Goetic Justice

After all, what did it matter if he invoked a demon through a complex and rambling chant that had to be memorized, or through simply asking it plainly to appear? Crowley had hurled insults and expletives at Orobas, and it had manifested itself all the same, which led Ryan to believe that many of the more elaborate parts of the ritual were just there for flair.

If any of this was to be believed, then it was a kind of science, albeit an arcane and spiritual science. As long as he followed the steps as they were outlined, it should work, and the more religious and superstitious aspects could be glossed over. He chuckled to himself, realizing how stupid that sounded -- criticizing the superstitious when he was about to attempt a demon summoning.

It had gotten late, but everything was ready. He would get some sleep and perform the invocation the next day.

***

Ryan appraised his summoning circle, all drawn out in chalk on the hardwood floor of his apartment. This might be a pain to clean up, but it wasn't as if he was going to get his deposit back anyway. It had taken him a couple of hours to write out all of the little Hebrew incantations and draw all of the pentagrams. He had made sure that it was lined up with the cardinal directions using a GPS app on his phone, and he'd triple-checked that everything was properly transcribed from the Lesser Key of Solomon. There was a little triangle for him to stand in that was decorated with wards, and there was the containment triangle, which was intended for trapping unruly demons within its confines. He remembered that the instructions had asked for a nine-foot circle and about twelve feet of space overall, but he had to make do with what was available. If this didn't produce any tangible results, then so much might have gone wrong that it was hardly worth sweating over the details.

Even stripped of its more flamboyant elements, the ritual seemed needlessly complex, with layers of dependencies where one misstep could cause a cascading failure. Ryan was confident of his wards and sigils, however. He was about as defended from hostile entities as it was possible to be without having a proton pack on hand, unless he had completely misunderstood some crucial element that would result in his soul being immediately devoured. Oh well. It wasn't like he had much going on these days anyway.

He had taken a long and thorough bath, using the soaps and salts that the enthusiastic woman at the new age store had sold him. Apparently, being clean in body was as important as any of the spiritual aspects of the summoning. After all, you wouldn't invite a guest into your house and then greet them unwashed. That was just bad manners...

The only thing that he was wearing was his bathrobe. The material was linen, which seemed to be important. It had been mentioned frequently enough in the texts that he had sought one out specifically. He had stapled the piece of card with the Sexangle drawn on it to his belt, which was supposed to compel the demon to be obedient and to take human form upon request. Then, there was the Pentagonal Figure that hung from a piece of string around his neck, designed to ward off danger. Finally, the sweatband with the Ring of Solomon attached to it, which he was wearing around his head. As a complete package, it looked like one of those budget cosplay jokes, where someone used household items to approximate the costume of a superhero or a cartoon character in a way that was intentionally terrible. But, insofar as he could tell, his getup was perfectly in line with the rules.

He switched off the lights and began to walk around the circle, lighting his candles one by one as he went, the contrasting aromas of lavender and vanilla wafting into the air. He lit the incense burner, too. It was some scent called dragon's blood, but to him, it just smelled like hand cream. He found himself wishing that his Ring of Solomon worked against regular smells as well as the sulfur spewed by demons. His apartment was starting to smell like a goddamned massage parlor.

He closed the blinds to ensure that the room was as dark as possible, the flickering firelight from the candles casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. There was a haze in the air from all the crap that he was burning, and it was all finally starting to feel like a genuine summoning. Get some teenagers in here with a Ouija board, and they'd scare themselves into hysterics within minutes. He had done a pretty good job of setting the mood, all things considered.

Okay, time to do this.

Ryan stooped to pick up a small vial that contained the Oil of Abramelin that he had mixed the night before and anointed himself with it. He dipped his finger into the liquid, touching it gently against the psychic centers of his body that were described in the books. The top of his head, between his eyes, his throat, chest, navel, and groin. He winced as it began to burn. He could have used some of the shit your pants hot sauce that was sitting on the kitchen counter and saved himself the trouble.

There were some rituals listed in Crowley's account of his summoning, and so Ryan performed them as the author had. He held up a printout of the Lesser Banishing Ritual and the Preliminary Invocation of the Goetia, reading from the texts and trying to put on his best commanding voice. He waved his makeshift wand as he chanted the invocations, feeling somewhat foolish, like a character from one of those wizard movies that had been so popular a few years back.

When he was done, the next step was to concentrate on the triangle that he had drawn on the floor and will the demon to appear there. He pointed the wand at the chalk drawing, illuminated by the flickering candlelight, and spoke in the most confident tone that he could muster.

"Orobas, I summon you!"

He stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for something to happen, but there was nothing. Not one to be so easily discouraged, he pointed the wand again and repeated the demand in a sterner tone.

"Orobas, I summon you into the triangle!"

Bupkis. He was feeling a little disheartened now. Should he repeat the invocation, or had the lengthy diatribes described in the Lesser Key actually been necessary after all? No, Crowley had not used them, or he would surely have documented it in his book. Maybe he should add a little flair after all. Perhaps the demons appreciated the theatrics? He cleared his throat and gave it another try.

"I hereby command you, Demon Prince Orobas, to appear before me. By the true name of the God whom you are bound to serve, and by the names of the Kings that rule over you, I conjure you."

Ryan felt a chill crawl up his spine. The sensation that he was being watched suddenly crept over him, as if there was some unseen presence in the room. He felt his heart quicken as he glanced around the gloomy apartment, yet he saw nothing. Could this really be working? Was it all true? No time to contemplate the implications -- he had to stay on track. Courage and concentration were central to the ritual. Trying to banish the creeping feeling that someone was lurking somewhere behind him, his animal instincts urging him to run as his veins were flooded with adrenaline, he pressed on.

"I summon you into the triangle, Orobas! Obey my command, and do not delay!"

He fumbled with the sheets of paper that he had printed out, wanting to read off some of the names of the demons and angels that were said to compel the thing to do as it was told. While Crowley had not used them, Ryan had most of the information from the Lesser Key on hand just in case he needed it. There were fucking dozens of them, and he wasn't even going to attempt to pronounce the name Escerchie. He'd just have to keep making it up as he went along.

"Orobas, great and mighty Prince of Hell, answer my summons and come before me so that you might aid me in my hour of need!"

Ryan couldn't be sure if it was just the candles and incense, but the air seemed to be getting thicker, fumes swirling in the darkness as if some electrical appliance had caught fire. Hoping that wasn't actually the case, he waved his wand at the triangle, trying to will the demon to manifest. He concentrated, fixated on that chalk drawing, trying to picture what it might look like in his mind's eye. He was startled by a gust of wind that almost blew out his candles, the flames sputtering, despite all of the windows being securely closed. Things were starting to get seriously spooky, and some part of him almost wanted to back out, to abandon the whole venture while there was still time to pass everything off as coincidence or a trick of the light.

The temperature was plummeting, like somebody had been messing with the thermostat. For a moment, he could have sworn that he saw ice crystals in his breath. His eyes were playing tricks on him, mistaking the dancing shadows cast by the candles for figures moving around him, losing their definition when he managed to focus on one. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a loud bang from the room above. His unruly neighbors were stomping around, no doubt. But, there was doubt. There it was again. It almost sounded to his frightened ears like...hooves. Clop clop clop, like there was something heavy marching around in the apartment above him, or perhaps on his ceiling? He looked up frantically, and while he couldn't see anything, the hairs on his arms and neck were standing on end all the same.

A wave of bitter regret washed over him. What the hell had he been thinking? Why didn't he just sign up at an unemployment center, move back in with his parents, or even just take the hit and live in a hostel for a while? He felt like a suicide jumper who had just let go of the railing, his stomach lurching as he started to fall, a million better options flashing through his mind now that it was too late.

Ryan suddenly felt drawn to the triangle, magnetized to it, as if gravity was concentrating there and pulling him inexorably inward. He stared through the swirling haze, his eyes struggling to penetrate the vapors, and then he saw it.

There was some...thing in the triangle, a formless, writhing shape that was impossible to make out clearly. Only he didn't really see it, not with his eyes, at least. Like a hologram projected onto a building, it cast itself into his mind like an idea. It was as if he had just discovered some new sense, a kind of sight without light. Even when he shut his eyes tightly to be free of the churning mass of malformed flesh...it was still there.

It was too late to undo this now, he had to stay the course. Driven more by his surging adrenaline than by courage, he pointed his wand at the demon, praying that his voice sounded more angry than hysterical.

"Take form, Orobas, and no shape intended to offend or repulse!"

It became more solid, as if it was phasing in from somewhere else, almost as though it was emerging from behind a pane of frosted glass. After a moment, there was a little horse sitting in the triangle, scarcely larger than a dog. It stared back at him with a pair of miserable eyes that looked too big for its head, watery and expressive. Ryan kept his wand trained on it as he tried to regain his composure.

Holy shit, it was a demon, sitting right in the middle of his living room. Holy shit! He didn't know whether to be elated or horrified. The thing spoke, hoarse and distant as if heard from far away.

"What...is this?"

Ryan got the distinct impression that it didn't want to be here, that it resented being confined to the triangle, but he flashed his Sexagonal sigil at it all the same.

"I have summoned you here, Orobas. You see this sigil? It means that you have to obey me."

"Obey thee?" it asked, its tone derisive. "Thou art no Magician. What manner of farce is this? Dost thou mock me, mortal?"

"I'm...no, I'm not mocking you. I summoned you here. It worked, didn't it? Now, follow the rules. You have to do as I command."

As afraid as he was, Ryan was becoming quite annoyed with the weird little pony. This was his moment of triumph, and yet it seemed to think that the whole affair was some kind of practical joke. Did it not believe that he was the one who had summoned it?

"Who hast taught thee these things?" Orobas asked in its rasping voice.

"Nobody," Ryan replied tersely. "I taught myself."

"Thy sigils art scrawled upon paper, thy runes and thy incantations art as if drawn by the hand of a child. Thou weareth a bathing gown. This should not have worked. How didst thou succeed in summoning me here with so little care and preparation?"

"I followed the instructions, and the fact that you're here talking to me right now proves that I did it right, so stop complaining unless you want me to burn your sigil."

Ryan raised a slip of paper with Orobas' seal crudely drawn on it in pencil, holding up a lighter to it.

"No!" Orobas snapped. "Do not do that!"

Ryan pulled away, alarmed by the intensity of the creature's objection. Perhaps the threat was more severe than he had realized. The thing seemed to calm down, sinking back into its position inside the triangle. It turned its sorrowful eyes to the sigil that contained it as if trying to find some error in the Hebrew script or the placement of the runes, something that might let it break loose, but there was nothing. Ryan had taken great care to transcribe them properly. Reluctantly, it turned its attention back to him.

"What wouldst thou ask of me, novice?"

Ryan collected himself. This was the most crucial part of the summoning -- he needed to make sure that his request was phrased clearly and could not be misinterpreted either by accident or intention. He had thought long and hard about it, and he had decided on what he wanted to ask the demon.

"Orobas, I beseech you to use your powers and all of the spirits under your command to help me turn my life around. I lost my job and my wife-to-be, I've run out of money, and I'm going to lose my home. My luck has soured, and nothing is going right for me. Summoning you is my last resort. I want to be financially secure again. I want a steady job that pays enough for me to live comfortably and that I enjoy. I want to be happy again. You have two weeks. It needs to be done before I get evicted at the end of the month."

The demon seemed to consider for a moment, Ryan watching it with bated breath until it finally replied in its rasping voice.

"This, I can do, but speak plainly. Art thou sure that this is thy request?"

"Yes."

"And, what favors willst thou grant me in exchange?"

"If you succeed in your task, I will order fifty tin plates from the hardware store. I'll get them engraved with your sigil, and then I'll scatter them all over the city. Laser-etched, real nice. People will be finding those things for months."

"This is...acceptable," the creature conceded. "But heed this warning, novice. Thou art clearly ignorant in the ways of magick, and this work will nary be simple nor quick. Be patient and follow my instructions, and thou shalt prosper before the fortnight is through."

"So, we have a deal, then?"

"Aye. I accept thy terms. Now see me on my way."

"Oh, right," Ryan said as he fumbled with the printout and cleared his throat. "Because you have answered my summons and have appeared before me in good faith, and now that our contract is sealed, I hereby release you to return from whence you came, Orobas. Go now peaceably, with blessings and thanks, and be ever ready to return to my side again should your council be required."

The grotesque little horse bowed its head, then as quickly as it had come, it was gone. The air cleared instantly, the oppressive haze lifting and the cold retreating. Ryan could sense that he was alone once again, that feeling of being watched fading.

His heart was beating like a drum. His mouth was dry, and his hands were shaking conspicuously, but his terror had been replaced with elation. He had done it! He had summoned a demon, and it was all real! He walked hurriedly around the circumference of the summoning circle, blowing out the candles and dousing the incense burners. He turned the lights back on, then raised the blinds, sunlight flooding back into the room. The thing had left no evidence of its presence, no ghostly residue in the triangle where Orobas had sat, and no hoof prints on the ceiling.

Would the demon really do as he had asked? How would it influence his life? Would he wake up the next morning with a job offer from some big IT firm waiting for him on the kitchen table? Orobas had said that it would take time, and that he should be patient, but he could hardly contain his excitement.

He removed the sweatband from his head, along with the Ring of Solomon that protected him from foul odors, and his nose wrinkled at the smell of sulfur. It was faint, but it was there, overpowering the scents of the candles and incense as they faded.

He would leave the circle and the sigils on the floor in case he needed to contact Orobas again. There was no reason to clean them up when his landlord wasn't nosy, and he had no friends or family who might visit him here. He could do with changing out of his bathrobe, though, and opening a few windows. The vanilla candles were almost worse than the demonic odor.

***

Another day passed with no sign or show from Orobas, and with nothing more pressing to occupy his time, Ryan spent it catching up on TV shows and video games. He had moved some of the furniture back into place just so that he could make use of the seating and the television, but he could touch up the circle with chalk if the need arose.

He was lounging on the couch, eating a slice of pizza with his controller in hand when the smell of sulfur overpowered him, a freezing cold coming over the room. He dropped what he was doing, shivering as he watched his breath condensate. Could Orobas reappear of its own accord without being summoned? What should he do? Did he need his robe and his sigils?

Footsteps echoed, the unmistakable sound of hooves on wood. His ears tracked what his eyes could not yet see, something heavy walking across the ceiling, formless shadows dancing on the walls as if cast by ethereal flames. There was a haze in the air, choking fumes manifesting out of nowhere, stinging his eyes and making them water in the absence of his wards.

He suddenly became aware of something that was standing in the corner of the room, its silhouette seen more by his mind than his eyes. The amorphous mass took shape, becoming vaguely humanoid, yet tall enough that its head scraped the ceiling. This was not Orobas, unless he was taking a form that was not described in any of the grimoires. Ryan felt a pang of fear tie a knot in his belly. Had he done something wrong and let some vagrant entity into his apartment? It was said that summoning demons and playing with the occult would open one up to invasion by hostile spirits, like leaving your door unlocked in a bad neighborhood. He had no sigils on hand, no wand, nothing that might help him protect himself or repel it.

He heard the knock of hooves on the wood floor, growing louder and heavier as the entity began to walk towards the couch on two jointed legs, like the hind limbs of a goat or a deer. It was slowly taking form, coming more into focus as it neared him, Ryan rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to clear them as he cowered. It shook the floorboards, far heavier than any man, a mane of twisted horns scraping along the ceiling like nails on a chalkboard as it approached him.

As it came into focus, the haze parting before it, more of its features jumped out at him. It was undeniably female, strikingly so, such that he was momentarily distracted from his fear. Her torso was that of a woman, developed and shapely, soft around the belly and hips. Two heavy breasts immediately drew his gaze, swaying gently with her gait, just firm enough to keep their full shape. Some kind of wool or maybe feathery fur began between them, rising to cover her neck in a sort of ruff. The same fluffy coat was present on her shoulders and lower arms, which ended in four-fingered hands with black nails that were almost claw-like in their sharpness. Her stomach and thighs were clear of fur, leaving her smooth, unnaturally pale skin exposed. Below her burnished thighs were the legs of a Satyr, like some historical depiction of a devil. They ended in the cloven hooves of a cow or a goat, and they were covered in that same downy wool.