It was the night of a Friday the thirteenth when I set foot in a cemetery.
Above my head, lightning lit up the sky behind the clouds, casting blinding flashes over me.
It was almost as if the approaching rain were an omen, meant to warn me that I should not be going through with this. Or maybe it was encouraging me to keep going.
I chose to trust the second option.
I crossed the arched iron gates with my faux-leather purse slung over my shoulder, carrying my recent purchases—a bag of coarse salt and white candles. After leaving the bookstore, I made sure to stop by an occult shop and buy the ingredients I needed for the ritual.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. On the lock screen, it read ten minutes to seven.
I needed to be fast if I did not want to get drenched.
I had always had a
