Jacob & The Ritual

Jacob sits with his legs crossed. The house is quiet, all seven candles are lit, the moon is in the right phase, and he's exactly eight feet underground.

The ritual can finally begin.

He peeks at the grimoire before he closes his eyes and settles his nerves.

A steady breath in and out as he reads the list one last time.

"Seven candles, waxing crescent moon, and eight feet underground."

That's all—wait.

His eyes scan the last item.

"One cup of ice water."

His body tenses.

Ice water?

How could he have forgotten something so simple?!

Jacob scrambles to his feet and carefully steps over the candles.

He climbs up the basement stairs and throws open the door.

His fridge glowers in the dark corner of the kitchen.

The dishes he washed just a few hours earlier sit on the dish rack, still wet.

He takes a cup and heads to the fridge.

When he presses the cup against the ice dispenser, the fridge rumbles...

It rumbles...

And it rumbles...

And shredded ice falls out. It lands on the walls of the cup and on Jacob's hand.

He shakes the ice off and fills the cup the rest of the way with water.

Then he trudges back down to the basement.

Jacob places the cup in the center of the candles.

He checks the grimoire as he gets settled.

"Seven candles." Check.

"A waxing crescent moon." Got it.

"Eight feet below ground." Of course.

"One cup of ice water." Almost forgotten, but collected nonetheless.

"The scraps of a burnt meal."

Jacob blinks.

He reads the list again.

Maybe...he just overlooked that one.

Jacob reads the list one more time just to be sure. It would be a shame if he missed anything else.

He goes down one by one, mouthing the words.

The list is only five simple items that he already has on hand.

Jacob stands again and heads back up the stairs.

He makes his way through the kitchen.

Around the counter sits the trash can. The lid is closed, concealing the violation Jacob committed in his negligence earlier.

He slowly lifts the lid.

The stench of burnt chicken parmesan wafts into the untainted kitchen.

Jacob groans and tries to keep himself from gagging.

It took hours to get the smell out, and now it’s back.

He scrunches his nose and debates forgetting the ritual altogether.

But, he’s made it this far and his deadline is closing in.

With a stuttered breath, Jacob digs the aluminum pan out of the garbage and picks the loose ramen noodles off of it.

He holds it away from himself as he heads back down.

“Seven candles, waxing crescent moon, eight feet below ground, one cup of ice water, and the scraps of a burnt meal.”

Jacob drops the pan on the farthest end of the circle and glances at the grimoire, where another item has been added.

Jacob slowly turns to face it.

“The feathers of a canary.”

He presses his lips together.

A canary?

Where on Earth would he find a canary at this time of—

A face pops into his mind.

Jacob takes his time getting to his feet.

He picks up the grimoire and sets off.

“You want what?” Carmen yawns.

Jacob points at the page in his grimoire.

Carmen reads off the list items. “Seven candles, waxing crescent...water...burnt meal...and the feathers of a canary.”

She looks at Jacob.

He tries to smile at her.

“Wait here.”

He relaxes.

Carmen shuts her door.

Jacob closes the grimoire with his finger on the page to his ritual.

He glances up at the moon.

She peers back down at him.

He exhales and looks back at Carmen’s door.

He taps his foot.

A mosquito flies right past him.

Another buzzes in his ear.

He flinches and shakes his head.

It flies away and into the night.

Carmen’s door swings open again.

She holds out a couple small yellow feathers.

Jacob scoops them up and looks closely at them.

Bits of vegetables are stuck to them.

He looks at Carmen.

“I got them out the bottom of Cheese Puff’s cage. I’m not plucking him for you.”

He looks at the feathers again.

“Are they alright?”

He nods at her.

“Great. Next time you do a ritual, read the ingredients before you start.”

Jacob’s eyes widen and Carmen shuts her door.

He huffs and turns away.

Cheese Puff’s vibrant feathers sit neatly against the charred chicken parm in the circle.

Jacob closes his eyes and opens the grimoire on his lap.

A beat passes.

He slowly peeks at the words on the page.

He hangs his head and shuts his eyes.

He looks at the book again.

The new item sits tauntingly at the bottom of the list.

“The seeds of a tomato.”

He puts the book to the side and stands again.

This has to be the last item.

Jacob makes his way up the stairs, into the kitchen, and opens the fridge.

An overripe tomato stares down at him from the top shelf.

He snatches it and shuts the fridge door.

He holds the tomato over the sink and digs his thumbs into the too-soft flesh. The juice inside is cold as it spills over his hands. Its tiny seeds are exposed to the world.

Jacob puts the tomato down and grabs a generous number of paper towels.

He wipes his hands off and scoops up the tomato.

He heads down into the basement again.

He plops the tomato between the half-melted candles and drops himself in front of them.

Jacob exhales slowly and picks up the grimoire.

His eyes jump to the end of the list.

“The seeds of a tomato.”

He clenches his jaw.

Wait…

He reads it again.

Then once more to be sure.

He reads through the whole list.

“Seven candles, waxing crescent moon, eight feet below ground, one cup of ice water, the scraps of a burnt meal, the feathers of a canary, and the seeds of a tomato.”

He quickly reads the ritual’s instructions.

His muse can be summoned.

Finally, after so long.

Jacob can finally write again.