The boy rubbed his eyes in disbelief as he realized it had worked. "Do you know where you are?" the voice intruded.
"Who said that?" the boy asked nervously.
"I asked first." the voice replied with a hint of childishness. The boy twiddled his thumbs.
"No I don't" he said. He was remarkably calm considering his situation, but nervousness was mildly creeping over. "Where am I?" He asked after a short silence. There was no reply.
The hallway was dark with broken furniture scattering the floor. The boy wandered the halls with a hope of finding something, something to wake him up or explain what was going on. The walls served as guides to lead him to the next room which might host a light switch that would work. It was pitch black, but the boy could see small glimpses of shadows which appeared every now and again which led him to believe that there was a light source. "How did you get here?" the voice thundered. The walls crumbled and dust sprinkled the boys hair and shoulders.
"Who are you?" he cried. "What is this place?"
"You do not ask. You answer!" the voice echoed with anger. The walls crumbled slightly less at this. The boy followed them, his fingers sliding across the cracked paint, flaking and crumbling apart as his fingers disturbed them. The boy found a frame. A door frame which he rushed to to find a handle, but in an instant he hit his knee on a broken desk which rested itself in front of the door. The darkness faded further until there were no faint shadows at all. The boy held his knee in agony as he tried to re-arrange the nerves by rubbing them to ease the pain. There was no success.
The boy bent his knee three or four times before taking his frustration out on the hard, split pine which he kicked viciously, breaking it from its screws. He shifted the desk away with his hip and felt pain pierce its way into his thigh. A splinter of broken wood embedded deep into his flesh. The boy cried out in pain this time, he held his leg as he felt the warmth of his blood coat his hands. "Enjoying the fruits of my kingdom?" The voice laughed. The boy remembered the previous words the voice had said and decided not to demand where he was.
"No sir." he replied as politely as possible, trying his hardest not to sound injured.
"You have another question don't you Charles?" the voice declared. It wasn't a question.
"How do you know my name?" he shouted back terrified.
"Wrong question." it replied quietly. The last word was almost mumbled. Charles replied with the questions suitable for a boy lost in a hallway of darkness. But there was only silence to accompany him.
He gave up trying to get answers from the voice and turned his attention towards the door. The door gave off light as he faced it. He studied the symbol on the door which resembled the skull of an animal, but he couldn't be sure. The symbol glowed a light blue which gave the boy an opportunity to get a glimpse of his surroundings. The hall was white, but the walls behind the paint were brick red and neglected. There were the remains of wooden chairs scattering the ground, which brought Charles to notice the blood stains that had once flown through a living creature sprayed violently around the walls and floor.
The light faded as the boys attention was taken by his surroundings. He looked back at the door and the light began to grow brighter again. He twisted the door nob. Nothing. It wouldn't open. Charles began to sweat, a cold sweat which made him shiver with fear. Blood, darkness, pain and a voice echoing through a place he was lost in. This was a nightmare, it had to be. "What is behind this door?" he called, as if he knew that there was something important behind it.
"That's the question I was expecting." the voice echoed. The boy couldn't understand what type of person could carry such a voice. A voice of pure emotion, but no sense of accent or masculinity or femininity. It was a voice of something unknown and powerful. "Why don't you try to open it?" it asked rhetorically.
"I have, it's locked." the boy said with frustration plaguing the words. There was silence again, but not for the last time.
The boy twisted the handle once more and it opened, the light fading from the symbol. The room was well lit for a change. It was not a standard lighting you would expect from a bedroom or an office, it was a red light, like something from a submarine's emergency light. The objects in the room were black. They may have held colour, but the red light removed any sign of it. There was a window, open with torn-black curtains flowing in the breeze. The boy looked around aimlessly, without a hint of knowing what to do. It was then that he saw something, or someone. It lay motionless on a bed in the corner with black sheets. It was not human.
The figure had horns, sharp at the tips. Its face was red, but that could have been the lighting. It slept peacefully, but it resembled a resting demon. Charles stood in silence, fear surrounding him like foul air. He stepped backwards slowly to make an exit. But after his first step the figure opened its eyes instantly and leaned itself up vertically which frightened the boy enough to make him jump. Its eyes watched the boy calmly. Its horns were sharp and black. Its face was narrow and pointed. Charles stood still with fear.
The creature opened its mouth which bared teeth like needles fitting tightly together. Its tiny, black, beady eyes watched him. Charles drew in a breath, he had realized he had not been breathing for a dangerous amount of time. He edged to the door in slow movements, remaining eye contact with the black beads which glared back at him. He felt incredibly misplaced. One more step backwards. The figure remained still. Before the boy could take another step, the figure opened its mouth wider into a cunning smile, its teeth were still locked together as needles similar to bone. The breeze from the window entered the room. The boy turned to exit but was stopped by the breeze. It whispered to him "go home" and there was darkness once more.
The boy rubbed his eyes in disbelief, for he had realized it had worked. The pentagram, the ashes and the candles lay menacingly on his bedroom floor. But the book he had dug up from his garden was nowhere in sight. He sat in silence on his desk made of pine and wondered why there was a blue marking of an animal skull on his door. He heard voices, not one, but many. He heard the voice of the breeze whispering "I tried" repeatedly. There was the voice of a demon who spoke with the voice of a child, repeatedly singing a single verse which sounded like "a guest, a guest, a new family member, after an hour, he'll never remember". The last voice was a voice of pure emotion, but no sense of accent or masculinity or femininity could be noticed. It was a voice of something unknown and powerful. It was the voice of the Devil.