Goetian Rhapsody: Heir of Solomon

Playing the Ouija board is exhilarating, sometimes even educational, and as teenagers you get a free pass for it by way of convenient naiveté. Adolescence is, and always will be the buffet section of making mistakes, inclusive of the most irreversible kind. Just churn them out and leave the cleanup to the adults; you may just be doing them a favor by keeping them distracted enough to overlook a midlife crisis.

But when you're well on your way to thirty, this kind of impunity is just stupid. You should know better at this point in your life, regardless of whether you're yet to experience anything supernatural, or is neck-deep in its bizarre marshes. There are forces out there that go beyond our limited comprehension, moreover, our control, and you'd be hard-pressed to sit around in circles, willingly opening doors for them.

Tim and his teatime friends did just that one slow evening, justifying it as a way of cleansing a virgin home of unwanted presences. Because it wasn't enough that they just commissioned a priest to do that for them, and the incense-wielding Feng Shui master that came before apparently didn't make a lot of sense. Granted, Tim was something of an expert himself, but still, an Ouija session was a tad overboard. Ghosts can prove to be more than just mischievous (see Poltergeist from page internet), and the blue collar wayward demon… Well, let's just say that they're yet to grasp the concept of unpaid overtime.

"Close your eyes, and whatever happens, don't let go of each other's hands," Tim instructed everyone in the circle. "Don't even chance a peek, not if you're unsure that you can hold your nerve. If our connection breaks, it's free reign for whatever it is we summon."

Dawnnel, the youngest and most impressionable of the group, swallowed nervously. She was among the few who disproved of the session, alongside Ryan and Shalla, who were firm believers of the metaphysical. They were outvoted when Aldrin, August, and the eccentric Ars chose otherwise. Dawnnel latched on to Ars' arm like the world was about to end, holding him true to his claim as adoptive big brother.

Meanwhile, Tim tiptoed through the ritual, making sure all parameters were set each step of the way. He initially chanted in Latin, only resorting to English when he heard Dawnnel sobbing next to him. Dead languages give off a more potent, mortifying vibe to the indoctrinated. "Spirits hear our plea, if you are near, come and visit thee." The expert repeated this line two more times, before moving on. "We open the circle for you to enter—come and let yourself be known!"

Sure enough, the group got the trouble they asked for.

The candles they set around them burned out one by one, leaving but the centerpiece placed inside their circle. An eerie cold invaded the whole space, followed by the pungent smell of something metallic and burning. It became harder to breathe because of this, and now, it wasn't just Dawn who was scared shit out her wits; everyone else just wanted to bail, including their resident paranormal authority.

No-one got to ask the entity anything. It didn't honor the ritual at all, even so much as flipping the game board to make the point. After that, the rest of the room was fair game: China flew everywhere, crosses turned, and fixtures banged violently about. It became every man for himself as the gang scrambled, trying to unlatch the door that for some reason had welded itself shut. It was no early Halloween trick set by the bullies either; there was something in there with them for sure, and it wasn't in the mood to play friendly neighborhood. Before long, this malevolent entity formally introduced itself through an undulating shadow, born of the waning light shed by the lonesome candle.

As everyone started saying their prayers, Ars stepped out to greet their visitor. The shadow loomed over him, gnarled horns touching the very ceiling, its yellow eyes set aglow within the frame of its obscured countenance. "You appear at last," the mortal man addressed the entity. "I was beginning to think that you're a bit of snob."

The shadow hissed as it lowered its head away from the ceiling. Now it stuck out, full in form and almost corporeal, defying laws of Physics by the dozen. It responded in a tongue that was unfamiliar to his hosts. Not that it mattered.

Ars raised his right arm, dramatically lining it with his face as though inspecting a draw for a poker game. He was grinning, his one peering eye afire with a twisted sense of triumph. Even more so as he slid off the glove that covered his hand.

The crested ring he wore glinted in the dark with unnatural light. Witnessing the phenomenon caused the demon to reel, before attempting to fully withdraw into the blanketing darkness. It was as if it recognized a threat far greater than what it posed.

It was, however, doomed the moment it made itself known. Ars extended his arm and the light of his ring turned into some sort of irresistible vacuum, one that fed on the surrounding shadows and the evils it harbored. The helpless shrieks of the demon and its concealed minions persisted, until they all vanished into the ring's blood-tinged gem, just in time for the stolen candlelights to flicker back into their wicks. Dawnnel switched the electric lights on, still breathing heavily as she spoke, "Let's not do that again, shall we?"

"That depends…" Ars answered. "When are you planning to get your own place?"

A few moments later, Benneth, another friend of theirs, walked through the door like a certain magical, happy-go-lucky pony. She brought with her some grocery snacks and at least three eared bottles of bourbon. She sensed that something was up, given mostly away by the collective bedraggled composure that greeted her. "Uhmmm…" Her face cycled through at least eight different expressions before asking, "What'd I miss, guys?"