by Dan Dillard
Chapter 10
“Always, always, always banish.
Even if you don’t see the spirit in your mirror or crystal ball, they may still be there. If you don’t banish and close the portal, you leave them an open door through which they can ruin your shit. Simple.”
-Ethan Jacobs, Electronic Journal entry #31
..ooOOoo..
Monday at work was rough. Other than the phone call from Emily thanking him for the flowers, he wished he'd called in sick. The monotony that was his occupation urged Ethan to get home and do moreresearch. He found himself looking at occult websites when he should have been coding. It gave him a chuckle wondering what the IT department would think if they looked at his browsing history. At five to five, he practically leapt from his desk and ran to the car, thinking nothing gives a burst of energy like clocking out.
He had nothing pressing to do that evening, but there was plenty of reading to catch up on. First things first: he took a long piss, sweet relief from the gallon of coffee he’d consumed during the day. While he washed his hands, Ethan caught his reflection in the mirror and an absurd urge gripped him.
“Bloody Mary…Bloody Mary…Bloody Mary!”
He chanted it in his best Bela Lugosi and waited for a moment, wondering what exactly was supposed to happen. Aside from feeling a little foolish, nothing did.
Maybe it was Crazy Mary?, he thought.
Slobber looked at Ethan’s reflection in the mirror, and then looked back at Ethan.
“Maybe you’re supposed to say it ten times,” he said.
He considered doing just that, but shook off the notion and went to the kitchen. In the fridge were the makings of a sandwich and one last beer. With tools in hand and his dog in tow, he set off to scour the internet for more answers, which would no doubt lead to more questions.
Two hours later, frustration set in. Without fail, each article or book he opened led back to religious texts. That was exactly what he was not looking for. Religious stories were based on something, but he felt that that something was probably old word-of-mouth scare tactics used to keep superstitious people in line. None of the volumes of stories led anywhere except faith.
His inner monologue began sounding like one of his dead father's lectures, and he thought to himself, maybe it’s nap time.
A quick glance around found no spirit activity. As usual, no moaning or banging doors, and no rattling chains. He listened intently but only heard Slobber’s panting. The dog looked around like he was also trying to see what his person sought. An occasional drop of saliva hit the floor as he moved his head. Then he added the fwap, fwap, fwap sound of his tail to the panting, and that made a strange but catchy rhythm.
His MP3 player might work as a digital voice recorder. Being obliterated from a dull work day argued against it and again, he pondered a nap. Then he would be able to organize his thoughts. After some sleep he would consider it again. It was ten minutes after six.
Ethan watched the ceiling fan blades spin on the low setting and tried to zone in on one. It was a game that soothed him. He liked the way they appeared to spin forwards and then backwards, and he let his mind focus on nothing. The last thing he heard was the squeaking sound of leather as the dog shifted positions, and then he was out.
An hour later, something was licking his face. He was relieved, when he opened his eyes, to recognize the tongue and floppy ears. He had slept hard enough to be drooling, and Slobs was taking advantage of it. Ethan took a drink from the warm beer left on the table. Then he looked at the clock on the cable box. Nearly seven-thirty.
He got up and wandered to the bedroom to check his phone. There was one message there. Not Emily.
Back in the living room, he grabbed the laptop, opened his digital journal and his browser and typed, “séance, summon, medium” into the search engine window.