Pow Fast Flash Fiction Black Magic by Doug McIntire

POW FAST FLASH FICTION

Black Magic by Doug McIntire

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Black magic. That phrase just seems to spell doom and despair, the evil resonance dripping

from the very words. It’s not as if there’s a white magic; not really. Magic is magic. Just like

nuclear power. It just depends on how it’s used, what the intention is.

My intentions are normally good, which I guess classifies me as a practitioner of white magic.

But not tonight. Tonight I’m standing in an open field under a full moon, and there is nothing good

about my intentions. I’m out for blood and there’s no other way to look at it. Tonight is a night for

summoning demons.

I figure the only way to really fight a demon is with another demon, fight fire with fire. And my math

teacher proved today that she is a demon of the worst sort.

She came up to me after the first bell rang, walked right up to my desk, and asked to see my

homework. And of course, I hadn’t done it. I never did it. No one ever did. The first thing we

do in class is go over it. Why would anyone do it?

I should have known that she was up to something, but I didn’t. And now she’s out to “make an

example of me.”

My parents are going to kill me.

But not before I kill her. Not before I get a chance to summon my demon and send it off to

devour her, to rip the flesh from her bones and send that spawn of Satan back to Hell, where

she belongs.

So, first things first, I carefully create a salt circle to keep myself safe. Next, I take crushed

charcoal and draw a black pentagram within the white circle. Then, I use colored sand to create

the five great symbols of the demon Belloc; red, blue, green, yellow and violet to open up the

portal to his demon realm. Finally, I place ten stones around the circle, each resonating a specific

purpose. Lapis lazuli for courage, malachite for clarity of mind, and so forth.

It was ten minutes until midnight when I had everything in place. Perfect. I pulled out the parchment

that contained the invocation and went over it once more; just to be sure I had it memorized. One

wrong word could ruin the whole thing. What’s worse, I could die in the process.

I guess that’s the thing about black magic; if you get it wrong, it can kill you.

I just had to make sure that didn’t happen tonight.

I took up my staff and stepped into the center of the pentagram. The alarm on my watch sounded,

indicating that it was time to start. I held up both hands and began the incantation. It couldn't have

gone better. My pronunciation was perfect; my inflection, flawless.

I entered the final stage that would release the building power and open the portal to Hell’s

dimension, allowing the manifestation of Belloc to come through and devour Mrs. Hester,

the scourge of math students everywhere.

I uttered the last phrase of the spell, my voice booming, my confidence raging.

And nothing happened.

I glanced around in dismay. A minion of Hell should be stomping around my circle of protection,

frustrated that it was unable to get at me and forced to carry out my will.

But it wasn’t. I picked up the parchment and studied it critically. I had performed the spell correctly.

I checked my ingredients, my stones. Everything was as it should be, but there was still no demon.

I kicked the salt line in frustration

, resigned to the fact that I was going to

have to sit though another

day of Mrs. Hester’s horrible math class.

Dejected, I headed home, leaving everything in place

so I could try again.

It was almost one in the morning by the time I snuck in through my bedroom window. My parents

were asleep, but I was an expert at getting in and out undetected.

Just as my head hit the pillow, a

thunderous boom rocked my bedroom, breaking the bedposts at the foot of my bed and launching

me into the air. A wicked, rich voice thundered:

“Who summons Belloc?”

And it was then, as his giant clawed hand closed around my throat, that I understood my mistake.

In all of my careful preparations, I had forgotten about Daylight Savings Time.

Doug McIntire is a central Texas author of speculative fiction. He has been published in

Six Sentences, Sex and Murder, AlienSkin Magazine, The Drabbler, and The Dunesteef Audio Fiction

Magazine. When he’s not writing, he enjoys riding his motorcycle and spending time with his wife and

two children. You can find out more about him and his writing at