An Occult Tale from the Tome of Artemis
“It’s a miracle! I can’t believe this is happening!” Reining in her excitement, Lucy continued in a whisper. “I know you don’t know about it. And I’m sorry if it feels like I’ve deserted you. I want you to know I love you. I didn’t forget you. I just haven’t been outside much 'cuz it feels like he’s desecrated our hallowed ground.”
Evading the unforgiving Texas sun, Lucy stood on the eastern end of her back yard shaded by her favorite tree. She closed her eyes and embraced her ancient friend with arms halfway around its broad trunk. On a low branch above her sat a demon named Gaap. He peered down with the same confusion he always experienced when watching humans. Existing on the aetheric plane, Gaap was invisible to the girl as he was to most all the uninitiated.
Suddenly an agonized voice howled through the thin walls of a nearby shed interrupting Lucy’s reunion.
“It’s hot as Hell in here!”
She glanced at the white paper bag waiting by her feet on the dying grass and turned her other cheek to the brittle bark, lightly scratching her face.
“See?” Lucy grabbed the bag and stomped to the battered old shed where her stepfather, John, spent most of his time these days.
She hesitated outside the door, listening to the lingering death rattle of the outmatched a/c unit in the window.
Took a deep breath.
And walked inside.
“Thank God!” squealed a sweaty, greasy-haired young man as he advanced on Lucy.
“Back off, Skunk!” John shouted, raising out of his weathered easy chair to restrain the malodorous guest with an outstretched arm. “Go sit over there!”
Since losing his job on the Liberty Hill Police force, John had abandoned the world for this workshed and a small television set. The room was perpetually dark and hot but large enough to be habitable with occasional visits to the house.
“You get 'em, hon?” he asked looking at the bag.
“You’re going blind in here, I guess?” She raised it in front of his face and John snatched it away. He tore the stapled papers from the bag and unfolded them, feigning interest.
Across the room, Skunk placed two spoons on John’s workbench and hunched on a barstool in an upright fetal position. He whimpered and groaned every few seconds while John leisurely looked over the receipt.
“Had a busy day, Luce?”
She didn’t answer. John tossed the paperwork onto a pile of trash, scattering a cloud of tiny black insects. Lucy quickly brought the neck of her T-shirt over her nose before any newly emancipated odors could assault her.
As John ripped open the bag, he shot an annoyed glance at Skunk, then rested his eyes on Lucy and the blood red demonic sigil splashed across her shirt.
“That stupid devil band again. It’s a scam, honey. There’s no such thing as magic,” John concluded. The cypher belonged to Dantalion, the patron demon of Lucy’s latest Goth-Rock obsession: Dantalion’s Water.
“For the millionth time, John! For me, it’s about the music, not the magic act. They are phenomenal artists!”
Skunk fussed a little louder just in case he’d been forgotten.
“Anyway, about that…” Lucy began.
John ignored her and shouted, “Hey! Do you mind? Yes, I hear you whining over there! We’re all in pain, ok? Can I have one damn second with my daughter before I serve up your demons? Jesus!”
“Just give it to him. You obviously made a deal.”
“I don’t like plugging in front of you. And this little worm does not tell me when to jump.”
“Ouch! You’re just lording it over him now.” Lucy scolded and turned to Skunk, “He’s got you waiting in the lobby, dude.”
The wretch sniffled nervously, but cautiously slithered closer, sensing his moment had finally arrived. John pulled a package of syringes from the bag, removed one and handed it to his visitor. Tossing the rigs aside, he reached in again, pulled out a vial of insulin and set it on the rickety TV tray beside his gun. Looking up at Skunk with wide melodramatic eyes, John held the bag upside down and dropped a bottle of pills onto the table. Skunk transfixed on it and quivered mildly.
“You aren’t gonna do all these at once again?” John asked.
“No! I learned my lesson. Believe me!” Skunk wiped his nose and cleaned it inside his pocket.
“Whatever. Just don’t OD. I don’t need you on my conscience. You got a tiger by the tail, bud.” John handed over four pink morphine tablets.
Skunk beamed like they were gold bars and sang out, “It’s my wife and it’s my life!” With that, he sped over to John’s workbench and placed the syringe beside the spoons. He began clawing at one of the tiny round pills with a filthy, overgrown fingernail when John roared again.
“Hey! Wait ‘til my daughter leaves, jackass! A minute ago, you had one foot in the grave, now you’re hopping around like Bruce Lee.”
“I’m staying.” Lucy protested. “You want me to pick up your meds, I get to watch what happens to them.”
Along her way to the workbench, Lucy slammed a ring of keys on the tray beside John’s loaded handgun. She hated the sight of the weapon and was pleased to see the encroachment had startled him. “I’m tired of driving Mom’s old car. It’s traumatizing. Trade it out like you promised. And stop sending me on errands alone. How can I ever get my license if I lose my permit?”
Skunk was so thoroughly enthralled in his task, he didn’t notice Lucy taking the other stool until her voice startled him.
“Why are you doing that?”
He reanimated at the chance to babble about his habit. “So, it’s an extended-release pill. This pink coating is wax. That’s supposed to make it last a long time, but I’m going to shoot it. And if any of that gunk clogs the rig, it’ll kill my rush.”
“Enough of this sick shit!” John bellowed making a disingenuous effort to get out of his chair.
“John.” Lucy took a lecturing tone. “I want to see it. It’s educational. Anyway, you think I wanna wind up like this emaciated husk of a human?”
“Hey!”
“No offense, of course.” She said with a shrug. “Why do you need two spoons?”
“I’m not your Discovery Channel. Just figure it out for yourself.”
Lucy watched as Skunk crushed the pill between the spoons. Scraping all the powder into one, he mixed it with water and sucked the solution into the rig through a bit of cotton. Then he whipped his leather belt from his waist, looped it around an arm and bit the end to keep it tight.
“Why don’t you heat it with a lighter like on TV?”
Skunk snorted and chided through darkened teeth, “That’s heroin.”
Lucy gasped at the track marks on his arm. The buckle pinched his skin blue, but Skunk didn’t seem to notice. After some failed attempts, the junkie hit a vein in his forearm. The instant he saw blood, he flushed the entire milky mixture out of the syringe. He barely got the needle out before the rush hit his brain. Skunk’s arms dropped to his sides, and he moaned like an old hermit. His eyes slowly closed. His body rocked to some hidden choir of cherubim. His jaw went slack, and he drooled down his chin onto his shirt.
“Is this ecstasy or agony?” Lucy lamented.
“Indeed,” Gaap concurred from his position outside the shed. Barely above imp status, the once vaunted 33rd Goetic demon, Gaap, was now a lowly foot soldier for General Forneus, Lord of the Deadly Sin of Wrath. He watched Lucy through the walls, still perched on the limb and posed like a cathedral gargoyle.
Gaap had once spent half a day in lopsided conversation with one of those sculptures before realizing it was merely cold stone. He adopted that human conception of his kind as had so many denizens of Hell at that time, and after a few centuries, the glamour had come to feel like a natural form.
Lucy had first invoked Gaap two years ago and he felt fortunate for their mutually beneficial relationship. Her tumultuous life fed Gaap well in emotional tender. In return, he gave her faith and guidance as best he could. Like many young humans, she craved answers from his side of the abyss as a man stranded in the desert craves water.
Several years ago, her mother had died of cancer. The stepfather was ousted from the Police when he tried to blow the whistle on some dirty cops. As if that were not enough to endure, Lucy’s stepsister, Robin, had disappeared almost a year ago.
So full of anger and resentment at the poor hand she’d been dealt by the Fates, Lucy had already been a wild success for Gaap. And today’s interesting developments made him very optimistic for more. He remained outside Lucy’s mindscape for now and watched the scene from the tree.
“That was fucking trippy.” Lucy said sarcastically as she moved away from the reeking, zombified man. “Hey, uh... Talia finally got us tickets, Dad. I’ll be gone ‘til late on Friday night.”
“I thought y’all couldn’t get any,” John said, instantly suspicious.
“Well, one of Talia’s friends found a scalper or something…”
“Wait a minute! How much did that cost?” he protested again.
“Talia said her friend comped them for her as long as she’d go on a date next week.”
“What? That’s even shadier! Are you sure you’re not getting mixed up in anything you’ll regret?”
“It’s Talia’s date, John! Not mine!”
“Even so. Gotta look out for your friends. You want me to talk to her?”
“Sure thing, John. Gonna visit the actual house, or should I send her back here to commune with the Lord of the Flies? She’s fine. She’s a big girl.”
John's head sank. Occasionally the weight his fall came crushing down on him. Lucy hated herself for hurting him. She just wanted to wake him up. She snatched the bag of syringes and announced, “I’m going to make sure you take your insulin regularly from now on. I’ll be back after all the freaks leave.”
Skunk snored blissfully, face down in his arms across the workbench. Lucy rolled her eyes, left the shed and entered her house through the back door. She put the syringes on the kitchen counter and took an outdated Moonfön-7 from her back pocket and said, “Arti. Vid-call Talia, please.”
“Calling Talia on video phone.” The regal female voice responded.
“Thank you!”
Talia popped onto the screen with her usual greeting.
“Hey, boo. What’s new?”
“I’m going to see Dantalion!”
“What? No, you’re not!”
Lucy went straight to a little altar in the eastern corner of her bedroom that served as a pedestal for her leather-bound copy of The Tome of Artemis. “Get your butt over here! I don’t want to tell you over the phone!”
“Oh, God. You tease,” Talia said with a smirk. “You better not be lying.”
Lucy ran her fingers over the bronze flourishes and embossed tree branches on the cover of her sacred text and demanded, “Get over here!”
“Alright, alright.” Talia muttered and shut off the video feed.
For the last few weeks, Lucy had been invoking Gaap exclusively, feverishly begging him for this very miracle! Lucy knew it would take at least half an hour for Talia to walk to her house. Before she arrived, Lucy felt she must perform a brief ritual of gratitude.
So Gaap abandoned his tree for Lucy’s bedroom and assumed his favorite pose atop her bookcase to watch the show.
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