The Wrong Summoning


I had stolen the Occult book from the antique bookshop a few days ago and now everything was almost ready to summon Satan. I planned to do a bargain with him, my soul for fortune and fame.

I lit the last black candle at the fifth point of the upside down pentagram. I took the sliver jeweled dagger and slit the blade across the palm of my left hand. With a glance at the open page, I shut my eyes, muttered the Latin words and wrote out the word ‘Satan’ in my own blood across the bare wooden floor of my parent’s attic.

Finishing the ritual, I peered down and saw my blood shinning in the flickering candle light. I read the letters; S-a-n-t-a.

‘Ho-ho-ho!’ a booming voice shouted out.

I jumped, my hands landed across the still wet name on the floor, smearing the blood. Looking up, I saw a mountain of a man standing in the middle of the black chalk pentagram. He was dressed in a bright red suit, trimmed with white snowflake like fluff, he had black shiny boots laced tight and with brass studs down the sides. A top his head was massive red hat, trimmed white which flopped over at the end with the weight of a huge white pom-pom.

He had long, white snow glittery hair and beard decorated with sliver bells, small baubles in red, green, blue and gold, also holly leaves and red berries. He had a fat, jolly face with pink circle cheeks and some wrinkle lines about his bright blue eyes and large lips. There was also a sweet smell like; warm biscuits, cinnamon and hot chocolate.

‘Satan?’ I whispered.

‘Santa!’ he corrected me.

‘What?’ I mouthed.

‘Hee-Hee! Ho-ho-ho!’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t want you, I wanted-‘ I trailed as I looked down at the bloody letters on the floor.

‘But you did summon me, young man,’ Santa’s booming voice came.

I pressed my lips together, not sure what to say.

‘Now, what is it you want? You have disturbed my slumber. Christmas day was two days ago, you know,’ he said in a jolly tone.

‘I’m sorry,’ I called out, finding my voice, ‘there’s been a mistake. I want Satan! NOT YOU!’

Santa stared at me with piercing blue eyes. The happy, jolliness faded from his face and he become angry and menacing. That look really didn’t suit him and I felt a shiver of fear.

‘James Michael Benedict,’ Santa spoke, ‘you have been on my Naughty List for as long as I can remember.’

I opened my mouth then closed it again, words failed.

‘Have you called on me to try and change your ways?’

I shook my head.

‘Right then.’

Santa put his hand in a deep side pocket and pulled out a yellow scroll and a white feather ink pen. He unrolled the scroll and handed it to me with the pen.

I took it, unable to refuse, my hands shaking. The script on the thick paper was in curly writing and the words the kind lawyers use on fancy business contracts. I couldn’t make much sense of what it was saying but that also might be because I couldn’t focus. My brain had seemed to have left me.

‘Sign at the bottom, James,’ Santa said.

‘What is this?’ I asked, trying to read it.

‘What do you think it is? The reason why you summoned me; a bargain.’

‘My soul for fortune and fame?’

Santa frowned, ‘not exactly. Those are not the deals I do.’

‘My soul for what then?’ I inquired, looking over the top of the scroll.

‘To get on to the Good List, James,’ Santa explained.

‘No!’ I cried.

I threw the scroll and pen away over the top of the candles and against some forgotten, dusty box in the attic.

‘That’s not what I want! I don’t care about the Good List! I want money and fame.’

Santa clicked his fingers and the scroll and feather pen were back in his hand. He pushed them on me again. I tried to stop myself from taking them but my hands were not my own.

‘Now, sign,’ Santa demanded.

I felt the cut on my palm re-opening, the blood lined the wound once more. I dipped the ink pen into the blood and wrote my name at the bottom of the scroll. I couldn’t seemed to stop, even though I wanted too.

The scroll and pen flew away from me. Santa held them once more. He looked down at them, seemed satisfied and put them back into his pocket. Then he held out his hand and took my own, the one with the cut palm.

A chilly, north wind howled around the attic, snowflakes drifted. The candles went out, the smoke curling into nothing within the darkness. Jingle bells sounded.

I felt a whoosh, freezing air blazed me and I was flying up the old chimney. We landed on the roof which was covered in frost. Snow was still falling and the wind blowing. Before us was a glossy red sled, decorated with bells, holly and tinsel. A team of  harnessed reindeer were pulling the sled.

‘Wait…’ I spoke out.

‘Get in,’ Santa said.

‘No…What did I just agree to?’

‘Your soul is mine now and since it is still December and just in the season, I am allowed to claim it now.’

‘But that’s not what I wanted!’ I shouted.

‘I’m tried of you now, James,’ Santa said.

He shook his head and dragged me into the sled. I tried to dig my feet into the roof but it was slippery. He picked me up with ease and put me into the back, throwing rough sacks over me.

I tried to struggle out, but the sacks, though empty, were heavy and I couldn’t move them.

‘Let me go!’ I screamed.

Santa climbed into the front, took the reins and slapped them down. The reindeer ran forward. I screamed as we took off. The reindeer and sled flew into the sky. My ears popped and my screaming echoed. I had accidentally sold my soul to Santa.

Float #FridayFictioneers

The flames flickered on the water, their reflections dots of yellow light, almost as if the moon had broken into pieces and spilled across the surface. Waves rippled as more floating candles drifted out. Each carried an unwritten message, whispered from the heart.

Vicky didn’t  know what to wish for. She held her lit candle above the lapping lake and thought. The only thing that kept coming to mind was for world peace, but wasn’t that impossible to wish for? She guessed nothing really was and with a shrugged, she made that wish and set her floating candle towards the others.


(Inspired by; with thanks).




He hurried along the unlit underground passageway trying to be as quiet as possible. However, his sandals were slapping too loudly on the worn flagstones and the ends of his dark brown robe were making swishing noises around his legs. He wanted to stop and catch his breath, but he was late for midnight prayers.

He felt a welcome sense of relief as he saw the glowing outline of the door. He pressed on, battling the tightness in his chest and aching pain in his thigh. Keeping his eyes fixed on the light ahead, he wondered how many steps further it was.

Then his thoughts changed and out of no where, he saw an image of her by the flicking candlelight. The whiteness of her skin as the dress slipped off her, that desire in her bright blue eyes. The gold curls of her hair, the red rose bud lips and her voice whispering softly for him to come to her.

His toes suddenly hit the stone steps. He stumbled and fell spread eagle. Feeling pain his head, hands and knees he lay there for a few moments collecting himself. Then getting up slowly, he went up the stairs and through the door.

The corridor was well lit with flicking white candles. Male voices filled the air their words of hymn coming together to seem like one sound. The air was heavy with wax and incense.

He shuffled through an open archway and to the church which was filled with monks. Slotting in with the few at the back, he tried to looked like he had been there all along. Hiding his hands in his large sleeves and joining quietly in with the prayer, he avoided the glances of the men around him.

When it was over, he was the first to slip away. Walking quickly, he went to his cell and knelt down by the side of his bed. His thoughts tumbled and twisted, ideas coming to him then going. he tried hard to think about what he should do but nothing seemed right.

He looked up at the small window in the wall and the single candle on the sill. Then at his desk where another candle sat ready to be lit and the Bible beside it.

‘It is not wrong to love,’ he whispered, ‘you teach us we should love all…but this is stronger then love.’

He looked down at his hands for the first time and saw they were cut and bloody. He put them into his sleeves again and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.

‘I do not know what to do. I do not believe she is a devil of any kind…And was it not I that started this…?’ he stopped and let his voice fade.

He shut his eyes and cleared his mind, after a few minutes he spoke again, ‘perhaps it’s best I just leave. I am no longer a pure vessel for carrying your messages. And I have always wondered if my path was somewhere else.’

Getting up, he looked around his cell and realising he had nothing to take with him, headed to the door. He opened it and listened to the silence. Stepping out, he took his sandals off and carrying them walked through the empty corridors and to the passageway once more.


Thursday Photo Prompt – Passage #writephoto


Red Leaf Tress Near the Road

She wanted to go outside and walk through the falling leaves. She wanted to feel the wind full on her face and smell all of the earthy, autumn scents. Seeing everything from her window or the screen wasn’t the same. She needed to physically be there.

But she couldn’t.

This bed, this room, was her life now. She had no body, she was just a mind trapped within a rotting shell. And how much longer would she have to wait to be free? No one could tell her that.

She looked out of the window and tried hard to smell the nature. But someone had lit incense sticks again that was the only thing she could smell. She was sick of that and the scents of candles and flowers. She understand why they did it now; not to comfort her, but to comfort themselves from the hospital smells and her decaying flesh.

She longed for it all to go away and for her just to be outside walking barefoot through the woods. She shut her eyes and thought about the wind in the trees and the singing of birds. She could touch the tree trunks and walk in streams and mud, just like she use to do.

She sighed.

It felt like she would never go. Perhaps, that was her curse? To just carry on like this forever and each generation of her family having to care for her and go through the same emotions. Maybe, they’d get bored and just sign her care totally over to the hospital. Then either they would store her away in a freezer or some scientist, crazed with frame would find a cure and she could go outside again…

She wanted to know why it had happened to her. She must have done something wrong and being punished. But that didn’t make any sense. She had been good to the world, unlike so many people. She had chosen a quiet, animal and world friendly lifestyle. She had meditated, eaten right, helped everyone when they needed it and had never been selfish or needy herself. Surly that was how humans should be? Why would someone as good as her be punished with this crippling sickness?

She was too tried of trying the figure that out. It was something she tried to keep at bay, but with only her thoughts and imagination still in use, it was hard for her to keep away from that line of thought. Sometimes she would reflect on what the doctors, nurses and her family were saying, but most of the time it was the same things over and over again. It was easy for her to mute their words now, though she desperately craved them.

She looked at the window again and knew if she could cry she would do. When would she be back in mother’s natures arms and free of this hell?

Trust (Part 4)

Everything seemed to settle around them. Fern studied the ceiling, letting her new eyes adjust and not quite believing she could see in the dark. She spotted the smoke trails from the candles fading away against the bricks. The air smelt heavily of wax, liquorice and blood. Rolling over, the air bed creaked and she could hear the shifting of the sleeping bag loudly.

Getting comfy, she tried to empty her mind and go to sleep. From next to her, she was aware of Brook moving around in his sleeping bag and making a pillow out of his arms. Rolling back towards him, she made out his face and decided she was too awake.

‘How do you live, then?’ she whispered, ‘do you have a house?’

‘Maybe,’ Brook’s muffled voice answered back.

‘Then why did you bring me here?’ Fern pressed.

‘In case you died,’ he replied simply, ‘I could bury you in the church’s crypt like the last two. Also, if you went rouge on me afterwards. The blood can do different things to everyone.’

‘Like I could have lost my mind?’

‘Yeah and tried to kill me or turned into an unstoppable monster. All that’s rare though and you’ve more chance of dying then that. I could do without the responsibly too.’

Fern rolled her eyes and muttered his name.

‘Go to sleep,’ he suggested and rolled over to her.

He put his arms around her, drawing her into a hug and Fern sank against him. She rubbed her cheek across his hair-less chest and listened to his heartbeat. Brook mused into her hair and pressed his lips to the top of her head. She felt him drifting off to sleep.

‘Brook?’ she whispered.


‘Why did you pick me?’

‘I was bored. Now, be quiet,’ he hissed.

Fern made a fist and knocked it against his shoulder, ‘liar!’

‘I’m tired. We’ll take about it later,’ he explained and held her tighter.

‘I don’t feel sleepy,’ she murmured.

‘That’s probably my blood. Just try to rest. We don’t fall instantly to sleep when the sun rises. The day doesn’t control us like that. That fact about us being ‘undead’ is completely wrong.’

Fern pressed her head to his throat and thought about that. Brook rested his head back and she listened to him fall sleep. She ran her tongue over her teeth carefully and thought about things. Strangely, she recalled the first time she had seen him. She hadn’t give much thought to the background details of that night, but everything came back to her now as if she was there.

The hotel was in night’s grip and she had been standing by the small window looking out on the rolling Lake District landscape. She should have been happy, but the double bed behind her was empty. The only reason she had still come after breaking up with her boyfriend was because she had part paid for the week holiday and hadn’t been able to get a refund. She couldn’t afford to waste money.

Hugging herself, she remembered screaming down the phone at him and him not caring. You’re sick and crazy, he had said, you need help.

Fern touched the window, feeling the coolness of the glass. The thought about jumping out of it out it came to her strongly. She opened the window, letting in the smell of grass and earth drift into the room. However, the gap was too small and she wouldn’t have gotten her shoulders through.

She felt the urge to go outside for a walk, even though it was two in the morning. Getting dressed again and putting on her hiking boots, she left her room. Creeping through the hotel, she almost wanted to be caught. At least then someone else could talk her out of this weirdness, but no one stopped her. The warm breeze wrapped around her and tugged through the outskirts of the town. Not caring where she went, she just walked and soon found herself on the grassy shore of Windermere Lake.

The sky was a rich velvet black coated in white winking stars. There was no moon, just the outlined big dipper opposite her. She watched the water lapping at the tips of her boots and wondered why her life had gone so wrong. She had heard him then through the gentle movement of water, but thought it only some animal.

Studying the lake, she watched transfixed as a man like shape swim towards her and climbed a shore. He was naked, but he wore the night like a cloak. Fern pressed a hand to her mouth, trying desperately to think of something to say. She fixed her eyes to the ground, so she wouldn’t be caught staring at his well-toned body.

‘We meet at last,’ he whispered, though the stillness made his voice painfully loud.

‘Huh? I’m sorry?’ Fern gushed.

‘You’ve been looking for me, haven’t you? Or one of my kind.’

Fern gasped and looked at him more closely. Still the darkness hid him, so she could only make the build of him and his violet eyes.

‘I left my clothes somewhere…’ he hummed and faded away.

‘Wait! Wait! I’m sorry!’ Fern yelled after him.

She stumbled forward, clutching nothing but air. Turning, she looked all around her, but couldn’t see anything. Spinning back, she walked on trying to see him again, but there was only the lake and the starry night. Fern wasn’t sure how she had ended up back at the hotel, but she woke up in the early afternoon believing it all to have been a dream.

It hadn’t been though, she said to herself as she lay in Brook’s arms and moved her head slightly upwards to look at his face. Did you take me back to the hotel and put me to bed? Or did I make it alone? Deciding to add that question to her list of many, she snuggled back down.

Brook moaned and mumbled something. Fern paused wondering if he had been saying something or if it was just sleep. Putting her head back onto his chest, she shut her eyes and from somewhere deep inside her, she knew she had made the right choice. She wasn’t sure her destiny had always been to become a vampire, but that was the path she was now on.

Feeling waves of sleep coming over her, Fern wondered what was going to happen next.

To Be Continued…


beach december uk snow - Google Search

O’Malley shivered in his winter coat and hurried over to the almost buried car. Behind him, he could hear his radio in the tractor broadcasting another weather report. He didn’t really trust all the forecasts, but last night’s had been on the money. He wiped the frozen snow off a door window and peered inside. All he saw was darkness, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone inside.

He wiped a drift of snow of the front window and looked more closely. The car was empty. Letting out a relieved breath, he made his way to the next car. His boots sank into the snow, making a loud crunching sound. He removed the snow faster off this one and discovered it empty as well.

Smiling, O’Malley went back to his tractor and climbed inside. Starting up the engine, he set off again at almost a turtle’s pace. He glanced back in his mirror at the cars and noted that they were the fourth and fifth cars he had come across. Over the next hill he saw a church and knowing the vicar there, decided to call upon him.

Pulling the tractor up and cutting the engine, O’Malley jumped out and walked through the snow covered graveyard and to the door. Opening it, a blast of warm air hit his face and he could smell candle wax. Walking in, he found a group of people sat in the front pews, with the vicar and his wife tending to them. He nodded, knowing these were the people from the cars and that because the church had given then sanctuary in the night, they all had survived.

these were the people from the cars and that because the church had given then sanctuary in the night, they all had survived.