How to Summon the Devil in Five Easy Steps

How to Summon the Devil in Five Easy Steps Part 1

My name is Harry Baque. Yes, I realize it sounds like Harry Back and is, therefore, a funny name. Harry is short for Harriett, and I could've just gone with that. However, when you think about it, life is pain, and a name like Harry Baque presents a person with unique opportunities to train a heart of steel from birth. I see my name as protective callous against the scream of our existence whilst I flail about on our doomed rock.

I own three hedgehogs. They aren't really essential to my story; I just really like them. There will be times I'm in my apartment and Very Important Things are going down. During these important and trying times, I want to make sure you remember one thing: Larry, Stephen and David are in their cage in the background, most likely eating each other's shit. They do other cute stuff, but that's my favorite.

At the moment I'm at your friendly local superstore, so they aren't here. I feel like I'm letting you down after the buildup I gave them, but this is truly where my story starts: at the superstore.

If you ever find yourself at the superstore on ninth and Calvert, wondering if a five-dollar llama mug is really for you, look up and see if I'm there. Cause I'm always there. Not in a creepy way; I work there.

I'm usually found at one of the open scanners, trying to make up for the really slow employee behind me who comes to work to make conversation with tired customers filled with hate cause their names are Jenny Smith and they were ill-prepared for the cruelty of life.

The customer at my lane is my favorite kind of customer. They have their stuff; they have their money; and they aren't talking. I scan each item without giving a moment's thought to what I'm scanning, and plop them into a bag that will soon choke a baby dolphin in the ocean. Looking up, I ask if the customer would like to sign up for a Store Card (they beat us if we don't ask), but am stopped, suddenly, when I realize my customer looks handsome to me.

This doesn't sound that odd; however, you must understand very few people are physically attractive to me. People are nothing more than friends. The man before me, in a black suit and smile, was different. I mean, people are people and each is a special butterfly wing or hailstone of uniqueness. This customer was special, though.

He was at least six foot and as lanky as the damn poles blocking the middle of random superstore aisles. His hair, silvery gray, fell to his ears in a way that begged for a brush. He trembled like a chihuahua about to pounce.

"I can legally purchase these," he pops, as if to scream 'I'm suspicious!' I casually slip my hand into his bags to see what he bought. My eyes slide back to his face. "It's legal," he assures me again.

"Sir, this is yarn." I look back at the bags. "A lot of yarn."

"I won't eat it," he submits, unwarranted.

"That's good," I say.

He pauses a moment, then adds. "How much do I owe?"

Saying the man paid in pennies sounds like a joke to top off an already odd experience, however he did. He paid in pennies. Some of them were so corroded I wasn't even sure if they were real currency. I didn't care at this point.

His eyes roam the ceiling as I work with my manager to put the pennies through a counting machine. Several people got in line behind him, then left when they realized I was a hopeless case.

"This place holds much darkness." the man states. My manager and I look up from our counting and waited for further information. The man looks back at me.

"Ok," my manager says, with a note of finality. He pulls out a faded leather wallet and sets the cash needed to pay the bill in the register. "We'll count this later," he said, ushering the man away from the worried gaze of onlookers.