This post shares some similarities to the first Demonic Summons post I made a while back, but it is substantially different and improved as well I believe. I wrote this one for a Pre-Professional conference writing contest and I think it turned out very nicely and really shows some of the improvement I have made to my writing. It was a little different for me to write more from the bad guys perspective. counting the title, it is 1136 words long.
Spencer Pavlo trudged down the steep stairway into the earthen basement he had laboriously excavated beneath his grandparent’s barn. A whimper disturbed the sound of his boots striking the wooden steps, and Spencer mercilessly clubbed the young girl he carried over his shoulder. What did he care if he hurt her, he was going to offer her as a sacrifice momentarily anyway. Perhaps he should find some gratitude to the girl for that, after all, her death would be the key to his obtaining all he desired. The voices had promised him so much, all he had to do was perform a simple ritual for them first.
All that was left was to get the girl to the chamber, speak the words, and end her life. He’d made the chamber himself, receiving instructions from the voices in the scattered innards of his grandparents. For weeks he had heaved bucket after bucket of dirt from the ground, fording up the walls and ceiling with strong wooden beams from the forest covered hillside nearby. Once the chamber was cleared, he had taken another week to coat walls, floor, and ceiling with tar, nearly killing himself with the fumes in the enclosed space. There could be no windows in the chamber for ventilation, the only entrance would be the single stairway he had entered by, and even that had a door at the top to prevent any light from getting in. Not to say that the chamber was unlit, scattered throughout the room lay pulsing sigils carved into the tar, shading everything a cold pale blue.
Dropping the girl to the ground in the center of the room, Spencer bound her with duct tape and pulled the dagger from his belt. Almost immediately the voices rose up within him, filling his mind with the ritual words, pounding through his thoughts like thunder until they erupted from his throat to reverberate off of the walls.
On the ground the girl wept, as would be expected from a child who had just been kidnapped after hearing her parents die, left to rot in their cooling blood. Normally her show of emotion would have annoyed him, but he could hardly hear her over his own voice, and the words in his head left no room for the thoughts of movement needed to silence her anyway.
On the edge of his perception, Spencer felt more than heard as lightning and rain tore through the sky outside, a reaction to his efforts, the natural world attempting to fight back against the otherworldly intrusion he was opening the way for. Then an unexpected sound reached his ears, the sound of the door leading to the barn above being forcefully opened. Footsteps thudded down the stairs, at least three individuals, then they were in the chamber.
“Hands in the air!” “Drop the knife!” “Police!” The voices warred with his own for dominance as he continued the chant, he could feel the climax approaching. Soon he would have all he desired and these cops would be nothing, he was already stronger than any one of them alone thanks to the gifts granted him by the voices for lesser sacrifices.
The police were coming closer as the voices ordered Spencer to raise the knife over his head. With the movement came a searing pain in his lower back, the result of barbed Tasers digging into his flesh and delivering their payload, but the electric current was too weak to shake him from the thrall of the voices.
At the edge of his vision, Spencer saw one of the officers take aim with a pistol, but then the man was on the ground, his aim broken as the very floor rose up in Spencer’s defense, rippling like a pond disturbed by a falling rock.
Nearly there now, he could feel it, only a few more words and he would be done, nothing could stop the ritual now except for the survival of the sacrifice.
Pain struck then, a quickly aimed shot from one of the officers found Spencer’s shoulder, spinning him about even as the last of the words flew from his throat. The floors rippling stopped with the words, even as another bullet dug into Spencer’s chest. He had to finish the ritual now, the sacrifice had to die!
Forcing himself to move through the pain, Spencer lunged at the girl, knife descending in a killing arc. More bullets riddled his flesh in that moment, and his body faltered. Momentum carried him through the movement to kill the girl, but he missed, the dagger thudding into the tar covered floor.
Desperate, Spencer called on the last of his strength to yank the blade loose, raising it for another attempt. The voices were strangely quiet now, perhaps waiting for him to complete his part of the bargain, but the police were on him, one of them pulling the girl out of his reach.
His strength gave out, and the dagger slipped from his grasp as his arm fell to the ground. Was all that blood his? Something was wrong though, the dagger was still in the air, as though he were still holding it. Then it was moving, but not towards the girl, no, instead it embedded itself into his own chest. Had the voices betrayed him?
The glowing sigils throughout the room flared with sudden light as Spencer’s vision began to fade, then all was darkness, yet he could still see.
There was a pit opening in the floor before him, darkness within darkness. The police were fleeing towards the exit now, and a keening wail was filling the room. Was it coming from him or the pit, everything was wrong, so much pain, he would be dead any second now, but not soon enough, he understood that now.
From the depths of the pit rose a long leathery arm, coated in dark grey fur. Somehow he hurt even more than before as the thing grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him into the pit as though he were as light as a feather. There was a body attached to the arm, a desiccated thing of skin and bone, a face with dozens of long pointed teeth and red burning eyes.
Spencer died then, spared being a witness as the monster devoured his body and rose from the pit, stepping into the darkness towards the land above. A land as unprepared for it as the police who had fled. The police who would die by its hands, unable to flee fast enough or do the monster any harm. It was not the first of its kind to have tricked a human into calling it into their world, and it would not be the last to enter this prime feeding ground. It would see to that.