Page Five Ghouls-Tote That Barge, Lift That Baal

Tote That Barge, Lift That Baal

 

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: July 28th, 2017

 

Due to the consumption of copious amounts of LSD in my youth, I no longer have any concept of time. Or, at the very most, an extremely loose concept. The original plan was to hit up all seventy two of these jerks, most of which won’t be happy to see me. It dawned on me as we were skipping out on the hotel bill this morning: by the time I round up all these legions, Interpol, Oberon’s fairy army, and the Nixie Alliance of Lesser Fae could have run roughshod over half the planet and Stephanie been deported to the Bigfoot colony on Mars. This requires some out of the box thinking. For instance, while we were running from the hotel dicks, I was thinking to myself, wouldn’t this be so much easier if we were invisible? A legion of spirits is great, but an invisible legion of spirits? That’s free room service for life, son. Well, as everyone knows, the Ars Goetia tells us that Baal, the first king of Hell himself, teaches us the power of invisibility. Which is ironic, considering when one thinks invisibility, the last person one thinks of is Baal. Discretion is not this guy’s strong suit. He has no control over the volume of his voice and I don’t think he’s aware of it. On top of that, he got a voice that sounds like a blender, weed wacker and chainsaw are engaged in raucous BDSM menage a troi. He also had a tendency to talk during movies. Real embarrassing, but we’ve always been cool because I’m probably the only entity in the universe that never gave him shit for it.

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Community Corner July 29th Edition

Lost connections

Me- Wi-Fi router. You- Internet signal from the cable company. When? Last night while streaming the season premier of Game of Boners. Please strengthen your signal and try to re-connect. The bald apes are growing restless.

Me- Your wife, you- my husband who left 6 years ago to get smokes and beer but never came back. FYI the dog died.

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The Saturday Morning Ghost

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Every once in a while the month is kind enough to give us five Saturdays. When that happens, the gang at the SEG likes to do something. Something called The Saturday Morning Ghost.

We realize that some of the content here at SEG is a little too much for the little ones. That’s where the “Saturday Morning Ghost”- an occasional supplement geared towards our younger readers steps in to save the day.

We hope you enjoy these puzzles and amusements as much as we do!

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Page Five Ghouls- Owl Be There

 

Owl Be There

 

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: July 22nd, 2017

 

No one demon is going to lend you a hundred legions of spirits, inferior or otherwise. So the idea is to hit up all seventy two of these assholes for a legion or two. Even if I strike out a few times I’ll make out okay. I’m calling in a lot a favors on this one and will probably owe a lot more by the end. Today’s pidgeon is an owl. An owl that wears a crown, so yeah, a real shit bag. His name is Stolas and he runs an herb store in North Philly. Now technically, I’m not allowed to set foot within Philadelphia city limits, and normally, that suits me just fine, but this Stolas cat freaks me out. His eyes are huge and he never blinks, so I want to get him out of the way as soon as possible. Plus, this cat commands twenty six legions of demons. Scoring one of those, this early in the game, would really move the project forward.

I entered his shop around noon and he had his face buried in book. He glanced up.

“Huh,” he buried his face back in his book. “Llewellyn,” he grunted taking a sip of tea.

“Stolas,” I replied and didn’t look up. Good. Just don’t stare at me. If he keeps his eyes in his book and off me, I can maybe…no, it’s just as bad in three quarter profile.

“I suppose you’re looking for your money?”

Oh shit, this dude owes me money. Jackpot, “I’m actually here for something better than money.”

“Is that right?” he looked up.

Fuck, he’s looking at me. “Yeah…that’s right.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, which oddly enough, kind of took the edge off. Now, he reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“I need to borrow a few legions,” I said.

“What in the hell do you need legions of demons for?”

“I’m taking down the Man.”

“Why do you need demons?”

“Because when you go at the Man you go hard.”

“You read too many serials. Pick up a novel every now and then,” he lifted his book. “Nicholas Sparks. Wonderful stuff. Why should I lend you my legions?”

“You lend me the demons. I call off the debt.”

“How generous.”

“Right. Twenty dollars. Forgiven.”

“Get out of my store.”

“Come on, Stolas. I’ll owe you one.”

“What could a junkie journalist have or do for me that I could possibly want. Out.”

I paused. Maybe too long, he looked me right in the eyes. Dirty pool, Stolas. But still an urge welled up from within me. One I could no longer deny.

“Professor?” I said, breaking the thick silence. “How many licks does it take t….”

He threw his book at me and swore a lot. I split.

Well, SEG-ers, I struck out. It was long shot, we never did much get along. At least I have Azmoday’s spirits. Which, reminds me, I got pretty blasted last night and mistook the wormwood for something I could smoke. So now I have a legion of unclean spirits crammed into my room at the airport La Quinta. I know they’re running up the room service bill. They started with that shit as soon as they figured out the phone.

 

The Brave and Kobold

 

Byline: Stephanie Morgan

Dateline: July 22nd, 2017

 

Howdy, SEG-ers. This week I’m taking a look at the small, but helpful kobold. Switzerland is crawling with these little guys. I had about five hiding in the hotel room the Interpol jerks had me locked up in. Yep, you read that right, SEG-er’s, ‘had.’ ‘How?’ you might ask. The short answer: kobolds!

Kobolds are these tiny little guys who have this so-ugly-it’s-cute thing going on and they’ll do chores for you. Like subduing Interpol agents. I don’t think it was necessary to break their necks. I think I’m going to be spending a long time wondering if I’m responsible for that. Should I have specified ahead of time that murder was off the table? I first noticed them last weekend. It started with them just getting me glasses of water and stuff, but it just escalated and shit started getting real and now five men are dead. They didn’t even seem bothered by it. It was just like they were opening jars of pickles. Pop one lid and move to the next. They didn’t blink, they didn’t wince, their expressions were dry and clinical to the point of nonchalance. And it wasn’t like they paused to consider options, once I gave them the request they hopped on the agent’s shoulders and snapped their necks. Have you ever looked into someone’s eyes the moment the light goes out? What was once a thinking, feeling entity is now just a pile of meat and bone. I can still hear that sound; a dull crack like a light switch being flipped. But that’s not what freaks me out. What freaks me out is that this isn’t freaking me out. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s my preoccupation with concealing my identity, with hiding in plain sight as make my way to Geneva. I feel like Carmen Sandiego or a fugitive Dora.

As the train from Geneva wobbled through Lyon heading south to Avignon and I looked out at the landscape slipping by, my thoughts turned to the south of France and the new friend we had made there. I need to get to Barcelona and ask a friend for help.

Page Five Ghouls

 

Infernal Ben Vereen

 

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: July 15th, 2017

It’s twenty after midnight and I’ve finished burning the last of the wormwood. Now it’s just a matter of waiting. The cops pulled up and wanted to know why I was burning so much wormwood in a shopping mall parking lot in the middle of the night. Calling in a favor, that’s why. And you get the clearest signal burning your offerings right at their altar. The suburban shopping mall environ is perfect for contacting all manner of hellish entities. Especially one of the bigwigs. A grand king of Hell. The police grew impatient with my answer. One cop asked me if I had been drinking or doing drugs. The other asked to see my ID. That’s ‘yes’ and ‘no’ respectively, officers. Now, for your own safety, I recommend taking several steps back. My friend likes to make an entrance. At this, they drew their pistols and began to circle me, shout for me to get on the ground. That’s when the ground started shaking.

Now, I’m not sure what the surviving cop is going to say on the report. More than likely, he’ll be committed as a gibbering idiot who was found trying to saw his own head off. Azmoday is a fat fuck who can’t go ten minutes without eating, so when he arrived he broke his fast on raw human in uniform. His bull head started on the legs, his human head on the torso and his ram head started by gnawing on the head. After he sat around picking his teeth with a splintered femur for what felt like all night, he starts in on giving me shit.

“What the hell do want, Gary?” he asked.

“Two of your three heads are looking well. The ram one looks depressed, again.”

“I command seventy two legions of spirits. I don’t have time to get jerked off.”

“Inferior spirits.”

“It’s still legions.”

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