I write character-driven dark fiction.
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“Just put the damn things on the points, Harold! It’s not that hard, for Christ’s sake, a monkey could do it!”

“But Dear, why? And when did you put this diagram on the floor down here — is this carved right in?”

“I have to explain it to you anyway, Harold, but first I need this finished, and theres not a lot of time. Shut up, do as I tell you, and put those candles on the points! Now, dammit!”

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to shout, Dear.”

“Well I wouldn’t have to shout if you’d learn to listen! Now, take this and light all those candles. Hurry! Oh, for God’s sake, Harold, you better not have broken that lighter, I didn’t bring a backup!”

“But Dear, your toss wasn’t even near me!”

“No excuses! Go pick it up. Typical Harold, as athletic as overcooked spaghetti.”

“It wasn’t even near me…”

“No backtalk! Get them lit, then stand in the center of that star. Oh my God, it’s 12:55!”

“Augh! These candles smell awful! Are they supposed to be scented? What is that?”

“Don’t smell them, just light them! What do I have to do, hold your hand? I mean really! Now, get in the middle of the star. Yes, right there. Inside the lines, for the love of God, not standing on the lines! Jesus!”

“Why are you wearing that robe, Delores?”

“Just stop talking and I’ll explain. Do try to follow along, would you? I don’t have time to repeat myself or answer your stupid questions. I am the last High Priestess of Golgafadh-Anon.”


“No questions! The worship of Golgafadh-Anon is a Trust that has been passed down from mother to daughter since the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“You interrupt me one more time and I swear to God, Harold, I’ll stab you in the eye!”

“Sorry, Dear. Please go on.”

“I… I… shit! Where was I?”

“Since the beginning.”

“Right! Thanks. Spells and prophecies have been handed down with the Trust, and today is the culmination of a lifetime’s work - our greatest spell!”

“Congratulations, Dear.”

“Shut up. In the pages of the Golgafadh-Anonicon, it is prophesied that on the first Friday the 13th, of the 13th year, at the stroke of the 13th hour, the day will be as night, and the Dark Portals to Golgafadh-Anon will open, and power will flow!”

“I take it that’s the eclipse we’re missing, down here in the cellar?”

“You have to be here! You have 12 older brothers, do you not?”

“Well, yes, I come from a big—”

“And you father, he had 12 older brothers, did he not?”

“Well yes. It’s kind of a joke that big families run in our—”

“It was prophesied in the Golgafadh-Anonicon that on the first Friday the 13th, of the 13th year, at the stroke of the 13th hour, the 13th son of a 13th son may gain the ultimate power!”

“Really? Wow… what are the odds that you’d be married to the 13th son of a—”

“Odds? I searched the Earth years to find the 13th son of a 13th son! Why do you think I married you? You’re alright to look at, but you don’t have money, and it sure wasn’t for your pitiful attempts in the bedroom.”

“Now that’s just hurtful!”

“You’ll live. When the sky goes dark and the 13th son of the 13th son stands in the center of a 13 pointed star, encircled by 13 candles containing the spent seed of a cuckolded man, burning 13 wicks woven from the hair of virgins—”

“The hair of — Is that why you practically shaved Mary’s head? For God’s sake, Delores, she’s seven!”

“Yes! Why go looking for a virgin when I can just grow my own!”

“And what was that other? ‘The spent seed of a cuckolded man’… where in Hell did you—”

“Didn’t you wonder why I started making you wear a condom, you silly ass?”

“But… cuckolded? Me? But that means you—”

“Yes, it does! But not to worry, Harold, it wasn’t like it was a stranger or anything. I used your best friend Bill. Kept it practically in the family!”

“Bill? Bill’s not my best friend, I don’t even like Bill!”

“Well you should, he’s a much better man than you, it would do you some good to have a friend like that, but of course you would never figure that out on your own, you useless —”

“Let me just get this straight. You married me just to keep tabs on me, gave birth to our daughter just so you could shave her head seven years later, had an affair with a guy I don’t like but should be friends with because he is so much better than me it would make me look better, and now have me standing in a circle of candles made out of our daughter’s hair and my semen, waiting for magic to happen. Is that right?”

“The 13 son of the 13th son will have the greatest power Golgafadh-Anon can give! The Granted Wish! Anything! Anything can be ours! All you have to do is wish exactly what I say!”

“You’re crazy. Absolutely insane.”

“You shut your mouth! Shut up and do as I say! The time is now! The 13th hour strikes, and the midday sky is as black as night! You shut your stupid mouth and listen, you idiot, while I tell you what to wish!”

“Too late.”

The cellar fills with a terrible tearing sound, as of a thousand men tearing a thousand cloths, growing louder until a clap of thunder rents the air. The candles dim, there is the moan of a million lost souls, then a terrible scream that dwindles off to nothing. Harold stands in the 13 pointed star, waving a hand through brimstone scented smoke as he surveys the now empty and blessedly silent room.

“Sonovabitch,” he says with a smile. “It worked!”



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