It was a dark and stormy night. Flashes of lightning followed by claps of thunder made the black void of a sky lively for a change. It hasn’t rained very much in this area for a while, so he rather enjoys this change. The sky seems much happier this way. Wind rips through the long, spindly branches of the dead trees, making them rattle like the bones of a group of teenagers playing with a ouija board. Rows of collapsing modern homes line the roads, as if armies of men went at war through the streets. The typically dry wood would’ve burst into flames if a lightning bolt struck within the vicinity, but the relentless, hard rain won’t allow that. The lightning is unforgiving, but the rain is even more so. But yet even more unforgiving is the man who enjoys the lively sky.
The dark figure confidently strides down the heavily cracked cement path, as if it was a clear, sunny day. Water rolls down his bare chest like a waterfall, but he doesn’t give so much as a shiver. There was an easier way to get to his destination, but he would rather just walk through the town the old fashioned way. He likes to admire the destruction and rot. It gives him a distant feeling of sweet nostalgia, but cruelly enough he can never remember quite what he’s being reminded of. He passes a heavily decaying home, with faded purple around the windows, the essence of a long forgotten childhood. A support beam crumbles under the weight of a fallen tree, and crashes to the damp hardwood floor. A chasm in the floor breaks opens beneath, leading to the infinite nowhere. The noise attracts his attention for a moment, but he should be used to the chaos after all of this time. He turns his attention back to his approaching destination. A rotting home surrounded by others of the like. It looks no different from the rest of the homes in the neighborhood; it’s black and white, the roof caved in, the sky lights shattered along with the rest of the windows, furniture ripped to shreds and in disarray. Strangely, all doors are still perfectly intact; on all of their hinges, unbroken, the works. Although, he wouldn’t have use for doors anyway, what he came here for was in the backyard.
As he hikes up the hill of dead lawn, the flooded grass squishies in a rather unpleasant manner. The yard is mostly empty, and large, with a few small trees scattered throughout. He has to move way out of his path to get around long, fallen branches.
And there it is, on the patio cement, what brought him here. A large white pentagram, drawn in chalk, glowing purple on the cement. Despite the downpour, the drawing is as clear as day. As he draws nearer, the ground glows brighter. He steps into the center of the pentagram, the ground swallowing him.
* * *

It was a dark and stormy night. Except it really wasn't even raining, it drizzled for a few quick moments. And isn't the night supposed to be dark anyway? With the whole sunset thing and all?
A young girl sat beneath the softly glowing full moon, lighting the candles around the white pentagram she drew on the ground. She recited a simple spell, and a rather strong gust blew through. She and her candles shivered; what is this presence?  A dark, shadowy figure slowly rose from the swirling red and blackness which replaced the ground. Fog rolled across the yard, suffocating it. The figure glared down at the small girl, his piercing red eyes making her soul churn with fear. His large, rippling muscles bulged, his hooved feet scraped unpleasantly across the cement. Those menacingly sharp horns spiraled to the sky, and his equally as menacing fangs gleamed in the candle light. A low growl sounded from the back of his throat. It reverberated so that it sounded as if it was the deep, deep ground. Her voice interrupted his intimidation tactics.
“Um, excuse me, but who are you? You’re not the spirit I called for.” The more she spoke the more puzzled the demon became, “Listen, I understand that I didn’t conduct the perfect ritual, but you’d expect the spirit I want would come, with how many times I’ve called upon her already.”
The demon paused, “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, scared or something?”  He spoke slowly, confusion in his voice.
“Nice spooky scary theatrics and all, but no. Now can you leave so I can contact the spirit I actually wanted?”
He simply didn’t know how to react to this, he stood there dumbfounded for a few moments. The girl sighed with irritation and spoke again, “You know what since you’re just standing there I’ll have you do what I needed instead. All I need you to do is to charge this love potion. It’s not very difficult, I’m sure you can handle it.”
“Why would I do this for you? You didn’t even get scared.” He said the last sentence quieter, as to not sound like a whiny child.
The girl expressed her facial features as if to say ‘Really? You’re really going to be this petty?’ and she speaks very sarcastically, “Ahhh, oh my god, I was so frightened I peed myself. Is that good enough for you?”
The demon sighs as he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, “Fine, I guess I’ll do it. But you’re still an asshole.”
She grins as she hands a small glass bottle to the demon, “Good boy. Now, here’s the potion. I just need it to have a little boost of energy.”
“But doesn’t this need to be charged by a love spirit?” He questions as he takes the potion, “You know ‘cause it’s a love potion.”
“Well, I would’ve conjured a love spirit but someone came through the pentagram instead. It’s a weaker potion anyway so it doesn’t need all of the extra pizazz.”
The demon looks at the potion and swirls it around inside its bottle. He must have underestimated his grip strength, because the tiny bottle suddenly shatters. Pink liquid drips down his fingers, and little shards of glass scatter across the ground. The witch just stares at the mess for a moment.
She sighs in frustration, “Are you kidding me. I needed that done tonight. Stupid frickin’ demons, can’t ever get s*** done with them.”
“Whatever, I’m outta here.” The demon disappears back to where he came from.
The witch begins to text her friend about the unfinished potion that she wouldn’t receive tomorrow morning.
Bare feet softly slapped the cracked, cement ground. She couldn’t feel how jagged the ground really was, thankfully. Everything which lined the path was decaying; the trees, the houses, the animals. The air was very still, and silence creeped in on her, like the eyes she could feel on her back. In the not-so-far distance, the crunch of a dry twig echoed. She stopped walking. Silence. She began to walk again.
It happened again, this time a leaf under a foot. She stopped again. Her heart beat began to rise. She took a deep breath. She didn’t need to be scared. She knew what was really going on. She didn’t keep walking. She waited. Suddenly she could feel it, looming over her, imposing its dark presence upon her.
“You made me fall in love with you, you asshole.”
“Oh, great.” She turns around and faces the demon. His aura was much more intense in this place, “I should’ve known this would happen, magic is very strong if used on otherworldly presences.”
“Isn’t it funny how I’m in love with you and I don’t even know your name?”
“Not really, we just met a couple days ago and you spilled a love potion on yourself.”
“Will you just tell me your name?”
“It’s Rosey.”
“What a lovely name; it flows like a flowery, summer breeze.”
“Thanks.”
“My name is Azazel by the way.”
“I didn’t really ask or care, but thanks anyway.”
“You know what, you brat,” His tone shifts so suddenly, the witch jumps. He swiftly, but gently, pushes Rosey against a nearby tree and blocks her exit with her arms, “You’re going to pay for what you did to me.” He growls lowly, and rather seductively. It made her shudder.
Rosey pushes down the creeping anxiety and somehow manages to keep her cool, “Listen, that’s real hot and all, but this situation is rather unfortunate for you.”
He looks at her, with eyes that want more information.
“Well, you see, not only am I a huge lesbian, but I also have a really hot girlfriend whom I’m deeply in love with and fiercely loyal to. So you’re kinda screwed.”
He leans in closer, so she understands his words, “Sweetie, I’ve made even the most butch lesbians fall for me.”
She’s unfazed, “Yeah, no, it’s impossible for you to win in this situation.”
“I guess we’ll just have to find out, babe.” He grabs her chin, pulls her toward himself, and gives her a quick, passionate kiss.
Rosey slowly opens her eyes, the morning sun seeping through her curtains.
She decided she would get rid of the demon once and for all. It’s been a week straight of harassment, and quite frankly she was done with it. As entertained as she was with the desperate Azazel, enough was enough. She performed a summoning ritual, and Azazel was more than happy to appear for the young lady.
“Did you finally fall in love with me?”
“Not by a long shot, my dude. I have something for you though.”
She pulls out the open bottle from behind her back and quickly tries to splash the contents on the figure before her, however that didn’t work out. He roughly caught her hand, making her almost lose her grip on the bottle.
“Hm, I wonder what this is? A reversal potion, by chance?”
“Maybe.” She drew out the word.
“I’m not going to let you do that. I’m determined to get you to fall in love with me now.” As he spoke, however, she managed to tilt her wrist, allowing the potion to trickle out of the bottle. She can’t hold back her laughter
“Well s***. That was dumb of me.” Is all he can say as the potion runs down his arm, and the initial spell wears off, “You may have gotten me with that potion, but I will return and I will make you fall in love with me. I refuse to be beaten by a little love witch.”
And with that, he disappears back into the earth, not yet to be seen again to this day.