Chapter 5: The Legend Revealed

I called my mentor, briefly explained the situation, drew the tattoo and sent it to her on Facebook Messenger for her to look at.

My hands could barely hold the phone steady. The sketch I sent her was rough, but the faces came through—each one, eyes nearly open, mouths twisted.

My mentor is an old tattoo artist with forty years of experience, both knowledgeable and highly skilled.

She was the kind of woman who could tattoo blindfolded and still make it art. She’d seen every trend come and go, survived every hard year the city threw at her. I trusted her more than anyone.

She let out a low whistle. "Damn, Sam. That’s the Five-Gate Demon. Why didn’t you call me sooner?"

She never cussed unless it was serious. My heart hammered in my chest. The background noise of her TV buzzed in the call.

That’s right—I should have realized it was a simplified Five-Gate Demon.

The pieces clicked into place. I remembered old stories from my apprenticeship—whispered warnings about never tattooing certain symbols, never mixing certain inks. I should’ve trusted my gut.

The Five-Gate Demon is made up of five figures, but is often depicted as sharing one body.

The stories were always the same: one entity, five faces—never at peace, always hungry.

And according to legend, this entity is extremely lustful, can attract ill-gotten gains, and is known in folk belief as the demon of fortune.

I remembered old tales told around bonfires on Tybee Island, folks half-drunk, swearing it was all true. Folks around here call it the Five-Faced Devil. It’s the kind of thing you only hear about in ghost stories—and even then, people lower their voices.

A chill crept up my spine.

I shivered, the air in the room dropping a few degrees. I reached for my coffee and found my hand was shaking.

"That girl is probably being used as a sacrifice by Eli and won’t live long. Your mentor set you up. Since you did the tattoo, you can’t escape responsibility. She’s already half gone, Sam—like her soul’s been torn apart. And those drained by the Five-Faced Devil will become vengeful spirits after death. The night she dies, she’ll come for whoever harmed her. Both mother and child will be deadly!"

Her words spilled out in a rush. My brain struggled to catch up. The image of Lillian’s twisted face burned in my mind. Ghost child? Vengeful spirits? I wanted to laugh, but the terror in my gut wouldn’t let me.

"What should I do?"

I was on the verge of tears, feeling like thousands of ants were crawling inside me, every hair on my body standing on end.

I clenched the phone so hard my knuckles ached. Panic clawed at my chest, and I pressed my hand to my heart, trying to steady it. I’d never felt so helpless.

This eight grand really wasn’t worth it.

I thought of the check, the promises, the danger. Easy money, my ass. I’d trade it all for a boring week right now.

"Sam, listen to me—pack your bags, get to a church, and don’t look back. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. You hear me?"

Her advice was blunt—run, hide, pray. My Catholic grandma would’ve approved. I looked at the old church flyer stuck to my fridge and wondered if the saints were still listening.

That made sense, so I quickly packed my bags. But as soon as I stepped out, two men in black pressed knives to my waist from either side and forced me back into the shop.

Their faces were blank, eyes flat and cold. They didn’t say a word—just herded me back through the shop’s neon-lit front like I was nothing.

Damn it, Eli wants me to be the scapegoat?

I cursed under my breath. This was a set-up, clear as day. I ran through every story Rick had ever told me about Eli’s ways—none of them ended well for the little guy.

Who knows what tricks he played on Lillian to make her believe I caused all this. If she dies, just like my mentor said, she really will come for my life.

I tried to keep my breathing steady, but my head spun. I pressed my back against the wall and waited for whatever would come next, heart pounding in my ears.