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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Page Five Ghouls

 

 

Life Stinks

 

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: July 8th, 2017

 

Do you know where you’ll spend your retirement? Have you thought about it? If my dad is correct I’ll be spending it in a shallow grave. That’ll probably be the only time that cop bastard was right. It’s still a lucky guess. Next question; do you ever wonder what monsters do with their retirement? If you said ‘yes’, it’s highly likely you’re a liar. Last question; did you think we were done with Bigfoots? Were you really glad we were done with Bigfeet? I know you probably thought, ‘Grassman? We’re scraping the bottom of the crypto-hominid barrel now. There can’t possibly be anymore of these fucking things.’ Well, like my dad, you’re wrong.

Welcome to Florida, land of opioids, fucked up animals, and theme parks. As the cliche goes, you’ll also find more than a few retirees. Also where you can find another kind of retiree. An ape man, known as the Skunk Ape. So named, as you could probably imagine, because of his pungent odor. Stephanie couldn’t handle it and returned to base camp. One time, I was locked in a steamer trunk with a corpse for three days. This was like a spring day. Local legend pegs his height at eight feet and weight around three hundred pounds. In reality the codger is about five seven, one hundred and ten pounds, with terrible posture. About once a year, a report will emerge of people being attacked by the Skunk Ape, while out in the Everglades. First of all, why are you wandering around the Everglades. Second, this old coot isn’t attacking anybody. Maybe he’s got a grandkid that visits once a year.

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Page Five Ghouls

 

No Rain

 

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: July 1st, 2017

No, people, you can’t leave Ohio without learning something completely awful. This time the grim toll for egress was the Melonheads. They are not a catchy, upbeat, sweater wearing band of the early nineties. These Melonheads are of the evil children variety. Now, normally I don’t fuck with evil kids, but these little motherfuckers have an off the wall origin story. It starts with a mad scientist named Dr. Crow who performed weird experiments on children. Metal as hell from the get go. The doctor would take these children…I don’t know how big their heads were from the jump, but the Dr. Crow would inject fluid into their heads which caused them to expand. I don’t think it works that way, but myths don’t operate on sense, they operate on belief. What is it in the psyche of Ohio that demands demon monkey science projects into existence? Or Connecticut, who made the little jerks into cannibals who live on Dracula Drive? In Michigan they call them ‘wobbleheads.’ The kids eventually burned down the orphanage Dr. Crow kept them in.

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Page Five Ghouls

 

 

The Grassman Goeth

 

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: June 24, 2017

I have to admit, when I heard about this week’s monster, I got pretty jazzed, but then it turned out to be some bigfoot-type shit living in Ohio. The government supposedly rounded up all the bigfoot and sent them to Mars to activate the pyramid and terraform the planet. They say it’s breathable up there now. All those pictures NASA feeds us from the Curiosity. That’s Arizona, man.

Goddamit, I’m out of smokes. How many did I smoke? I gotta get Stephanie hooked on smoking so she has cigs I can bum. So there’s some stragglers and this one made it to Ohio and stopped for some reason. Another poor bastard ended up in Pennsylvania. Why didn’t they go north? What the hell’s in Pennsylvania? But then, if he kept going and crossed the river he’d run into a devil. Nobody needs that. I speak from experience.

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