the front counter where a slender man in an orange-and-green polo with a matching visor was staring at them uncannily. Callista definitely didn’t notice him when they came in, but he was impossible to ignore now. Her heart pounded frantically as her eyes involuntarily continued to examine him. His skin was impossibly waxy. It looked moldable; Callista could see parts of his narrow face where it actually seemed as if his skin was melting like a candlestick. He had a single, wispy clump of orange hair that poked out of his visor and a goat-like, scraggly beard to match. The part that made Callista’s blood turn cold was the fact that he had glaring, bright orange eyes that crinkled with his equally terrifying “smile”. His cracked lips curled upward on his pallid face, revealing two rows of empty, pink gums, completely devoid of any teeth.  

      The man tilted his head to the side, maintaining his unnerving, gingiva smile. “You don’t seem too appealing yoursssssself,” he hissed, his unhuman orange eyes staring directly at Max. 

      Max silently stuttered. Callista could see an obvious line of chills on the back of his neck, just visible above the collar of his tuxedo.  

      Adria brushed her gold-beaded braids over her shoulder and balled her fists, taking a daring step forward. “What the actual hell?” she screamed at the unnatural, waxy man. Her eyes were a mixture of infuriated and terrified.  

      The man tapped the embroidered orange-and-green “7” on his polo shirt while maintaining his eerily stretched smile. “Didn’t mean to startle youuuu. Just wanted you to watch your wooooords. They’re powerful thingssssss.” Callista’s entire body clenched as the man held his bright orange gaze on them. Her heart palpated when the cashier blinked one eye at a time, resembling a red-eyed tree frog. The man paused for a minute, the corners of his lips curling even more upward. “Go on,” his raspy voice snaked through the air, “Continue shopping. Let me know if I can be of sssssservice. Everything here is meant to be heeeeere.”  

      A sensation like cold electricity rippled down Callista’s spine. There was a collective hesitation amongst the group as though they were suspended in time. The only sounds came from the churning of the Slurpee machines and the steady, rhythmic drip of the coffee brew baskets, though Callista swore she could hear the cashier blinking his vivid orange eyes, his eyelids sticking and unsticking in his eye socket. Her gaze swept over Max, Adria, and Nixie. They stood rigidly, almost frozen in the man’s unwavering gaze.  

      She took a deep breath before taking a cautious step forward on the greasy tile and whispering, “Come on. Let’s each get something, then go.” 

      They all slowly tore their eyes away from the preternatural 7-Eleven employee, following behind Callista reluctantly, as though the floor were glass that could shatter at any given second.  

      Callista trailed towards the line of urns roasting coffee, her spine rigid and her peripheral vision still homed in on the orange-eyed cashier. She carefully pinched a paper Dixie cup with her fingernails and flipped the nozzle of an urn labeled hazelnut, watching the steaming, gold-brown liquid spill into the Styrofoam. Invisible ice pricked the back of her neck, but she inhaled deeply and tried to stay level-headed. It was still a long drive. She was tired and could probably use some caffeine. She wanted to shake the cryptid-like 7-Eleven employee as soon as possible. Minding their business and making a quick purchase would hopefully end any further interaction with the man, if he could even be called that.  

      Callista could hear Adria’s beads clacking lightly as she approached from behind. “Callista,” she said in a hushed voice, “What is happening? What was that about?” She jerked her head to the check-out counter. 

      Callista tried to keep her expression as unwavering as possible as she ripped open a small cup of creamer and poured it into her coffee, watching a murky cloud bloom in the cup. “Don’t worry too much, Adria.” She pressed a plastic lid on her cup. “He’s probably on something,” she said in a long, low exhale to avoid the man hearing her. She turned, clutching her cup with both hands, to see Max crouched in the next aisle, pretending to be interested in plastic-wrapped snack cakes. Nixie stood beside the fluorescent Slurpee sign, the orange-and-green light bathing the side of her face, illuminating the concerned furrow in her brow. The sloshing machines vibrated against the wall she was leaning on, making her hand tremble as she pushed her glasses up her nose and held tighter to Sloan’s bible, seemingly for some sort of emotional comfort.  

      Callista took another deep breath, trying to steady her own nerves. “C’mon. Let’s go.” 

      She kept her head bowed in an attempt to avoid the cashier’s piercing gaze. As much as she couldn’t wait to be back in the safety of her car, she thought she might genuinely consider repainting it. She would be surprised if she wasn’t repulsed by even the sight of orange after this encounter.  

      She had only taken a few staggering, sticky steps across the greasy tile when she hit a wall of flesh. Callista stumbled back, the Styrofoam cup flying from her hands. The hot, amber liquid arched through the air, droplets splashing across her arm and scorching the skin. Callista winced and clamped a hand against the blooming blisters as the cup fell and rolled across the floor in a puddle of hazelnut coffee.  

      Callista slowly lifted her gaze, cradling her scorched arm, to see the large back of an extremely stout man dressed in a green polo and visor identical to the ones the orange-eyed cashier wore. Callista’s eyes traveled down to the man’s feet where a yellow sign and mop bucket were positioned around a puddle of black grease. Peeking from behind the man’s wide shoulders was a mop, but the man stood unmoving, as though the collision with Callista had sent him into silent shock.  

      From behind her, Callista heard Adria whisper her apparent motto of the night, “What the hell?” in a trembling voice. In her peripheral, Max slowly rose from the aisle, and Nixie pressed her back further against the wall of Slurpee machines, clutching Sloan’s bible like a shield against her chest.  

      Callista rubbed her thumb across her welted skin, eyes locked on the man. His 7-Eleven polo was incredibly tight around his torso, exposing a sliver of his waist, which was covered in an unnatural amount of gray and black marbled hair. Callista cringed at the sight, then stared at the back of the man’s head, still completely stationary. Against her better judgment and despite every cell in her body screaming in protest, she cautiously reached out and tapped the man lightly on the shoulder. “Hey…are you alright?” 

      As soon as the words escaped her mouth, the man’s fists clenched around the mop, his knuckles turning glossy white. Callista stumbled back as the man began to turn around, the streaked hair bristling against the hem of his polo as his back twisted in an unnaturally flexible semicircle.  

      Adria sprinted forward and clung to Callista’s uninjured arm as the man faced them. At first, his company-issued visor cast a shadow across his face. Then he looked up at them, revealing a plump, smushed-in face covered in swirling gray and black hair. Yellow, almost glowing eyes protruded from their sockets. A wispy, white beard trailed from his chin, and his mouth was curled into a sinister grin, revealing rows of teeth sharpened like razor blades. His pupils were dilated slits fixed on Callista and Adria. Instantly, Callista felt like a field mouse frozen on the forest floor, trapped in the unwavering gaze of a barn cat.  

      A warm gust of air entered Callista’s ear as Adria leaned closer and whispered, “Callista…where the hell are we?” 

      Before Callista could even process an answer or comprehend the man standing before them, Nixie’s shaking voice called out, “Guys…” 

      Callista and Adria peeled their gaze away from the hairy man to look at Nixie, who stepped aside and pointed at a silver plaque mounted to the wall. It took Callista a few moments to realize what she was seeing. Inscribed in the plaque hanging on the wall between the Slurpee machines were Gothic-type calligraphy letters A-Z. In the corners were illustrations of the sun and moon with the words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ beside them. Below the alphabet was a line of numbers 0-9 and a single word underneath… ‘goodbye.’ Callista’s heart hammered in her chest. A Ouija board. Adria closed her eyes, her ombre nails digging into Callista’s forearm. “No no no no no,” she muttered.  

      Nixie stared at Callista, crystalline eyes wide and hands trembling. “Callista…this place used to be a warehouse.” She attempted to point to a small plate underneath the board, but her hand shook uncontrollably. “The creators of the board? They signed the patent here.”  

      Max’s voice cracked before choking out, “And Callista?” He held up a package of Swedish fish, “All of these snacks expired the day Sloan was born.”  

      A horrible screech pierced the air. 

      Adria jumped back, pulling Callista with her.     

      The hairy cashier’s fingers had clenched tighter around the handle of the mop, revealing thin, silver claws embedded in the tips of his fingers where nails should have been. His smile curled into more of a snarl as the puddle of grease beside his battered sneakers started to gurgle like bubbling, viscous tar.  

      Callista’s pulse resonated to her throat. She found herself gripping Adria’s hand until she could feel their pulses thundering against each other in their palms. Sweat beaded her forehead as something metallic began to emerge from the inky puddle. Tendrils of black smoke flooded, curling around their legs as the black grease expanded across the tile. 

      Behind them, something crashed to the floor. Callista briefly tore her eyes away from the seeping puddle, looking over to see the orange-eyed cashier jumping over the counter and knocking over a revolving rack of souvenir keychains, his gleaming eyes like spotlights on them. His waxy skin rippled as he took a springing step forward, like he was walking in zero gravity.  

      Adria let out an audible gasp, and Callista turned her attention back to the puddle. The metallic piece continued to emerge from the effervescent grease, an ornate crown dripping in thick, black liquid rising to the surface.       

      The lights began to flicker, causing a chorus of screams from Adria, Nixie, and Max. Callista couldn’t tell if she was screaming or not. She was completely disembodied in fear at this point. The walls started rattling, throwing the Slurpee machines to the floor as the crown continued to ascend. Through the flickers of light, Callista saw a figure starting to emerge. The flashes of warm light illuminated an extremely tall man in a suit, his head crested by the crown. The flashing of the fluorescent lights intensified, and Callista could feel Adria’s nails latching so far into her arm that the sensation of warm liquid began trickling down her arm. Callista desperately wanted to look away but couldn’t.  

      The crowned figure waved its long arm across the store and instantly, the lights stopped flickering. A stunned silence fell over the 7-Eleven along with the rolling black smoke. The four collectively and cautiously looked up, facing a seven-foot-tall man with gray-tinted, wrinkled skin dripping in inky black oil. He was dressed in a crisp tuxedo that hugged his slender frame, the tops of his shoulders dusted with gray ash. His face was smeared with grease dripping down from his crown, which was covered in spots of green-and-blue corrosion juxtaposing the gold. He stared at them all with a sweeping gaze. His eyes were sunken into the creases of his face and as black as the oil coating him, like two pieces of obsidian pressed into a lump of ceramic clay. He stroked a few scraggly pieces of silver hair sprouting from his chin with a pair of gnarled fingers before tapping an ornate piece of bronze into his chest pocket. The intricate metal was curved with a point at the end like a teardrop, a small circle of glass set into the middle.  

      Callista’s throat constricted. A planchette.  

      As soon as her mind clicked with the realization, a clattering sound echoed through the store as a shelf fell to the linoleum floor. Callista flinched and jerked her neck to see Max bolt towards the glass double doors, tripping over packs of snack cakes strewn across the floor from the fallen shelf. He pulled at the doors, rattling the handles repeatedly and yelling out frantically to no avail. He punched at the glass desperately, screaming out curses. A bolt of lightning cracked through the Baltimore sky outside, as if confirming their escape was sealed while illuminating his face twisted in agonized fear. Max leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the glass and letting out a guttural cry before slumping to a crouching position.  

      The tall, crowned figure took a step forward, rippling the puddle of grease around him and unfortunately solidifying his existence for Callista in the process. Callista winced hard, praying the otherworldly creature would be gone when she opened her eyes again. That invocation went unanswered. She watched, a mixture of adrenaline and panic clutching her chest like sadistic fingers coiling around her body and squeezing. The crowned creature tilted its head, blinking its beady eyes in Max’s direction while he panted and trembled. With a snap of its gnarled fingers, the two 7-Eleven employees flanked the figure. Bile rose in Callista’s throat as the hairy and waxy men seemed to melt like rapidly burning candles, melding into the puddle of grease at the creature’s feet. Adria and Nixie let out strangled sobs. The lights began to flicker again as the flesh-colored liquid coursed up the creature’s legs in a path similar to blood coursing through veins until it reached its neck. The entity rolled its head to the side and inhaled deeply, smoke curling from its flared nostrils.  

      Welts grew on either side of its neck, one covered in hair and the other gleaming with scales. The welts twisted like clay being molded by invisible hands. Callista squinted through the flashes of dim light to see pairs of glowing eyes bloom from the molten fluid before the shapes finally solidified.  

      The fluorescent lights buzzed, then stopped flickering, revealing an even more horrific being than before: a crowned man with the heads of a cat and frog protruding from either side of his neck. Callista’s stomach churned, and she could feel Adria’s shaking sobs against her back. Nixie was curled into a ball on the floor under the Ouija board plaque, covering Sloan’s Bible with the entirety of her body like a shell.  

      A tremor rattled the baseboards of the convenience store like an earthquake. The dim light began to flicker erratically. A sourceless, lashing wind blew through the 7-Eleven. Callista winced and braced against a shelf as she was pushed back into Adria. Nixie screamed and pressed her weight further against Sloan’s book as the pages fluttered.  

      The three-headed creature stepped forward, the puddle of grease rippling under its dress shoes while the fluorescent lights emphasized its gangly steps. The crowned, inhuman figure cocked its head to the side, blinking its small, obsidian eyes at the three girls. The cat head snarled and hissed, and the gleaming frog let out a reverberating croak. The figure slowly lifted its humanoid arms, like a priest about to bless a church. Then it unhinged its jaw and let out a horrifying shriek.  

      The wind intensified like a whipping hurricane around them. Callista grit her teeth and screamed as the harsh vortex howled around them. A maelstrom of expired snack cakes, bags of chips, and coffee cups whirled around them. Callista could hear the muffled screams of Adria, Nixie, and Max in the distance as the lights swayed and creaked overhead.  

      The creature let its arms fall abruptly. The lights stopped flickering instantaneously, the packaged snacks and cups falling to the floor.  

      Callista panted. From the corner of her eye, Nixie, Adria, and Max slowly untensed their bodies and peered at the tri-cranial cryptid before them. The 7-Eleven fell silent except for the sound of oil dripping from the creature’s eroded crown and the steady snarls and croaks from its other heads. It reached out and tapped the planchette in its pocket with its gnarled fingers again. Callista’s heart crescendoed in her chest. The beads in Adria’s hair clacked together as she quivered behind Callista’s back. Nixie seemed to be frozen in place, her eyes bloodshot behind her glasses. Callista dared to tear her eyes away from the towering creature and steal a glance at the Ouija board plaque on the wall, confirming it was actually there and that this was actually happening. She swayed as the convenience store began to spin around her, bile rising in her throat.  

      From the front of the store, still hunched beside the sealed, glass door, Max gasped out, “This can’t be fucking real, dude.” He buried his head in his chest and dissolved into panting “holy—” repeatedly without completing the curse.  

      The next series of actions happened so instantaneously, Callista almost didn’t process them. The slick daemon flung out its arms, the lanky limbs flying out and extending like rubber. Its contorted hands wrapped around Adria, who shrieked, with a snap. The monstrous figure pulled her forward, knocking Callista to her knees. Adria screamed and flailed, her backpack falling to the ground and tarot cards scattering on the grease-covered floor as the creature clasped her against its horrifying, hybrid body.  

      Adria let out a contorted scream, tears streaming down her face and streaking her winged eyeliner. Callista and Nixie lunged forward while Adria writhed in the creature’s arms. The crowned head bared its teeth, and the puddle of grease seeping across the tile ignited as though someone threw a match onto it. The wall of fire and blinding light sent Callista and Nixie reeling.  

      Callista squinted as the searing heat pressed against her like an invisible, heavy hand making her velvet dress suffocate her body. Shockwaves of pain coursed through every nerve from the sudden change in temperature. Nixie called out to her, the air between them wavering.  

      Callista’s eyes watered as she attempted to face Adria and the daemon. The dancing tendrils of fire obscured their silhouettes, but she could see Adria frantically struggling against the creature’s restraining grasp. “NIXIE! CALLISTA! OH MY GOD, HELP ME!” she sobbed out desperately over the crackling fire.  

      Without warning, Max bolted towards the back of the convenience store, sneakers gliding across the propane-slick tile. He scrambled into the restroom, his lavender tie flying into the inferno surrounding Adria and the gaunt, Cerberus-like daemon.  

      Callista clenched her fists, rage rising through her body like the sweltering air surrounding them as she stared at the restroom plaque Max had disappeared behind.  

      “Callista!” Nixie wailed from the other side of the 7-Eleven. Her pale blue eyes were wide with fear. “Try and grab Adria! Please,” she begged between shaking sobs, “I can’t!” She glanced down at Sloan’s hand-bound book still clutched tightly against her chest. The edges of the pages had clearly been singed in the sudden burst of fire.  

      Callista turned her gaze back to the wall of blazing flames. Past the flickering inferno, she could see Adria still squirming against the creature’s tight grasp, her face twisted in pain and beaded with sweat as the crowned figure stared ahead with its three sets of unwavering eyes.  

      Callista started to reach out cautiously. As soon as she did, the fire swelled and intensified, forcing Callista back in a burst of hot air. She winced and cradled her arm as the coffee-blistered skin began to sting again. She looked up to see the wall of flames even taller and brighter than before, raging just inches in front of them.  

      Callista glanced at Nixie, panting, then frantically scrambled over, clasping her hand around Nixie’s wrist. Nixie screamed and flinched, the light of the fire reflected in her glasses. “Come on!” Callista yelled firmly over the sounds of Adria’s screams and the roar of flames. She dragged Nixie behind her, weaving past fallen shelves to the restroom, the conflagration raging relentlessly behind them.  

      Callista flung open the bathroom door, pushing Nixie inside and quickly slamming the door behind her as the cryptid outside began to let out a wailing screech again. Callista scrambled to lock the door, fumbling with the handle. After hearing the secure click, Callista leaned her head against the door, the wood warm from the fire blazing behind it. She let out a rattling breath, still reeling from whatever-the-hell had just happened to them. Then she whipped around.  

      “Max,” she said through bared teeth, taking an authoritative step forward, “What did you do?” Her multiple rings bit into her clenched knuckles. She couldn’t pinpoint why she concluded this was Max’s fault, but her intuition was screaming.  

      Max was shriveled against the subway-tiled wall, knees against his chest with his dress shirt untucked and his hair dissolved. His eyes were wide, his mouth opening and closing as he stared at Callista. “Callista, I-I’m scared, dude.” He gulped. “I don’t know what just happened. H-how can that happen?” he cried at her desperately before burying his head into his knees.  

      Nixie let out a trembling sob from the opposite corner, her back pressed against the wall with Sloan’s book still pressed against her chest. Her eyes were turned up to the ceiling, and she was mouthing wordlessly, almost in prayer. “I don’t understand what’s happening. What is that thing? How are we supposed to get Adria back? How are we supposed to get out of here?” She stared at Callista, tears still streaming persistently down her face. “Callista? We just lost Sloan. I don’t know what this thing is. I’m scared.” 

      Before Callista could say anything or try to assess their situation at all, another tremor rocked the building as the creature’s screams intensified behind the door, plaster raining from the ceiling. Nixie stumbled forward, Sloan’s book sliding from her grasp and landing open-face on the tile floor.  

      Callista blinked as the 7-Eleven settled again. Sloan’s book was open to a yellowed page with a crosshatch illustration and swirling cursive etched onto it. Callista took a step forward. Her heart momentarily stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat. On the page, drawn in unsettling detail, was a sketch of a cadaverous, crowned daemon with two heads protruding from the sides of its neck: a scowling cat and wide-eyed frog. The humanoid head’s mouth was gaped open in a roar, revealing rows of razor-like teeth. Its eyes, two dark inkblots on the page, somehow still conveyed an inhuman ire.  

      Above the hyper-realistic illustration, written in a sprawling handwriting Callista recognized as Sloan’s, were the words Bael: First King of Hell.  

      Callista’s entire body reverberated. She slowly pulled her eyes away from the page and stared at Max, who was quivering as his eyes danced across the page frantically. “Max,” Callista summoned all the courage she had left to form the conviction in her voice. “You know something we don’t…don’t you?” 

      Max buried his head in his hands. “No no no,” he muttered as Callista and Nixie shared a look. His shoulders shook as he sighed, then looked up, running his hands down his face. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.  

      The creature’s shrill screams again swelled from behind the restroom door. Nixie tilted her head, her slightly green hair creating the illusion that she was a sea creature prowling toward Max, ready to snap his neck in her serrated jaw. “What didn’t you mean to do?” 

      Max grappled for words, stammering. “I-I didn’t think all of this would happen. I just wanted all the spiritual shit to stop. I thought m-maybe if something actually scared her a little—” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Fuck!” He punched the tile wall behind him.  

      Callista clenched her jaw. “Max. You need to tell us what you mean. Now.”  

      Max looked up at her and Nixie, eyes wide like the deer back in Virginia that would frequently run across the road. Callista silently wished she was back in her car and could hit him like pathetic game. “I-I found that picture in her book a while back.” He nodded to the detailed ink. “You guys know I don’t believe this shit is real. I just thought if anything could scare her, it would be this,” he waved his hand, “King of Hell, three-headed whatever. When you guys invited me to the seance, Sloan told me to think of positive things so her grandmother would come forward,” Callista noticed a slight eye roll from behind his bags, “so I thought of that freak. Ball? Something like that. I thought it would at least, like, I don’t know…put some sort of negative energy into the board and freak everyone out a little. Then all of the spiritual stuff would stop. I mean, c’mon, you have to admit it was getting a bit obsessive.” He gave them a pleading look. “I didn’t know—” 

      Nixie stomped her heel at him. “Well how real is it now, Max?” Her nostrils flared. Callista stared at her in unspoken solidarity.  

      Nixie leaned over and picked up Sloan’s book, following the cursive script with her finger, her eyes moving rapidly. “It says here,” she said, her voice wavering slightly, “that Bael was a Canaanite deity of fertility. One of the most important in their pantheon, apparently.” Nixie paused, her brow furrowing. “He battled the god of death and all things that opposed fertility, Mot. Bael was slain by him. When his corpse was uncovered, his sister, Anath—she gave him a proper burial on the top of Ṣapān, a mountain in northern Syria. She then demanded that Mot bring her brother back from the dead. When he refused, she mutilated him. After that, she scattered Mot’s ashes, and her brother was resurrected,” Nixie finished, looking up at Max and Callista. 

      Max swallowed. “Holy shit.” 

      Callista stared at the wall ahead, trying to remain focused and not think too deeply about the peril they were in. “So that’s what we’re dealing with? Bael?” 

      Nixie closed Sloan’s bible and slid her glasses up her nose, a pained look on her face. “Not just that. There’s a Ouija board out there, Callista.” She jerked her head towards the door where tendrils of smoke were beginning to slip through the crack between the wood and the floor. “This is its birthplace. And I think I know what happened.” She stared down at Max, sneering, “We forgot to close the board out that night. The last time we saw Sloan. Bael has been with us since. We didn’t say goodbye; we couldn’t.” 

      Max let out a grab of fearful laughter. “So that’s it? All of this is happening because we didn’t close out some stupid board?” 

      Nixie’s grip tightened around the hand-sewn spine of Sloan’s book. “No. All of this is happening because of you.” Her whole body slumped as she sighed, “And I don’t know how to get out of it now.”

      Callista’s lips tensed as she concentrated. “The planchette,” she said, Nixie looking up at her inquisitively. “There’s a planchette in his pocket. And we have a board.”
Max scoffed again. “Right. So we grab a little pointer thing out of a daemon’s pocket and use some historical marker to tell it bye? That’ll save us?”  

      Callista stiffened her neck. “No. You grab a planchette out of a deity’s pocket. And save us.”  

✦ 

      The three stood outside the restroom, once again facing the arch of flames snaking through the convenience store. Their funeral attire stuck to their skin in the oppressive heat wavering through the room. Callista pulled at the neckline of her chiffon dress, the fabric clinging to her body with sticky insistence. As she squinted into the fire, she could just barely make out Adria’s writhing silhouette and only imagine how unbearable the heat was from her side. And only pray she was okay.  

      Bael’s falsetto screeches still reverberated through the 7-Eleven, mingling with the snaps of flames and Adria’s pleading screams.  

      Nixie put her hand on Max’s back and shoved him forward a bit. “Go on.”  

      Max’s eyes darted between them, sweat seeping through his white button-down shirt. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?” He gestured toward the arch of flames.  

      Nixie looked at him with disdain, crossing her arms over Sloan’s bible. “It helps to say their name. Acknowledge them. A sign of respect for the spirit you’ve invited.”  

      Max’s brow creased, his mouth opening and closing.  

      Callista exhaled. Her previous grief-stricken dissociation was now replaced with an adrenaline-induced haze. “Max. Do it. Now. Or we don’t get out of here.” The smoke around them grew, emphasizing her urgency.  

      Max gulped and took a trembling step forward. “B-Bael!”  

      A low growl emanated through the building.  

      Nixie tensed her shoulders. “With more conviction.” 

      Max winced and took a step forward. “Bael!”  

      His voice echoed through the room. The tall flames diminished, rippling across the expanse of slick, black grease as small, blue wisps. The creature, now identified as Bael, fixed all three sets of eyes on Max. His distorted fingers were wrapped tightly around Adria’s mouth. Adria was still kicking and flailing weakly, her forehead drenched in sweat, causing the defined swirls of hair framing her face to come unstuck from their previous carefully laid position. Her face was smudged with ash and eyeliner, and her ombre nails were cracked from trying to pull Bael’s hands away from her. She looked to them desperately, her body sagging with exhaustion.  

      Nixie shoved Max again, sending him stumbling forward.  

      Max regained his balance, then swallowed hard and said, “Bael. I’m sorry for summoning you. I-” He clenched his fists.  

      “Tell the truth,” Nixie spat. 

      “It wasn’t my intention. I thought it would help my g-girlfriend, Sloan, come to her senses. You’re clearly very powerful.” A growl rumbled in Bael’s throat. “I wouldn’t want to misuse that power. I definitely believe in you now. If I can, I’d like to use your planchette,” Max nodded to the object peeking out of the deity’s pocket, “and say a proper goodbye, I guess. And send you back to where you belong.” He hung his head and gestured toward the plaque on the wall.  

      Bael’s heads simultaneously growled, hissed, and croaked. He released Adria, who landed on the floor with a thud, the flames around them instantly extinguishing.  

      Adria coughed and scrambled toward them, flinging herself into Nixie’s arms.  

      Bael stepped forward, cocking his human head, his crown tilting slightly. He blinked his onyx eyes at Max, the corners of his cracked lips twitching.  

      Callista’s pulse tolled through her body. What Max said wasn’t what the deity wanted. Callista closed her eyes as the realization struck her, waiting for the daemon’s next move.  

      When she opened them again, Bael was standing just a few feet away, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the intricate piece of metal, the multi-faceted glass set in the center glimmering in the flickering fluorescent light. Callista shivered. It was identical to the one they used with Sloan the night they last saw her alive.  

      Max must have realized this, too, because he inhaled sharply and started to back into the wall. That was when Bael flung the planchette towards them with a sharp flick of his wrist. The tear-shaped disc flew through the air, hitting Max directly in the chest and sending him flying into the wall as though it were a plate of iron instead of a piece of metal the size of Callista’s palm. Max squirmed as he was pinned against the wall as if some magnetic attraction were occurring between the planchette and the tile.  

      Callista flinched, and Nixie jumped back with Sloan’s book and Adria still clutched tightly in her arms while Max screamed and desperately tried to pry the planchette away from his chest.  

      Bael continued to silently step forward, his sets of eyes fixed ahead. He slowly moved through the puddle of grease and fallen shelves of expired snacks until he was just a few inches away from Nixie and Callista’s faces. Adria buried her face further into Nixie’s shoulder.  

      Callista cringed as her eyes scanned Bael: his marbled fur, moist amphibian skin, and oil-smeared face. She tried to steel her body, anticipating the deity’s next move. The animalistic heads squinted at Max as he continued to struggle while the crowned head blinked at Callista.  

      Bael raised his hand and slid his talon-like fingers through the air as if extracting something from it. A small blue, porcelain, vase-shaped object began to appear in midair, following the movement of Bael’s fingers, as though being woven thread-by-thread. When the small vase was fully formed, Bael held out his palm, and the porcelain vessel fell into it.  

      Still staring at the three girls with his humanoid eyes, he extended his cupped hands out to Callista, turning over the small amphora to reveal a gilded, cursive S painted onto the glass. An urn.  

      Nixie turned and gave Callista a deliberate look, Adria hesitantly lifting her head. “The pact,” Nixie whispered. “His sister Anath. She gave him a proper burial and destroyed Mot.” Her eyes flickered between Callista and the small urn.  

      Callista’s throat constricted, trying to fight her internal refusal to believe that her friend’s ashes were laying in a daemon’s craggy hands. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, then gently took the urn from Bael’s hands, a sudden sob rattling through her.  

      Bael tilted his crowned head at her, his black eyes somehow seeming to warm internally, almost empathetically.  

      “Is this what you want us to do?” Nixie asked, her voice shaking slightly. “Give Sloan the burial she wanted?” 

      All three of Bael’s faces became expression-less again. He slowly extended one of his arms, pointing to the silver plaque on the other side of the 7-Eleven, the tip of his finger indicating the word “goodbye.”  

      Max broke the stunned, tearful silence of the three girls by grunting as he continued to try and rip the planchette from his skin. “NO! Guys, guys! Get me down! Please!” Bael waved his hand, and Max was pressed further into the wall, his breath coming out in strangled gasps.  

      He looked at the three girls again. Callista tightened her grip on the urn, tears streaming down her face. The deity silently lifted his hand again, snapping his fingers in the direction of the doors at the front of the store. The sound of a lock clicking open resounded. Nixie, Adria, and Callista glanced at each other, tears rimming their eyes and a silent agreement passing between them.  

      They slowly walked toward the doors and out into the cold air. Fresh, night air brought relief to their lungs. Callista pulled her keys from her pocket, Sloan’s ashes weighing heavily in her other hand. She lifted her head to the Baltimore sky overhead as the sound of a rush of flames igniting and frantic screaming echoed behind her.  

✦ 

      Callista, Adria, and Nixie stood on the damp grass of the abandoned cemetery, their heels sinking into the wet soil. Callista’s orange Volkswagen was parked on the edge of the church ground, crushing some of the overgrown kudzu and ivy. The pale dawn sun had just begun to pierce the veil of the fog surrounding them.  

      They stood over a line of three weathered graves silently. A fresh hole was upturned beside the row, the soil packed tight and a tiny piece of green aventurine laid where the headstone should have been. Callista could still feel the grain of the dirt under her nails. She wanted to properly grieve and let her tears flow freely. The pact was finally fulfilled. But her mind was still trying to process all of the events that occurred in the 7-Eleven, and she was fighting the exhaustion weighing down her body after making the drive from Maryland to Virginia.  

      “Well, it’s done,” Adria sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her face was still smudged with ash. In the emerging sunlight, Callista could see a few tiny cuts on her face. Some of her braids had come undone, wisps of frizzy hairs escaping in the gentle breeze.  

      Nixie held Sloan’s bible under her arm and adjusted her glasses. “The pact has been satisfied. Hopefully Bael has been too.” She stared at Sloan’s new resting place. “Now we can focus on healing.” 

      As soon as the words left her mouth, the sound of several shrill alarms filled the otherwise quiet, somber air. All three flinched and reached for their phones, where the sounds were emanating from. As soon as Callista unlocked her phone, her stomach sank. A blaring warning symbol flashed on her screen with the words AMBER ALERT bolded on a notification icon.  

      Nixie and Adria looked up from their phones at Callista, eyes wide.  

      Callista read the alert quietly out loud.  

      “Amber Alert: 16-year-old Max Stamford. 6 feet tall. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Wearing dress suit. Last seen in Baltimore, Maryland with three 16-year-old female companions.”  

 

 

 

Bibliography  

      In this story, the “birthplace” of the Ouija Board, a board inscribed with numbers, letters, and basic phrases typically meant to communicate with spirits, is mentioned. This inspiration was gleaned from the true story of the Ouija Board’s origins. The board received its name at 529 North Charles Street, Baltimore, Maryland in 1890 after a well-known spiritual medium, Helen Peters, was able to provide substantial evidence to the Patent Office that the board did, in fact, work. Today, 529 North Charles Street stands as a 7-Eleven Convenience store. The store has plaque recalling the events that took place over a century ago hanging inside, making the business a popular tourist destination for those intrigued by the paranormal. 

      The Canaanite-Phoenician god of fertility and the weather, Bael, appears in this piece as well. The sources used to glean information regarding his origins and description, as well as other inspirations, are listed below.   

Bael (Baal) Mythology: Baal worship. Baal Worship| Jewish Virtual Library. (n.d.). https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/baal-worship-jewish-virtual-library  

Encyclopædia Britannica, inc. (n.d.). Mot. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Mot  

Ouija Board Origins: Ugc. (2015, October 19). A 7-Eleven stands on the site where the Ouija Board was Named. Atlas Obscura. https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/ouija-7eleven

Xanthippos, Dionysia. Baal’s Battle with Mot, the God of Death. https://ancientworlds.net/aw/Post/1290294