Spermjackers From Hell

by Christine Morgan

  “—great friend,” Jake, Spencer, and Beth finished with him, and he sighed.

  “We gotta get you laid before you die of terminal blue balls, bro,” Brendan said. “It’s getting embarrassing.”

  “I’d say, hire a hooker,” said Jake, “but, a., you make even less than I do, and b., a guy has to have some pride.”

  “Yeah,” Marty said. “Sometimes I wish they’d hurry up and make with the Japanese sex-robots already.”

  “Not that you could afford one of those, either.” Beth rolled her eyes. “Maybe Spence can get you a discount with his cousin over in Winston City.”

  “Hey, Jolene’s a slut, not a whore, there’s a fuckin’ difference.” Spencer paused, chuffing out a chortle of smoke as he considered his words. “Well, the fuckin’ part’s not the difference. But Jo ain’t no ho.”

  “They do make those robots pretty good now, though,” Brendan said. “I’ve seen them on the internet. Really lifelike and detailed. Customizable. You can order them however you want. Some porn stars even have licensing deals.”

  “Classy,” Beth said.

  “But with a robot?” said Devon. “I mean…how?”

  “Ah, fuck, if we gotta have the birds and the bees talk with the new kid, I’m gonna need more weed.” Spencer picked up two more joints, lit both, and sent them into circulation.

  “Cut scene, cut scene, everyone shut up, this is the good part!” Marty said, waving for their attention.

  The swirling darkness on the screen diffused to reveal a cavern of pale limestone formations, seething rivulets of blue-black gaseous liquid, billowing emerald flames, and an immense throne hewn from rock crystal.

  Throngs of servile, groveling imps scampered aside as a statuesque figure arose from the throne. A curvaceous, wasp-waisted, inhuman, scantily-clad, and extremely top-heavy figure.

  Llylth, demon queen of the hell-sluts, approached with languid, hip-rolling strides on shapely legs ending in polished, tapered hooves. Her barb-tipped tail swayed like a cobra in a snake-charmer’s basket. Folded wings more suedelike than leathery trailed from her shoulderblades.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Spencer said, with an appreciative leer.

  The camera angle on the cut scene panned slowly around, depicting the demoness from above, behind, below, and in extreme close-up. A lot of time and effort on the part of the animators had gone into every painstaking detail... some details far, far more than others.

  Brendan wolf-whistled. “Let’s hear it for boob physics!”

  “Yeah, that’s soooo realistic,” Beth said.

  Jake laughed. “A diabolical hellscape where it rains poison fire, damned souls roaming around with their guts hanging out, and her boobs are what you call unrealistic?”

  Marty shushed them.

  With a voluptuous slow-motion jiggle, Llylth raised her arms to unclasp a gold chain from around her neck. The close-up fixed on its pendant—a glowing bauble filled with writhing smoky female silhouettes like the opening credits of a Bond film—as it was languidly drawn out of her canyonesque cleavage, sending ripples undulating through demonic flesh.

  Llylth dangled the pendant in front of her face, shown in profile as she spoke. All ripe and sensual mouth, lush lips parting, tongue curling enticingly. It looked prehensile, and forked.

  “What’s going on?” Devon asked. “What’s she saying?”

  “Turn it up, Marty,” Jake said, quickly adding, “Not too loud though.”

  A voice flowed from the speakers, rich and sumptuous, a voice like a decadent dessert, something thick and creamy and probably alcohol-soaked.

  “Mila Kunis,” Beth said, as Llylth described how the power of the Amulet of Succubus Summoning could be invoked, to call forth her handmaidens. “Wait ‘til you hear the Dead Lord. They got that guy from that one show, what’s his name, Sheldon.”

  The cut scene ended with the demon queen giving the amulet to Marty’s gruff, buff, chisel-chinned hellslayer avatar, informing him he could use it only six times…to assist him in battle against the Zephilim angels…or tend to other, more worldly, desires.

  “You get different achievements depending on how you use it,” Marty explained, as the loading screen came up. “The Zeffies are tough, so, a succubus really can save your ass in some of the fights—and the boss battle, against the archangel, is a serious pain—but I heard, if you don’t call any of them until the room past the gate he unlocks, then call all six, you get another cut scene…a demon orgy.”

  “Shit, really?” Jake sat up straight. “I didn’t know that! Have you done it?”

  “No. Never been able to take down the archangel solo.”

  “Aw fuck yeah,” breathed Spencer, exhaling a pungent cloud. “That’s what we need, you guys. Forget hookers and Japanese sex-robots. We need an amulet of succubus-summoning!”

  “Yeah, right,” Beth said. “Because that’s always a good idea.”

  “Think about it, though.” Jake leaned back, gazing at the ceiling. “Your very own demon love-slave.”

  “What do they look like?” asked Devon.

  “In the game?” Marty opened his inventory and highlighted the amulet, which popped up an image. “This is their natural form. You know, little bat-wings, tail, devil-horns—”

  “Mostly naked, all tits and ass, total raging nympho,” Spencer finished. “I’d do her.”

  “Me, too,” said Brendan, ogling the scarlet-skinned centerfold doing a posed revolve on the screen. The succubus was not so much dressed as ornamented, in barbaric-looking hellgold jewelry and ‘armor,’ a la those old paintings by Boris Vallejo and Frank Frazetta. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t,” said Beth.

  “Why not?” Jake grinned. “She’s got a tail. She could do you with her tail.”

  “Funny.”

  “Hey, she could do me with her tail, I wouldn’t mind.”

  Spencer took a deep drag and said, in a raspy held-breath croak. “Ass in the air like you just don’t care.”

  “You gotta admit,” said Marty, “it would be pretty awesome.”

  “Getting done up the butt by a demon chick’s tail?” Beth asked.

  “Not that part!”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Jake.

  “They’re psychic shape-shifters, too,” Marty said. “They could turn into whoever you wanted.”

  “Yeah, forget customizeable robots,” Brendan said. “A psychic shape-shifting nympho, that’s some infinite variety right there.”

  “Your own personal demon love-slave.” Jake inhaled deeply and held it, savoring.

  “So, let’s do it,” Spencer said. “Let’s try. Let’s summon us a succubus.”

  Chapter Two: Preparation

  “Okay, so...” Jake consulted a sheaf of printouts. “For the pentagram, we’ll need black wool twine, a shitload of salt, colored chalk, five flat silver plates, and five white candles.”

  “Shouldn’t be too tough,” said Brendan.

  “It also says we’ll need a…brass bell and a glass chime.”

  “Brass bell, where the hell do you get a brass bell?” Spencer asked.

  “My mom has a glass windchime hanging on the balcony,” Devon said.

  “Great, bring that. For twine, I guess they just mean yarn, yeah? And a basin of pure water. Then, with a censer...” Jake paused, brow furrowing. “What’s a censer?”

  “When they don’t let you say ‘fuck’ on TV,” Spencer said.

  Beth elbowed him. “No, dumbass, it’s one of those swingy incense things priests use in church.”

  “Like I go to fuckin’ church?”

  “Let’s see.” Jake ran a finger down the paper. “Inscribe the ward-lines and sigils as shown, yeah, yeah…silver dish and candle at each star-point, okay…sound bell and chime with each struck flame…cast the smoke…”

  “When do we get the hot naked demon chick?” Brendan asked.

  “This is still setting up. There’s like ten pages of instructions here.”


  “Seriously?” asked Marty. “I thought this was supposed to be the quick and easy way!”

  “Hey, you could just tell Cynthia-Lynne Abbott how you feel about—” Beth said.

  “Keep reading, Jake!”

  “I’m not seeing where the yarn has anything to do with it…hang on…okay, here we go, after you set up the candles on the silver plates, you string it around them to follow the ward-lines.”

  “I don’t know, you guys,” Devon said. “It’s getting pretty complicated, and we’re not even to the real summoning part yet. Maybe we should forget it and—”

  Brendan made clucking noises.

  “Hey, no, I’m not scared, I’m only saying—”

  “Where we gonna do this, anyway?” Spencer gestured around the small and cluttered apartment. “Fuck, we’d have to clean first if we tried it here.”

  “What’s your lease say about devil-worship?” asked Beth. “What about pets? Does a demon love-slave count as a pet? Your landlady would have a fit.”

  “We’re not doing it here,” Jake said. “Never mind the landlady; I’m not going to be ringing bells and chanting at midnight with a neighbor who already wants to turn my face inside-out if I shut the door too hard.”

  “Where, then?” Brendan asked. “And don’t say my place.”

  “Mine, either; my parents aren’t too sure about you guys yet,” Devon said.

  Beth smirked. “What, they think we might be bad influences?”

  “Fuckin’ parents, I tell ya, man,” Spencer said. “Like they never smoke or drink or summon sex-demons.”

  “How about Coach’s house?” Marty suggested. “He’s cool.”

  “Not that cool,” said Brendan. “He’ll let us bring beer over but not weed.”

  “And, he already thinks women are fuckin’ evil in general,” Spence said. “You’ve heard him. No way he’d be for devil-women.”

  “We’re not doing it at Coach’s, either,” Jake said. “Nobody else involved. Now, quit worrying about where; I’ve got a couple ideas. But there’s going to be some other stuff we need, for the actual ritual, and it might get tricky.”

  “Like what?” asked Devon.

  “Well, for instance, one hen’s egg—”

  “Big whoop, an egg,” said Brendan. “What’s so tricky about that?”

  Jake held up a hand. “Needs to be freshly laid.”

  “Don’t we all,” Marty muttered.

  “Will be, once this works,” Spencer told him.

  “Can someone get a damn fresh egg or not?” asked Jake, patience fraying.

  “Sure, sure, chill,” Brendan said. “There’s this organic farm-to-table co-op my parents go to—”

  Spencer smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Jesus fuck, organic farm-to-table, ten bucks for a half-dozen, those fuckin’ co-op hippies! Just give me the money; Nana Nell keeps a bunch of ratty-ass chickens, and I’ll bring you all the eggs you want.”

  “Okay, so,” Marty said, “eggs are covered. What else?”

  Coughing a bit, Jake said, “The, uh, moon-blood of a nubile maiden.”

  “The what?” asked Devon.

  “Eew.” Marty grimaced.

  Brendan glanced at Beth.

  “I will punch you square in the throat,” she said, without even looking his way.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I will punch you square in the nuts, too.”

  “This is one fucked-up scavenger hunt,” Spencer said.

  “See?” said Devon. “Complicated. Maybe we should forget it and—”

  “Don’t give up yet, we’ll figure something.” Marty turned to Jake. “What else is on the weirdo shopping list?”

  He hesitated, scanning the pages. His eyes widened a little. He coughed again. “Aw, just a couple more things, no big, we can handle it.”

  Nobody seemed fooled or reassured.

  “Say it,” said Brendan. “Just tell us already.”

  “Well…okay…it calls for a lock of virgin’s hair...”

  There followed a very awkward and uncomfortable pause in which gazes shifted, feet shuffled, eyes were averted, and a few more coughs were coughed.

  “... and a virile youth’s new-spilled seed.”

  “Dude,” said Marty.

  “Gross,” said Beth.

  “How new is ‘new’?” Brendan asked.

  “How new do you think?” Jake retorted. “Or were you planning on swiping some from your dad’s spank-bank?”

  “Who needs bottled and frozen when we got unlimited on tap right here?” Spencer did an extravagant crotch-hiking motion.

  “Yeah, but, who’s gonna...” Marty couldn’t even bring himself to say the rest, making a feeble but familiar gesture with one loosely-curled fist instead.

  “Like you said, we’ll figure something,” said Jake. “Anyway, that’s it. Draw out the pentagram, provide those items, recite the words, and there you go.”

  “So, no, like, sacrificing a goat?” Devon asked.

  “No, like, sacrificing a goat.”

  “Cat? Person? Baby?”

  “No, no, jeez. It isn’t that kind of spell.”

  “It’s a demon-summoning spell,” Beth said.

  “Yeah, but, it’s not that kind of demon, is it?” argued Brendan. “Not the kind to slaughter your enemies or whatever.”

  Marty eyed the book with renewed interest. “What do those kind need?”

  “Oh, stow it, you don’t have enemies,” Beth told him.

  “What about Troy-fucking-Cahill?”

  “He’s not your enemy, dipshit.”

  “Rival, then.”

  “Rival, my butt. He’d have to know who you even goddamn are.”

  “He knows who I even goddamn am!”

  “Yeah,” said Spencer. “His girlfriend’s bitch.”

  “Anyway,” said Jake, “for making the actual sacrifice, this one website says you can get away with using like crickets from the pet store, or brine shrimp, you know, Sea Monkeys. Even yogurt, because it’s got living bacteria in it.”

  “Oh, hey!” Brendan suddenly sprang to his feet. “I know just what else we need!”

  “Your heads examined?”

  He ignored Beth’s remark. “Where’s my keys? I’ll be right back.”

  “Dude,” said Marty. “Are you cool to drive?”

  “Always, bro, always!”

  The door banged shut. Jake braced himself, but no noise from the neighboring unit meant they might’ve lucked out again. Footfalls thudded on the exterior walkway and down a rickety flight of stairs, shortly followed by the rev-and-roar of an engine.

  “He is such a douche,” Beth said. “Why do we hang out with such a douche?”

  Spencer twitched a bony half-shrug. “’Cause he’s a douche with money.”

  “And a car,” Marty added.

  “Why does he hang out with you?” Devon asked.

  “Why do you?” Jake asked right back at him.

  He winced. “I didn’t mean—”

  Beth laughed and opened herself another beer.

  “We’re just fuckin’ with you, new kid.” Spencer passed Devon a joint.

  For a change, he took a few shallow but actual puffs rather than waving it on and only basking in the plausible deniability of second-hand highs from the permeated air.

  “Mostly, Brendan’s stuck hanging out with us because the Fairmont wine-snobs think they’re better than everyone else,” Jake said.

  “But, aren’t his parents doctors or something?”

  “Or something,” said Marty. “Not, like, medical doctors.”

  “So, like, what, then? Psychiatrists? Scientists?”

  “They knock up rich bitches and charge them out the ass,” Spencer explained.

  Devon blinked. “They huh-what?”

  “They run a fertility clinic,” Beth said. “For couples who have trouble getting pregnant. Some people think it’s kinda skeevy.”

  “Oh,” he said. �
��So that’s what you guys meant by his dad’s spank-bank.”

  “Oughta just ask a Bodean.” Spencer hitched extravagantly at his groin again. “Never been a problem for us.”

  “They call it In Vitro Veritas,” Jake said. “If anything, that’s what pisses everybody off.”

  “Huh?”

  “In Vitro Veritas,” Beth said dismissively. “It’s a stupid wine pun.” She turned to Spencer. “You can’t really be serious about this whole demon thing.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Why not? Have you even watched a horror movie?”

  He gasped, looking almost ludicrously offended, and clapped an indignant hand to his chest like a pearl-clutching dowager.

  “If you have,” she went on, “you know what happens whenever a bunch of retards go fucking around with Ouija boards or old books in Latin or something.”

  “Yeah, but that’s just Paranormal Activity bullshit,” Spencer said.

  She shook her head and raised her hands in the air. “Fine. Whatever. Download Demon Summoning For Dummies. Your funeral.”

  “Well, but,” said Devon, “even if we really were going to—”

  “What do you mean, well-but-even-if-really?” Jake interrupted. “It’s a great idea!”

  “It’s a dumbfuck idea,” Beth said.

  “Even if it works?”

  “Especially if it works.”

  “Which it won’t,” Devon said. “Right? Can’t. Right? Nothing’s going to happen.”

  She looked at him. “Have you even watched a horror movie?”

  “Well, yeah, but...”

  “Jeez, Bethany,” Jake said. “Quit trying to talk us out of it.”

  “Like I could?” She scoffed. “Besides, somebody has to shoot the video, Jacob.”

  “Fuck, yeah!” said Spencer. “It’ll be hilarious. Probably go fuckin’ viral.”

  “But what if…what if something…does happen?” Devon asked.

  “Definitely go viral,” Beth said.

  “Great.” Marty hunched his shoulders.

  “Internet sensation,” Jake said. “We’ll be famous!”

  “If,” Beth added with a sharp little glint in her eye, “you live.”

  “What?” Devon and Marty cast uneasy looks her way.

  “Just saying,” she said. “When stunts like this go wrong, they go way, way wrong. Some demon does show up and rip your faces off, I want to be there to say I told you so.”