malphas

May 5th, 2000
10:34 PM
Seattle, Washington

It was late at night, and Henry Cooper had been unable to sleep for days.

He had taken to pacing the basement floor, back and forth, over and over, trying to think. He was getting to old for this, too old to withstand the relentless teasing and talking down he was getting at work. It was difficult enough being in the Unusual Incidents Unit, but his promotion to the Unit Director of the Seattle division was even harder. He was starting to crack under the stress of managing his life and the ridicule of his peers, pressure on top of pressure breaking the stoic mask of a man well used to hiding his feelings.

He stopped his endless walking to stare at what lay on the dusty coffee table with a broken leg he's dragged down here last new years. The heavy leatherbound book seemed to be calling him, beckoning him to its pages and the information he's already perused several times now. A packet of candles, a pen, and a notepad sat next to it, taunting him silently for what he had been thinking of doing. This was stupid. He couldn't really be thinking of trying this, could he?

The book itself had been lifted from the evidence lockers a month ago, one of many salvaged from a ruined old building they had been taking a look into. Witnesses had said the building had almost seemed to just suck in on itself, like a miniature black hole had been inside it, or something. The whole idea was laughable, really, but they had uncovered that the building had been used by a strange cult that called themselves Atlantians. The whole group of them had been slippery as a fish, despite a number of their members having perished in the collapse.

In any case, the book had called to him. He had to have it, so he took it. He still could barely believe he'd done it; he had never never taken so much as a pen from work before, and now this? He was losing it. He walked over to the table and started flipping through the pages, finally settling on the one that had been bookmarked when he'd found it. It was handwritten in a flowery script, but the diagrams and notes were very neat, precise. A scholar's hand. He pressed his finger against the seal drawn on the page, a circle filled with intricate linework and several smaller circles. The work written under it read 'MALPHAS'.

He paused, picking up the packet of candles and removing one, lighting it with a lighter from his pocket. he let the wax drip onto the tabletop for a moment, before pressing the base of the still-lit candle down into it to keep it upright. He repeated this with three more, forming a rough circle. Then, he picked up the notebook and tore out a page, copying down the seal from the pages of the book. He set the drawing down in the middle of the circle of candles, and paused.

The light from the flames was low and flickering, casting strange shadows around the basement and lighting his sallow face sharply. The seal almost seemed to be glowing, but that was just a trick of the light. Right?

As if bidden, he picked up a fifth candle, lighting it too, and holding it in a shaking hand. He looked down at the book, at the delicate writing covering the page, and barely took in any of it, but he knew what the next step was. He lifted his other hand and held it, shaking, above the flame, slowly lowering it until finally--!

Wincing in pain at the sudden burn, the candle slipped from his fingertips and impacted the table. the sheet of paper with the seal drawn on it caught near-instantly and was incinerated in seconds, leaving a black scorch mark on the tabletop. He scrambled for the candle, but it rolled, still lit, to the others in the circle, knocking them over in turn. Before he knew what was happening, the wood of the table was in flames, consuming the book in smoke and fire.

Then, the world went still.

The flames seemed almost frozen as he stared at them in shock, the smoke swirling upwards and pooling around the ceiling like liquid, coalescing into a thick, dark shape. The smoke-shape twitched and squirmed there for a few moments, before finally taking a true shape, a mass of gleaming black feathers that twitched and flowed like some great swarm of insects, like fish or leaves in the wind. They parted not long after, revealing a bulging, vitreous blob of darkness, tinged deep red. It blinked once, twice, before a bloody red pupil slid into a view, as if the great eye was rolling from the back of whatever monstrous head it dwelled in.

"I AM MALPHAS," it said. The voice came from all directions at once, raspy and thick, drilled into his skull like so many nails on glass.

Henry groaned and clutched his head. It worked. The ritual had worked, just like the book had said. Now what? He hadn't prepared for this! What was he going to do now?

The demon didn't wait for him to respond.

"TELL ME WHY YOU HAVE SUMMONED ME."

He stammered a moment before finally finding his tongue, words spilling out of him.

"I-- I want help!"

"WITH WHAT?"

"I want-- I want everyone to take me seriously again!"

The demon stared him down with that single, bulging eye, as if mulling over this offer. Then, the feathers twitched once more, and the great eye narrowed, very slightly.

"VERY WELL."

There was a sudden movement, a surging of black feathers, streaks of red, the heat of flames, and the world went dark for Henry Cooper.