The Summoners

The Summoners

by D.H.Irving

Specters and apparitions danced across the darkened room; flickering shadows that spun and whirled chaotically in the sputtering light of the sickly-sweet candles that brought them to life. The low rumble of a constant, almost imperceptible chant slid rhythmically through the silence like a brackish ooze, filling the gaps of nothingness until the whispered words seemed almost deafening in the otherwise quiet room.

Upon the floor, a crude pentagram had been hastily painted, its spattered lines still wet with whatever fluid deemed appropriate for the dark rites and castings those who practice such things gathered to perform. At its center lay a crudely formed cauldron, its bumpy and imperfect dark metal casing gaping at the maw, hungry for the ingredients that the five cloaked figures surrounding it would undoubtedly provide.

"Brothers!” A young man’s voice shattered the chanting, ending it in a sudden abrupt outcry as he raised his hands in a ceremonial gesture of welcome. “Tonight, we witness a rebirth!” His cracking voice trailed into cruel amusement as the other robed figures hung their hooded heads in reverence. “The most unholy of spirits will be reborn, risen from beyond, and beneath his fetid gaze the world will tremble in fear!” Crooking a finger towards the black iron vessel, he began their foul ritual.

“Blood of a dozen virgins, taken before spoiled by love’s embrace.” The imposing figure commanded, as another of the robed worshippers stepped forward. The large glass container he wielded was held aloft with veneration before the golden seal at its mouth was removed and its thick, crimson contents poured solemnly into the cauldron.

“Eyes of the great serpent, plucked whilst sleeping.” The gathering’s leader continued as another of his brethren came forth, his slender pale hand twisting with a snake-like gesture as two small objects fell into the crimson stew below with a quiet, yet sickening splash.

His lips parting in a cruel smile, the conductor of the ceremony nodded his approval before sweeping a dramatic hand to still another of his ilk.

“Heart of a goat, ripped while bleating under  moonlit sacrifice!” He cackled madly.

“Um, what?” Came the nervous reply.

Steeling himself against the interruption, the cult’s commander again gestured towards the blackened pot and repeated himself, his words now tinged with irritation at the unexpected interruption. “Heart of a goat!” His voice reached a new crescendo. “Ripped blea-” 

“I thought you said ghost.” 

“What?”

“Ghost.” The fourth figure clarified, annunciating the word. “I really thought you said ghost. Not goat.”

Theatrics set hastily aside, the group’s leader turned towards his brother and tilted his covered head. “What do you mean you thought I said ghost?” He asked, now clearly annoyed. “What the hell is the heart of a ghost?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who wanted it.” The fourth figure replied rather defensively.

“Goat. Not Ghost. I said GOAT.”

The infernal cultist who had offered the virgin’s blood pulled back the bottom of his hood, revealing the lower half of his face in the dim light. “If it helps, I thought you said ghost too.”

"Yeah,” The provider of the serpent’s eyes agreed, mirroring the gesture. “To be fair, these hoods really muffle your voice, Jonathan.”

The ritual’s instructor threw up his heavily sleeved hands in frustration. “Muffle my voi- a ghost doesn’t even have a heart, Josh. It’s a non-corporeal entity devoid of any physical form. Why would I ask – wait.” He paused in explanation and turned an accusatory head toward the worshipper now known as Josh. “If you thought I said ghost, what exactly did you bring?”

“What?” Josh asked meekly..

“What?” Jonathan parroted mockingly. “You obviously didn't bring a goat’s heart, because you thought that I said ghost, right? Yet you were clearly prepared to make an unholy offering to our dark lord and undead master in an effort to bring forth His foul rebirth.” He reasoned. “So I’m asking you again, what exactly were you going to offer to the cauldron of putrescence in hopes of heralding His return?”

“Um.” Josh stalled, swiftly hiding something behind his back.

Hand slipping from the sleeve of his robe, the cult’s leader reached out, palm up. “C’mon. Give it.” He ordered, in the reproachful tones of a teacher demanding gum from an errant student.

“Don’t be mad.” Moving the object from behind his back, he timidly put it in the outstretched hand, quickly retracting his own as it was snatched from his grasp.

“What in the hell is this?” The group’s leader question, turning it over in his hand before bringing it to his face in attempts to better see it in the barely lit room.

“A ghost’s heart?” Josh suggested nervously.

In his hand, Jonathan now held a small, stuffed teddy bear. It had been costumed in a white sheet, and in its furry hands it held an equally fuzzy heart that bore upon it the words, You are Boo-tiful. 

A long, awkward silence hung between the two robed figured as their leader simply stared in quiet disbelief. “You were going to throw a stuffed bear from the goddamn Hallmark Store into the cauldron of pain and eternal suffering?” He asked, his lips numb with realization.

“I’m telling you, it really sounded like you said gho-”

“Oh, HEY M’kath’u’kul!” Jonathan interrupted, his voice a singsong mockery of greeting. “Here’s a gallon of virgin blood, a couple of ripped out snake eyes, and oh yeah, by the way, has ANYONE TOLD YOU THAT YOU’RE BOO-TIFUL?” He shrieked as he threw the bear at Josh’s head. Tumbling through the air, the stuffed animal rebounded with a soft squeak of protest as it struck the man’s cowl before bouncing to the floor.

“Okay, now you’re really going to be mad.” The bringer of the serpent’s eyes said with soft reluctance.

“What was that?” Jonathan turned on heel, his rage building as he snapped his head in the direction of the speaker.

Holding up his hands in an apologetic gesture, the cultist simply shrugged. “I didn’t even know what the eyes of the great serpent were, and when I looked it up...” He sighed. “I mean, buying a snake just to rip out its eyes just seemed kind of mean. Plus, I really like snakes.”

Cracking his neck in barely contained rage, Jonathan stepped forward and peered into the cauldron “Then what in the hell are those?” He demanded, pointing towards the bottom of the pot.

“M&Ms.”

“M&Ms.” Jonathan repeated.

“Yeah, but they’re the green ones.” The nervous cultist quickly emphasized.

“Oh, well that’s fine then, isn’t it? It’s okay guys, they’re the green ones!” Johnathan seemed to almost relax as he forced a small chuckle. “That makes everything better, doesn’t it? Good job Todd!” His voice was dangerously calm. “Here’s a couple bits of green chocolate floating in the blood OF A DOZEN VIR-” Temper flaring, realization slammed into the forefront of his mind as he stopped to examine the finger that he had just jabbed roughly into the cauldron for emphasis. "Mark?” He questioned.

“It’s spaghetti sauce.” Mark admitted without prompting. “Hey, don’t blame me dude, you know that I faint at the sight of blood.” He countered before he could be reprimanded. “Plus, I didn’t think you were going to actually going to check it.” His explanation fell silent as the head cultist held one hand in a staying motion, and moved the other under his hood to his forehead.

During the commotion, the final figure amongst the five seemed to shrink in size as he attempted to take a step backwards, away from the fray and any form of notice.

“Brother Kyle?” Jonathan sighed, somehow observing the other man’s attempts to not be observed.

“Yes, honored leader?” 

“Candles, furnished from the fat of a hanged man.” Jonathan said in slow, even tones.

“Yup.”

“Burning with the intensity of a thousand sinners as they roast in the depths of hell?”

“Uh huh.”

“So, you’re the only one here who took his assignment seriously, and provided exactly what I asked?” The lead cultist questioned, his voice still calm and metered.

“Yes, honored leader?” Brother Kyle whimpered.

“Then can you explain to me why our entire lair of vile darkness reeks of what can only be described as vanilla ice-cream?”

“Cake.” Brother Kyle corrected.

“What?” It was more of a resigned acceptance than question.

“It’s vanilla cake. Not vanilla ice-cream.”

The trembling silence that followed was only broken by two words, spoken with a defeated sort of clarity.

“Yankee candle?”

“Yeah. The one by Sbarro’s.”

“You guys suck.” Throwing up his arms, Jonathan began to pace the depths of the darkened room. “What did you guys think that we were trying to do here?” He asked, his voice quivering with frustration. “For example, I know that I was trying to reconstitute the putrid form of our dark father so that His rise could bring about an eternity of suffering and pain upon this wretched world and those who have wronged us.” He continued, his cohorts saying nothing, their heads bowed in collective shame. “Is that too much to ask? Help me raise the undead demon God who would enslave all of humanity?” If he were expecting an answer, he allowed no time for them to supply one. “But no. Instead, we’re apparently going to offer his putrid unholiness some chocolates and a nice simmering marinara.” He continued sarcastically, his pacing growing more agitated. “And then once he’s nice and relaxed and basking in the scent of - “ Jonathan paused to pick up and read the label on the front of one of the flickering Woodwick Candles. “YummyTummy Birthday Bash, we’d surprise him with a cute widdle stuffed animal and – ONE JOB!” He erupted. “You each had one simple job! And now, instead of coalescing the forces of evil and manifesting them into corporeal form so that He may rule this world with a bloodied, claw covered fist, we’re apparently trying to woo Him so that He’ll say yes when we ask him to the friggin’ prom! If you guys-”

Light, blinding and raw filled the room and for a moment, each of the hooded figures recoiled, clutching at their eyes and recoiling in a sudden protest of pain.

“What are you boys doing down there with the lights off?” A matronly voice from above them called down, not unlike an angel appearing in man’s darkest hour.

“Mom!” Jonathan whined skyward. “I told you not to bother us when we’re summon the dark denizens of the netherworld!”

“What smells like cake? Are you boys having a party?” The motherly guardian asked, her voice going high with excitement at the prospect of a celebration.

“No mother!” The leader of the cult of demonic worshippers moaned. “We’re not having a party! I told you; we’re trying to raise the unholy god of hatred and despair from the depths of the dark abyss so that we may serve at his side as he conquers the world!”

“Oh, that’s nice.” The voice from on high acknowledged. “I made Pizza Pockets. Would you and your little friends like to have some?”

The dark minions around him began to clamor excitedly at the angelic offering, but Jonathan silenced them with a loud hiss of anger.

“No mom! No one wants any of your pizz-”

“They’re pepperoni!” She enticed, her voice going sing-song at the end.

“Dude. I could totally go for some pizza pockets right now.” Brother Todd admitted loudly.

“Oh! We could dip them in the marinara.” Brother Mark agreed.

Ceremony interrupted, and the dark monsters that rule beneath our world thwarted, Jonathan watched in silent defeat as his minions began to file up the narrow staircase that connected the basement to the rest of his evil lair.

“You guys suck.” He sighed, kicking the heavy iron cauldron with the side of his foot before himself moving towards the staircase. “You guys better hog them all up before I get there!” He screamed after them as he cinched up his robes and started his ascend. 

And just like that, the world was once again safe from the creatures that would destroy it.

For now.