Water in the Fire

        The only illumination in these woods were the star lights, moonlight, and the dwindling campfire centered in a small clearance within the woods. Around the campfire were a group of five young adults enjoying the getaway from the hustle and bustle of urban college life. The only sign that any civilization ever touched this section of the woods was the access road that enabled the group’s truck and towed trailer to reach this spot. The only noises were the bugs chirping, the piles of empty beer bottles growing and clinking as the bottles hit each other, and the young adults puncturing the serenity with their rambunctious conversation.

               “Bro, you ever wonder what kind of shit happened in this spot? Like,” Michael burped some of the suds from his beer and continued loudly talking, but not quite yelling, “you know that old chupa…chalupa…chupapupusa…”

               “You mean ‘Chupacabra’? The vampire-like creature known to drink the blood of livestock?” Wesley responded with an air of arrogance and annoyance that his friend couldn’t get that particular urban legend correct. He was the anthropology major here. His seat was the only one devoid of empty beer bottles and he couldn’t stand how stupid his friends got when they were inebriated.

               The rest of the group chuckled at Michael’s expense, even though the rest of them also had no idea what Wesley was talking about. Michael didn’t notice Wesley’s tone of superiority, or at least he didn’t seem to, and continued loudly “Yea. That type of shit. There’s gotta be some creepy stuff that happened here.”

               Braxton lit a marijuana joint as Michael was speaking and inhaled. He then spoke slowly “You know…on this very spot, history happens. Everywhere we walk history has happened. There were probably native farms here or people eating each other here as they traveled west.”

               “Well, they say…” Wesley was about to explain, but then Peter interjected.

               “Spooky campfire storytime!” Peter chuckled and then pointed at Wesley.

               “Anyways, as I was saying,” Wesley put emphasis on the beginning of his statement to let Peter know that he was not amused by the interruption, “there’s an old legend that when the Spanish were colonizing this area in the 1700s, one of the settlers claimed to have seen a monster, ‘blood red and horned with a trident flying no more than five or so feet off the ground,’ roaming the hills above his ranch, which would be in this area.”

               The group gasped in unison. Peter and Michael burst out “What the fuck?!” almost simultaneously. Aimee, Braxton’s girlfriend, had her arm wrapped around Braxton’s right arm and clenched it tighter. Braxton gave no indication he was even listening, but the other three all looked around as if anticipating the demon coming from them.

               Wesley continued “But there has been no other evidence of any such sighting in the three hundred years since - outside of some internet trolls - so most paranormal researchers’ theories chalk it up to a fever dream mixed with a lightning-sparked wildfire.”

               “I’M COLD!” Aimee cried out in a squealing voice, diverting the conversation instantly without giving the group the chance to ruminate on Wesley’s story.

               For the first time, Braxton seemed to show any life since Wesley’s story began. “What do you mean you’re cold, babe?” he inquired calmly as he turned to her, “I already gave you my jacket.” Indeed, Aimee was wearing an oversized navy-blue sweatshirt with a gold “UCLA” emblazoned on the front.

               “I’M STILL COLD! GET MORE WOOD FOR THE FIRE!” Aimee yelled, almost ready to throw a tantrum. Braxton winced at the loud noise puncturing his eardrums.

               “Wait a minute. Peter. Can’t you create fire? I remember you creating a fireball in your hands to impress that one girl at a party a couple of months ago. Did you get laid that night?” Michael somehow spoke soberly despite drinking several bottles of beer.

               Wesley interjected and laughed. “No, man! The girl got freaked out!”

               “Shut up virgin!” Peter barked at Wesley. “Man, you think you’re gonna get laid when your idea of impressing a girl is telling her stories of some battery from Ancient Bag...Bag...Iraq.” Peter began to slur as his beer intake was impacting his speech. Peter belched. “Just saying that sentence…”

               “FIRE! NOW!” Aimee interrupted and ordered, the cold and alcohol apparently inhibiting her ability to engage in proper sentence structure, reverting her to primitive speech.

               “You think,” Peter burped again before continuing, “You think that just because I know magic, you think, you think, uh, that I’m some shit wizard you can order around?!” Peter slurred but he almost began to yell at Aimee.

               “The fire is getting a bit low dude and it’s gotta be what? Fifty degrees? I don’t know how much more stuff we have to make a fire.” Michael calmly pleaded.

               “Fine. It is a bit chilly and I really don’t feel like walking to the car to get some more fire fuel.” Peter acquiesced. He then stuck out his trembling hands to the fire. The formation of the hands were arranged such that his palms were flat, the four fingers on each hand lined up next to each other, the hands put together where the left thumb and pointer finger touched their respective counterparts on the right hand, forming the shape of a diamond in between the hands. “Mangendi…uh…muanati…uh…veniriden!”

               There was no fireball allowing the fire to grow. Peter looked flummoxed while the rest of the group looked in anticipation. Then there was a loud rumble that shook through the atmosphere followed by several bright lightning strikes. Suddenly, a pouring rain descended upon the group, immediately putting out the fire. Aimee squealed in shock. The rest of the group shouted as well.

               The weather radio in the nearby vehicle automatically turned on and blared in a monotone, robotic voice, “The National Weather Service has issued a Flash Flood Warning for Carvalo Mountain in Rancha Granja, California.”

“I swear there was a zero percent chance of precipitation when I was planning for this trip,” Wesley screamed, but was barely audible under the sound of the rain hitting the ground.

“Wait a second. I got this.” Peter was shockingly able to stand up straight, put his hands together in a similar fashion as before, and slurred with a belch thrown in for some flavor, “Mangendi bonghian veniriden!” The rain suddenly disappeared but where the fire was previously, there was now a patch of six-inch tall budding roses.

“PETER!” Aimee shrilled. The rest of the group gasped in disbelief at the fire being gone.

“I GOT THIS!” Peter shouted in frustration. He pointed his palms at the flowerpot and somehow soberly recited another incantation. “Mangendis Inferni!” Nothing happened. The entire forest was devoid of any noise after the rains chased off any lingering animals. Peter then punctured the silence. “OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” But then there was a growing light approximately 50 yards in the direction beyond where Peter had pointed his spell. The light had turned into a slowly expanding fireball. The group shielded their eyes with their hands, but otherwise stood still in fear at what they were witnessing. In the direction of the fireball, screams of what sounded like scores of people.

 As the fireball expanded, its luminosity lessened, allowing the group to stare, jaws agape, at the hovering hole within the forest. Within the hole was a seemingly endless desert with a reddish hue touching everything within, even the skies. This desert was marked with molten magma and fire torching the scenery inside. The tortured screams grew louder to the point where each of the college students in the group buckled over with their hands covering their ears.

“PETER! DO SOMETHING!” Michael yelled, his voice barely audible above the agonizing screams. A howling wind emanating from the vortex also made hearing each other and speaking difficult. It didn’t help that the winds were heated by seemingly volcanic temperatures, which quickly parched out the friends’ throats.

At this point, a shadowy figure flipping its wings propelled forward, emerging from the hole. The group barely noticed that the only light at this point was coming from the portal, illuminating the figure from behind, yet bright enough that features on the figure could be seen by the group: it bore a naked red male human body approximately five feet tall, except for thick black talons for fingers and wings that were black eagle talons with a wingspan a couple of feet longer than the figure’s height. It held a trident that was about as long as the figure was high. Its face bore piercing, yellow, empty eyes with horns jutting from the top.

“Yes! This world will do for His Eminence Diaboli! Bountiful resources,” the being sneered before staring at the group, piercing into their minds, “and bountiful souls!” The being vocalized in an ancient language, yet everyone in the group heard the being speaking to them in plain English from within their minds. The being hovered at a sluggish pace towards the group. His wings clipped the first set of trees he passed and steam hissed from both the tree. With each subsequent movement, his wings wove between the trees.

“PETER!” Michael cried out.

“Get to the truck, now!” Wesley sniped at the group. They did not need a second reminder, except for Peter, who stood frozen. The group dashed to the beige F-250 truck, with each person getting inside the truck.

Before Wesley got in the driver’s door, he shouted “PETER! COME ON!” Wesley then ran to Peter, physically picked Peter up without any resistance from him, despite Peter being about 60 pounds heavier than Wesley, and threw Peter in the bed of the truck. Wesley almost immediately went back inside the truck. Peter, however, shook off whatever was paralyzing him, got on his feet, and lept out of the bed of the truck.

At this point, another being that looked identical to the first emerged from the portal, weaving its wings in between the trees in the same way the first being had learned. The first being emerged from the woods to the open space of the campground. Peter moved to be in front of it, the truck to its right. It bolted almost instantaneously to the truck scratching it in an effort to open the door and remove the screaming passengers. The truck engine also simultaneously began steaming from the heat generated by the creature.

“Submit to Diaboli and the Kingdom of Sheol!” the young adults heard an incapacitating hiss from within their minds.

“Come here, you bird-brained bastard!” Peter yelled from the center of the campground, where the rose flowers were currently. His voice directed at the creature scratching the car. The creature turned to Peter.

“Ah, I sense greater power flowing within you than these others! You will be a great prophet for the Kingdom!” Peter felt the words puncturing his mind. He grimaced as throbbing pain developed with each word’s recitation. “You are mortal, but I sense you can become a messiah on this plane!”

“Stop with the lies!” Peter shouted. Then he gathered the strength to stand back up. He stared at the creature quickly approaching him with talons outstretched. He then pointed his hands out and shouted “Mangendi luana veniriden!” A perfectly circular fireball with a diameter the same length as Peter’s hands shot out from him. The air around the campsite chilled as the energy from the heat in the atmosphere created the fireball. The fireball directly hit the creature’s chest. The creature lurched back, contorted, hunched its muscles forward, and then grew a couple of feet taller with a more muscular build.

“Trying to fight fire with fire only makes the burn stronger!” Peter heard the incapacitating voice in his mind again. The creature flew at an almost instantaneous speed to Peter, yet Peter was able to jump to his left. The second creature that had emerged from the portal emerged from the woods and flew to the truck.

Peter took a deep breath before the larger creature turned around and lunged at him with his trident pointed in Peter’s direction. When the creature reached Peter again, he was able to lean his body at nearly 90 degrees backward to avoid the trident and creature. How can I fight these creatures? He saw the other creature about to reach his screaming friends. How do I stop their inevitable? Wait a minute…fight fire with fire…but what about fighting fire with water? He remembered the creatures avoiding the wet trees after the first brush against them. Water is the weakness!

               “Mangendi muanati veniriden!” Peter screamed as the larger creature once again thrust at Peter. The smaller creature had begun clawing at the driver’s window glass. Then, instantaneously, pouring rains re-emerged. The creatures hissed in agony as each droplet melted a portion of their bodies, each cell of water slowly turning their bodies to dust. The rain pounded hard enough that the creatures’ metamorphosis to piles of ashes happened within seconds.

               Peter was panting from exhaustion, yet pointed his hands at the still-growing portal and yelled “Toatan inferni!” The portal took about a minute to reverse the process that it had while opening. Peter began panting heavily, trying to catch his breath as the portal closed. Peter then began heaving all his stomach’s contents on the campground floor, but it quickly washed away along with the piles of trash the group had left behind in a makeshift river created by the surprise thunderstorm. Peter then collapsed with his chest downward, the muddy ground getting all over his clothes and body. He managed to avoid putting his face in the water by tilting it to the left side.

               The friends all immediately exited the vehicle and ran to Peter, ignoring the renewed National Weather Service Flash Flood Warning on the radio.

               “PETER!” the entire group shouted in unison and surrounded his body. They turned his limp body over. Wesley slapped Peter’s face.

               “What the hell?! Can’t a guy nap around here? I was just trying to catch my breath!” Peter immediately shrieked in surprise at the slap. “I really should work out my magic muscles more. It’s not every day you drunkenly open the gates of Hell.” He mumbled under his breath. The group smiled and chuckled at the comment, just thrilled that their friend was seemingly fine, just exhausted.

Peter continued while gasping every couple of words, “But, that’s the thing. The spell only works in areas where the barriers between Hell and Earth are weak. And even then, a portal like that could only be opened by an expert in the Ways. A novice like me could only open it if the barriers between Hell and Earth were weakening.” Peter then shifted to the left side of his body, put left his arm out, and snuggled his head in his arm like his arm was a pillow. The rest of the group stood uncomfortably from Peter’s exposition.

Michael sought to change the subject “So Peter, this guy,” he pointed to Wesley, “was freaking out about how to explain the damage to the truck to his insurance company.”

Wesley retorted “You know how much insurance costs on that thing?!”

Peter mumbled “Time to sleep, guys. Talk to you in the morning.”

The group began to walk away until Aimee meekly intoned “Uh…Peter. Can you turn off…”

Peter mumbled, “Oh yea.” He then put his right arm in the air, pointed his pointed finger, mumbled some words inaudibly, swirled the pointer finger counter-clockwise a couple times, and went to sleep. The rain immediately disappeared.

“Thanks, Peter!” the group said in unison then went to the trailer to recover from the adrenaline spike of the night. However, the group gave each other anxious stares, knowing each other was thinking the exact same thing. How can Peter be so calm when literally he just said that the barriers between Hell and Earth are weakening? How can he sleep? How can any of them sleep? The group walked slowly back to the trailer, hoping the adrenaline would subside allowing them to sleep. However, they knew that they would not sleep. They would be left wondering whether or not Peter’s drunken mistake was an isolated incident or was it the beginning of something more odious.