Page 1 of The Demon's Vow
Chapter 1
LUKAS
The crisp October air bit at my cheeks as we walked through the fallen leaves. My breath turned to faint white wisps under the pale glow of the moonlight. I glanced into the night sky, the Hunter’s Moon—how fitting for the occasion—large and bright, providing all the light we would need. This night, just a few hours before All Hallows’ Eve, the shadows seemed a little darker and sharper, more twisted. An electric buzz filled the air as we made our way to our destination. Jess and Darcy, my friends and roommates, walked ahead of me, their voices low with excitement. They carried canvas bags and backpacks stuffed with candles, chalk, and whatever else they needed to communicate with the other side tonight. Me? I was in charge of the snacks and drinks. My own bag sagged with the weight of a six-pack, a bottle of tequila I may or may not haveborrowedfrom my dad, a family-sized bag of chips, and—because Jess insisted on it—a bag of black licorice that nobody but her would eat.
This Halloween, we decided to drive a few hours south of the city to visit the Kingston Penitentiary. Built in the early 19th century, it was one of the oldest maximum-security prisons in Canada, a fortress of suffering where some of the country’s mostviolent men had rotted away. A place where criminals had been hanged. It was also the kind of place where even the surrounding air felt thick and heavy with rage and despair. Those walls had seen things.
Now it was a museum, at least during the day. Tourists shuffled through its dark corridors in an orderly manner while tour guides recited the “sanitized” versions of the history, according to Darcy. Jess had become obsessed with the place, convinced we were going to contact some of the former prisoners—spooky entities and ghosts from the other side. She was certain malicious creatures, and the spirits of dead inmates, were still trapped there, festering in the dark, souls that could never move on. So, we joined the tour. First, so she could get a feel for where the dark energies were strongest, and second, so we’d have an idea of the layout…for when we broke in later that night.
How were we going to contact the other side, you may ask? By holding a goddamn séance. At least, I thought so. That seemed to be the plan. We’d been holding séances in different locations around town every Halloween for a few years...or at least, we’d been trying to. Our efforts were usually thwarted by cops and security guards.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved Halloween. It was my favourite holiday. As soon as September arrived, the countdown began.
“You’re worse than Starbucks with their damn pumpkin spice,” Jess would always tell me.
Halloween wasn’t just one night for us. October, or rather Spooktober, was a whole month of celebrations. By October 1, our apartment looked like a haunted house threw up in it. Fair lights shaped like ghosts and pumpkins hung around. Jess’s special collection of fall candles covered every surface. The spooky atmosphere, the cooler weather, getting to binge horror films all month with my buddies? It was better than Christmas.Movie nights were sacred. We’d pile onto the old couch with a nest of blankets, popcorn, and drinks while we watched our favourite scary movies. Halfway through, I’d always end up clutching someone’s arm, getting scared at those jump scenes. But that was the best part! There’s something exhilarating about getting a good fright. It gave a high like no other. But it was all fake—not real.
No ghosts.
No demons.
No monsters.
I wasn’t a full-on skeptic. I wouldn’t mess with a cursed item or tempt fate; I wasn’t foolish. But I wasn’t a strict believer either, not like Jess or Darcy.
They took this shit to the next level. Darcy and Jess are what you would call Occultists—the real deals, experts and lovers of all things supernatural and weird. No matter the season or occasion, they were dressed as if they belonged in an old gothic manor, in perfect company with vampires or witches. The younger, modern-day version of Ed and Lorraine Warren. But they didn’t just look the part.
They were also the kind of people who could rattle off about the history of demonic sigils, significance of sacred texts, or the proper way to consecrate a cursed item without missing a beat. I once made the mistake of asking about a weird symbol on Darcy’s new tattoo. Forty minutes later, our kitchen table was covered with papers and Jess was tracing ancient sigils. I’d learned more about 18th century sigils than I ever wanted to know.
The blackened candle stubs and faint sulfur smell that lingered after their “late-night study sessions” told me more than their vague explanations ever did. I asked to tag along a few times, but they would get super serious and tell me it wasn’t safe, that I wasn’t ready yet.
Jess had a whole bookshelf at home dedicated to sacred texts. Some of them were so old, the pages smelled like dust and dried herbs. Darcy, on the other hand, had once spent an entire summer deciphering a grimoire on necromancy in Latin, just for fun! His words.
The apartment we shared was filled with all sorts of “mystical” texts, as well as magical and cursed items they collected. I’d be lying if I said I never screamed bloody murder at seeing some of the stuff around. They learned over the years to at least give me a heads up. Waking up to piss in the middle of the night only to find a bloodied, impaled voodoo doll in the sink because “it needed to soak overnight,” which wasnota valid excuse, tends to make someone a little jumpy.
To me, however, it was like a live-action horror movie—still fun because it wasn’t real to me at the end of the day. I got to escape real life for a bit, have a good time with my friends, and get a little fright before we ended the night by getting drunk.
The penitentiary loomed over us like an old, cursed castle, its silhouette stark against moonlit sky. We pried open a rusted service door at the back of the building, its hinges screaming like a dying animal as we forced our way inside. We froze and immediately shut off our flashlights, my heart hammering against my ribs.Fuck! We were done for. Any second now, security would come rushing down the hall, shouting at us to get the hell out. But after a few seconds—nothing. No alarm blaring, no running footsteps, no shouting. Nada.
“Jesus,” Darcy said, shaking his head as he flicked his flashlight back on. “I nearly shit myself. That was too damn close. Let’s get going, guys.”
The air was thick with the stench of wet concrete, mold, and something fouler—old sweat, rusted metal, maybe even blood. It clung to the back of my throat, making me gag.
“Jess, what the fuck?” I muttered, pressing my sleeve against my nose. “It smells like something died in here.”
“Don’t be a child.”
Her flashlight beam sliced through the darkness, trembling slightly as she swept it over the walls to reveal the graffiti on the peeling paint—names, dates, crude symbols scratched deep into the stone like warnings. I didn’t recall any of this from the tour earlier in the day. The floor was littered with shattered glass, crumpled papers yellowed with age, and the occasional twisted hunk of metal that might have once been a bed frame.
“This wasn’t part of the tour,” I whispered.
Jess’s voice was tight. “Yeah, because they don’t want people seeing this.”
We walked in silence with Jess leading the way. I was starting to low-key regret this, and, as if to hit the point home, my stomach growled.
“Hey, guys. Are we there yet?” Jess and Darcy both whipped their heads back to glare at me. Jess whisper-yelled, “Lukas! Shut it.”
“Hey, we’ve been walking for a while, and it’s almost midnight...and I’m kinda getting hungry.”
