“Are you completely sure this is it?” Colin asked.
Keith stood with one hand on his bicycle handlebars and one hand stroking his chin. He was sure he’d followed the map precisely.
“I mean, I expected it to look a bit, I dunno, different,” Colin mused.
“This is it,” Keith replied confidently. “It has to be it. Pass me the book.”
Colin hopped off his bike, reached inside his backpack and handed his friend a withered tome.
Turning to page 665, Keith recounted the words with gusto, “Instablam, Faccitaad, Twittstable. We beg of you, open now the gates of Hell!”
This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Over 120 people taking part.