bottom both

oof. rice. especially white rice or my abuelas red rice.

Thank you! This is just the kind of distraction I needed! 

30. “I dunno? Just set it on fire, I guess.” 

Dave flipped through the old grimoire slowly, frowning as he skimmed through page after page of esoteric scrawl. Once upon a time, the book had been a thing to strike fear into the hearts of men—its leather binding looked like skin, it’s heavy pages were covered with archaic scribbles that nearly radiated power—but ever since Dave had dropped it in the bath, it had given him trouble. Angry voices whispered in his ears every time he tried to sleep, and worst of all—the ink had run, blurring on the page so that Dave could barely read the spells.

“What are we doing here, Dave?” Tim said, shivering despite his overlarge hand-me-down sweater. “I thought you said you had something cool—but sneaking into graveyards to fool with plastic skulls in the middle of the night is not my idea of fun.”

“Shh—” Dave said, bringing his flashlight closer to the page. “I think I found it!” He waved Tim over and gestured at the book with an impressive flourish.

Tim frowned and peered over Dave’s shoulder, his teeth chattering audibly. “What is it?”

“What I have here,” Dave said, pausing a half-second for dramatic emphasis, “is a genuine ancient rite to summon and raise the dead!”

Tim turned and stared at Dave as though he’d just sprouted another head. “You can’t be serious.”

Dave grinned. “Oh, but I am! This is the night history shall remember—this is the night that I, David Stephen Goodman, shall rewrite the comic law and raise—”

“Even if you believe that stuff—you think you’re gonna raise the dead with half a skeleton you bought last year at Party City, a handful of birthday candles, and some stupid book you found at a thrift store?”

“This is an ancient grimoire of unknowable power, Tim, and I’ll have you know I did NOT find it at a thrift store!”

Tim crossed his arms, tucking his hands away for warmth. “No? Then where did you get it?”

“I bought it off a wizard, thank you very much! A real life proper sorcerer!” Dave flourished again, sweeping his hand over the book. It would have been nice if the sky had thundered ominously, but alas—the sky was clear.

Tim scowled. “A wizard. Like Gandalf? Gandalf came and sold you an old book? Not every old guy with a beard is a wizard, Dave. Can we please go home now? Mom’s gonna freak when she finds us gone.”

“She won’t freak because she won’t notice. Anyway—he was too a real wizard! He also had a hat.”

“Oh. Wow. A hat? That changes everything. Seriously though. I wanna go home. I’m freezing.”

“I’m not leaving until we finish the ritual, Tim, and if you try and go without me I’ll tell everyone about your crush on Susie Harriet. Now, if I’m reading the instructions right, we have to activate the altar I set up.”

“The altar?”

“Yeah, the circle with the candles. We have to activate it.”

“How to we do that?”

“I dunno, just set it on fire, I guess. What else would we do with a circle of candles?”

“Okay, if you say so…” Tim was hesitant as he fumbled with the lighter, but at Dave’s direction, he lit the colorfully striped candles one by one around Dave’s carefully constructed circle.

When he was done, Dave lifted his flashlight high above his magic book and raised his face to the moonless sky, making his voice slow and deep to chant the words of power.

A hot wind raced through the graveyard, extinguishing the candles. The plastic skull rattled on the ground, opened its jaw, and spewed a cloud of faintly glowing mist.

Dave passed a smug glance towards his brother. Tim’s eyes were wide, and his face was pale—the boy was frozen with fear. 

Dave grinned and raised his voice, chanting louder as the cloud of mist billowed, then condensed—shrinking down until it was roughly the size and shape of a small house cat.

“MEOW,” it said in a voice as deep and grim as death.

“Meow?” Tim echoed shakily.

“That’s… not right…” Dave murmured, squinting at the blurred, distorted words.

The cat meowed again.

“Oh! That’s the problem,” Dave said. “I read it wrong. Let me try again—”

He repeated the words of power. The glowing cat-spirit sat and groomed itself, but nothing else happened. And as Dave read the words again, nothing else continued to happen.

Dave sighed and snapped the book shut. “Dangit… I really thought I had it, that time…”

Tim’s eyes were still wide—he hadn’t moved an inch. “I… D-Dave, you—that cat is a ghost! That is a ghost cat!”

“I know. This is frustrating—it was supposed to be a—”

“Ahem.” A quiet voice from the darkness behind him made Dave flinch. He turned, and came face-to-face with a tall, pale-haired man with red eyes and towering spiraled horns. He wore a neatly tailored suit, and strange shadows wavered behind his trim shoulders in an imitation of wings.

Tim screamed, falling backwards as he scrambled away, and Dave took half a step back. “Uh—h-hi!” he managed to stammer. 

“Hi,” the demon said, smiling politely to show a mouthfull of pointed teeth. “Noodles, come here.”

The translucent cat stopped washing itself and strutted towards the terrible figure. The demon scooped it up, cooing softly as he ran his fingers gently through her intangible head.

“N-noodles..?” Dave squeaked.