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.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
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 eyes squinted at 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.