A story about summoning a demon, sort of.
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Karl stood in the center of the downstairs floor of his home. He looked around the room. He was satisfied. It had been a lot of work, but, tonight, Karl believed, it would be well worth the time and energy.
Karl thought back to when everything started. He was nineteen, young, and confused. He had completed his education, at least the education he felt that he needed. He began his research, his studies into the occult and the supernatural. Was it real? Did it exist? That was his concern, and he wanted to find out if it was true or if everything was just chemistry, biology, physics, and mathematics.
His searches took him all over the world. Mostly it was the Mideast and eastern Europe, as well as parts of Egypt. Karl spent time in old, dusty museums, college libraries, and bookstores selling the odd selections of publications. Over thirty years, he accumulated quite a collection of books, most of which were worthless. But Karl never stopped. He continued, researching, reading, and learning.
Finally, he had six books in his collection that were useful. It was the last book he acquired, from an old family estate in Germany, that was the most valuable. The German family had been nobility once, but the line, and the money, had failed. He could have gotten the mansion for a bargain basement price, but he didn’t want or need the mansion. He needed that book. That ancient, old book that no one could read came cheap, for it was written in a language that was old when mankind was young.
Karl found a professor of linguistics in Finland, at the University of Helsinki, who helped him with the language. He learned a bit from the professor, and then continued on his own. It took him almost three years to completely translate the volume. He was overjoyed when he finished the job. He was also exhausted. Karl took some time off before he would begin to practice what was in that book.
Now, tonight, all was ready. He had found the perfect home, in a very small town near the Canadian border in upstate New York. He bought the house, and gutted the first floor. When he was done, there was no kitchen, living room, or dining room. It was one open floor. He kept a small bookcase with his six books on one wall.
The carpeting was torn up. A bare hardwood floor was exposed. Karl painted a perfect pentagram on the floor, to the exact dimensions in the book. The point of the pentagram was pointing at the front door. In front of that point was a small lectern. Now, tonight, the special book rested on the lectern.
Karl placed five black candles at each point of the pentagram. He waited for the sun to go down. The night was clear and still, not a cloud in the sky. The moon was full, round, and huge. It reflected a great deal of light on the house below. Karl moved about the room, opening all of the windows and propping open both the front and rear doors. Next, Karl lit the candles. He moved to the lectern, opened the book, and turned it to the selected page.
Karl began the chant. Over and over, he recited the sacred words, words that were old when mankind was young. He continued, on and on and on, his voice becoming a drone.
Outside, the wind picked up. The trees bent in the breeze. A few clouds scudded over the surface of the moon, followed by a strange, black flying shape. Still Karl chanted. And the wind picked up some more.
Karl finally came to the end of the spell. He paused, perspiration running down his face. He took a deep breath, and recited the final lines of the spell:
Hocus Pocus, Harum Scarum!
Oh, Great Demon, Lord of the Dark,
Into my pentagram,
Your backside park!
The wind picked up some more. Karl smiled, and repeated the chant again. A small, red spark appeared in the center of the pentagram. It grew in size until it was about the size of a baseball. And its glow grew in intensity. It was red, red hot. It hurt the eyes to look at it.
White smoke began to billow from the spark. The smoke was thick, and heavy, filling the room. It turned to grey, got darker, and turned to black. It was a black, oily smoke, and it gave off a sickening stench. Then it began to fade, and turned to a thick red. The smoke reversed, began to reenter the spark, and, suddenly, a large demon appeared in the center of the pentagram. Karl grinned. It worked.
The demon was close to eight feet tall. It was covered in shiny, red scales. It was muscular, and solid. Its fingers ended in long, nasty talons. Karl had no doubt that they were razor-sharp. It had a nobility, almost an attractiveness, about it. The demon looked at Karl, then looked down at itself. Its male genitalia, which were huge, were exposed. The demon gulped.
“Damn! Be right back!” the demon shouted, and it disappeared with a loud “Pop!”
“What the hell?” Karl muttered.
With another loud “Pop!” the demon reappeared. This time, it looked different.
The demon, in fact, looked rather strange to Karl. It was wearing a pair of Nike sandals. It had on lime-green Hawaiian print jams. A surfer’s cross, attached to a thick, gold chain, hung from its neck. Covering its eyes were a pair of Oakley designer sunglasses. In its right hand, or claw, it had a large, burning joint of Maui-Wowie.
“Demon! You must stay and do my bidding! For I have summoned thee!” Karl shouted.
The demon looked exasperated.
“Man, you are so medieval,” the demon stated, and he took a large puff on the joint. “Chill, dude!”