The One Page Grimoire

Chapter One: Broken Windows & Worse Decisions

'The kind of nowhere that even Google Maps sighs at.'

'The house crouched at the edge of the woods like it wanted to be forgotten. Stone walls slumped. Vines strangled the frame. Windows — shattered. It looked like time kicked it in the ribs and left it for dead.'

'To three drunk teenagers all 19.'

Josh "Land ho, lads! The treasure lies ahead — or tetanus!" He kicked the rusted gate. It fell off like it had been waiting for permission.

Peat "If one of you drops this, I swear to Christ, I will haunt you." He followed, cradling a crate of beer like it was a holy relic. Scarf halfway off his head. Shirt flapping. Legs confused.

Connor "Not until one of you falls through the floor." He trailed behind. Hood up. Pen lid between his teeth. Already holding a warm can like it was a security blanket.

Josh "Connor! You’re not ghosting on us, are you?" He stumbled backward into the entryway like it was a stage.

Connor "Spirit of adventure, mate. Embrace it."

Peat: "My legs already have."

'The front door gave up after one push. The hinges screamed in protest. Nobody listened.'

'Inside: rot, damp, and the kind of air that clings to your tongue. Wallpaper peeled like sunburn. Dust thick enough to draw accusations in.'

Josh "To bad ideas and worse decisions!" He flopped onto a sagging sofa. A puff of dust exploded around him. He cracked a can like it was ceremonial.

Peat "To dying stylishly." He collapsed beside him, nearly sacrificing the beer crate to the gods of clumsiness. Hiccup.

Connor "To whatever this is." He leaned on the wall. Squinting. Quiet.

Josh "Are you going to drink properly or just sip like you’re in a tea advert?"

Connor "There. Peer pressure satisfied." He raised the can. Drank like it was a dare.

Josh "That’s the spirit."

'A few cans in, and they sprawled like squatters with squatters’ rights. Dust everywhere. Time didn’t touch this house—it gnawed.'

Josh "Alright. Let’s talk relationships." He stretched out on the floor.

Peat: "Let’s not." Already regretting the conversation and everything else.

Connor "You mean lies and chaos?" He perched on the arm of a dead chair.

Josh "You think Jamie’s cheating."

Connor "I know he is." He didn’t flinch.

Peat: "Classic phone-facing-down situation?"

Connor "Stopped tagging me. Changed his passwords. Got weird with texts."

Josh "You sure you’re not just paranoid?"

Connor "Nope. He’s just a shit liar."

Peat "So technically, you’re loyal to someone who’s not. That’s noble. Or dumb." He fumbled with a can. It defied him.

Connor "You’re dating Tasha."

Peat: "...Yeah?"

Connor "And still sleeping with Annie."

Peat froze like the sentence hit a nerve. Because it did.

Josh "Fucking hell!" He choked on his beer, laughing and coughing like it was a magic trick. He wiped beer off his chin.

Peat "It’s—look—it’s complicated." He waved one hand like that might undo reality.

Connor "It’s cheating."

Peat "We never defined the terms of—"

Connor "Shut up, Peat."

Josh: "Emotional reparations!"

Peat "Exactly! Thank you."

Connor "You two are disasters." Says Flattly.

Josh "Mate, I got cheated on, ghosted, and emotionally gaslit with Spotify playlists. I’m the broken one here."

Connor "You cheated first."

Josh "Only because I felt like she was about to cheat!"

Peat: "Pre-emptive strike."

Connor: "Jesus Christ."

'They drank in silence. Not reflection—just buffering.'

Peat slumped halfway off the couch. Didn’t fix it. Josh scratched something into the floor dust with his boot. Connor watched. Quiet. Thinking.

Connor "You’ve both got one week." He stood. Calm. Cold.

Josh: "Bit harsh, innit?" Blinking.

Connor "Tell them, or I will."

Peat "Oh, come on—"

Connor "Annie knows. Tasha suspects. You’re not as clever as you think. And if it was you being cheated on, you’d want to know." He turned to him.

Josh "Fair! ... Can we get back to the drinking part before this turns into a therapy session?"

Connor "You brought it up."

Josh stood. Wobbly but dramatic. He raised a fresh can like it was Excalibur.

Josh: "Right. Treasure hunt."

Peat: "What are we, ten?"

Josh: "Winner gets the last beer."

Connor "We’ve got four left."

Josh "And they get to keep whatever cursed shit they find and the last beer."

Peat: "I want a haunted spoon."

Connor "I want an exit."

Josh "Let’s stop the sad bastard energy. Treasure hunt!!!"

Connor "I hate how right you are." Sighs.

Josh turned like a general about to conquer.

Josh: "Attic’s mine."

Peat "Kitchen. Hope the fridge bites me."

Connor "Basement. It’s calling my name anyway."

'They split. Boots stomping into the dark. Laughter echoing behind like a dare.'