Written by Sophie Ramshaw
Elder trees swayed against the crisp midnight wind.
Stars twinkled boisterously in the night sky.
Men and women danced naked with blood oozing from the decapitated goats heads they wore as masks.
Your typical Friday night.
At least typical for these freaks.
You see, I had been doing some research of these guys – any by “research” I mean stalking – and had come to gather some very uncomfortable information. Every second weekend, this group of rejected ne’re-do-wells gathered in the forest to cast a series of rituals in hopes of summoning what was known around most black magic circles as, The Good One. Formally a group of KKK members, they were shunned by the locals as they were unapologetic in their beliefs. Now they roamed the local forests – seeking spots for their nefarious sacrifices.
All of them.
Today was a special night, however. The moon was full and luminous, and the dark trees that hovered above cast ominous shadows across the gathering’s goat-mask-faces. Flames licked into the cold Autumn air and soft specks of golden embers shone against the dark backdrop of the silent night. Panning across the group, a myriad of boobs and dicks can be seen, flapping and jiggling about in the wind.
I mentioned they were naked, right?
Because it was disgusting and I don’t want to be the only one with the image burnt inside their brains.
Blood trickled down from crude swastikas carved into various body parts and oozed down to join their exposed genitals. Yet they continued to dance. And as the fire spat and they stomped the ground with their bare feet, they chanted loudly into the night.
‘Ave ei! Ave ei!” they called out. “Bonum peurum! Ave ei!’
Below their feet was a pentagram. Marked into the dirt with sticks and rocks. The gathering of weirdos’ dance around it and made sure the lines were not touched, as supposedly ‘the breaking of the markings would cease the ritual and shant be rectified until the seventh next moon’.
In less wanky terms, I supposed that meant they’d have to wait another week until trying again if they messed up the Satan star.
I was watching all this unfold from a conglomerate of bushes a safe distance away. My back ached from the paralysis of my body as I was afraid if I moved, the group would discover my location and I would subsequently shit myself.
I had been following these folks for a while now. They knew my face and definitely wouldn’t take kindly to my intrusion. I couldn’t even use the old ‘hey guys! I’m here coz I wanna join ya’ll’ defence since the last time we encountered one another I gave them the finger and explained their racist brains would become mush by my hand.
It was all very dramatic.
I’m also gay, black, and Jewish, which is like a trifecta of unholy fuckery to these guys, and they knew it. Trying to infiltrate was a big no-go.
As I peered through branches in my surveillance shrubbery, my eyes were suddenly drawn to the fire that sat in the middle of the pentagram. There were no more flames licking softly into the air. At least none of the normal kind. It was now one solid, golden fire, burning smoothly like a stove. It was then I realised the freaks had done it. They had summoned him.
My months of trailing and stalking these douches led me to some quite unusual places. Witch shops and the like. It was one weird occult store where I learnt of ‘The Good One’; A being from the underworld so manipulative and charming it had the power to infiltrate and destroy any target.
And whoever summoned him got to choose that target.
It wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion that The Good One is what this band of satanic Nazis were trying to summon.
And watching that fire explode into a golden flame, accompanied with the impossible noises echoing from it, I knew the ritual had worked.
My forehead began to sweat and I abruptly had the desperate urge to run away.
They had summoned him. And I was within killing distance.
The crowd suddenly stopped their frantic dancing and stood back to gaze at the fire. They raised their hands and chanted some more.
Ave ei! Et fac sicut dicimus a facies! Ave ei’
I shat myself.
An explosion of flames plunged into the forest clearing, knocking the naked racists down and crisping the edges of all the trees in the area, making the whole place smell strongly of charcoal. I ducked as the flames erupted and a searing pain brushed against my scalp. The shrubs in front of me were now a smouldering ash pile, and the top of my handsome bald head felt tender and sunburnt. I managed to supress a scream by biting onto my clenched fist as I realised a good few layers of skin had melted off my forehead. I rolled over to a nearby tree that had survived The Good One’s wrath, and hid behind it, praying no one had seen me while clutching my bulging backpack tightly in my arms.
There was silence from the crowd. The bonfire had disappeared and in its place was a swirling form of smoke. I saw around 13 bare asses step back as the smoke drifted away.
Fear cascaded through my entire body. I felt numb and hot and sweaty and paralysed.
A sea of clapping resonated from the gathering, and I gazed over at where the fire once stood. And that’s where I saw him. The Good One.
A golden retriever no bigger than my mum.
He dipped his tongue in and out in excitement and thumped his tail on the dirt with joy.
I was momentarily confused.
The group all patted each other’s backs before kneeling down beside the dog and petting him wildly. They stroked him and hugged him, all saying things like, ‘who’s a good boy?’, ‘You’re da cutest!’, and ‘Nawww!’
Again, I was confused. I was expecting some huge, ten-foot-tall, shape-shifting, puppet creature from the realm of Cthulhu. This adorable doggo was the complete opposite. How could he possibly be the evil monster described by that busty shop attendant?
One of the naked men ruffled the dog’s belly.
‘Woof!’ it barked with glee.
The man then leant close to his ears and spoke quietly. ‘Now go get them Jews,’ he said.
‘Woof,’ the dog barked again, now with clear malice behind his tone.
My eyes widened and I jerked my head back behind the tree stump. I could see my heartbeat through my shirt. I closed my eyes and whispered to myself, ‘please don’t see me, please don’t see me,’ at least 50 times in a row.
I heard The Good One start sniffing – as if immediately sussing out my nearby Jew-blood.
‘What is it boy?’ I head a woman ask.
‘Is there a Jew amongst us?’ said another.
The dog barked what I presumed was a “no”, and everyone began murmuring amongst themselves. The constant mumbles pulsated through my eardrums and stressed me the hell out. The pain from my smouldering head was also still very prominent. and I was becoming jittery, bouncing my leg up and down so as keep myself from screeching.
The Good One started to bark rapidly and I could hear the sound of his little paws dashing coarsely across the ground.
The bitch was coming for me.
I reached into my backpack and whipped out the sawn-off shotgun I had brought and a box of shells.
Did I mention I brought a gun?
No? Well I’m not a complete moron and I knew to come prepared. The only issue was I had never fired the thing before and had only bought it the week before. The confidence I had in myself was low.
In fact, I had considering just bolting then and there, hoping perhaps if I ran really quickly, I’d be gone before they even heard a thing.
But as I heard the crowd cheer on The Good One, and the stamping of the dirt, I felt as though I had no choice but to go big or go home. And in this case “home” was the afterlife, as I knew deep down if I made a run for it, I’d be mangled within seconds.
I screamed a loud and improvised war chant and ran into the clearing, completely exposing myself.
‘Surprise Motherfuckers!’ I yelled, cocking my boomstick.
‘Oh great, it’s Barry,’ someone whispered.
The Good One stared at me and growled a horrifying kind of growl that perfectly conveyed how badly he wanted to maul me. Sweat dripped down my face.
Go big or go home, I thought one last time, and unloaded my first round wildly into the gathering. My eyes were closed at the time so I didn’t actually see the bullet explode that guy’s arm off, but I did see him buckling to the floor in pain and try to stuff soggy bits of flesh back into his bloody arm stump.
Everyone was silent.
A few of them removed their goat heads and glared at me, while others cracked their knuckles.
I quickly popped open the barrel of my shotgun and clumsily stuffed another set of shells inside.
Everyone ran at me.
I shot again, nailing a chick right through the boob and into the heart. She dropped to the ground instantly and I yelled, ‘This is why you don’t ritual naked, bitch!’
People where quickly approaching and I realised a shotgun may not have been the fastest weapon of choice. I tried loading in another round but got decked in the face just as the shells slipped inside. A man was hovering over me, dry blood caking his entire face and his genitals were almost grazing my chest. In any other situation this would have been most welcomed, but at that point, I was having none of it.
I kicked him in the nuts, slammed him to the side with the hilt of my gun and shot him in the face. Little chunks of brain spattered my jeans but I didn’t have time to be disgusted – another satanic Nazi jumped on my back and started choking me out. We fell to the floor and I could feel the life draining from my lungs.
Aw hell no!
I elbowed them in the ribs, heard them cough into my ear, and elbowed them again. A few more jabs and they were off me. It was a smallish guy with a thick coating of hair all over his body. I winced, then slammed the heel of my Timberlands into his face, over and over again until his face was nothing more than squishy pile of meat imbedded in the dirt. The sheer amount of blood was just… gross.
I looked over my shoulder and saw about seven more assholes. The Good One, however, was off to the side, staring at me with a piercing set of red eyes. There was no way I was going to win this. But I saved face.
‘Any of you anal beads wanna piece of me!?’ I yelled.
The group all looked at each other.
A man stepped forward. I recognised him as the one who spoke quietly into The Good One’s ear when they first summoned him, ordering him to “get them Jews”. A sharp anger burnt through my body and my jaw clenched along with it.
I gave him the finger.
He sprinted towards me, much faster than expected to be honest, and kicked me square in the chest. My body shot backwards and I coughed dramatically. It felt as though I had lost a lung. Before I knew it, the shithead was on top of me, pummelling my face with punch after punch.
His buddies cheered and clapped in the distance. I thought I’d probably die of embarrassment before the fatal beating at that point.
Well, I don’t know how I managed it, but I grabbed the fucker’s fist just as he went to hit me again. I bent it back as as hard as I could before leaning up and headbutting him in the forehead. It hurt. But it was worth it.
He stumbled back and I took the opportunity to punch him in the dick. The realisation of what I had just done made me laugh, but when I saw him slowly get to his feet again, I snapped out of it, scooped back up my shotgun and frantically crammed my last set of shells inside.
He lunged at my face.
I closed my eyes and fired.
There was silence.
I opened an eye and peaked down. There he was. Mr Fuckhole himself with half his neck hanging off his shoulders – blood pooling underneath him.
I held down a barf.
The remaining asshats looked at me with furrowed brows. Then at themselves, and back at me.
‘That’s fucking right!’ I screamed at them, brandishing my boomstick. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from!’
There was a few more beats of awkward silence as they all mentally decided what to do next. I prayed they didn’t see through my bluff. One by one they scuttled back into the forest and disappeared into the darkness. I waited a couple of minutes to make sure they had actually gone, before sighing loudly to myself and letting my legs collapse to the floor.
It was all over.
Then I heard something.
Something bounding towards me.
I glanced up and saw him. The Good One in all his golden glory, wagging his tail and coming straight for me. I was out of bullets. I jerked my head away and held up my arms in defence. When I didn’t immediately feel the sensation of my limbs being torn apart, I looked down.
This evil creature from the underworld wielding infinite power had his belly exposed and gazed up at me as if expecting a rub. I hesitantly leant forward and scratched him. He woofed in joy. Then a thought hit me: since Mr Fuckhole had been the one to command The Good One to start with, and I had been the one to killed him, perhaps that meant I was now the creature’s master…?
I warily glanced over the dog, leant close to his ear and whispered, ‘Destroy the racists.’
The dog sat up and barked maliciously, his eyes turning a pale red.
‘Sweet,’ I whispered.
I won’t take up any more of your time describing how I disposed of the corpses, shotgun, and managed to clean myself up without suspicion, but I would like to say, after this fateful encounter The Good One and I became good friends. He would crash at my apartment and I would feed him two meals a day, including snacks, and whenever he sniffed out a piece of human scum on the streets, he’d follow them home and dispose of them in whatever demonic way he wanted. It was the perfect arrangement.
But thus concludes the tale of how I became the owner of a demon dog. I’m not sure if all this means my soul now belongs to Satan or something, but I choose not to think about that. Life is pretty sweet right now, and I turned into a fortified badass.
All you‘ve got to do is go big or go home.
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