《So You Wanna Summon A Demon?》
So, You Wanna Summon A Demon?
Well let me tell you, it''s not gonna be an easy task. Even though it sounds like it is. Put aside all those preconceptions you have about demons too, they are a dime a dozen and ninety nine percent of the time you are going to be summoning someone really low on the totem pole. Seek out a name, speak it, bleed, job done, easy peasy. Do so with no protections and you die, or worse. In short, you shouldn''t. I will tell you a story about some of the things I have called into the world, it''s my job... Kind of. My name''s Rodney by the way, pleasure to meet ya.
When I began the summoning one late Thursday evening in my basement, I set out all the necessary accoutrements. A dagger, for blood. No worries, not much blood is actually needed, but you do need a dagger, no out for one of those diabetes sticks here, it has to be a cut, one that might scar. Beside the dagger I had a few red candles, these ones were unlit, I also had a little blowtorch lighter. Its a lot harder for a demon to put out a blowtorch flame than it is for them to put out a match or generic cigarette lighter. I have heard some demonologists prefer to use a Zippo style lighter but I never got the hype. If three of the five candles go out, the barrier falls, and you die.
The typical five pointed star was on the floor, the star was cut into the concrete with silver inlay. Not cheap at all but when you are working with entities that can summon elements and do basically magic at times its really a lifesaver, chalk gets people killed, paint can be easily burned and charred away, but even tarnished silver holds without fail, and most lesser demons can''t melt it.I am not stupid enough to call a major demon. Not yet anyway.
Older red candles were laid at each point of the star, lit, filling the basement with a strong scent of cinnamon and clove, and as I made a cut at the tip of one of my fingers, I called out a name. The name itself was a nearly unpronounceable series of syllables to the midwestern tongue which sounded like Nahuatl, the old Aztec language, which the demon once told me translates to "Flirt." There was a bright flash of light, I watched the candles and picked up the blowtorch reflexively, but the demon in the circle wasn''t about to try to escape even if one was not lit. This demon was Lascivious, that''s both a name and a mannerism for this demon. He''s basically the demon of the Sin of Flirting.
Didn''t think that was a Sin did you? Neither did I, turns out everything fun you could possibly do is most certainly a sin. there is the old saying "Everything in Moderation." Turns out that is true for sin especially. Flirt too much? Sinned, Look too long at that dumptruck ass? Sin. Getting a little too into this story? You are in fact Sinning, maybe...
It''s a little complex, the Christians claim that the book is blank when you get to heaven so long as you believe, while depending on who you ask babies who have never done any wrong go to hell if they aren''t splashed with water right away. The Demons tell me that God likes to play favorites, and so does the Devil. Me? I don''t know what to believe. A direct throughline to Hell will do that to ya.
Lascivious (Lass to me, we are buddies, Lassie if I am feeling shitty) stands at around 7'' with bright red skin, a long sinewy tail, a pair of goats legs, sort of Aztec style scar tattoos across his chest and neck, and he wears a puffy silk shirt, like the kind you see on those cheap romance novels about forbidden pirate lovers. His teeth were sharp and pointed, less like a shark and more like a lamprey, and his mouth opened round like one too. Don''t ask me how he vocalizes even remotely correctly, I couldn''t tell you.
"Hey Lass" I said, I pulled a chair towards the circle and sat down. The basement was lacking in furnishings, I tried to keep the circle area clear, but I had a pair of armchairs and a nice table near the circle.
"What is it now Rodney?" He said. He talks with a lot of honey and jasmine in his voice, like he is constantly trying to hit on you. "I was busy."
"Gotta job for you Lass." "I swear to Satan if its another jilted lover asking me to spy on someone." "Bingo." The demon crossed his arms. "For fucks sake. You would think they would at least get kind of interesting. I miss the cases where we used to find people who made dolls that they preferred over their lovers. Fashioned out of their lovers skin I might add... And now?"
"People get what they want off the Internet now Lass, not as many psychopathic public perverts in the world. Also you are confusing me with my grandad, again."
"Pish posh, humans are all the same, a little difference in blood changes nothing." "Focus Lass, we got work to do." "Fine fine, what''s the job?" "We got a live one here." I filled him in on what the target is. About a week ago a girl called me to ask about her boyfriend. Common enough call sure, but when she told me he was tied up with the Russian mob it started to pique my interest.
Story goes she ended up meeting him at a bar, found out he was a mid-rank member of the organization, then all of a sudden her boy starts spending less and less time with her. Of course, she figures he''s cheating, but I figure something else is going on. And if anyone can tell me if someone is cheating on a girl, its Lassie.
"He''s not cheating." Lascivious said flatly. "I can tell you that right off the bat, the boy only flirts with his girl. So its outside my wheelhouse." "Yeah but I can still hire you to tag along and keep an eye on them. What''s the terms?" "Your soul." "Yeah yeah, I know, your contractually obligated to ask for that but you know damn well you aren''t going to get it."
"Can''t blame a demon for trying. Fine, whatcha got?" "Two cans of Wintergreen chew and a half-bottle of Jack." "That''s a full bottle Rodney." "Yeah, half of it is mine." "Deal, let me out."
I broke the circle, not hard to do, just had to stick my hand through. Lightning and thunder and rain and storm can''t break silver but if I want to let the demon out I can do so with a touch of my hand.
Lassie passed the circle, grabbed a can of dip, and took a generous portion.
I will never understand why they like tobacco, let alone chewing it considering their biology, I figure he just swallows it. Now good ol'' Danny Jack, that just makes sense, me and him go way back after all...
Anyway, after sipping some booze and enjoying a dip of tobacco, Lass grabbed the last can, did a bit of slight of hand to make it disappear (He would just summon it back later when he wanted more, don''t ask me where it goes)"Give me a couple of days, I will watch him. Closely." And with that, Lascivious vanished. At least from normal sight. I could still see him, and he knew that, I could see, not hear, the sigh of frustration as the demon trotted over to the ladder and just sort of... Floated out of my basement.
I walked out after him, climbing out the trapdoor and throwing a rug over it, returning the home to it''s totally normal, not at all suspicious state. The house hadn''t changed since my grandfather gave it to me (much to my parents chagrin) the walls were lined with animal heads from various hunts he had been on, most of the beasts were from various parts of the Midwest and high plains areas of the US.
The living room had no TV, instead an old fashioned fireplace was built (apparently from my grandmother''s stone collection) and had a fire gently dying beyond the grate. Everything was hardy and wood-floored. Above it, on the mantle piece, hanging from a decorative rack was my grandfather''s prized shotgun, which he had named Chekov, as a joke. He used to take it on his hunts, both mundane and supernatural. I have since sawn off the barrel (which would have sent grandad rolling in his grave I''m sure) so that I can more easily carry it around town.
Most people wonder why I don''t carry a pistol. I tell them you can''t load a pistol with rock salt and silver. Me and Grandpa have a gift, we can see angel''s and demons that try to hide themselves from mortal sight, and we can affect them as if they were really there.
Normally a demon that has "discorporated" can just walk through you. Not me and Grandad, I can (and have) swing a punch at such entities whether or not they are visible, and that punch will connect, tears them right out of that state and into reality again. Which scares the bejeezus out of whomever sees it. I have gotten rather good at dodging other peoples literal demons on the street as a result. My parents hated Grandpa, and tried to beat the magic out of me, didn''t work, obviously, and now my opinions of the big man upstairs have become... Mixed to say the least. I sat in one of the old Victorian armchairs that sat by the fire, and reached over for the old rotary phone that somehow still worked after all these years.
I reached for my blue book (black for demons, blue for people) and dialed in the number for my client."H-Hello?" A woman''s voice came in over the line "Hey there..." I checked my book "Stella?" "Stacy, actually." "Ah, yeah sorry, lot of S names in here. Stacy I am calling to tell you I have one of my guys on your case, and that I will be hearing from them within a few days."
"Oh uh... About that" She suddenly sounded apprehensive. "Uhh... Could you drop the case? Please?" She spoke with a sort of quaver in her voice that suddenly had me on edge. "Found him then?" I asked, trying to sound like I hadn''t caught on to her fear "I could just call it off, but there is the severance fee..." "Its fine, it will all be paid off." She said suddenly. "I appreciate your Help." She hung up suddenly.
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That was weird. For one thing, my severance fee is almost as much as she paid me down, its that high on purpose, once I send a demon out to do something I can''t actually call them off, a deals a deal, what I said on the phone just then was a lie. Usually when someone calls me off they try to fight me over the severance fee. She just agreed to it outright. And how she said "Help" at the end before hanging up, it wasn''t like someone says help at the end of a sentence, it was like how someone cries for help.
She made it subtle, but her true emotions were clear. She''s in trouble. I checked the book, her address was under the number I called. I sighed, walked over to Chekov, took the gun, checked whether or not it was loaded, even though it always is, pinched a couple spare shells, and started suiting up for whatever came next. My coat is a long black faux leather thing, much like what Blade or Neo might wear. I know, its cheesy, but I never really grew out of the Matrix "Black coat, black clothes, black sunglasses" thing, plus a long coat hides a sawn-off well.
Do I stick out? Yes. Does anyone care really? No. I blend easily in with every other random street-emo. I just look like a poser to your random street-emo. I called a taxi and walked out on the porch to wait for them.
Grandpa''s house sits in an area near St''Paul Minnesota, the city I used to live in, on the streets I might add. As soon as i got old enough to leave my parents home, I did so, with no plan whatsoever, and not a dollar to my name.
I made a bit of a name for myself among the homeless community in the town, they called me "The Drug Puncher." because I would quite literally hunt down demons of addiction and beat the shit out of them until they left you alone. It didn''t get rid of the addiction, but it helps when the voices of self-hatred and dissent go away.
In return, I got to survive off of dollar cheeseburgers, helped a couple guys get off the street with my services. When grandpa died and he gave me the house, I moved in without a second thought. I knew he would have let me stay if I hadn''t been homeless... I just didn''t want to tell him, didn''t want to worry the retired monster hunter.
I waited for the cab, eventually I saw it pull up to the driveway, and I started walking. "Yoo, Neo!" "Nah, I just dress this way." The cabbie was a dark skinned fellow, and wore a jacket with the Jamaican flag on it. He didn''t have much of an accent, but it was there. "That''s cool man that''s cool, where ya need to be?" I gave the cabbie directions, and got comfortable in the back seat.
"So whatchu do Neo?" "My name''s Rodney." "You wear that coat, you''re Neo to me." "Fair enough." I chuckled in reply "You wouldn''t believe me if I told you."
"Try me." The cabbie eyed me in the rearview. "This is St Paul buddy, I have seen some wild shit on these streets, can''t be that much of a surprise." "Publicly I am a private investigator. Privately I summon demons to spy for my clients." I waited for the answer, I wouldn''t be surprised if that brought the man to silence.
"So, what, you a Voodoo man? Witch?" "Wait, what? No I am not a Voodoo guy, nor a witch, though I wouldn''t be too miffed if it turns out magic exists." I was confused, usually you say "I summon demons" and it gets people to go quiet, usually because they figure I''m insane. My advertisement in the newspaper even has exorcisms and summoning services listed and people ask if its a joke all the time.
"So, you summon demons? How?" "Its not hard, need the proper ingredients, but mostly a circle, a little blood, and some candles or red string.""You are serious? No fuckin'' with me?"
"As serious as the dead. Its my job." "Tell me some stories, gets boring watching the roads, and your life sounds cool."
I started to rattle off a few tales of my time on the streets, some of the demons I dealt with, and some of my grandad''s stories. In what felt like only a few minutes, we arrived at the home of my client. "This is the place?" "Yeah." I started to reach for my wallet "No man, no need, this first one''s on the house, call me if you need another ride." He handed me a card with his work cell on it, and he drove off. I took a look at the house in front of me.
An old brick building, built tall and quiet, nestled between two other buildings on this street, one of the neighboring houses was clearly occupied if the vast number of potted plants on the small front porch had any say. The other house had a "For Lease" sign hung on the door. I walked up to the front door of Stacy''s abode, and looked at the doorknob. Or lack thereof. Instead of a doorknob there was a fist-sized hole in the door, and the area around the hole was peppered with gunpowder residue.
"How the hell do people not hear this shit?" I said... to myself... Jesus Rodney you are going crazy. I pushed the door open, took a quick glance at the street, lit dimly by the lights and the occasional passing car, and I entered the house, pulling the sawn off from its holster as I did so. I began to sweep the apartment, checking corners.
The entry hall was typical of a building like this one, basic white walls with light texturing, basic bowl light in the entryway which was lit, a lamp sitting on a table, the bulb blown to smithereens by a stray bit of shot. No phone was anywhere, probably only ever used her cell, there were three doors and a staircase.
"Catch a tiger by the toe..." I muttered as a chose a door at random. Slowly opened the door and cleared the room, nothing, living area and kitchen. The coffee table had been knocked over, the various items that seemed to always find themselves on coffee tables, cups, bowls, magazines, and so on were scattered all over the floor.
I was beginning to feel on edge, I contemplated calling the police, but without a demon handy I wasn''t going to be able to investigate the crime scene if this turned out to be one, and being taken in for questioning could be a waste of time. I started moving through the other rooms, office, bathrooms, upstairs, guest bed, bathroom, master be- Shit.
I saw her there, lying on the ground in front of the bed. Her blood soaked the carpet, and the wall had a weird symbol of three triangles sort of intertwined, I made a mental note to look it up, and moved through the room, trying to keep from stepping on a soggy bit of carpet or contaminating the scene. I looked her over. "Jesus H. Christ." I muttered, swallowing another throat-full of vomit as I realized how she died.
Her body had been cut open near the bladder, and her small intestine had been severed, one end tied to one of the bedposts, and she was forced to fucking walk around all four posts of the bed, creating some kind of hellish wrestling ring, the bed the mat, her guts the ropes. The smell hit me then, as if my senses were lagging from the shock of seeing a corpse, and I bolted out of the room to finally empty my stomach in the master bathroom.
When I finally finished losing my lunch, breakfast too, probably wasn''t going to have dinner, or... you know, eat meat at all for a little while... I picked myself up off the ground, flushed the toilet, and saw the mirror. What looked back at me was a brightly shining star, made from a multitude of golden spines, each spine was topped with a flaming eyeball, the vitreous fluid dripping into the center of the star, as if fueling it. "Oh thank God. A familiar face."
"Rodney?!? What are you doing here?" The creature was taken aback, and as I turned around I could see its body fully. The body was alabaster skinned, androgynous, and wore a pure white toga bound with a golden brooch. In one hand, the angel held a golden scythe.
This was the angel of death, or one of them. Not to be confused with the Horseman, who is the terrifying skeleton with the black scythe, who was reserved for the truly evil. This angel''s name was Azrael. I met her before, quite a few times, while I was on the streets." Come to claim the girl?" I asked "Last rites have not been performed, so I must claim the soul. That does not answer my question." The surprise was gone from the angel''s voice. I could swear the eyessquintedat me.
"She is... Was, a client of mine." "Mercy... She didn''t make a deal did she?" "No! You know I would never! Look, I am here because she asked to cancel the deal. I wanted to know why, so I stopped by. Saw the shotgun hole in the door and realized something was up." "She is dead." The angel said rather matter-of-factly "What else needs to be known?"
I sighed. Demons were made to tempt humans, as a result they were made to act human, angels were made to watch humans, as a result, they tended to be... This. Frustrating. "What needs to be known is how and why she died. You are an angel of death right? Give me a coroners report." I started moving back towards the bedroom, but the smell coming from the open door kept me from going any further.
"The mortal shell of this one died due to blood loss and septic shock from their intestines being slowly unwound. The increased adrenaline still in the body suggests that she was forced to walk around the bed to facilitate the unwinding of the intestines. It was a method used by the Vikings. The symbol on the wall is a Valknut, a symbol of the pagan god Odin."
The angel clenched her fists
"And its a symbol of death."
I blinked. "What? First off, you are an angel and you know about symbols to pagan gods?" "When you have to reap the souls of those who died during their rituals, you become accustomed to seeing them." The angel looked at me again. "Why are you ill?" "Humans don''t handle seeing that kind of stuff easily."
"You are not unfamiliar with death." "Not that kind of death." "I see." We stood there in the hallway in silence for a short while. The angel placed a hand on my shoulder, I felt a strong warmth shoot to my toes upon contact with the being. "I expect you to find who did this Rodney Jordan Wakefield, I expect you to find them, and I expect you to show them what happens when you start to poke around with the rituals of old gods." And with that, the Angel turned to the room, and walked in. I couldn''t say anything, I was too confused, was that... Wrath? From an angel? She was pissed! And she used my full name, which was creepy. Something about this made her mad. I noticed something else. I wasn''t nauseous anymore, felt, great actually.
Fantastic even, like I had just walked away from a massage, got a runners high, and was fully readjusted by a chiropractor. She... Gave me a blessing? Me? Fucking... Why? How? I had to do some research, soon. But first...I heard the sound of sirens blaring, distant, but coming closer.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck!" I started moving downstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Holstering Chekov as I moved, I burst out the front door and started sprinting, full-tilt, down the street. I hadn''t run this fast since high school. I didn''t know how long this Blessing would last, or even entirely what it did, besides give me seemingly endless energy, but I knew I was going to use it to put as much distance between me and the police as I could. I turned a corner, found myself on a very seedy side of town, and kept running. My sprint was suddenly halted by the painful *thwack* of a 2x4 slamming into my forehead. I saw some stars, then it all went black.
Ow, that smarts.
"Owww..." My eyes opened, I was facing the early morning summer sky, and there was the familiar scent of piss and sweat, the alleyway was empty, and when I leaned my head forward, I saw the black pit of a similarly familiar barrel pointed at my head. "Easy there buddy, hold it." The guy was homeless, and he had a shake to him and his voice which suggested a meth problem.
Sure enough, as I looked away from the barrel of the gun towards the guy who was pointing it at me. Behind him, over his shoulder, was the pitch black form of an addiction demon. His fangs a set of needles, his maw embedded into the neck of the homeless guy like some kind of drug-fueled vampire.
"Hey man, easy, lower the gun, you and I both know you don''t need a felony on your record. Especially being as there are some police not even a block and a half away."
The man looked at me, looked down at the shotgun, looked back at me. "I could sell this." he muttered. "A sawn-off shotgun? A trench gun no less? You try to sell that off, even to a King, and you can get into massive trouble, you don''t want to try that."
"Come on man, I can''t keep going without something, I already checked your wallet, plastic doesn''t do me any good."
There was a reason I always carried only my card, this situation exactly was it.
"Listen, you put the gun down, take a step back, and I can help you out. We walk down the street a ways, I get to an ATM and I can slide you some cash, unload the shotty if you like."
The look in his eyes, the hunger for his next hit, the idea of fast and easy cash over the slow and sketchy cash he would have got from selling Chekov on the black market was enough to get him to lower the gun. He racked out the last shells, and passed me the empty gun, showing me that he had my spares in his hand.
I got up off the floor, dusted myself off, gently took the shotgun from his hands, and proceeded to slam the stock of the gun directly into the face of the addiction demon over his shoulder.
The homeless dude panicked, and jumped back, he probably thought I was trying to hit him and missed, but he started to really freak out when he saw the Demon I had just slapped off of him.
I grabbed the gun by the barrel, and started slamming the demon with the stock. It let out a screech that sounded like creaking metal and a lit up crack bulb had a child with the sound of broken glass, and it started to skitter down the alley like a spider, climbing one of the walls and getting out of sight.
The homeless dude was screaming. I moved towards him, he was frozen, just screaming. I slapped him in the face and he looked at me, pained, panicked, but quiet now.
"Listen, I still intend to give you that cash. And I''m sure right now you are freaking the fuck out. But I need you to listen close to me alright?"
The man swallowed, nodded.
"What''s your name man?"
"B-Boris." He stammered.
"Hey Boris, my name''s Rodney, listen, I used to be in your shoes, don''t look it from the Matrix gear I know, but I need you to listen. There are a bunch of guys that live near the southwest side of the city, they live under a bridge. its a homeless community. Go there and try to find a guy named David. Tell him the Drug Puncher sent you, he will know what I mean. They can help you get off the street."
"Wh-What the fuck was that?"
"Not gonna believe me, but that was a Demon, your demon." "Bullshit." "What did I tell ya? Now are you going to follow me to the ATM or not? Pass me my shells back."
"N-no way, im keepin these." "Fair enough, nobody''s gonna buy them though. They are full of rock salt."
"S-salt? Wh-why?" "Demons hate salt, they can''t stand the stuff. Sugar either, something about its purity and color bothers them." "Y-your r-real about this ar-ent you?" "Serious as the grave." "Y-you crazy." "Yep, get that a lot."
We walked and talked, I put the shotgun away before we walked out of the alley. We got a couple weird looks but I ignored them.
"What got you hitting rocks bud?"
His stammer faded a bit by now. "Ffuck I dunno. Been so long, I can''t r-remember when I started. The first hit was awesome th-though."
"What got you on the street?" "L-lost the house. B-bank took it, spent t-too much." "How do you feel now?" L-like shit. T-tired as hell, haven''t had a hit in weeks." "And the little voice in the back of your head begging for more?" "G-gone? I still want more, b-but the part that hates myself is quiet, l-like I feel like I could try quitting a-gain."
"Good."
I reached the ATM, passed the guy a 20 I probably couldn''t afford to loose, and told him "Get a hit or no, I won''t stop you. But you are free right now, you can drop it, and I just told you who can help." And I walked away
It was around that moment where the Blessing started to wear off. And my head started to slam against the inside of my skull. Clearly my angelic help wasn''t willing or able to expend much more than to give me a little speed and healing boost, I might not have had a concussion anymore, but I had a migraine from hell.
Speaking of hell, I started carefully walking down the city streets, carefully dodging personal demons as I went. Adultery, Drinking, Wrath, all the greats were there, as well as quite a few minor demons. I wasn''t about to pick a fight with one of the major sins, they tended to be a lot stronger, and causing a demon to become visible even for a second in a busy city street would probably turn a few heads.
Addiction demons are easy, it might be a major problem, but they were cowardly and animalistic, they rely on primal desire, and don''t have nearly as much human traits as, say, a demon of lust. While they were created to tempt, I''m not totally sure Addiction demons are much more than wild dogs when it comes to the hierarchy of hell. Whacking one over the head doesn''t get rid of desire, nor withdrawal, but it does get rid of the emotional sense of worthlessness and the idea you are too far gone to stop.
That guy would probably spend the 20 on a rock, get high, feel a sense of guilt and disgust in himself that the demon kept suppressed under a sense of worthlessness and despair, and try to turn away from it. That, or he would just keep on going, I tried to keep myself optimistic.
I haven''t saved many people, Addiction comes back easily, you never really quit, and a demon I have beaten the shit out of can show up again any time. But it gives them a chance to try. I have seen some addicts fight them off on their own, without me having to get into a physical altercation, but I have seen just as many fail at the first hurdle.
Addiction demons were about the only one that I was not at all willing to communicate with, let alone summon, well, those and demons of the... what term do people use now? "Struggle Snuggle?" Jesus Christ.
I was pulled from my memories of beating up addiction and getting beat up by the addicts when I saw a phone booth and remembered that business card. I also remembered how tired I was. Night was my time to work, and the sun brings me nothing but exhaustion. I moved to the phone booth, opened it up, prayed that the copper wires inside the phone hadn''t been stolen and picked up the receiver. It worked.
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Patted myself down for a quarter... Fuck. Looked around the area for something, and I heard a voice behind me say "Need some change bud?"
I turned around to see a fellow dressed in a yellow jacket with a black tie. I assumed by the crown pinned to his chest and the color of his skin that he was probably a King, a rather high ranking member at that. But the other symbol he wore on the opposite lapel had a familiar pattern to it I just couldn''t place. Certainly wasn''t a gang sign I recognized.
"Thanks." I took the quarter from the guy, and turned back towards the phone booth.
"Beware the Wotanites." the man said, the voice being right behind me, the breath on the back of my neck. My hairs went on end as he spoke. "They seek to awaken something older than hell." I spun around, and the strange man in King colors was gone. "The fuck was that?" I muttered, storing it away for later, and made the call.
The ride home was made in silence, my new Jamaican friend clearly recognized I was not a morning person, let alone a day person, and let me brood in my shadows.
I thought long and hard about what I was going to do when I got back home, and decided I might just need to check the library, and get some info on this Odin guy and some info on what his followers were up to, but first things first, I needed a whiskey, and I needed sleep. The bed calls to me, maybe Lass would be back by then...
The font changes here, this is from Lascivious''s Perspective
I have decided that it''s high time to start writing some of this shit down, if for no other reason than to show the demons down here with me what my life actually is like, so they can see how much better it is to have their name out there.
In hell, you are either one of those Sins that have a lot of souls handy, Lust or Pride, one of the big ones, or you are one of the minor sins, one of the sins that aren''t ever going to be the main reason why someone falls. When all you are is the scaffolding holding up another demon, you don''t get much share in the soul.
Me? I am a demon of Flirtation, fraternization of the more sexual kind, but never quite reaching the bedroom. I am the Mentos commercial before the main event, like if a Mentos commercial ever ran on a porn website. Refreshing, a handy tool for getting what you want, but then once you have it, there isn''t much point for my services anymore. I''m not really romance either, that''s more of an angel thing. The more I try to explain it the worse my position seems doesn''t it?
In short, I''m a paper pusher. Most of my work in hell is just signing paperwork that gives me a little slice of the pie, just enough to keep myself kicking, and reading text messages to decide if they are horny enough to be sinful. My name is Xitexikti, that''s my true name mind, don''t throw it around too much, or do, I could use the entertainment. Most folks just call me Lascivious, Rodney calls me Lass, you don''t get to call me that unless your pretty.
Sometimes when he is feeling cute, he calls me Lassie, if you call me that, you get to find out what your muscles feel like without any skin over them. I might be a low-ranking denizen of hell, but I still have more power in my blood than you have in your whole body, and contrary to what Rodney seems to think about me, I am not a good demon, there aren''t any of those... Mostly.
When Rodney sent me out of his place after this guy, I immediately set to work, heading right for him. Being a demon of Flirtation, I am able to sense whenever a human casts a hungry eye on another, I can put my hand on a shoulder, give them the persuasive shove in the right direction, get things started.
I try to avoid doing so to the nerds or the ugly, they have a tendency to blow it, and they also tend to be too damn decent a person for their own good, turning that lust to romance instead of the one-night-stand you want to get. you need to nudge the dipshits, the assholes, the downright monsters.
I had my feelers out for such downright monsters around our target, my hooves clopping against the ground as I walked, tapping out the tune to an old jazz song as I moved, slipping between the demons on the shoulders of other folks, most of whom gave me a disparaging glare and a scoff as they looked away. They knew I was summoned, but fuck them, I am fabulous.
I already knew the target, I know most of you, every flirtatious gesture, every desire, every want. I know your face by your name, pet names especially.
As I trotted down the street, heading in the general direction of the target, I felt an unpleasant sensation at the base of my tail, as I felt something most demons get excited about. Murder, cold and pure, the smell of blood and the wash of rage.
I Bamfed in that direction, vanishing in a wash of sulfur and brimstone only to reappear at the location. A handy trick we Demons have, hard to do when you are stressed but I wasn''t in a fight, so teleporting was easy.
Several other demons were already here, a Murder demon, taking the face of some old Creepypasta murderer, clearly ready to make another serial killer, a couple other demons eager to claim the soul from the dead girl to get ahead, a demon of Lore, another of Phobia...
I saw four men standing in front of the door of a red brick building, having an argument. I listened closely to their words, one of them was my target, his voice thick with a heavy Russian accent, the others around him lacking the accent, maybe second, third generation Russian migrants, except one.
One of them scared me, I couldn''t tell you why, he stood away from the door and behind the three men, in a three piece suit while the others wore the standard (and tacky I might add) tracksuits.
The man behind them was attractive, well dressed, a sharp angular face, piercing blue eyes and long blond hair, on his neck, an image of an old Viking stave rune, one I hadn''t seen in centuries, an Aegishjalmr, and I felt power flowing out of it, like a bubble of fear and awe protecting the man. Power like that was old, and rare to see nowadays. His eyes were cold, like a predators.
"Baby please, just open the door, we just want to talk." Our target was trying to get into the building, Petrov his name was, Rodney only gave me a first name, he''s too smart to give me his full name.
The sense of murder was flowing off of the blonde guy, filling the air with its pitch black scent, like licorice and motor oil.
"No, your scaring me Petrov, I haven''t seen you in weeks, and now you come with two armed men? Go away before I call the police!"
"Just call off your dog babe, we aren''t gonna hurt you, just call him off, and we go." The man seemed pained, there must have been love there, or at least the spark of it.
I was very close to this group of individuals, watching their faces, paying close attention to them, as I heard the sound of a cellphone being used in the other room, when her phone rang.
My hearing is remarkably good when I want it to be, and I listened in on her conversation, blanching when I heard Rodney''s voice "Hey there... Stella?" "Stacy." she replied, a quaver to her voice.
She took the opportunity to try to cancel the job. Once I heard the phone hang up, I froze as I realized the hot and scary blonde was staring directly at me. He could see me, the scary fucker could SEE me. "Too Late." He said, his voice was deep, resonant, at odds with his angular features and somehow fitting, a thin accent I couldn''t place was there, seemed Scandinavian.
"Bring it down." He said.
The woman on the other side panicked, apparently she had heard those words as well, I heard her start sprinting up the stairs, taking the risk I poked my head through the door. The poor woman had left her phone on the coffee table.
"Boss, please, she''s my girl." "She shouldn''t have meddled, bring it down." One of the thugs put a shotgun to the door, I braced for the noise, but heard none. I stared down at the shotgun and saw no suppressor, not even a break, nothing to reduce the sound, but I saw another rune glowing starkly against the gunmetal grey. These people were working with ancient shit, old magic, I haven''t seen power like this since the blood sacrifices of old, and judging by the sheer Cain levels of Murder pouring off the scary blonde I was about to see one, when he suddenly threw a hand out, grabbing me by the face with his fucking hand, and said "Leave."
I felt myself go woozy for a second, and then the sudden sensation of falling.
When I caught the whiff of Sulfur and burnt gunpowder, I knew my situation.
Aw hell, I was back in hell. Rodney''s gonna kill me.
Racist Pagans And Angry Cops
The morning sun set over the horizon, the city in the distance providing a pitch black set of spires along a golden skyline, the smog hanging over it sort of smudging the image and giving it a ghostlike quality.
I was standing on the back porch of my grandfather''s house, a little hair o'' the dog in my morning coffee (never hurt grandad) I just had the whole damn pot sitting next to me, so I didn''t have to walk away from the setting sun while I sipped.
"Rodney! You son of a bitch! What in god''s holy name where you doing at a murder scene!?!" Ahh yes, Charlie.
"No I am having my morning coffee, if I was drinking, my phone would have been off." Not that I carried a cellphone to turn off in the first place.
I looked at the pot, and the Jack, there wasn''t much of either left. I decided against Jack, still had to stay sharp, so I went instead for just the last of the coffee in the pot. Drinking the now warm coffee, I sat in silence for a minute, Charlie still choosing his words, I heard conversations and talk on the other end of the phone, maybe he was talking with some subordinates or something.
"Charlie, I punch demons in the face, I''m not a fuckin'' wizard from Chicago."
I looked out at the city again, the sun was under the buildings now, and some of the night sky was being cast back by the glass windows before being swallowed up entirely by the light pollution. The view was great but my mood soured as I replied "Fine, you''re right, I don''t have a choice. Thanks Charlie, I know you are taking a risk here."
"I''m willing to take a little shit from the boys to keep you on the streets, it''s safer with you on them than off them, I gotta get going, lay low today alright?"
"That''s cool, but why the sudden change of subject?"
"You always got cool stories Neo, gotta let me have a few."
Again, what felt like minutes went by, as the hour long drive from my place to St. Paul proper melted away under Levon''s tales of rum running and adventures in his home country.
The library was one of the few places I could go when I needed a safe place to be, and there were more pleasant memories here than unpleasant ones, which is more that I could say for most public spaces. I walked over to the tea cart, poured myself a cup of it, and sipped a little as I began diving through the shelves.
My time on the streets gave me a true appreciation for the old Dewey Decimal, and I began pulling books from shelves and placing them on the cart in front of me as I walked, looking for anything to do with old occult symbology. I would swing by one of the computers as soon as one was open, a couple of nerds were hanging around one of them, by the subject of their conversation it was doing calculus classes.
After collecting herself, she saw the massive pile of books on my cart and said "Good lord, doing a bit of light reading are we?" I took a glance down at the stack as I said. "A wise old woman once told me, that a smart man takes many books on a single subject from the shelves, while a foolish man takes only one. Because the smart man knows that most of the books are lying, and the only way to find the truth, is to read them all."
Holy shit. I realized then, Esther''s granddaughter was one of the nice librarians, and she was hot! And I just waxed philosophical at her instead of just saying hi, goddamn it Rodney.
I contemplated trying to talk to her again, but realized the moment was gone, and that I had bigger fish to fry than try to pick up a girl, even a nice one whose grandma was basically the mother figure of a whole generation of homeless....
"Why not just use Google?" the fat kid asked "Because the computers are all being used." I turned a page and gave them a look as if I was wearing an imaginary set of shades "Unless you two are volunteering?"
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"I thought the stereotype of kids in a library was that you liked math?"
"Sir, do you like math?" The fat kid asked again.
"A lot actually." It looked like the fat kid was giving the black one the lead on this, I should really have gotten their names, feels bad just calling them "The fat one" or "The black one" I would learn later that the black kid''s name was Woby at least.
"What do you know about the Valknut?"
"It''s an old Norse symbol, its a symbol of Odin, and death, it was left at his sacrificial sites and was sometimes carried by priestesses." He looked it up on the computer as he spoke, showing me an image of the thing.
"Well, there is some rather sketchy people from a really sketchy part of the pagan community that have used it as a racist symbol."
"Huh? Pagans? Racist? Aren''t they supposed to be chill and peace loving and shit? I know quite a few satanists, and they seemed pretty decent."
"Yeah, those folks are what you call "Astaru." They follow old norse gods and goddesses to this day, and they are pretty chill. Wotanists on the other hand..."
"Rituals to Odinn were mostly beheadings. Some were more ritualized with a careful stab through the chest, I wouldn''t be surprised if someone went for the eye, considering Odin was a one-eyed god, though considering they usually sacrificed Thralls, their slave caste, it would probably be blasphemous to make a slave look like the god... Anyway. Their punishments and stuff reserved for criminals and prisoners of war were also ritualistic, and violent. One, that might have been anachronistic, was the idea that someone would have their small intestine cut out, tied to a tree, and then forced to walk around that tree at spear point."
The fat kid looked like he was about to puke, and I wasn''t feeling too hot myself. Woby was getting a little too into this description of gruesome horror, and I got the sense this was something he might have looked into a little too much. "Anything the Vikings did that wasn''t horrible murder?"
"I mean, yeah, they had a fascinating culture, I can totally talk about it for hours..." he was suddenly cut off by someone calling from the front of the Library "Woby! Come on dear, bring your friend, its time to go home."
Most Neo-Pagans are some of the calmest, level-headed, genuinely decent people you will ever meet. Even Satanists are remarkably cordial, although some of the traditionalist ones got on my nerves, always asking me for demon summoning services for stupid or dangerous reasons. The dumbest ones were people asking me for fortunes, as if a Clairvoyance demon would give me actual information about the actual future instead of some nonsense riddle that only makes sense in the moment.
Hell, is not what you think it is. But it also is exactly what you think it is. Beyond the bland grey walls of my cubicle where hundreds of thousands of other cubicles exactly like mine, doing exactly what I was doing, typing away at a computer, looking through text messages and sending information to the bosses about what methods could be used to ensure the soul was captured. Hell, at least for those of us at the bottom, is a pyramid scheme.
I sat there, staring at a computer screen, that had a little ''XP'' bar sitting at the top of it, in front of an inbox flooded with text messages, waiting to be graded and nudged to be more sinful, building the scaffolding for some other demon above me to grace me with a small portion of the soul he claimed for himself. I knew that above me, thousands of circles up, were the original seven of Dante''s day, but I had never seen them. Sure we have access to a 24 hour stream of the old river of fire, but why would anyone step away from their soul quota and risk missing out on a promotion? One of those that were said to come, but never really did.
Surrounded by my four grey walls, with four other cubicles next to me, on and on and on for hundreds of thousands of miles of office space, I stared at my screen. whiling away the seconds. Wondering how long it was going to be before Rodney called me back...
Nothing can survive this far down for comfort, its too cold, The "0th" circle is what we called this place, it is so far away from God''s light as to be colder than even the circle of Traitors, nothing warm can remain here, coffee cannot survive this far down, food freezes solid and looses flavor entirely, the only things down here that can remain to give us demons of the minor sins any sense of comfort, was Tobacco. It tasted good, didn''t affect us the same as it did humans, no chemical addictiveness, just a pleasant flavor profile, and smoking makes us look cool without the risk of cancer.
I was reminded of my Tobacco just then, and reached for the can of Wintergreen in my little pocket dimension, bamfing it back into existence, running my clawed nails along the outside of the can, resisting the urge to tap it against my index finger, an all too familiar sound down here, to try to keep anyone from knowing I had some. Opening a can of chewing tobacco in this circle of hell was like opening a container of Tic-Tac''s up top, everyone wants a piece.
As I opened the container, a whiff of the smell escaped the can before it flash-froze, and I heard the keyboards of the two cubicles nearest mine stop. Shit.
"XiXi?" Ugh that insufferable nickname "You''re back? Got called up top?" ugh that insufferable "Uncle Tony" Italian American accent that sounded fake, most folks didn''t call him by his true name, most mortals and some immortals couldn''t pronounce it, instead we just called him Dave. He was a Fraud demon.
"Called up top? Poor dear, did you at least find an unbaptized to claim?"
The other demon speaking was a lady we called Starr, she sounded like a sweet scottish nanny. She was a demon of Coddling. And what she was asking about was if I was seeking out some SIDS baby or unbaptized suicide that I reached before a Death Angel showed up to claim the soul. Demons down here have a bad work culture, they think going to the surface just means less souls for you, less souls for you means a shorter lifespan.
"You both know well that I refuse to take an easy soul." I replied to her, a sour feeling in my gut as I realized I was going to have to give up a good portion of my chew. I need to start asking Rodney for extra, the fact that I had to eat one whole container just so I could get any before being sent back was utterly miserable.
"Come on XiXi, you must be almost outta souls by now, you''re gonna die at this rate, slide us some snuff, we can keep you going."
"A fourth of a soul for a fourth of a can." I said as I knocked the puck of chew out of the canister, and started breaking it up.
"Highway fuckin'' robbery!" cried Dave.
"Deal, I might even buy two quarters off of you dearie." I saw her wispy cloud-like shape emerge from her side of the cubicle, and hold her equally wispy three-fingered claws over to my desk. I placed two quarters of the chew into her hand.
"Fine. Fuck these things are getting pricey." Dave finally said as he held a greenish ooze coated five fingered hand down from his stall over to mine.
I heard a little *Ding!* from my computer as my soul quota went up nearly a full soul.
I silently begged for Rodney to call me in early, as I sadly munched on my quarter of the chew, and reached out for my keyboard to start filing away text messages, and earning barely a decimal point of souls at a time as I did so.
Another Day, Another Devil
Rolling out of bed this evening was troublesome. At first I thought maybe one of those Sleep Paralysis demons were real, and were sitting on my chest, but no. It was the soreness.
Flinging myself off the bed, I stumbled across my messy bedroom to the alarm clock that I kept at the other side of it, so I got up an hour or three before sunset. I figured I needed a drop or two of vitamin D to keep me alive... So a little bit of late-afternoon sun would do that for me.
Somewhere in the mess I found my tacs, red string, and scratch notes. Eventually I found myself a pen as well, and set to work lining things up.
Victim: Stacy, didn''t get her last name.
Witnesses: Possibly her neighbor? Maybe a few bystanders? Gotta talk to Charlie about that.
Murderers: Easy, the Russian mob. Nah, too easy, and it makes no sense. Probably has something to do with these Wotanists I keep hearing about.
Demons: Where the fuck is Lass?
Should check the black book and see if there is anyone else I could call.
Small group, gotta be, too small a faith to have a big Supremacist group. Also if it is the Wotanists, why was the victim white?
The only reason the victim would have been targeted is if they knew Stacy had someone watching them. But why would they lash out so suddenly? Unless they knew I wasn''t an ordinary private investigator, but I''m like, the joke number in the phone book, even some of the Pagan''s thought I was joking, until I literally punched the demons off of them.
Does this have something to do with me? I added it to the board...
A blast of sudden wind lashed across the room, reeking with sulfur, two candles were blown out in an instant. Something was wrong, I rushed to the blowtorch and started lighting candles as quickly as I could. A form rose from the center of my circle, blasting me with the scent of hell, rotten eggs and ammonia.
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Fuck... Fuck, this was bad, this was really really bad. I would just send her back but I don''t know her name! I don''t even know who the hell she is! And my latin has always been shit so it''s not like I can exorcise her normally. If I don''t get her out of here soon my defences are going to crumble, and she could tear me apart in ways I would enjoy...
No! NO! Focus Rodney!
deliciously awful to someone innocent, ruin just the right family''s lives and ensure we get a very bad man to go to the very bad place with me..."
I suspect he is growing a bit too much of a fondness for humanity, he is starting to like it up here, and he has outright refused to try any... Extracirricular activities, while up here."
She was talking about taking someones soul, someone unbaptized or otherwise inoculated against demons taking the soul from the unwilling, stealing it from under the nose of Death Angels. It was the main reason I called Lass and only Lass in the first place, any other demon might try to take too many opportunities to get ahead. Sure they almost always died trying, Angels of Death don''t carry those scythes for nothing, but anything to get out of the dreaded "0th layer" Lass was always talking about.
The demon of Lust looked me up and down, held an arm out to the side as she spoke. "Challenges don''t get me souls, challenges get me a one-night-stand or two that can be taken away with a prayer or confession. We need sinners who are much too far gone. People who are so utterly wicked that an angel might hesitate to forgive them. In short, we need monsters, not horny jocks."
"I get that demons tell lies, its kinda your schtick, but at least make your tells less obvious, impatiently glaring at candles only reminds me of the stressful fucking situation I am in.
What do you want Demon?" I said, swapping out the slightly squashed candle for a fresh one, the smell of cinnamon and clove from the cheap red candles were starting to get cloying in here.
When she said crush, she tapped a heeled shoe against the ground, and one of the candles was pounded flat into the ground. I replaced it, lit it, and looked horrified at the other candles as each flame was nearly completely out, just barely puttering against this demon''s strength of will.
"Why the hell would you tell me anyway? You could just kill him now without my permission."
"Oh, I could. But then I wouldn''t get to find out any of the reasons why."
"What keeps me from denying you Human? I could crush this circle and end you here and now!" All the honey and sweetness was gone from her voice now.
"Then do it." I said flatly, and I felt a wave of agony as she slammed against the wall, the candles melting into pools of wax around the floor, but the flames somehow remaining in place, holding their positions in the air around each point of the star.
"How?!? Still, you can''t sit here and hold against me forever, that righteous fury will die out eventually, and I will make you enjoy every second I pry your fucking heart from your chest!"
She wasn''t wrong, whatever I was doing, it was fading quickly, and it felt like I was losing something for every second that passed.
The last part was not sweet, not bitter, it was cold, flavorless, a promise made in a pool of crimson, wax or blood, it mattered little. Damn she was better at this Shakespeare stuff than I was.