Some Summonings Are Suspect Read online

Some Summonings Are Suspect

  by

  Jeffrey M. Somogyi

  Copyright 2011 by Jeffrey M. Somogyi

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  Some Summonings Are Suspect

  “You know,” a voice in the dark said, “a lot of cults wait around for perfect nights like this to perform their ceremonies. We really lucked out.”

  “Yeah we did!” A second voice from the darkness responded, “Most times, you don’t get the right amount of wispy cloud drifting past the full moon like that. Nor do you get that slight chill in the air that makes these things just feel... oh-so perfect, you know?”

  “Oh, I know! I know! You mark my words—at just the right moment, the wind’s gonna whip up and add that extra layer of je ne sais quoi!”

  “An extra soupçon of mise-en-scène! Totally!”

  “It IS just THAT kind of night.”

  “Yeah, it’s rea – Hey... it's our turn, coming up.”

  A third voice sang out from among the dozen swaying initiates congregated on the perfectly-formed, mist-covered hilly area saying, “Om. Cronum! Passus fie dektoom!”

  The two voices in the dark, along with nine other be-robed occultists, responded, “YES! INDEED!”

  The wind picked up and whipped the coven's robes in just the right je ne sais quoi mise-en-scène way.

  That first voice in the dark was an excited whisper, “See! This is gonna be great! This is going to be the best conjuring ever. YES, INDEED!” (This last bit in response to another string of guttural sounds from some other initiate).

  * * *

  Two other groups heard this last shout: one just on the other side of the hill, and the second just on the other side of reality. Well, what most people think of as reality, anyway.

  The group on the other side of the hill was another congregation of initiates. Whereas the chanters, in their matching robes of darkest cloth, stood for everything dark, unholy and, in general, bothersome about life, the other group wore shiny silver armor, and stood for everything light, wholesome, yet still bothersome about life.

  Major extremes tend to be irritating. Neither having the world cast into the darkest torments of hell (what the robed figures want) nor having the world bathed in a never-ending brilliance of goodness (what the armored figures want) is going to make very many people happy. Most enjoy a happy medium.

  Think of it this way: We all like the fact that Public Television exists, but what we like even more is the fact that we never have to watch it and that “regular” programing is available. One of these two groups assembled around the hill wants nothing but PBS. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. As mandated by law.

  As to which group wants that: it’s not important. What is important is that the armored people just want to stop what’s going on on the other side of the hill, and, in THIS scenario, that’s a good thing.

  A voice from the armored side of the hill whispered, “Everyone on the ready, now. Stand by to attack!”

  * * *

  Incidentally, this is exactly what a voice whispered from the other side of reality.

  In the nether-dimension, amongst the burning pits of severed arms and the blood-dripping stalactites, just past the boiling river (a little ways past the retail district), a group of hideous creatures were gathered in front of a blank wall of stone. In fact, quite a few of these hideous things had gathered and space was now at a premium. These hideous things were packed in pretty tightly and more and more creatures kept joining the group.

  At the front of the pack was one of the largest, most gruesome creatures. Presently, he had his large, gruesome ear pressed to the blank stone wall. What passes for physics down in this dimension allowed him to listen in to what was happening on the hill in our reality. This is why he knew what he was talking about when he called out to the assembly of horrors, “Everyone on the ready, now. Stand by to attack!”

  Whereas we could spend a delightful afternoon debating the absolute truths of which reality-based group (the be-armoreds or the be-robed) is, in fact, the “good guys” and not the “bad guys”, no such discussion could be held – at least not one at length – on the subject of the sort of things that were poised to spring forth from this other dimension. Mostly because they would, before you could table your opening argument, have already eaten half of you and would be in the middle of doing something lewd to the other half. Make no mistake, when something mills about around scenery that can be described as ‘fiery’ and ‘drippy’, they are bad things. Indisputably bad.

  The salivating horror once again pressed his ear to the cold stone of the inter-dimensional wall and listened, a too-toothy grin spreading across his favorite mouth. He knew the incantation would come to its climax any minute now and he wanted to be the first through the door, fangs and claws flailing, flaying the first human he saw. He would give them a brief, but oh-so-instructive, lesson on what being truly evil meant.

  What he didn't know was the existence of that other group, on the far side of the hill, which was poised to stop the incantation.

  Another thing he did know was that, to his chagrin, he was slowly suffocating. Turning his head as best he could to the monstrous things assembled too-closely behind him he bellowed, “LISTEN, YOU LOT! QUIT THE PUSHING, OK?!”

  There were various grunts from the assembled creatures. Some grunts translated to, “Yes. I agree with that guy. I, too, am finding it hard to breathe in this crush.” Other grunts could be translated to, “But the door will be open soon and we want our share of humans to rend, even if some of the bits do get stuck between our teeth and take simply forever to dislodge, often using a splintered bone of a fallen enemy.” Still grunts could have translated to, “I gave up a night of torturing lost souls for THIS? I’m way at the back and will never get in a good kill of my own. Maybe I’ll just go home. I could stop on the way for a frozen yogurt, too.”

  These are, of course, rough translations.

  * * *

  The robed figures on the hill were now dancing around in a way that humans have convinced themselves expedite the summoning of devils. Since there was a slight chill in the air, however, they decided to perform with their robes on. This was a wise decision as many more covens than history can remember have been laid low by nasty colds caught upon a damp moor at midnight while in the all-together.

  In truth, these dances are generally frowned upon by the majority of sub-human creatures of the netherworld. Especially when performed in the buff as the sight of a naked, gyrating human, though sometimes appealing to another human, has a certain wobble about it which even the strongest-stomached of demons finds to be an unpleasantly nauseating characteristic in a potential meal.

  There is a minority of demons, however, that would be flattered by the dances and not gag at all. This minority would probably even express their admiration of the dances to the humans, but their mouths (or similar orifices) would be full of said humans at that time and the words would get all mumbled.

  Unrelated to the dancing (though the humans thought it was directly related, thus propagating the idea that dancing was necessary to call forth portals to other realms), a brilliant light started to glow on the side of the nearby hill.

  At the same time, a brilliant light started glowing on the blank stone wall against which so many air-starved horrors were pressed. Someone at the back of the mob shouted out in premature excitement, “I think that's the sign! Let’s GO!”

  Which is exactly what one of the armored Better Guys said, too.
/>   As one, the armored defenders of a very specific kind of morality poured over the hill and descended upon the slightly shocked cultists. With the sound of cloth hitting armor, the battle had begun. Robes were torn, armor was dinged, eyes were punched and hair was pulled. Quite a bit of blood was spilled, too, which was surprising.

  What should have been a brief, bloody battle wound up lasting for hours—partially due to the Robes’ fervor and zealotry in defending their cause and partially because of the Armoreds’ fervor and zealotry to their cause... but mostly because no one remembered to bring weapons that night.

  It was a grisly scene of hand-to-hand combat. Since neither of these factions was all that skilled in personal, up-close, manual de-life-ing, the majority of the battle resembled high-school slap-fights. And it takes more than a little bit of time to slap someone to death.

  As the battle raged on, the sound of open-palm against face ringing through the hills, another struggle was taking place, elsewhere.

  * * *

  In the nether-dimension, amongst the burning pits of severed arms and the blood-dripping stalactites, just past the boiling river (a little ways past the retail district), a group of hideous creatures were pressed up against a blank wall of stone, struggling to stay alive.

  Between gasps for what little breath he could draw, the head-terror tried to shout to his comrades to restore some sort of order.

  “RIGHT! LISTEN! *GASP* BACK OFF *WHEEZE* THAT WAS NOT *GASP* THE SIGN! I'LL *COUGH* TELL YOU WHEN THE SIGN IS *GASP* GIVEN! IN FACT *GASP* I'LL BE THE ONE GIVING THE *INHALE* SIGN!”

  Someone at the back was heard to remark, “Did he say it was the sign?”

  To which others replied, “THE SIGN?!”

  And, in another surge of crushing power, tried to press their way forward.

  “NO! NO! NO! *GASP*!”

  But the crowd had a mind of its own. They believed that a whole world of squishy, tasty (yet non-fattening), soft-serve humans were waiting for them if they could just push a little harder and get through that portal—which, of course, they believed was open.

  We’ll never know what the front-most demon’s last grunt, which he uttered right before succumbing to asphyxiation, meant, but it’s a pretty good guess to say it was along the lines of, “You are all so stupid!”

  In a flash, that lead devil turned to solid stone–as all suffocated demons will, of course.

  And it was as if he started a chain reaction of petrification. The horrors closest to the yet-to-be-opened portal were shortly crushed to death between the now-stone head-evil and the rest of the pushing crowd.

  The irony is, of course, that they thought they had lucked out by getting such a prime spot in the line. The truly lucky ones were the ones at the back, the “fashionably-laters”, the tardy, and the not-sure-they-wanted-to-go-inter-dimensional-for-dinner-tonight-ers who were way at the back, causing the deaths of those further ahead in line. Of course, that now meant that, even if the portal were to open, there would be so much demon-cum-stone blocking the inter-dimensional gateway that not even the smallest hell-beast would now be able to squeeze, slither, or ooze its way out. Instead, these lucky few got to go home.

  Several would hurry to catch up with friends to ask them if they wanted to stop for a frozen yogurt on their way back to the bone yards. Most were amenable to the idea.

  * * *

  On earth, the night was still perfect (weather-wise, at least). Wispy clouds were still idly drifting past the full moon, and there was still a slight chill in the air. In a display of basic science, the spilled, hot blood of the dead touched the cold air of the night to yield wisps of steam—which, added rather nicely to the overall tone of the night.

  A voice called out from the darkness, “Wow.”

  A second voice answered it. “That was something, wasn’t it?”

  “Who were those guys?”

  “Which guys?”

  “The ones in the armor. The ones that rained down slappy-death upon our kinsmen?”

  “Oh. Probably just some kind of do-gooder zealots.”

  “Oh, right. Why can’t they see that we just want to bring about a better world by unleashing demons upon it?”

  “Some people are just blinded by their convictions.”

  There was a brief pause in which neither cultist caught even the faintest whiff of irony.

  “We should finish the ceremony!”

  “I think we owe it to our fallen coven!”

  “Right. Let’s pick it up from the dance. Two. Three. Four!”

  The two lone figures, in their tattered, blood-stained robes, resumed dancing and picked up their chant where they'd left it. Almost immediately a blindingly bright spot of light glimmered on the hillside, once again. After a few more minutes, as the ritual was approaching its climax, the two robed figures halted their dance and chanted directly at the ever-growing spot of light. A fierce wind picked up, blowing the two initiates’ tattered robes this way and that. Together, the two shouted the final word of the incantation, “VOOM!”

  A peal of thunder roared, echoing and reverberating around the tiny valley. The bright spot on the hill expanded further and began to resemble a glowing doorway. Rectangular and glowing, the edges rippled with the energy of splitting and re-joining two different dimensions at one point in space.

  The portal open, the summoning concluded, the light faded to reveal...

  “Surely that's not right?!” said the initiate who was faster on the up-take than his friend.

  Just beyond the trans-dimensional portal appeared to be a solid wall of carved stone. Had they made a mistake, they thought. Had they, perhaps, opened the wrong portal? Could they have gotten the words wrong and called forth a gateway to the all-rock dimension?

  Each, in his own way, forced doubt aside. Each knew this ceremony inside-and-out. They'd trained for this night for the better part of every other weekend (between potluck dinners and softball games). They couldn’t have gotten it so wrong.

  One of the initiates took the initiative and walked forward to inspect the stone on the other side of the portal more closely. As he approached, what, from slightly farther away looked like blank rock, revealed itself to be more like a superbly rendered carving... of a flattened demon. But the basic instincts that come for free as a bonus to being alive told him that this could be no carving. What human mind, no matter how diseased, could ever conceive of something as horrible as what he saw represented in the hill-side? It just didn’t fit into the category of ‘human-created-ugly’. It had its own category of ugly. Its own genetic-tree of ugly—a tree which could bend a person’s mind to insanity if they dwelt upon the twisted genus and corrupt species that would belong in it. All of them would include “horribilus”, that's for sure.

  A thought crossed the occultist's mind, so he spoke it aloud, “If...” he started, then swallowed hard, “If that is what was going to come through this doorway... maybe we made a mistake?”

  As he grappled with his wavering faith in his cult, a slight noise caught his attention. It was a scuffling, scraping noise. Like the kind he heard in his walls once, right before the ceiling caved in, covering him in dozens of writhing rats. Moving out of that place had proved to be a good decision, albeit one he'd made slightly too late to avoid a rat deluge. Maybe, this time, he can get away from this place before whatever deluges out from behind that stone deluges on him. He figured it was almost guaranteed to be worse than a couple rats.

  “D’you hear that?” he said, backing away from the portal.

  “Yeah, what is that?” said the other, stepping towards the portal.

  “I think something is on the other side of this... well, let's just HOPE that it's a stone carving!”

  One advancing, one retreating, the two robbed figures met half way and stopped. And stared. Waiting. Then the scratching came again, followed by a muffled growl that sounded a lot like, “DIG!”

  “IT MUST BE THEM!” the advancing initiate shouted, scaring the hec
k out of the retreating occultist. He then ran to the portal, yelling, “OH, DARK MASTERS! ARE YOU THERE?! WE CAN HEAR YOU! BESTOW YOUR BLESSINGS ON US!”

  The retreating man was astonished. Didn’t this other guy see the carving? Doesn’t it instill fear? A face like that could do no bestowing of anything like a ‘blessing’ upon a person. It was clearly a face which would bestow ‘eating’ upon someone. “Just goes to show”, he thought, “You spend hundreds of hours next to a person, studying and memorizing ancient texts written to bring forth evil spirits... yet you never really get to know a person, do you?”

  A low grumbling from the other side of the wall interrupted this reflection on human nature. This grumbling formed itself into words, of a sort, “OH, YEAH... WE’LL BLESS YOU, ALRIGHT. JUST WAIT FOR US TO GET THROUGH THIS STONE. WE WILL MOST CERTAINLY BESTOW GREAT GIFTS UPON YOU.”

  The retreating initiate redoubled his doubting. That did not sound like a voice that came from a face that he wanted to meet. Then there was the fact that the voice from the other side was clearly being sarcastic, and he just never got along with sarcastic people. He shuddered at the thought, but couldn't help himself from speaking up, “Um. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.”

  The second initiate, who had begun scratching at the stone in the portal, wheeled around, pointed a finger (with a broken nail on it) and exploded at him, “WHAT?! NON-BELIEVER! DON’T TAINT ME WITH YOUR DOUBT!”

  From the other side of the wall, “YES, THAT’S RIGHT! HE IS A NON-BELIEVER! ER... WHY DON’T YOU HELP US GET OUT OF HERE, THEN WE’LL TEACH HIM TO NOT BELIEVE. JUST YOU AND US.”

  There was another sound from the other side. It could almost be mistaken for a chuckle. A second voice from beyond came through the portal, “YEAH! HE’S TOTALLY RIGHT, YOU KNOW. WE’LL SHOWER YOU WITH (CHCHHCCCC) GIFTS! (ACH ACH)”

  “SHHH! YOU’RE BLOWING IT!” said a third voice.

  “I’M SORRY, IT’S JUST (HCHCCHHHH) FUNNY. THEY REALLY THINK WE’LL...”

  “SHHH! AHEM. ER. HELLO? ARE YOU HUMANS STILL THERE?” said the first voice, again.

  Uncertain, now, the zealous initiate spoke, “Um. Yeah. Hey, listen. Are you guys on the up and up?”