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Demons, Dimwits and Dead Goats

Demons, Dimwits and Dead Goats

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Published by Alexandra Obreja
Short story by Alex Dovakin
Short story by Alex Dovakin

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Published by: Alexandra Obreja on Jun 30, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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“Hell found me!

" the so called Dark Magic Master wailed with his hands stretched toward the sky. “And we found Hell!” wailed back the imbeciles around me caught in the phony’s well woven webs. They raised their hands towards the sky, waving, keeping their eyes closed and humming what I could describe as “Aummmm! Aummmm!” A dead one horned goat was laying on a white marbled altar, snout down, horn up. “Pathetic,” I murmured under my breath. Never in my life have I imagined that I would witness such a practical joke. I felt I was about to have a nervous breakdown. The dark basement room, the pompous turquoise attire the chubby old Master was clad in, the dead goat, the pack of young fanatics doing the chicken dance under the moonlight brought inside by a ten inch window, all made me wish to slap myself. Has magic become such a tasteless joke in the new millennium? I leaned over so only my escort could hear me. “Derek, my friend, remind me again, what was inside your head when you joined this freak show? Are you Satanists or something?” He turned toward me, with his hands still hoisted in the air. The look on his face gave the impression I was pronouncing some kind of blasphemy. What a simpleton this one is. “You asked to come,” Derek whispered back, annoyed by my behavior. “And take your hands out of your pockets! We are in the middle of the summoning ritual.” “Well, I’ll tell you this, if a demon popps out his ass, I’m leaving!” I said in my most honest way. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his aummm-ing. Leisurely, I took a cigarette out of my pocket and began to smoke, glaring at the tall white candles, burning around us. “What are you doing?” whispered Derek exasperated. “What?” I shrugged acting all naive. “You said to take my hands out of my pockets.” A tint of red appeared on my friend’s ears. He exhaled closing his eyes, and turned to the ritual. “Take this sacrifice, my Dark Lord” cried the Master taking a hunting knife from under his long sleeves “and give us your power!” I elbowed the closest aummm-er next to me, making him bring his hands down with a frown. “Good day, sir! Wasn’t the goat already dead when they brought it in?” I asked with great interest. The question seemed to take him by surprise as the only answer I got was a lo w growl. “Nice talking to ya!” I move closer to elbow Derek. “What?” he turned back, a large purple vein throbbing on his forehead. “Wasn’t the goat already dead when they brought it in?” I inquisitively asked, getting a personal interest in the situation. “I don’t KNOW!” he hissed. “Well, we're going to find out soon enough,” I said pressing my finger tips together, waiting for the hunting knife to perform its duty. The Master took the goat by the remaining horn, and with the knife, he sliced its throat open. “AHA!” I shouted raising my pointing finger when no blood gushed from the open wound “I told you it was dead!” Twenty pairs of darkened eyes turned to glare at me. I made a sign to cover my mouth, acting as being abashed by my out of place behavior. Modern summonings are just too fun! The Master returned to his ritual, followed by his pack of dimwits. He took a silver bowl and placed it near the back legs of the animal. “What is he doing now?” I asked Derek. Oh my horns! I thought when I realized what they were doing. “He’s mixing the goats’ blood with its milk. We are all going to drink from it to gain the Dark Lord's powers,” answered Derek condescending. I stared into my escort’s eyes, realizing with a disappointment what an idiot he was. “And who did you say you were summoning?” “The Dark Lord.”

They placed me near the Master. bragging to practice real magic.“I see. And for that you are going to drink the milk of a dead goat?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. “I said you first!” my hand ripped through his skin and went for the heart. “Drink!” he ordered. thinking how many times these poor idiots had sipped the “drink of power”. “You committed it now! You’ve made him mad!” wailed Derek. easily breakable by my sharp claws. “Yes!” my simple friend replied. the mixture between “milk” and blood. their souls would be mine. I had been summoned by a member of the Golden Dawn to deal with the so called Masters that had sprawled around the world in the last century. right?” I said sarcastically.” I gazed into the old man’s eyes. “Bring him here!” he waved exasperated at the bullies behind him. The idea was mouthwatering. A fair bargain. feeling his faint attachments to the earth. “Hmmm. popping out his eyes. They all fell asleep like mosquitoes caught in the stream of a toxic spray. forcing the silver bowl in my hands. The bullies took me by my arms. I would let them live. I smiled. “You there! Come here!” the Master ordered. You do realize that’s a billygoat. “You first. . raising his right greasy hand. I waved my hand in the air toward the nineteen wannabe Dark Arts Masters. I glared at the strange pink color. determined not to move an inch. Humans are hilarious creatures. thinking how simple it would be to break his neck in the glimpse of a second and dine for eternity on his soul. dragging me across the cobbled floor. “You don’t say?” I answered crossing my arms. suppressing a laughter outburst. I decided to maintain my identity secret for a few more moments to see what they would do next. beckoning me with his finger. like silver cords. It was getting ridiculous. confident. In return for my services. all except the Master. I had my victim.

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