A small smile adorned his lips as he removed the black gloves, stained with traces of blood. Another job completed, although not exactly a common one. He did what he did of his own volition, accepting contracts sporadically. Innocents never made it onto his list; bad people deserved an end that matched their deeds. This was a motto that had guided his life since the beginning.

He turned, taking a few steps toward the door, but stopped abruptly upon hearing something fall. One of his tools, carefully hidden on a shelf, lay on the floor. He furrowed his brow, intrigued. As he crouched to retrieve the object, other items began to tumble down, as if an invisible force were at play.

Weeks earlier, he had performed a ritual. The house he lived in was old and isolated, which had drawn him to the property. During one of his explorations, he found a dusty book, its pages yellowed and worn. Without much thought, he repeated some words inscribed in a strange language. He hadn’t taken it seriously, believing nothing would happen.

“Damn it, go away.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. Then something hit him on the forehead with a dull thud, causing him to topple to the ground. He rubbed the spot, feeling the pain throb. He was screwed, really screwed.

As he got up, more items from the shelves flew through the air toward him. He rushed out of the dimly lit room, cursing himself with every hurried step. Stopping abruptly, he took his phone from his pocket, but before he could unlock it, the device flew from his hand.

“Where are you? Show yourself!” He shouted, spinning on his heels, his lips pursed in annoyance.