Type: Text words letters

Length: < 750 words

Description: A short mystery scene featuring an anthropomorphic character in a bespoke, eerie setting realizing that something or someone amidst their surroundings is very wrong, and that some part of their life may be a complete lie... Cliffhangers optional but recommended!

INVOCATION

Enter: two hooded figures in a dark gallery. The center of the hallway is lit from above by a single row of miniature spotlights--the kind used to highlight a work of art. On the floor is a painting in the modern style, full of rounded corners and vivid colors, all muted in the dim lighting. Clustered in this section of the hallway are three figures: MARDUK987, a male timber wolf in a dark grey hoodie, carving a red candle on a pedestal; PHÈDRE, a male golden retriever wearing a carnival mask over his head like a headband, drawing a rectangular frame on the wall where the painting had hung; and ISEKAI-IZZY, a female leopard in a biker's jacket and torn jeans, kneeling opposite the two canines and inspecting knapsacks containing salt, lighter fluid, and other miscellania.

The newcomers gingerly weave their way between the various sculptures and pedestals, entering the light and revealing themselves to be THEOPHILUS, a male husky in an opera cloak, carrying a knapsack and an aluminum walking stick; and ANDROMACHE, a female crocodile in a hooded jacket, holding a lit flashlight which she waves back and forth as they walk.

ANDROMACHE (doing a flourish with her hands): Theeeeey're here!

MARDUK987 (jumping): Ah shit--startle me some more, why don't you?

PHÈDRE: Quiet, people.

ISEKAI-IZZY: Yeah, people, Feather needs some space, give him some space.

PHÈDRE: I already said, don't call me that.

ANDROMACHE: Guys, Theo is here. At least pretend to be friends or something.

ISEKAI-IZZY: Hi, Theophilus.

MARDUK987: Yo, Theo. Nice cloak.

THEOPHILUS: Hi, guys.

ANDROMACHE (nodding in their direction): That's Isekai-Izzy over by the bags. The roguish devil with the candle is Marduk. And the quiet fucker, as you might have guessed, is Fed.

PHÈDRE: Phèdre. Phèdrrrrre.

ANDROMACHE: That's what I said. Fed.

PHÈDRE: Forget it.

ANDROMACHE: It's easier when you type it.

MARDUK987: Theo, you can leave your stuff with Izzy. Come help me with this when you get a chance.

THEOPHILUS: Sure thing.

Theophilus drops his knapsack and stick with the rest of the bags, then joins Marduk while Isekai-Izzy begins laying out salt in a rough semicircle around the group. Andromache picks up the stick, which is revealed to be a camera monopod, and begins affixing a mirror to it.

MARDUK987: Here, hold this right here. Grip it hard.

He begins to carve sigils in the candle as the husky holds the candle steady.

THEOPHILUS: Mmm, sticking with Obradeen after all?

MARDUK987: Yeah, Metzger is too technical for this kind of job, and I'm not sure the candle has enough luxeterna for Eszterhás.

ISEKAI-IZZY: He means Metzger is too hard for him.

MARDUK987: (in a sing-song voice) Fuck you, Izzy.

ISEKAI-IZZY: “Fuck you, Izzy."

ANDROMACHE: Guys, no squabbling, please.

ISEKAI-IZZY: I'm just saying. I could do Metzger in my sleep.

MARDUK987: Yeah, well, too bad you didn't get picked for candle duty. (His hand slips; he hisses, then looks at Theophilus) Shit. You all right?

THEOPHILUS: Hmm? What's wrong?

ISEKAI-IZZY: Don't tell me you messed up Obradeen.

MARDUK987: Shut up! Just… (He inspects the candle.) It's a big day, you know? I get jittery.

THEOPHILUS: What's wrong? Did we blow it?

PHÈDRE: (sighs exasperatedly) Let me.

Phèdre puts down his paintbrush with a dramatically large gesture, then goes over to the pedestal, wrests the candle firmly from the husky, and examines it under the light. He holds his paw out, palm up; Marduk puts the knife in it. With subtle flicks of his wrist, Phèdre inscribes two strokes on the candle, then hands the knife back.

PHÈDRE: There. Fixed it.

He hands back the knife in silence and returns to the wall.

ISEKAI-IZZY: Can't believe you messed up Obradeen.

MARDUK987: Yeah, well, it's all good now, isn't it? Sheesh.

ANDROMACHE: Just let it go, Izzy.

ISEKAI-IZZY: Shoulda just put you on salt duty. Can't mess up salt. (She dips a finger in the salt line and puts it to her tongue.) Mmm, yummy. Don't know why spirits hate it so much.

THEOPHILUS: It's a purifying catalytic. Plenty of ectoplasmic entities share body structures with slugs as well. It literally dehydrates them to death.

ISEKAI-IZZY: I know, Theophilus. I was being rhetorical.

She tosses the salt canister to the floor, then strolls over casually to the knapsacks and withdraws a barbecue lighter.

THEOPHILUS (looking around): Remind me why we chose an art gallery again, of all places? Half the sculptures here don't even have faces. Heckin' freaking me out.

PHÈDRE: The ritual relies on liminarité, so the more, how do you say, in-between the space is, the better the result.

THEOPHILUS: Why didn't we just do it in the abandoned subway station on North? Or the Mediway auditorium? Those are less creepy.

PHÈDRE: The sculptures–they have, as you note, in-between faces. Makes it easier to perform the ritual. Speaking of which. (He steps back, wagging slightly, paintbrush in paw.) The frame is ready.

ANDROMACHE: Awesome. Let me adjust the mirror. Izzy, are you ready?

ISEKAI-IZZY: (flicking the lighter on and off) I was born ready.

ANDROMACHE: All right. Lights! (Pause.) Theo, that's you.

THEOPHILUS: Oh! Where are the…

PHÈDRE: Behind you, on the left.

THEOPHILUS: Right.

He runs a short distance to the wall and turns off the lights. The gallery is plunged into complete darkness.

ANDROMACHE: Ooh, spooky. Izzy, take us away.

ISEKAI-IZZY: Hell yeah. (She lights the candle.) O King of the King who is King with the King under King-in-the-King beside King…

In the half-light, curious shadows play across their faces, the contours of the carved sigils flickering with every tiny movement of the flame.

THEOPHILUS: So what now?

PHÈDRE: Now we wait.

MARDUK987: I don't think it's gonna do anything. We've done four of these bleeding rituals, each supposedly stronger than the last, and nothing has happened in any of them.

ISEKAI-IZZY: (waving the lighter to and fro) That was because our set-up was all wrong, which you would know if you weren't such a dummy.

MARDUK987: Izzy, I love you, but can you please not wave that in front of the artwork.

ISEKAI-IZZY: You can't tell me what to do!

She nevertheless steps away from the painting on the floor, but, unfortunately, lands on Phèdre's tail.

PHÈDRE: Putain! What the fuck, Izzy!

He stumbles sideways in surprise, knocking into the pedestal, and at that exact moment, there is a blast of light and a warbling sound, and the drawing on the wall is replaced by a window wreathed in roaring black flame. Through the window is a bleak, stark landscape–gray dusty soil, black sky, twin red suns in the distance… and a looming, seated figure wearing a jagged red crown.

MARDUK987: Jesus Christ!

Phèdre falls to the floor, merely wobbling the candle on the pedestal. However, that wobble is accompanied by a roar as the portal alternates between coherence and decoherence–and as it recoheres, the seated figure turns its head, looking directly through the window.

ANDROMACHE: Guys.

THEOPHILUS: (mumbling while making the sign of the cross) Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison.

ISEKAI-IZZY: It wasn't me!

The seated figure rises to its feet and takes a step towards the window.

ANDROMACHE: Guys…

PHÈDRE: Quickly! The banishment spell!

ISEKAI-IZZY: I-I didn't memorize it! I didn't think we'd need it!

The seated figure approaches the window, raising a bony, gauntleted hand as it does so.

ANDROMACHE: Guys!

PHÈDRE: What the fuck do you mean, “I didn't think we'd need it," putain d'idiote?

ISEKAI-IZZY: I never thought we'd actually do it!

THEOPHILUS: Let's just blow out the candle!

ANDROMACHE, PHÈDRE, IZZY, AND MARDUK: (in unison) Don't!

Theophilus blows out the candle. An ungodly metallic crash comes from everywhere all at once. The whole gallery turns dark; there is no sound except for the whirring of the portal. After several seconds, the whirring fades. All is silent.