Tabitha drives the borrowed car, drives out into the outskirts of Suffolk County leaving the glittering lights of Boston behind, drives until she thinks she’ll be lost forever. At least out here, no one will see her shame. No one will see her desperation. And no one will see her utter failure when this doesn't work.

The crossroads is exactly where the lady at the shop had described. There is one lone street lamp, casting a surprisingly bright, golden glow across the asphalt. It’s nearly midnight, in a town with a smaller population than the neighborhood she’d grown up in.

No one would drive up on her. No one would see the madness.

Tabby pulls the car off to the side, off the road, managing to park in some shrubbery. The darkness of night helps to further camouflage the car, and she gets out.

The only sounds are of crickets chirping, the dull drone of the night easing her nerves for but a moment.

It was now or never.

Tabby opens the back driver’s side door, grabbing her backpack. She forces her feet to the crossroads and stands at its center. The stretch of road is utterly deserted, allowing for all sorts of clandestine machinations.

Hers were certainly on this side of crazy.

Tabby lets out a steadying breath through pursed lips and gets to work. First, she pulls out the candles, then the white chalk. The piece of paper the woman had scribbled instructions on is crumpled at the bottom of her backpack, but it’s still legible. Tabby smooths the paper across her thigh and skims the directions again. She has to bite back a laugh, as the ritual reads much like a baking recipe.

She presses the tip of the white chalk to pavement, and begins to sketch the circle. Tabby steps back to examine her handiwork, and while it isn’t the most perfect of circles, she makes the executive decision that it will have to do.

Next come the sigils.

The woman in the shop was adamant that she draw the sigils exactly as modeled. It was imperative, lest Tabby accidentally summon an eldritch terror… or so she assumes.

Tabby finishes the last sigil with a flourish, then double checks them, triple checks them, and for good measure, quadruple checks them. When she’s sure the sigils match those on her paper, Tabby grabs the white pillar candles and, using her phone’s compass, sets them at the four cardinal directions: north, south, east, and west.

Everything is starting to become more real now, and Tabby falters. She’s placed the last candle and holds a disposable Bic lighter in her hand.

Should she go through with this?

Throughout her childhood, her parents emphasized science, logic, and reason. The belief in all things visible, tangible, and provable. As an act of rebellion, Tabby had researched the esoteric, the holistic, the New Age-y. A higher being, to Tabby, is not out of the realm of possibility.

But a ritual to summon...

The Devil You Don't Know, Chapter 1