“Ever read that book, Lord of the Flies?”
Cory pulled
at the crimson sleeves of his cheap robes. “Uh, I think. Eleventh grade? Right
about when we got kicked outta high school.”
“Yeah,”
said Jeff. “Well, forget everything you learned in that book.”
Cory
nodded. “Done.”
“The real
Lord of the Flies is Beelzebub, Duke of the Hellish Realms. And we’re gonna
summon him.”
“But we’re
in your dad’s basement.”
“STEP-dad’s,”
said Jeff. He pulled up his hood so it covered his acne-ridden brow and stepped
into the center of the chalk pentagram. “Okay, man: start chanting.”
Cory
glanced down at the Tome of Eternal Peril they’d bought online before opening
it to the bookmarked page.
“Ad patres,” he read, “cineri gloria suh… sera est…” He looked up. “Jeez, Jeff, I don’t think I’m reading this right.”
“Ad patres,” he read, “cineri gloria suh… sera est…” He looked up. “Jeez, Jeff, I don’t think I’m reading this right.”
But Jeff
wasn’t listening. His eyes had become bulbous, and he seemed to be choking on
his own saliva. A horrid voice boomed from Jeff’s throat.
“Foooools! You
dare summon Beelzebub? Now begins an age of blood and darkness!”
“Oh, wow!” screamed
Cory, backing up against a wall. Jeff laughed with such force that the walls
shook, dislodging one of his stepfather’s bowling trophies from the wall. It
fell on Jeff’s head, knocking him over.
Immediately,
the rumbling stopped and the room brightened.
“Unh…” Jeff
moaned. Cory crouched by his side.
“Hey man,
we tried. Let’s just stick to selling pot to the junior high kids, okay?”
-CRC
247 Words.
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On a side note, the alternate title for this story is, "Okay, Man: Start Chanting."
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On a side note, the alternate title for this story is, "Okay, Man: Start Chanting."
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