Chapter 2 "The Idea"
"So why are we meeting in the middle of nowhere again?"
That was the question Alan had asked Tim several times over the phone, with very little success. Each time he asked Tim all he got was a vague answer of "You'll see." Alan's most recent repetition of this very question to Tim yielded a bit more information.
"We need a lot of space," Tim said, "and someplace quiet."
"And how will this help cheer Dave up?" Alan asked.
"You'll see" was all Tim said before he hung up the phone.
The nowhere that Tim had arbitrarily sent him to was an abandoned warehouse nestled in a massive complex of warehouses. It was about a half-hour's walk from the Walleye Warehouse battleground, actually. The outside of the warehouse was dilapidated from years of salty air and covered in countless faded tags from various turf wars. It's only notable feature was a large tag that had been above the front door. It depicted a black squid with two crossed bamboo sticks that made an 'X' in front of it.
'X' marks the spot, I guess. Alan thought. The warehouse's interior didn't fare much better than the exterior. There were no lights inside the building, so the only light came in shafts from the various holes and missing panels in the ceiling. The only thing present on the warehouse's floor, aside from old soda cans and snack wrappers, was a rusty folding table.
Alan looked around and didn't see any signs of anyone being here recently. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. 10:30 AM. He was fifteen minutes early, for once. He put his phone away and idly looked around the empty space, waiting for one of his friends to show up.
He waited.
…
And waited.
…
And…waited.
What's taking them so long? He thought. I've been waiting for, like, an hour. He pulled out his phone again and checked the time. 10:35 AM. Huh, he thought, must be defective. After what felt like an eternity, Tim finally arrived, camping hat askew, carrying an overstuffed backpack that looked like it was ready to burst. Tim noticed Alan waiting by the warehouse's door and waved at him. "You're here early," Tim said, "Good."
"Hey, Tim," Alan waved back, "What's in the bag?"
"Tools that will help us later." Tim answered as he waddled past Alan and headed toward the folding table in the middle of the room. "Where's Sam?"
"She said she was stopping for drinks. Want anything?"
"I'll have my usual," Tim replied. He was silent for a moment before he added, "And a coffee, too, I think."
Alan eyed him for a moment and remarked, "Someone's thirsty today" and then texted the order to Sam. "It's not for me," Tim said, "I just think we may need it if all goes well."
"Are we expecting someone?" Alan asked.
"Again, if all goes well we will be."
Tim had begun unloading the contents of his overloaded bag on the old folding table. What Alan saw, however, did not put him at ease. First, Tim unloaded a massive jar of salt. Next, he pulled out six or seven candles from the bag with a matchbox to go with it. He was rummaging around the bag for his next "tool" when Alan asked uncertainly, "Tim…what exactly are we doing?"
Tim remained silent while he unzipped a pocket on the side of the backpack. From it, he took out a single piece of paper that was about the size of an index card and then gently handed it to Alan. When Alan took it from him, Tim immediately went back to rifling through his bag. "Be careful, that thing's old."
The first thing he noticed about the card was that it was extremely old. It was almost see-through and felt soft in a way that was almost exclusive to musty old books. The side of the card he was looking at had faded writing on it that was a deep reddish-brown in color, and the language it was in was unfamiliar to him. There was an image behind the words that baffled him completely. It almost looked like it could be a squid, if that squid was upside-down, had only two, thick legs, and had one eye on the sides of its body.
He flipped over the card and was equally confused by the contents of this side too. There was a circle with a star drawn inside of it, with what could be candles along the circle's edges where it touched the star's points. Above the circle was a rectangle with a strange creature with four splayed legs drawn on top with two candles beside it. The crude drawing of what certainly looked like a knife above the weird animal did nothing to put Alan at ease.
"Tim," Alan began, "where did you get this?"
"The Museum." He answered.
"Did you steal it?"
"No, Dad let me take it." He continued to take objects from his bag.
"Okay…" Alan was getting nervous, Tim's dad was the curator of the Inkopolis Museum and he didn't usually let him take any artifacts. "What is this?"
"What we are doing today in order to cheer Dave up," Tim replied.
"Don't get smart with me, Tim," Alan retorted, "What is this, really? Because it seems pretty sketchy to me."
"Don't worry about it, Alan, it's fine," Tim assured, "It's just an ancient human ritual to summon a demon…or a wizard. I'm not entirely sure."
"What!"
"See, this is why I didn't want to tell you what we were doing."
By this point, Tim took out a single power egg and placed it on the table between two candles and a kitchen knife, completely emptying his bag. He had laid a large pile of coins a to the left of the table when Alan wasn't looking.
"Now," Tim began, "if you are done overreacting, we can begin."
"Overreacting!" Alan exclaimed, "I've just been told I'm going to help summon an ancient human demon-wizard-thing out of the blue! You're right, I'm totally overreacting!"
Tim looked at him with a single turquoise eyebrow quirked. "Are you quite through?" He asked, "Because this salt isn't going to pour itself into a circle."
"But-" Alan sighed before he could continue. "Fine, I'll help you."
"Wonderful."
It took about half an hour to set up all the reagents for the ritual, Alan had trouble getting the salt to be just right. All the candles were lit, the power egg sacrifice was placed upon the folding table altar, and all the coins were in a pile nearby. "Okay, Alan," Tim began, "when I give the signal, stab the egg with the sacrificial knife."
"This is a kitchen knife."
Tim waved his hand dismissively, "Semantics."
The Inklings took their positions around the summoning ring. Alan stood behind the altar and grabbed the "sacrificial" knife. Tim stood in front of the circle and looked over the card one final time. He put it in his pocket and hung his hat on his back. He flicked his wrists to keep his sleeves out of the way. He nodded to Alan.
Alan nodded back and raised the knife above his head, held it there for a moment, and then brought it down with both hands into the Salmonoid egg on the "altar." Tim raised his arms above his head and bellowed with all the might he could,
"INVOKUM MERASMUS!"
The ancient human phrase of power was harsh in his throat and felt uncomfortable on his tongue. The words echoed throughout the empty space of the warehouse for what seemed an eternity. After the echoes faded away, the two Inklings were met with a deafening silence. Tim looked around like he was lost. Had he said the words wrong? Did he do incorrect hand motions? Was this human ritual just a hoax?
Alan stared at him from behind the table. "So," he began, "I guess this was just a bunch of mumbo-jumbo, huh?"
Tim replied to him mutely, "Apparently."
Alan walked over to Tim and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry, I'm sure there's other thi-" Alan was knocked over by intense rumbling on the ground. Tim stumbled back from the summoning circle and looked up to see lime-green smoke erupting from the candles placed around the summoning circle. In all the chaos of the ancient magic, Tim was dimly aware of Sam, bearing a holder full of coffee cups, entering the warehouse out of the corner of his vision.
The sickeningly green smoke slowly parted to reveal the most terrifying sight Tim had ever seen in his life. A massive, black figure towered over him and let loose a cry that reverberated through his head and caused his brain to vibrate.
"WHO DARES SUMMON MERASMUS THE MAGICIAN?"
Tim heard cups of coffee spill on the ground.