by Matt Wildig
Tom dug the chalk into the wooden floorboard and drew the final arc, then sat up, wiped his chalky hands, and inspected the work. Despite choosing red he considered this beacon to be his best one yet. After fifteen attempts, the Dooria sigil was damn near perfect.
This’ll do, he thought. One way or another.
Summoning demons in the movies was easy. Ridiculously easy. People calling forth an ancient entity that takes their bodies like an all-you-can-ride roller coaster? Please. Tom had discovered many things about summoning demons.
Firstly, location mattered. He’d chosen an abandoned school in Penrith. He didn’t know why it’d been abandoned, but the barbed wire fence was imposing enough that he felt comfortable loitering in one of the graffitied classrooms for a night. The tables were destroyed, giant penises had been drawn on the blackboards, and Suzie Sanches’s number was written for anybody who wanted a good time. But Tom had covered it because Suzie deserved her privacy.
Secondly, it had to mean something. People summoned demons for all the wrong reasons. Blowing up on socials wouldn’t cut it. To rip an ageless being from its eternal slumber, it had to be important. Tom wanted to find Jess, but he wasn’t sure he’d asked the right way. So, he’d rewritten the question over and over until he was sure he had it right.
Finally, a sacrifice was crucial. Tom offered fresh meat on his first summoning because that’s the way these things were done. He didn’t kill a small animal like the internet had suggested because he wasn’t a monster. He just wanted to find his sister. So he’d walked down to Harry’s Butchers and asked for the biggest, bloodiest heart available. The butcher, an overweight, pink-skinned man, stared at Tom with beady little eyes and after a moment’s silence said, ‘You ain’t gonna do some weird shit, are ya?’
‘No, sir.’ Tom smiled at the butcher. ‘It’s for a science experiment. I need to dissect a heart and my teacher, Mr. Baker, told me that the more blood, the more realistic the dissection will be.’
Satisfied, the butcher gave Tom a pig’s heart wrapped in grey paper, and later that night he’d attempted to call forth a demon. But it didn’t work. Afterwards, he’d spent hours researching, trying to establish what went wrong and eventually, he’d stumbled onto a Reddit forum with an answer. They claimed the sacrifice was intrinsically linked with the demon you wished to summon. It had to mean something to them too.
And so, he stood there gazing at his damn near perfect Dooria sigil and readied the final piece of the summoning spell. He stepped over the chalk, careful not to smudge it, and walked to his backpack. Sometimes he wished he wasn’t alone in his quest. Searching for abandoned buildings, locked tunnel entrances, and empty homes with just enough spookiness would’ve been a great bonding opportunity. A chance to meet someone new. He unzipped his backpack and grabbed the bag of berry-flavoured Sour Patch Kids and his dad’s embossed dragon Zippo.
The tall, red candles he’d prepared earlier took the flame immediately. Their glow illuminated the ransacked classroom, cast uncanny shadows on the walls, and exaggerated the bloody aesthetic of the Dooria sigil. Tom inspected the room one last time, and checked the list in his mind. This was serious business, and he took it as such. He tore open the bag of Sour Patch Kids, poured them onto the central arc, and took his place.
‘Okay,’ he whispered.
The first phrase required for the spell was in a language that weighed on his tongue and conjured images of barren wastelands. They were rough, tricky to pronounce and anchored his question, so he recited them slowly, and the candles flickered in response.
‘I, Thomas Nancy Ryan send a message into the aether. A message that will be heard by the ears of many but understood by the ears of one, spoken by the desperate and fulfilled by the timeless.’
A low hum rumbled through the classroom and rattled the tables.
‘I seek the assistance of the righteous, cast aside by the unworthy, a defier of infinity. To find what has been taken, I beg for the gratitude of the eternal.’
Tom’s heart pounded against his ribs and his mouth dried. He lifted his arms and finished the spell in a guttural tone.
‘Take what be needed, I shall be a vessel of the cosmos. Come to me, Garasheth.’
Thunder clapped, and the classroom fell into darkness. Tom’s arm hairs stood on end, and a shiver ran down his back. The spell had worked. He could sense a presence in the room with him, and it pulled on the shadows.
‘Garasheth?’ he whispered.
A deep, chuckle rumbled, carrying with it the smell of Berry Sour Patch Kids.
‘Yes, little thing.’ The voice floated through the air like morning mist on a river. ‘You awoke me?’
Tom took a deep breath and stared into the darkness. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘My sister…’
Garasheth waited, and Tom felt its silence pulling at his vocal cords, like the silence demanded he speak.
‘She’s gone. She went missing a year ago and we haven’t been able to find her. The police won’t help anymore, and private detectives are a joke. There are groups on the internet, but they don’t really help. They just cause more problems.’
‘I can help you find your sister, little thing.’
Tom took a step forward. ‘You can?’
‘Of course. For a price.’
Tom knew a demon would ask for something, they always did. It was their MO. He fidgeted with the lighter. ‘What do you want?’
‘A soul for a soul. Naturally. I’ll find her; you’ll come with me.’
Tom squeezed the lighter. ‘My soul?’
Garasheth laughed, and the sickly, sour aroma of berries lingered in the air. ‘What did you expect? I help you without payment?’
‘I thought maybe one of you might,’ said Tom.
‘This is what I require, if you prefer not to pay, I’ll leave.’
Tom shook his head and could feel Garasheth pacing in the darkness. He laughed and flicked the lighter open with his thumb. ‘No. You won’t.’
He cast a spell under his breath and the candles burst into towering infernos, their flames were inches from the ceiling. Garasheth hissed and recoiled. It was tall and had sharp, angled features. Its white linen pants were darker than its skin, and it reminded Tom of a Hollywood actor he’d seen once on the train.
‘Lies!’ it hissed.
Tom stepped close to the sigil and felt the heat of the flames singe his pubescent facial hair. ‘You demons never even want to try. Always blah, blah, blah. “Give me your soul. I’ll devour you. Your heart will fuel my existence for eternity.” I just want to find my sister.’
‘You never will,’ spat Garasheth.
‘I know I will. Because one of you will be afraid. Maybe it’ll be you?
It cackled. ‘Afraid of a flesh-puppet? Ridiculous.’
‘Maybe. But let’s see, shall we?’
Tom smiled and recited his final spell, the one he knew for sure would get the job done. One way or another. The candles sped along the chalk outline of the sigil like falling dominos.
The candles closed in on him, and the chalk caught fire. ‘You wouldn’t dare! I, Garasheth, am a lord of the eternal. Rightful king to the throne of Haath.’It pushed against the barrier of the sigil, desperate to break through, but failed.
The words flowed from Tom’s lips quicker than the flames traced the lines of chalk, and Garasheth’s white, featureless eyes scanned the room. ‘Ok! I’ll help you find your kin, just find me a soul. Any soul will do!’
It batted and swiped and screamed as the flames engulfed its body. It screeched and flailed about like an inflatable tube man at a car dealership. ‘Please!’
Tom stood on his mark and watched as Garasheth took its final breaths, then crossed the lines of the sigil. He didn’t know why demons didn’t want to help him; he was a perfectly respectable business partner. They just had to give him a chance, he was sure he had something valuable to offer.
Garasheth’s body was a charred, smouldering pile of ash, and Tom dug into it, searched around, and pulled out a small sliver of gold. It was warm, and he held it for a moment before tossing it in his mouth. It tasted like berry Sour Patch Kids, and he knew when he cleaned off the chalk, scrubbed away the evidence of what had happened, and finally made it home to his bed, he’d dream of the next demon. Like he had Garesheth and and the fourteen before him. He’d discover the thing they craved most, whether they’d like to admit it or not. He hoped the next one he saw in his dreams would help him find Jess, but if it didn’t, he knew what he had to do. One way or another.
