Demon's Altar

DEMON'S ALTAR

There was one time I tried to summon a demon. Did you know that? Eighth grade. I was really into Slayer and Megadeth and Metallica. Moterhead. You know. All those Satanic-not-Satanic, long haired dudes. I thought it would be a cool idea to try and see if I could channel Lucifer or one of his friends or something. I still can't believe I remember this. My mother nearly kicked my ass.

I took some of my allowance, walked to KidzPlay City, bought a Ouija board, and hid it under my bed. For the next two weeks, I gathered the nastiest, meanest, grossest, most Satanic stuff I could think of: dog turds. There were plenty of people in my neighborhood who kept dogs, and even one family who lived with a Saint Bernard. His turds were way bigger than mine. It was -so- Satanic. I hid all those little baggies of dog crap in the tree stand far behind that old shed behind Alan's uncle's house on Whitney Lane.

I figured that I had collected enough dog shit, and besides I was getting antsy. I set June sixth as the date, and that it was so awesome that it was 1986 when I decided to do this. Six, six, eighty-six! It was an omen, for sure.

The day arrived, and I listed to "For Whom The Bell Tolls" and "Ace of Spades" like ten times in a row to hype myself up. I hiked over to Alan's uncle's house at about 9 that morning - I was thinking six-oh-six a.m. was just too early - with a few garbage bags tucked into my backpack. On the way, I stumbled across a partly-eaten rabbit. I couldn't believe my luck! With this in my arsenal, I was totally gonna summon Satan before lunch.

I collected all the little bags of dog shit and brought them back to the patio. The grill creaked open, and I dumped about half the bags of feces on the ashes inside. I brought the Ouija board out of the house, removed the board, and laid it on the top of the pile. I pressed down firmly so it adhered to the turds underneath. The rest of the dog crap was piled on top.I poked that teardrop-shaped hand tool from the Ouija board into the horrid smelling mass for good measure, like a bit of garnish on a crap sundae.

I figured I needed some more atmosphere to turn the patio into Satan's Hollow on this bright, sunny, cloudless day. The brilliant idea struck me to create a totally Gothic, demonic atmosphere. I wheeled out my father's turntable and wired speaker set, and began blaring one of his German opera LPs. I think it was "Carmina Burana" or something like that, totally epic.

I wrapped myself in a gray bath towel. "O Fortuna" blasted through the speakers. The wooden "strike anywhere" match was quivering in my stubby, stinky fingers. If this didn't summon a demon, nothing would.

The sulfurous match head sputtered to life with a first strike, and I leaned in to a corner of the Ouija board. My nostril caught the noxious tang of the dog feces, and I winced. Holding the match at arm's length, I flitted it against the corner of the Ouija board, and called out: "Hail Satan! Come unto me! Hear my prayers! Bring me a demon!"

A meandering wisp of grey smoke was the initial response. I was unperturbed. "I bring you gifts, o Satan! This bunch of dog turds is my gift unto you! Hear my prayers, o-o-o-o Satan!"

A wink of flame teased me as it emerged on the now toasted corner of the game board. I grinned feverishly and breathed in the scent of feces and two-day-old, charred barbecue sauce.

"One more thing, Satan!" I called out. "I brought you a dead rabbit!" My recent acquisition came back to mind, and I dropped to my knees to open one of my garbage bags. I recklessly plunged my hand inside, and touched stiffened, cold fur. I squealed, the gripped some part of the dead animal, and flopped it on the Satanic assemblage on the backyard grill.

There was some old newspapers sitting on the patio, so I ripped up a few pages, crumpled them into balls, and tucked them in the altar. That seemed to work pretty well. The newspapers caught flame rather quickly - with the help of another match - and more smoke pealed outward, darker and thicker. Totally Satan's breath. I knew it.

With my demon-summoning alter and powers at their zenith, I began to cheer Satan. "Go Satan go! Go Satan go! Bring me a demon! Bring me a demon!" My cheers were a chant, in time with the incomprehensible opera's rhythm.

Without warning, the opera smeared to a stop. My chants continued: "Go Satan go! Bring me a demon!" That is, until my mother interrupted me.

"EMILY CHRISTINE SULLIVAN! What the hell are you doing?"

She looked down on me, standing in her scrubs, fists curled on her hips in that "sugar bowl" pose she always did. But this time it didn't make me laugh. I knew she was serious.

She pointed to the garden hose. I nodded forlornly. And with that, my demon-summoning days were over.

At least until I went to college.