Straight from the Abyss
Chapter 1: Crayola is not Rated for This
There I was, not quite sleeping, not quite awake- as I had been for hundreds of years now. All that surrounded me currently, was the endless expanse of caverns, black sand, and darkness. Not much to see, I know- but it isn’t called the Deep Abyss for nothing. The Deep Abyss, a part of what many mortals would call Hell, Hades, or the Underworld, is simply… the very bottom of that pit. Where things like me dwell, in the dark- things that most of the world had forgotten long ago. However, something, somewhere was calling to my currently formless self- someone reaching out from the mortal plane. Curious. I’d assumed that things like me had been all but forgotten. Deciding to investigate- I turn my waking mind towards it- the threads of invisible energy reaching out into this realm. Pushing my essence through it- I began to feel myself move, slipping between states of existence. Going from a formless consciousness in a realm that is more metaphor than real, to spilling into reality as a flowing dark cloud through the forming cracks in the air. This miasma of me, rapidly gathering in what turned out to be a relatively modest room- wherein a single figure stood, practically fumbling through reading chants from a single, ancient page they held- struggling like a half literate child in a remedial English class trying to read a paragraph from a school copy of The Outsiders. To their credit- as they noticed the misting of black smoke, they didn’t drop the page and run, despite the increased panic in their voice. As I gathered myself tighter and tighter, the smog spilling out began pulling back in and up, resolving into a humanoid form, I began to take in more of the room. I appeared to be in a… college dorm room. I was forming in the center of a crudely drawn chalk circle- drawn obviously with the chalk from a half empty box of sidewalk chalk nearby. The candles set around the circle at various points were mismatched- some scented, a few the kind used in power outages, and one singular candle was a battery powered one with a lightbulb. As my form began to resolve and take true detail, the figure, robed in what appeared to be a bathrobe worn over a hoodie, the hood up, reached the end of their chant, causing the paper itself to shift in color, blackening like coals, before simply crumbling to dust as the lights went out; candles included, leaving the male figure in the dark with me. They screamed. It was more annoying than amusing, as my eyes glowed a deep red in the dark, not quite casting light but the only thing visible in the shadow.
I stood there in place, eyebrow raised in the dark, not that this… human could see, nor could they know I could see perfectly, not that I actually needed to be able to see in the dark. The sounds of them trying to run, and failing to do so by tripping over a chair and hitting the floor would have been clear enough. Wordlessly I began walking forward, stepping over them, and to their fridge, opening it as I heard them clambering back up, and as they stumbled around in the dark. I’m sure they would have probably gone for the door to run away, if not for the clear, crisp sound of me opening a can of off brand cola I’d pilfered from their fridge, followed by the sound of me shamelessly taking a swig. The sounds of them knocking about along the wall had stopped, as they stood still, in shock. "Wait what?" They asked aloud, the confusion evident in their voice. "Are… Are you going through my fridge?" They continued. I had to give them at least a little credit- though not much, as this was less ‘brave outburst’ and more ‘sheer incredulous shock’.
As I turned around to face them, the lights flickered back on, bathing the room once more in moderate college dorm lighting. I stood there, watching this would-be summoner take in my appearance. I was humanoid in most senses of the word- about 5ft 6in tall, with a wiry frame. Curly black hair that covered my ears, and framed my face, and my facial expression could really only be described as constantly bored, and even just tired as the bags under my eyes might suggest- something contrasting my otherwise youthful appearance. It definitely wasn’t my clothes that were strange either, although they weren’t particularly striking in any way; slightly distressed, baggy jeans, basic sneakers, and an over-large black hoody that practically hung off my frame. No, none of those things were the ones that would tip one off to what I was. However, the lavender colored skin, the indigo colored rams horns sprouting from my head, and the deep red of my irises did scream ‘unnatural’, just a tiny bit.
"Jesus Christ!" The man exclaimed, clearly shocked. "Not even close." I replied, a hint of dry snark in my tone. "Completely different department, actually. Plus I don’t think he does house calls."
The man opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t seem to find the words. It was reminiscent of a goldfish. In the time it took for him to find the courage to say something, I’d finished the canned beverage, crushed the can with a hand, and set it on his coffee table.
"H-how did you just step out of the binding circle? It should have… It was supposed to keep you in!" He sputtered.
I looked over at the half smudged, wobbly ‘circle’ drawn on the ground. The one I’d stepped over when the lights had been out. "Oh. That. Yeah, I don’t think Crayola is quite rated for demonic summoning. Try Cray-Z-Art next time. All the best sorcerers swear by it."
He looked like he was genuinely taking the ‘advice’ to heart until he saw the look on my face that betrayed my serious tone. I almost laughed- he really seemed to think that some crappy art chalk was going to actually work for seals. It was adorable. Pathetic, but adorable.
He started again; "So it worked, then? I did summon a demon?"
"Something like that, sure. I mean, you mostly did the equivalent of broadcasting that you were opening a door. I just happened to be the one who came through. Kinda surprised you’re not dead, to be honest."
He visibly paled at that comment. He really had no idea what he was doing. As far as I could tell- he was just one of those college students dabbling in witchcraft. Probably read his horoscope, and talked to an internet psychic too. I laughed. It made him look even more nervous.
"Oh god- are you gonna kill me?"
I paused. I looked at him. "Why? Do you want me to?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard. "N-no?"
"Good, I don’t want to get blood on my hoodie, and frankly, killing is so 15th century. So, bathrobe boy, you got a name, or am I just going to be calling you bathrobe boy all day?"
"B-Bryan."
"What? Did you just call me Bryan? That’s not even close to my name."
"I- No! MY name is Bryan."
I gave him a look- letting him know I was fucking with him. "Okay Bryan, well, I’m Matir. Technically my name is much longer than that, but we don’t have time for the full thing- well I do, but you’d probably pass out from the strain of knowing just the first half of it. That and names have power, Bryan, they’re very important. You shouldn’t just go around giving your name out like that. There are some real weirdos out there- you don’t know what they could do with a name."
Bryan chuckled nervously, still seeming like he was struggling to come to terms with any of this. Understandable, except for the whole fact that he absolutely drew a circle in his dorm with chalk, surrounded it with candles, and actually chanted out loud a dead language on a random scrap of paper. As he started taking off the bathrobe, leaving his normal clothes he had on, and brought down the hood, I decided to make conversation.
"So, Bryan, you wanna tell me where you’d gotten that scrap of paper? The one you were absolutely butchering like a middle schooler who’d been held back five times?"
As he brought down the hood, revealing his face; he had the build of someone who played sports casually- a bit of muscle but not some lunkhead. Very much a ‘90s movie protag’ look. Blonde cropped hair, slight tan, and green eyes. "Honestly? I uh.. signed up for an elective history class; History of Witchcraft and Demonology. I thought it would be an easy credit. Turns out, you don’t just watch stuff like Game of Thrones, or the Witcher… Anyways, the teacher, Dr. Cormanci, she gave us some homework. To find some ritual and do it at home- to try to ‘connect’ with the course-work."
I stared at him for a few seconds in silence. I blinked. "Are you telling me… your teacher just told you ‘Go find magic stuff on the internet and do it’, and called that homework?"
"I mean- magic isn’t… Wasn’t supposed to be real." He responded, half heartedly as he began to consider what had happened.
"Right, sure. And uh, this teacher, did she actually tell you to, I don’t know, write any sort of essay on any of it?"
"Uh… No? Why?" Bryan was looking a little confused now.
"Bryan, you’re in college. Everything comes with having to do an essay about it. If they had it their way, they’d be having you write essays about your lunches. The fact that this ‘Dr. Cormanci’ gave you a task that literally was ‘find and do a ritual at home’, and didn’t tell you to then write a few paragraphs? You know, actual schoolwork to be graded on? Isn’t that, at least a little suspicious to you?"
Bryan paled quite a bit- as he began to consider what I’d said. "Like… something was meant to happen?"
"I dunno, you tell me. Where exactly did you get that page? The one you’d been reading from? It didn’t look like normal paper to me. I’d guess it had been actual vellum." I asked, arms crossed as I leaned back against the wall, the picture of a detective working a case, if that detective were also dressed incredibly casually.
"Vellum? I dunno, Dr. Cormanci told us we could find our own stuff online but she also had stuff on hand if we couldn’t find anything on our own."
"I… Vellum is a kind of paper. It’s made from animal skin. It’s one of the few things you can actually put magical writing on that can easily be carried around. And your teacher, she just… happened to have several rituals written, on hand? On vellum? Buddy, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but your professor is either a deeply irresponsible academic, which frankly tracks, or she’s using undergrads as divining rods. Possibly both. Academia loves multitasking.”
Bryan gulped. Literally, an audible, almost cartoon like nervous gulp. "Are you saying… she’s using people? For what? Like what works and what doesn’t?"
"Oh, neat, you aren’t entirely hopeless. But yeah, I’m willing to bet she probably has copies of every scroll. Probably waiting for you to either go running to her office about ‘weird stuff happening’, or if you’d turned up dead the next day she’d have known why. She probably doesn’t even know what half of the stuff she has actually does." I replied, musing.
Bryan looked nervous again. "What do you mean ‘turned up dead? Are you saying I could have died?"
"I mean, there was a not zero percent chance. Depended on the ritual. Hell, the one you used to summon me, wasn’t even really specific. You’re lucky I was the one who answered- anyone else might have actually decided to kill you." I explained, inspecting my fingernails.
"So, uh, what do we do now?"
"We? I didn’t know there was a ‘we’ here."
"Come on! You just sat here talking about how my teacher is, like, using people to test whatever magic papers she has. You have to be able to do… something!"
I shot a look at Bryan. "There are plenty of things I could do. Doesn’t mean I will. Not my monkeys, not my circus, Bryan.”
Bryan, of course, was bothered by my rational indifference, and many mortals tend to be- they always feel entitled when it comes to those more able than them. "Seriously? You just told me some people could die because of this!"
"Yeah, but I don’t have anything to do with that. What do you want me to do? Call the cops for you? I don’t exactly have a cell phone, Bryan."
"Like the cops are gonna believe any of this! ‘Oh yes, officer, my teacher is tricking students into doing magic!’ Don’t you have, like, magical powers or something? Can’t you shoot fire or whatever, and make Dr. Cormanci stop?" Bryan started.
"If I defaulted to throwing fire or ‘whatever’ at mortals for any reason, we wouldn’t be talking right now. Also, again, I fail to see how any of this means I have to do something."
Bryan looked like he was going to keep arguing, before he appeared to get an idea- a dangerous activity when college students are involved. "Okay, fine. You don’t technically have to do anything. So, what are you gonna do? Do you actually have anything lined up? Any other options? What else do you actually have to do?"
I gave Bryan a once-over. So he was capable of thinking a little outside the box, maybe he’d be interesting after all. "So, what mid-tier fantasy show did you steal that kind of wily thinking from? Probably something off the CW, right?"
"Little bit of Buffy, little bit of Supernatural, I guess. So, you’re gonna actually help then?"
"I guess so, if nothing else, than to see just what this school witch of yours actually has. Curious to see where she gets her supply from. Not gonna lie and act like I’m not at least a little interested in what her game is." I explained, absently gazing around the kitchenette/living area combo that is a college dorm room, as I made my way to the door.
"Wait- you’re going out like… that? Aren’t people gonna panic or something? You’re… Purple. And, well, the horns." Bryan helpfully (not) pointed out.
"Oh yes. Somehow I totally forgot. How silly of me." I paused to laugh a little. "Bryan, you’re the only one who will see me as, well, this. You mortals only really tend to see a version of things, and for everyone out there? They’ll see just a normal guy. A little pale, sure, but I’ll look like any other college burnout to them. The only people who can see me, the real me, are you, anyone who’s on enough mind altering drugs, and for some reason, cats. But, nobody will believe the high ones- not even themselves, and even if there’s a cat out there, who are they gonna tell? Nobody who can understand them, that’s who."
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the carpet patterned in that aggressive, stain-hiding geometry beloved by dorm designers who have long since abandoned hope. A couple of students passed by, deep in conversation about something loudly unimportant. To them, I was exactly what I’d promised. A tired-looking guy in a hoodie, hands in his pockets, moving with the bored confidence of someone who belonged nowhere and everywhere at once. The hallway of the dorm was exactly what I expected: dimly lit, smelling faintly of overcooked ramen and industrial-strength floor cleaner, and decorated with flyers for "Acoustic Night" at the student union.
"Smells like the first layer of Hell out here." I commented.
"Limbo smells like ramen and cheap polyester?" Bryan questioned. Good for him- he actually studied!
"Sort of, yeah? Limbo isn’t really all that bad- it’s just not good. Like, imagine a copy of the world, just… made up of the crappy versions of everything. Nothing is name brand, everything is roughly room temperature, and the weather is always just slightly uncomfortable. Diogenes ended up there, actually, and he’s always… interesting." I explained, as we ambled down the hall.
Chapter 2: Midnight Office Hours
We reached the elevator, and got in, I leaned against the wall, while Bryan hit the button for the ground floor and continued looking more nervous than a first time drug dealer.
"You should really calm down. All that stress will probably kill you faster than your witch teacher."
"What? You never said anything about her killing me!"
"How many of her ‘students’ do you think have already died after summoning something less… polite than myself?" I questioned, crossing my arms.
Before Bryan could respond, the elevator doors opened and two yoga pants-clad women in sweaters joined us on the elevator, chatting away. Bryan somehow seemed to get even more nervous. But, like I said, the newcomers absolutely had no clue as to my demonic nature. However, one of them, let's call her Stacy, paused, smelling the air, before addressing her mind numbingly similar compatriot; we shall call Macy. "Do… you smell grape soda?"
Macy paused, testing the air herself. They turned and looked at Bryan and I. Bryan couldn’t make eye contact. I simply shrugged.
"That would be me. New cologne. It’s called ‘Chronic Burnout’." I adlibbed.
"Oh my gosh! That’s like, so iconic! You gotta tell me where you got it!" Said/squealed Macy. Or Stacy. I really hadn’t bothered actually distinguishing which was which.
"Bought it from the trunk of someone’s car. Very limited edition." I stated, keeping a straight face while Bryan looked like he was trying to choke back a gopher. Luckily that comment was apparently weird enough to end the conversation there, as Stacy and Macy were content enough to drop it.
The rest of the elevator ride was in awkward silence. When we reached the ground floor, Stacy and Macy speed walked out, possibly to find a TikTok influencer promoting trunk sourced scents.
Bryan turned to talk to me as we both exited, walking past the typical bored student worker in the lobby front desk, who was probably writing fanfiction on their laptop. They probably didn’t even realize we were there. "Those girls, they… really didn’t see…" Bryan gestured at me in general before continuing. "All that. I mean, you said nobody would, I just, it’s a little weird seeing it, but no one else notices at all. And what was with the weird smell thing?"
“That ‘weird smell’ thing, as you put it, is a result of mortals trying to rationalize the smell of ozone, magic, and the smell of things older than history. Not every little thing gets hidden by natural glamor. Sometimes scents, general vibes kind of slip through. It gets glossed over pretty easily though.” I explained as we stepped outside, into the cool, crisp night. I glanced off to the side, where a rather picturesque clock installment was lit up by a few small outdoor lights. It was around 10pm, and this was apparently a college with enough funding to have well lit grounds installations like… a medium sized art deco styled clock tower.
“So, Dr. Cormanci’s office. Where is it?” I asked, gazing across the college campus, the late evening doing nothing to impede my vision.
“Uh, she has an office in the Historical Studies building.” Bryan explained, pointing in the direction of said building, as I watched a drug deal going on down campus with mild interest. Not that I particularly cared, just that the person purchasing said illegal substances obviously was new to the ‘criminal underworld’ and was absolutely seconds from dropping the small baggie and just running. With a shrug, I dismissed such observations, turning to the task at hand, and starting towards the direction of the office of this fabled Dr. Cormanci.
“Matir, it’s 10pm. She’s not going to be in her office, it’s way too late!” Bryan exclaimed, as he turned to follow.
“Well, duh, that’s kind of the point. Why would I want her to be there when I’m breaking in?”
Getting into the Historical Studies building itself hadn’t been all that hard. There were enough night classes there that it remained unlocked, but apparently not so many that there was any real scrutiny of who went in and out. I stopped Bryan as he moved towards the elevator. “Come on, it’s like you don’t know the first thing about being somewhere you’re not supposed to. The goal is to risk being seen by as few people as possible, in case someone starts asking around. We’re taking the stairs- nobody uses the stairs this late at night.” I explained, half tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie- a school branded one, of course.
As we walked to the stairwell, a poorly lit facsimile of civic architecture, Bryan spoke up. “Her office is on the fifth floor!”
“And? Come on, you summoned a demon in your living room, a little bit of cardio isn’t gonna kill you.”
Unable to argue, Bryan sighed, and we began our ascent. Five floors of stairs, which, in all honesty, wasn’t really too bad. Bryan wasn’t unhealthy by any means, and I didn’t actually have a respiratory system that functioned beyond the surface level needed for talking, and smelling things- the perks of being a demon. We reached the fifth floor hallway without incident, stepping out of the stairwell as Bryan double checked the room numbers. “Um, it’s room 582…” He half-whispered, as the reality set in that this was, essentially about to become a case of trespassing.
I of course, raised an eyebrow, giving him a tap on the shoulder, and pointed further down the hallway. “It’s not going to be near the main stairwell then- probably gonna be one of the furthest rooms.” I explained, starting down the hallway, not bothering to look at every single room.
“How- how do you know that?” Bryan questioned, as he picked back up the pace to catch back up with me.
“Universities are allergic to creativity when it comes to infrastructure. Room numbers aren’t just assigned at random, Bryan. They’re directions for people who get lost easily and administrators who hate being asked questions.”
He blinked at me, considering what I was getting at. “Okay- so how does that tell you where the room we’re looking for is?”
“First digit tells you the floor. Five means we’re supposed to be on the fifth floor- which, hooray, here we are. The rest is just distance. Numbers go up as you move away from the stairs or elevators, because that’s how you herd humans efficiently. If you know how many rooms there are on a floor- you can sort of guess how far you need to go. Since you don’t know, and I don’t actually care, we lucked out- the number is pushing close to the high end anyway, so we can just assume it’s gonna be at the fuck-all end of this floor.”
We kept walking as Bryan seemed to digest this new information. The general scenery was changing slowly as we walked, from standard beige carpeting and typical amounts of sparse late night lighting to mostly tile flooring, as if they’d somehow miscalculated on the bargain bin bulk carpet budget. The amount of ceiling lights that were on also decreased dramatically- clearly there were no rooms here being used this late, as evidenced by the bare minimum lighting on- the kind that is obviously there for ‘the state says we can’t just leave this hall entirely dark.’ We eventually reached a door- marked Room 582, ‘Dr. Rosalind Cormanci’
Bryan, choosing to actually take charge it would seem, stepped forward, moved almost to knock on the door, before pausing, remembering that we were not here for a consultation visit, and reached for the door handle. Of course, it didn’t budge, it was locked. Why wouldn’t it be? I motioned for Bryan to move out of the way, stepping over to the door myself.
“Are you gonna unlock it with magic?” He questioned, a hint of actual belief in his eyes. It was almost adorable, if misplaced.
“Something like that, sure.” I replied as I grasped the door handle, and with a little applied effort…
I snapped it right off.
Bryan looked at me like I’d just slapped his mother and told her to go make me some cupcakes. “Dude, what the hell? They don’t mess around with that here, I could get expelled!”
“Oh no, whatever will you do if you get expelled from the school where your teacher is, quite literally playing with lives? The humanity!” I quipped back, nudging the door open with my foot as I stepped in.
Contrary to what you might expect, the office looked, well, like an office. There weren’t spell components on the desk, or a cauldron on a hotplate or anything like that. Just a typical teacher's office, with a desk that was probably from Ikea, several file cabinets, and one of those kitten-hanging-from-a-tree-posters that said ‘Hang in there!’ I was briefly wondering if teachers were mandated to have random decorations like that when Bryan continued, following me into the room. “Yeah, the teacher, that has actual magic! What if she has, like, a spell to find out who broke in or something?”
“That’s why I didn’t use any magic.”
“Wait- really?”
“Sure, whatever gets you over it faster.” I said, stepping over to the wall to turn on the light switch. I could see well enough, sure, but Bryan couldn’t see in the dark. Probably. It also served as a decent distraction, to make his eyes have to adjust to the sudden light instead of continuing to argue about my methods of entry. Leaving him to adjust to his momentary, sudden ‘blindness’, I began walking around the room, looking for anything that could possibly be arcane. Sure I could probably use some sort of magic to find what I was looking for, but I hadn’t entirely been facetious about why I hadn’t used any to open the door. Honestly, I had no idea what I was dealing with, this Cormanci woman could either be someone grasping at straws for magic, or she might actually know something about what she was doing. I wasn’t about to find out by mucking about the room, leaving my energy all over the place. That’s how you end up tracked, bound, and sealed into something like a Christmas ornament.
Chapter 3: The Unfriendly Office of Dr. Cormanci
Deciding to start with the most obvious place, I approached one of several filing cabinets. Starting from the top, going down, I tried the handles, finding them all unlocked. From a brief glance they appeared to be typical coursework, student files and the like. Picking one at random, one that at least had a name on it, I began the tedious business of actually having to read something.
Cypress Valley University
College of Arts & Historical Studies
Department of History, Folklore, and Comparative Theology
Student Academic & Behavioral Review File
Student Name: Madeline Anne Reynolds
Student ID: 24-77103
Major: Undeclared
Year: Sophomore
Course: HIST 347 – History of Witchcraft and Demonology
Instructor: Dr. Rosalind Cormanci
Term: Fall Semester
Academic Performance Summary
Ms. Reynolds demonstrates adequate written comprehension of course materials and maintains satisfactory performance on traditional assessments (reading quizzes, short written responses). However, she has repeatedly failed to complete several core experiential assignments essential to the curriculum.
Despite verbal reminders and written guidance, Ms. Reynolds has declined to participate in required practical exercises, resulting in multiple incomplete marks.
Behavioral Observations
Ms. Reynolds has exhibited ongoing resistance to participatory coursework, specifically those activities involving group vocalization, chanting, and performative historical reenactment.
Behavioral concerns include:
Open reluctance to engage in assigned vocal exercises
Questioning the legitimacy and necessity of experiential components
Disruptive skepticism that discourages peer participation
Repeated refusals framed as “personal discomfort” rather than medical or religious exemption
Ms. Reynolds has been reminded that HIST 347 is not a passive lecture course and requires full engagement with all assigned methodologies.
Instructor Notes
Ms. Reynolds presents as intellectually capable but willfully noncompliant. Her objections appear ideological rather than logistical. She has declined multiple opportunities to “ease into” participation and has refused to demonstrate good-faith effort.
Her continued resistance suggests a lack of openness essential to advanced historical inquiry, particularly in a field that requires immersion and empathetic reenactment of belief systems.
Corrective Academic Action Plan
To address the above concerns and ensure course objectives are met, the following corrective extracurricular assignment has been approved and assigned:
Ms. Reynolds is to complete an independent experiential remediation exercise outside of class hours. This assignment is intended to provide focused engagement without the social pressures of group participation.
Details of the exercise have been provided to Ms. Reynolds directly and include:
Completion of a selected historical ritual sourced from department archival materials
Performance to be conducted individually, in a private setting
Documentation of emotional, psychological, and environmental responses
No written essay required beyond brief confirmation of completion
Successful completion of this exercise will replace missing participation grades and allow Ms. Reynolds to remain in good academic standing within the course.
Failure to complete the corrective assignment will result in formal academic review and potential removal from the course.
Instructor Signature:
Dr. Rosalind Cormanci
Associate Professor, Historical Studies
Date Filed: October 12
As I read through the document, Bryan, having seemingly recovered from my impromptu ‘flashbang’, had at some point, approached and quite rudely been reading over my shoulder.
“Wait- I know her!” He exclaimed, a little too close to my ear for comfort.
“Do you actually know her, or do you just have the same class?” I quipped.
Bryan rolled his eyes back at me, but didn’t do anything to contradict my jab. “This is dated for today. Do you think… Madeline was given something like I was? Something real?”
“I mean, probably? Looks like she was a ‘problem’ student though. You think Cormanci would hand over another scroll that probably wouldn’t get read?” I questioned, dropping the document to the floor. I mean, after the door handle, which I had no plans of fixing, why would I care about littering? “Anyways, we’ve barely found anything- and in case you’ve forgotten, we are still trespassing here. Come on, we still gotta find out if she keeps any toys in here.”
Bryan sighed at my general disrespect of propriety, but didn’t make any move to pick up the dropped papers. I went back to the file cabinets, ruffling through the papers, mostly just to glance through for anything that might stand out- while also shuffling papers around, messing up whatever filing system that might have existed. Bryan however, turned his attention to the desk itself, and the drawers attached.
After a few moments, he called out- loud in the context of trying to not be caught somewhere you absolutely shouldn’t be. “Hey Matir! Uh, I don’t think this is a normal lock for an office.”
I dropped whatever paper I happened to be holding, and walked over. We’d absolutely have to have a discussion on appropriate volume when committing crimes later, but for now I turned my attention to the lockbox in the now open desk drawer that Bryan was indicating.
The lockbox sat recessed into the drawer as if the desk had been built around it rather than the other way around. It was rectangular, compact, and heavy-looking, its surface a dull, matte black that swallowed the overhead light instead of reflecting it. No brand name. No serial number. No reassuring little sticker from an office supply company pretending this was for “confidential exams.”
It wasn’t bolted in with visible screws. In fact, there were no visible fasteners at all. The wood of the drawer simply ended around it, flush and seamless, like the desk had grown a tumor and decided to keep it.
The locking mechanism was the real problem.
There was no keyhole. No keypad. No fingerprint reader. Instead, the face of the box was simply reminiscent of that flush seam that some fancy jewelry boxes might have. All that presented itself was this seam, meaning that it clearly had to be opened by magical means.
I let out a low whistle. “Damn, she’s not fucking around. Some kind of warded box- we’d need to know the unlock runes for that thing. Good news and bad news though. Which do you want first?”
Bryan looked at me for a moment. “Bad news I guess?”
“Well, based on this alone, I’m pretty sure Cormanci has some idea of what she’s doing. At least enough to know how to key and unlock a ward box. I don’t know if these things are made anymore, not out of blackiron at least.”
“So… What’s the good news?” He asked, a look of hope that I almost felt bad about having to dash.
“She knows what she’s doing, so she’s not likely to accidentally blow everyone up.” I replied dryly.
“Wait… so… The good news is that if she does kill us, it won’t be by accident?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
We stood there in silence for a moment, before I cleared my throat. “Should probably plan on getting out of here soon. What is it like, 11? 12 pm?”
Bryan seemed to snap out of the thought he was in. “Oh, yeah. Right.”
As Bryan began to move, something caught my eye on the ground, with the papers I’d dropped. One that also had the school’s header. Stopping to pick it up, I began to read, after seeing the name associated with the paper.
Cypress Valley University
College of Arts & Historical Studies
Department of History, Folklore, and Comparative Theology
Student Academic & Behavioral Review File
Student Name: Bryan Whitaker
Student ID: 24-76891
Major: Undeclared
Year: Sophomore
Course: HIST 347 – History of Witchcraft and Demonology
Instructor: Dr. Rosalind Cormanci
Term: Fall Semester
Academic Performance Summary
Mr. Whitaker’s written work reflects inconsistent engagement with assigned readings and secondary materials. Quiz scores and short written responses fall below departmental averages, with recurring issues related to specificity, citation depth, and analytical rigor.
Despite these shortcomings, Mr. Whitaker demonstrates an intuitive grasp of thematic material and displays notable responsiveness to core concepts when engaged through non-traditional assessment methods.
Behavioral Observations
Mr. Whitaker participates regularly in class discussions and demonstrates a willingness to engage with speculative and interpretive frameworks central to the course. He appears comfortable navigating ambiguity and does not exhibit the resistance or skepticism observed in some peers.
Observed strengths include:
Active verbal participation during lectures and discussions
Willingness to engage with experiential and reenactment-based methodologies
Demonstrated curiosity regarding ritual structure, symbolism, and historical intent
Areas of concern include:
Inconsistent preparation for traditional assessments
Reliance on intuitive responses over supported analysis
Variable follow-through on written assignments
Instructor Notes
Mr. Whitaker presents as a student with latent potential who appears to connect meaningfully with the course material at a conceptual and experiential level, despite uneven academic performance. His engagement suggests an aptitude for immersive historical inquiry, particularly where belief systems are explored through practice rather than abstraction.
While his grades do not currently reflect this potential, his responsiveness to the coursework indicates that alternative evaluative approaches may be more effective in assessing his comprehension and growth.
Corrective Academic Action Plan
To better align assessment with demonstrated strengths, the following supplemental approach has been approved:
Continued emphasis on experiential participation
Selective replacement of low-performing written assessments with practical engagement credits
Ongoing observation of independent initiative and applied understanding
No formal remediation has been assigned at this time. Mr. Whitaker remains in good academic standing within the course, contingent upon sustained participation and demonstrated effort.
Instructor Signature:
Dr. Rosalind Cormanci
Associate Professor, Historical Studies
Date Filed: October 11
It wasn’t until I’d began to look up from the paper that I saw what Bryan was up to. He was leaning down, legs braced against the desk, pulling on the drawer the ward box was essentially built into. “Bryan, no!” I called out, immediately running over to try to stop him before something happened. But, with one more tug, it was clearly too late. As the drawer dislodged from the desk itself, causing Bryan to tumble back, there was a flash of light and energy.
Bryan had tripped some protective ward- a magical trap. I leapt at him, riding the shockwave currently rushing from the desk itself. We collided, and were thrown out the window behind the desk and chair- crashing straight through the glass and out into open air. Five stories up. Hooray.
As the wind rushed past our ears, I took the chance to shout out. “Dammit Bryan!” while grabbing ahold of his currently limp body. As the ground rushed up to meet us, I concentrated, reaching out into the night, to the element I was practically made of; shadow. We were swallowed by darkness, as if we’d simply fallen through an invisible hole in the sky, before being spat back out into some shrubbery on the ground. Not the best of landings, but only a rough tumble compared to the alternative.
Sitting up, I turned my attention to Bryan. He wasn’t dead, at least, not yet- just unconscious. I knew this, not from some form of medical knowledge, but from the fact that if he had died, I would have simply been sent back to the Abyss. He’d summoned me after all, and so technically I was anchored to him. Great, now I’d have to tell him, once I actually got him to wake up.
