“5cc of mouse blood?”
“I’m telling you, that’s all that’s required.”
“I don’t know, it sounds... chincy.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say, we can sprinkle gold flecks in it if it makes you feel better...”
“Just do the... the thing.”
There was a brief pause, then the rhythmic sound of chanting filled the low, dark space, and there was a brief flurry of action.
“Okay,” said one of the men.
“Okay? That was it?”
“That was it.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to have done anything.”
“Just give it a...”
The earth shook, and plaster dust filled the air; there may or may not have been a cloud of smoke in with the dust. The smell of sulphur filled the basement.
“YOU IDIOTS DID THE MOUSE BLOOD TRICK, DIDN’T YOU?”
“Holy shit!”
“Shut up, shut up.”
“But...”
One of the men cuffed the other one, lightly, on the shoulder. Then he took a moment to gather himself.
“Great Lord Baphomet, we have summoned thee...”
“YES, YOU HAVE.”
“And we abjure thee to...”
“YOU CAN LEAVE OFF, THE PENTACLE IS ALL YOU NEED.”
“But...”
The great horned figure inside the chalk pentagram sighed. “THE MOUSE BLOOD TRICK IS DEPRECATED.”
“Deprecated, Lord?”
“DEPRECATED. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN DISABLED.”
“But...”
“HANG ON, LET ME LOOK...” The huge figure, hunched below the ceiling, made a gesture with one clawed hand, and a glowing square appeared in the sky. “YOU ARE STILL RUNNING A VERSON OF REALITY THAT’S... YOU HAVEN’T UPDATED SINCE 1883?”
The glowing eyes turned on the men with an expression that could only be described as fiery.
“I’M AFRAID I CAN’T HELP YOU, YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE THIS UP WITH THE LOCAL ADMIN.”
“Local...” The man shook himself. “Great Baphomet, I compel thee in the name of...”
“IT DOESN’T MATTER, YOU CAN’T...”
“I Compel Thee By The Power Of This Ritual And...”
The great clawed hand grasped the bridge of the flared nose and the glowing eyes closed in obvious exasperation.
“LOOK, WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“I...” The man doing the invocation faltered.
“Money,” said the second man. “We need money.”
The sound of the longest-suffering possible sigh filled the basement. “HOW MUCH MONEY?”
“17 Thousand Dollars.”
The great head swiveled back and forth. “YOU IDIOTS WANT TO SELL YOUR SOULS FOR SEVENTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?”
“No,” said the first man, “We need seventeen thousand dollars. We’re willing to sell our souls for infinite money.”
“I SEE.” There was a snort, a pair of small clouds of smoke puffing from the great nostrils. The smell of sulphur, which had abated slightly, filled the basement again. “WELL, WE HAVE A PROBLEM, BECAUSE THIS VERSION OF REALITY IS SO FAR OUT OF DATE THAT I CAN’T ACTUALLY USE YOUR SOULS. YOU’LL HAVE TO GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR LOCAL ADMINISTRATIVE DEITY AND HAVE THEM APPLY THE UPDATES BEFORE I CAN COMPLETE ANY SORT OF TRANSACTION.”
“But...”
“I’M SORRY, I JUST CAN’T DO IT.”
“Can you give me the name of the local deity? Because the general consensus right now is that there’s no suck thing.”
“I HAVE THE MOST RECENT AD LISTED AS A YAWEH. TYPE THREE AGGREGATE METACONSIOUSNESS... THIS MAY BE YOUR PROBLEM, HE ONLY EXISTS IF ENOUGH OF YOU WORSHIP HIM. HOW IS YOUR... CORPORATE RELIGIOUS BODY?”
“Um... you mean church? Kind of... in decline...”
“WELL, YOU HAVE A PROBLEM THEN.” The daemonic figure began to noticeably dissipate. “ONCE YOU RECORPORATE YOUR DEITY, HAVE HIM UPDATE TO THE LATEST VERSION OF REALITY, AND THEN IF YOU’RE STILL INTERESTED IN SELLING YOUR SOULS, SUMMON A DAEMONIC REPRESENTATIVE VIA ONE OF THE APPROVED CHANNELS.”
“But... what do we do about the IRS?”
“I RECOMMEND PRAYER.”
There was a last puff of sulfurous smoke, and then the basement was free of daemonic presence.
“I’m telling you, that’s all that’s required.”
“I don’t know, it sounds... chincy.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say, we can sprinkle gold flecks in it if it makes you feel better...”
“Just do the... the thing.”
There was a brief pause, then the rhythmic sound of chanting filled the low, dark space, and there was a brief flurry of action.
“Okay,” said one of the men.
“Okay? That was it?”
“That was it.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to have done anything.”
“Just give it a...”
The earth shook, and plaster dust filled the air; there may or may not have been a cloud of smoke in with the dust. The smell of sulphur filled the basement.
“YOU IDIOTS DID THE MOUSE BLOOD TRICK, DIDN’T YOU?”
“Holy shit!”
“Shut up, shut up.”
“But...”
One of the men cuffed the other one, lightly, on the shoulder. Then he took a moment to gather himself.
“Great Lord Baphomet, we have summoned thee...”
“YES, YOU HAVE.”
“And we abjure thee to...”
“YOU CAN LEAVE OFF, THE PENTACLE IS ALL YOU NEED.”
“But...”
The great horned figure inside the chalk pentagram sighed. “THE MOUSE BLOOD TRICK IS DEPRECATED.”
“Deprecated, Lord?”
“DEPRECATED. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN DISABLED.”
“But...”
“HANG ON, LET ME LOOK...” The huge figure, hunched below the ceiling, made a gesture with one clawed hand, and a glowing square appeared in the sky. “YOU ARE STILL RUNNING A VERSON OF REALITY THAT’S... YOU HAVEN’T UPDATED SINCE 1883?”
The glowing eyes turned on the men with an expression that could only be described as fiery.
“I’M AFRAID I CAN’T HELP YOU, YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE THIS UP WITH THE LOCAL ADMIN.”
“Local...” The man shook himself. “Great Baphomet, I compel thee in the name of...”
“IT DOESN’T MATTER, YOU CAN’T...”
“I Compel Thee By The Power Of This Ritual And...”
The great clawed hand grasped the bridge of the flared nose and the glowing eyes closed in obvious exasperation.
“LOOK, WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“I...” The man doing the invocation faltered.
“Money,” said the second man. “We need money.”
The sound of the longest-suffering possible sigh filled the basement. “HOW MUCH MONEY?”
“17 Thousand Dollars.”
The great head swiveled back and forth. “YOU IDIOTS WANT TO SELL YOUR SOULS FOR SEVENTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS?”
“No,” said the first man, “We need seventeen thousand dollars. We’re willing to sell our souls for infinite money.”
“I SEE.” There was a snort, a pair of small clouds of smoke puffing from the great nostrils. The smell of sulphur, which had abated slightly, filled the basement again. “WELL, WE HAVE A PROBLEM, BECAUSE THIS VERSION OF REALITY IS SO FAR OUT OF DATE THAT I CAN’T ACTUALLY USE YOUR SOULS. YOU’LL HAVE TO GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR LOCAL ADMINISTRATIVE DEITY AND HAVE THEM APPLY THE UPDATES BEFORE I CAN COMPLETE ANY SORT OF TRANSACTION.”
“But...”
“I’M SORRY, I JUST CAN’T DO IT.”
“Can you give me the name of the local deity? Because the general consensus right now is that there’s no suck thing.”
“I HAVE THE MOST RECENT AD LISTED AS A YAWEH. TYPE THREE AGGREGATE METACONSIOUSNESS... THIS MAY BE YOUR PROBLEM, HE ONLY EXISTS IF ENOUGH OF YOU WORSHIP HIM. HOW IS YOUR... CORPORATE RELIGIOUS BODY?”
“Um... you mean church? Kind of... in decline...”
“WELL, YOU HAVE A PROBLEM THEN.” The daemonic figure began to noticeably dissipate. “ONCE YOU RECORPORATE YOUR DEITY, HAVE HIM UPDATE TO THE LATEST VERSION OF REALITY, AND THEN IF YOU’RE STILL INTERESTED IN SELLING YOUR SOULS, SUMMON A DAEMONIC REPRESENTATIVE VIA ONE OF THE APPROVED CHANNELS.”
“But... what do we do about the IRS?”
“I RECOMMEND PRAYER.”
There was a last puff of sulfurous smoke, and then the basement was free of daemonic presence.
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