The ground opened and released a rancid plume of sulfur and rotten eggs. Fire reached out from the center of the pentagram like a drunken mosh pit thrashing and hissing and pissing out into the night sky. The pentagram was sloppy, made from a sort of make-shift scribble of assorted donuts we fished out from the dumpster behind the Dunkin Donuts. Jimmy, Charlie and I each held an ace of spades card. We sang the lyrics to Motley Crue’s, Shout at the devil while Happinin’ Rob stood back with a cigarette in his mouth holding a double decker ghetto blaster playing the song at full volume. It was midnight on a Saturday night and we were balls deep in a farmer’s field. We had just finished circling the pentagram counter clockwise six times holding up the ace of spades when the ground farted and spewed hells diarrhea back at us.
Those were the instructions Dave gave us.
A laugh bellowed out from the open pit and then a hand grabbed onto the jagged edge of the ground and reached for a bear claw that was sitting in a pool of congealed blood-red goo that had seeped out from a jam buster. A great beast of a man pulled himself up out of Hell’s arsehole and stared at us while he ate the bear claw. It appeared human. Like the kind of wrestler we all watched on television Saturday mornings. Covered in neon, a yellow tank top with frizzy chest hair cresting up over the edge. Tight, bright orange trunks held back a monster fighting to get loose. Long yellow boots crawled up to just below the knee. His handlebar mustache reached out toward us like an insect’s mandibles. A banana-yellow bandana wrapped around his forehead with Satan written with fire across the front, and a bushel of hair the color of the inside of a Three Musketeers chocolate bar spiraled down over his jacked shoulders. The hair was blowing in the wind but there was no breeze. Veins crawled over each bulging bronzed muscle and a golden Heavy Weight Champion belt wrapped around his waist. The great beast was eight feet tall if he was a foot.
The Wrestler pointed at Happinin’ Rob, and with the lowest register voice I had ever heard said, “Play some Skynyrd, man.”
Happinin’ Rob stood in silence with a cigarette hanging off his quivering bottom lip. The beast said, “Lynyard Skynyrd, man,” and then shot a lightening bolt from his finger tip into the ghetto blaster. Happinin’ Rob dropped the radio as Sweet Home Alabama started playing. The wrester went into some kind of orgasmic groove, dipping and thrusting and said, “Now we’re talking, boys.”
Charlie said, “Are you Satan?”
“I wish,” The Wrestler said. “Na, I’m a representative. Do you think the Lord of all evil has the time to show up to a meet and greet? There’s like a thousand different rituals going on right now trying to summon His majesty.”
Jimmy walked over to the Wrestler, looked up and said, “Give us back our friend Dave, dude.”
Jimmy wasn’t the biggest kid around the neighborhood, but he was the baddest sonofabitch I had ever known. Afraid of nobody, not even the Devil.
This freak of nature capable of swallowing our souls, or at least dishing out an ass kicking of epic proportions looked around and said, “Where am I little dudes?”
Charlie piped up and said, “Earth.”
Charlie was wearing black baggy pants covered in white skulls and a tank top stained with his last three meals. He had head phones around his neck and a Walkman clipped to his side with a Dead Kennedy’s, Ministry, or Suicidal Tendencies tape inside.
The Wrestler said, “Earth. Huh, it’s been a while. What’s new?”
Charlie said, “I just failed grave five and my parents kicked me out of the house again.”
The Wrestler gave Charlie the thumbs up and said, “Keep it up little man.”
Still eying the demonic wrestler Jimmy said, “Give us Dave back man. We know he’s down there.”
I said, “Yeah man. There’s been a misunderstanding. Dave doesn’t belong down there.”
In an exaggerated stoner voice the Wrestler said, “Dudes, Dave’s not here, man.”
“Quit the Cheech and Chong routine, dickhead,” Jimmy said. “Give ‘em back.
The Wrestler looked down and said, “I like you, bro.”
Charlie stepped forward holding a cross and said, “The power of Christ compels you.”
The Wrestler laughed and said, “That only works in the movies fellas.”
The Wrestler pointed at Happinin’ Rob and said, “What’s your deal? You’re like twenty-five hanging around teenagers. You into little little boys, because I gotta tell ya. That’s not even cool in my neck of the woods, dude.”
Happinin’ Rob took a drag from his cigarette and said, “N-no. They’re my friends.”
“Ahh,” the Wrestler said. “You’re one of those guys with no real friends of his own. You earn kids affection by buying them beer and renting pornos. I mean, cool, but as long as it stays above the belt amigo.”
Charlie said, “He’s not cool dude, but you’re right, he provides certain perks that are all above the belt, man.”
The wrestler laughed and gave Charlie the thumbs up and said, “Rock on little dude.”
I said, “Anyway, like we were saying, give us Dave back and you can go back to raping Hitler or whatever you do down there.”
The Wrestler picked up a powdered raspberry jam filled donut and shoved it into his mouth and said, “Sorry, bro, but you’ll need to be a little more specific. We have a lot of Dave’s and they all claim there’s been a grave misunderstanding. No pun intended.”
“See if this rings a bell,” Jimmy said. “Two days ago at Christopher Sullivan’s thirteenth birthday party his freakishly hot older sister light some candles and said, ‘Any of you losers want to get weird?’ We all took this to mean something else because she’s the neighborhood slut and said, ‘Sure thing, Kati!" She said, ‘Everyone get in a circle.’ We started high-fiving each other as we sat down. She pulled out an Ouija board. Next thing we know she’s asking to speak to the spirit of Mamma Cass and we’re all looking at each other like she’s lost her mind, so—”
“Skip to the end, bro,” the Wrestler said. He picked up a pentagram honey crueler and said, “This is some boring shit little dude.”
“—sooooo,” Jimmy continued, “a portal from the depths of hell opened and sucked out Dave’s soul but left his body behind, so now he’s comatose on life support systems in the hospital and we’ve been talking to Dave through the Ouija board trying to figure out a way to get him back but we’re running out of time because the doctors want to take him off light support if his condition doesn’t improve in the next forty-eight hours.”
Jimmy took a breath and the Wrestler said, “That’s a pretty kick ass story. I especially like the part about the portal opening and sucking out your friends sweet soul. That’s the soul trapper. The nerds down in Research and Development got that idea from Ghostbusters. Num, num, num,” The wrestler said licking sugar from his fingers.
“Great movie,” Charlie said.
Jimmy said, “That’s what Sully rented on VHS for his birthday party.”
“Hellava good movie,” Happenin Rob said.
The Wrestler pointed at Rob and said, “Ahh, he gets it.”
The Wrestler picked up another donut and chomped it in one bite and said, “Tell me fellas. Why is it you don’t seem scared of me? I mean, I’m a pretty big deal and you don’t seem the least bit worried.” Chewing another donut the Wrestler said, “What’s stopping me from body slamming you into oblivion?”
Jimmy said, “Your trapped within the confines of the pentagram dude. Your evilness can’t escape the trap. Them’s the rules.”
The Wrestler finished the last of his donut, looked down and said, “You’re right about that. I am trapped within the confines of the scrumptious pentagram you laid out for me.”
The pentagram made from pastry was now gone.
“People normally draw the pentagram so it can’t be removed fellas. Who told you to draw it with donuts?” The Wrestler said. “Because I freaking love donuts dudes.”
“Jimmy said, “Dave. Like I said, we’ve been communicating with him through the Ouija board.”
The Wrestler winked and said, “You sure about that?”
Charlie said, “The spirit knew things only Dave would know.
“Torture, little dudes, is our specialty. Ouija 101 guys: don’t trust shit. Rookie mistake.”
We all looked at each other. Shadows danced and surrounded us. The neighborhood lights looked so far away. The bright glow from the moon was gone and the cold, damp grass sent a chill up my spine.
“I admire your spunk kids, but who are you kidding, man. I’m the top dog, son.” Reaching out toward the sky, the Wrestler said, “I am Harold the Dissembowler. Hail Satan, little dudes.”
Jimmy said, “Your name is Harold?”
“The Dissembowler, yes. Named after the great demons, Harold the Eye Plucker, Harold the Ass Eater, Harold the Bloody Clot, and Harold the Bad. I realize that last one doesn’t live up to the others but give him a break it was four thousand years ago.”
“Dudes,” I whisper, slowly backing away, “time to skedaddle.”
We all start moving away and Harold the Dissembowler, Harold for short. He said, “Not so fast fellas. Where do you think you’re going?”
Charlie said, “Sorry to have bothered you Mr. the Dissembowler, but we need to be going now. It’s getting late and we have church in the morning.”
“Let me ask you something first. If there’s something strange, fellas, in the neighborhood. Tell me, who you gonna call?”
There’s a pause and then Happenin’ Rob whispered, “Ghostbusters?”
“That’s right,” Harold said pointing down at the ground.
We look down and there was a ghost trap from the movie.
“Shit,” Jimmy said. The trap opened to a blinding white light. It felt like my body was being torn apart from the inside. Our bodies went limp, now just an empty vessel of skin and blood and bone. We fell to the wet ground as our translucent ghost bodies were sucked out and into the trap.
It was time to go to hell… and back.
This was just the beginning.
Hey Will. I was going to publish a substack story with the same satanic theme and I was wondering if I could cite your story as inspiration. I'm more than happy to send you my draft first.
Bravo! I loved this! So funny! Thank you.