In real life, it had taken months and months before his actions brought horrific consequences.
In his nightmare, everything went wrong immediately.
Blood began to gather from the candles on the floor, meeting at the center of his pentagram. It started slowly at first and then the flow surged into a river of blood converging from the five points. The volume collided and collected and then spouted upwards, forming the shape of a giant man. It filled out the feet and then the legs, like it was confined by an invisible force.
This was the demon that Ricky had accidentally called into life.
It was a physical manifestation of his desire to break away from his small upbringing. He was a part of the servant class—locals who existed only to wait on the summer patrons of his home town. The demon represented his hatred of his lowly position.
Ricky regained consciousness when a flash of light reflected off of the glossy eye of the monster. The other eye was a deflated mess. The stake had fallen out and left a ragged hole where the eye had been.
The creature had crawled from the shadows, pulling itself along with new claws and arms that had emerged from the blob. Ricky was focused on the teeth. Those new teeth were glittering and sharp. The thing’s mouth was open. The inside of its mouth was dotted with suckers, like the tentacles of an octopus. He understood immediately—the monster would pierce the skin with its rows of teeth and then latch on to suck the life out of its prey.
With a shout, he pushed himself backwards across the tiles.
The thing kept coming, reaching out with a claw and pulling itself towards him.
Ricky’s balance wavered as he got himself upright. He fought the feeling and reached for the stake. The monster made a hiss when he raised the stake again. Its hand was about to grab his shoe when he stabbed with the mop handle. The splintered end slid easily into the eye and then through the skull. The monster was skewered at the end of Ricky’s stake. He held it for a few seconds as the creature thrashed and convulsed. Gravity tore the thing in two. With a wet slap, it hit the tile.
Ricky pushed himself back against the wall, grabbed the flashlight and held still while he watched the form disintegrate. For a moment, it almost looked like how it had started—just an unformed ball of goo. The membrane popped and thick liquid spread away from the blob.
Ricky stood on wobbly legs, careful not to hit his head again, and he made his way down the wall until he was away from the spreading liquid. A low fog formed over the puddle and he saw that it was shrinking in size. All he could guess was that the slime was turning to gas. He kicked in the direction of the cloud and saw it swirl and dissipate.
Robby pointed the spear down and lifted his arm to his face so he could breathe through the fabric of his shirt. The gas didn’t seem to have a smell, but he had no intention of finding out if it was poisonous. Ricky backed up until he got to the door to the back hall. Pressing slowly against the catch, he let himself out of the stairwell and then caught the handle to ease the door shut.
Ricky pressed his back against the door while he composed himself. His head pounded in time with his pulse. Across the hall, double doors led to the kitchen. Down the hall a little, he saw the doors that led to the big dining room. Ricky’s flashlight paused between the doors and the fire alarm handle.
“Should have thought of that earlier,” he whispered. He rushed the handle and jerked it down, looking up as he expected some kind of flashing signal or sound. Nothing happened.
“Huh,” he grunted.
A sound came from down the hall—in the direction of the lobby. Robby pressed the flashlight against his shirt to diminish the light and backed towards the kitchen doors.
Pushing one open with his foot, he stepped back into the space and let the door close before he turned with his light. Beyond the racks and stacks of trays, he saw the big tables where food would be staged, waiting for the servers to take it off to the dining room. There was a phone mounted near a set of refrigerators. Before he went to it, he rolled a rack in front of the doors and set the brakes on the wheels. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it was better than nothing.
Ricky picked it up and a light came on. He pressed the buttons and tried to follow the instructions on the little display. The only line that rang was the one for the front desk. There was no answer. Nothing that he hit could get the display to change to show South Lodge. Even the buttons at the bottom, that looked like they would connect to different lines, wouldn’t produce any result.
With a mumbled curse he put the receiver back and scanned the rest of the kitchen.
Nothing was moving but the flashlight beam reflected off of every stainless steel object. All the tiny sparkles could be glowing eyes looking back at him.
Ricky headed for the door to the dining room when an idea made him stop.
Over near the cooking surfaces, he found the pantry. On one of the lower shelves, he found a mesh bag labelled, “Fresh Garlic.” Ricky smiled and tucked the flashlight under his arm so he could dig out his pocket knife. With the bag cut open, he stuffed cloves into his pockets. He finished up by putting one last clove in his shirt pocket.
“Probably just superstition,” he whispered to himself. “But we’re going to find out.”
Superstition or not, he
