You Know the Kind | Teen Ink

You Know the Kind

March 22, 2011
By CrystalBlood SILVER, Clinton, Connecticut
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CrystalBlood SILVER, Clinton, Connecticut
8 articles 45 photos 57 comments

Favorite Quote:
"I'd formulated a plan. If you can define a plan as 'a loose sequence of manifestly inadequate observations and conjectures, held together by panic, indecision, and ignorance'? If so, it was a very good plan."


This was the stuff of legends, the kind of legends that will be referenced throughout literature for centuries to come. That literature which will mostly end up on the Internet or (the lucky ones) as crappy B movies starring Russell Crowe. Those kinds of legends. And this stuff, as I have so eloquently chosen to call it, is about to hit the fan. It started the way all terrible young adult novels and after school cartoons start. Meet our hero, he is just like you. He is a loser with only a few friends, he hates school, his parents are jerks, he has a crush on this beautiful girl that he does not have the guts to ask out, but deep down he knows he is destined for greatness! His name is something ridiculous like Aaron Slyer, of course that is not his real name, he only uses Aaron Slyer online for his Neopets account and such. His real name is probably something embarrassing like Eugene Jenkins. And who am I, the witness to the great events about to unfold? I am the sorry sucker who got stuck in this mess, also known as our hero’s “magical aide”. Remember Arete and Cacia from Hercules? Well, I’m Cacia, Goddess of Vice. ...not, literally of course, I am a dude and Cacia is a total bitch. But I figured I would keep the hero’s journey motif going as long as I could. I am actually just a lower level demon with too much time on my hands and a bad Sudoku addiction. Call me Azael, or rather don’t. Calling demon names is a bad habit to get into, and the reason I am stuck where I am at the moment. So, actually, please avoid using my name at all costs in case you are one of those rare humans with the ability to summon demons, chances are your name is something stupid like Dante or Vincent or Flamel. Other giveaways are different colored eyes, being born with unnatural colored hair, a symbolic birthmark, wings, or waking up one morning and finding a mystical tattoo on your body. At least that is what the Internet taught me. So, if you fit the description above, please do not say my name... ever. Call Mammon instead, he is a prick. Anyway, Aaron Slyer (Level 3223 Dark Elf Pirate Night-Stalker), was not one of those previously mentioned genetic freaks of nature, who were just naturally gifted in the ways of summoning poor demons from their day jobs and harassing them until said demon chooses to smote their arse, he was just an idiot. You know the kind. You can usually pick them out by the pentagrams Henna tattooed on their foreheads, with “Lamb of God” playing obnoxiously loud from their ear-buds. Those idiots. With their knock-off brand converse and effeminate jewelry. They are pretty hard to miss, go to your local skate-park or electronic boutique and throw a rock, I will almost grantee you will hit one on their do-it-your-self-hair-dyed head. I am beating around the bush if you cannot tell. So, I’m Azael, I should be working my bar tending shift at Hell’s hottest dance club (The Handsome Devil) right about now, it’s trivia night. But, I’m not. Not unless they seriously re-did the place to look like a teenager’s bedroom and I just did not get the memo. I am pretty sure they didn’t. Let us do a quick description of what I could see right at that moment. I could see a laptop on the kid’s desk, it had Chat Roulette up and I had a sneaking suspicion it was his homepage. Meanwhile, some absolutely horrid white rap was playing from the speakers. Above the desk was an over-crowded bookshelf. I cringed to see a cheap copy of “The Magus” leaning next to the complete set of “Harry Potter” books. Of course that cringe became a full shudder then I saw that open on the desk was a book entitled “The Book of Revelations for Dummies”. This kid was an anti-Christ if I ever saw one (I had seen several). Other notables on the shelf were the “Apocrypha”, Dante’s “Divine Comedy”, Goethe’s “Faust”, and “Poe: Major Tales and Poems”, all proudly displayed among multiple works by Terry Pratchett, Anne Rice and Stephenie Meyer. It got worse of course, there were at least half a dozen video game walk-throughs, an entire half shelf dedicated to fortune telling and magic tricks and finally a stack of trade paper back comics at least four and a half feet tall. Of all the books, the comics looked as though they had had the most use. Is my ecstatic enthusiasm coming across correctly? Good, because I would not want you to mistake it for sarcasm or anything. I still haven’t gotten around to explaining why exactly I am here in the first place, have I? Well... I may have skipped over one of the books I saw. I do not like saying it much, brings up a lot of bad memories, but I suppose I have to. It was, Hell forgive me, “The Grimoire of Honorius”... which probably means nothing to you. Here is a summery. “I conjure thee, evil and accursed serpent, -insert poor sucker’s name here-, to appear at my will and pleasure, in this place, before this circle, without noise, deformity, or murmuring”, that basically sums up the content of the book. And, as per its instructions, I was trapped in old Solomon’s grand pentacle. Though, nothin-nothin, I was pretty sure it was written in Crayola crayon. It sure was not holy water and ash, which is all I have to say. To recap. I am trapped in the bedroom of a nerdy teenager who, out of all the new age books about mysticism there are to find at your local used book store, happened to pick up one of the few books that actually does something. Now, in theory, the demon summoning process is long, difficult and time consuming. It involves masses, dead chickens, fasting, and the memorization of at least a dozen litanies, payers and psalms. Somehow, Aaron Slyer apparently bypassed this month-or-so long process and just skipped ahead to the part where he shouts my name and I get pulled out of my morning shower to sit here on his floor while he goes to school all day. Thanks a lot Pope Honorius... thanks a bunch. From beyond the window of my captor's room I could hear children laughing and playing, punctuated every few moments by loud swearing and the sound of breaking glass. Of course, the fact that I could hear anything besides the never-ending whine of some long haired electric guitarist’s power-solo was amazing. It had seriously been going on for at least five minuets by now and I was ready to throw something at the speakers, had anything worth throwing been with in my arms reach, which nothing was but for a balled up pair of dirty socks. In desperation, I threw them anyway. They did absolutely nothing, except for leaving my hand a bit slimy. I sank back down into my sitting position, trying to adjust so I could relieve the pain in my spine from being hunched over for so long, it was not working. It is probably worth noting at this point that, as per specifications in my summons, I was stuck in a one-hundred percent human body for my entire time here. I find this very irritating. I also find it very cold. I remedied the cold part by putting on the only clothing I could reach, which happened to be a pair of jeans. If I had not known better, I would have sworn they were Eugene’s sister’s pants, but I unfortunately did know better. Now, if you are under the misimpression that, for some unexplainable reason, other worldly creatures, like myself, are just naturally very attractive and handsome, I hate to inform you that you are completely and utterly wrong. We have to work very hard at it. So, please picture me as whatever kinky fantasy happens to be your favorite and let us just leave it as that. It is not as though this human body is mine; it is about as real to me as a Halloween mask might be to you. (Also, I apologize to any straight male reading this. You can just assume I am ugly or something.) Before I lose your interest and you move on to go do something else more productive, let me fast-forwards an hour or so. Not much happens in that hour, a good one sixth of it is taken up by a ten minuet song about dragons, and other than that I keep sitting there listening to bickering kids and eventually the sound of cop cars. Mild gunfire follows. Nothing serious I am sure. And then, the moment we have all been waiting for, the door opens! A moment of intense silence as the door swung open gently, the knob bumping against the opposite wall. A pause, as the entity on the other side contemplates entering, then the step across the threshold. Feet testing the new floor surface warily, then springing up to vault the headrest of the near by bed. Eyes searching the room, eventually meeting mine. They held a cruel defiance I should be used to, but never would be. Finally I spoke. “Hey, kitty. Aren’t you so cute?” I clicked my tongue, trying to encourage it to come closer. Instead it yawned and flicked its tail at me in a way I was almost positive was supposed to be an obscene gesture. ...I’m sorry; did you think the kid had come home? Well, no, he still hadn’t. But honestly, the cat is a thousand times more interesting. I mean look at it! It is a cute little cat, how can you not be distracted by it? Eugene arrived a few moments latter, stomping up the stairs with all the enthusiasm of a murderer on death row. He, obviously, was not as cute as the cat and had none of its intrigue or intelligence. Though, like the cat, the first thing he did was flop on the bed when he entered. I like being ignored, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Eh-HEM.” Nothing. “Eh-eh-eh-eh-hem.” I do not know if that onomatopoeia came across correctly. Basically I was coughing like a smoker with tar clogged up in their throat. That lasted a good minuet before I moved on to tactic B. “I do say, I believe that is my lung on your floor, good sir.” I got the cat’s attention this time, it hopped off the bed and walked causally over to me and sat in my lap. However, the young man on the bed continued to be oblivious to me. I somewhat wished I had kept the dirty sock projectile, I was itching to throw something at his head. I tried conversation again. “I’m borrowing your sister’s pants, hope you don’t mind.” That got his attention. “Why does everyone think I wear my sister’s pants, damn it!?!” He sat up as he shouted, throwing his baseball cap on the floor. “Quite possibly because, for all intents and purposes, they are skinny jeans with silver studs on the pockets?” I suggested helpfully. The kid’s face was the most amusing combination of rage, shock, disgust, and fear I think I have ever seen. He quickly tried to mask it with some sort of relaxed but calculated superiority. It failed miserably and was almost as funny as the previous look. I was trying hard not to laugh outright. “Refrain from speaking to me.” Eugene said, still seeming indecisive about the expression he wanted to wear. “Well that sounds like a thoroughly unproductive arrangement. What do you expect me to do, learn sign language?” I am very proud of my mock indignation voice; I have spent ages perfecting it and will take any opportunity to show it off. Eugene, of course, had to spoil it and pull out the big guns. He started to quote the Grimoire, for my benefit obviously. “ ‘Accomplish my will- ” I cut him off, “ will and desire’ blah blah blah, or else Mikey will come and smite me. I know, I’ve read it. Been there done that.” I waved my hand absently. “Can we get on with this?” Now here is something I did not expect. I mean, I had seen the movies, read the books. This was the moment where either the summoner breaks down crying or proceeds to rain hellfire on me. Either way it is typically an unpleasant social situation. What the survivor's guide to humans never taught me though, was what to do when the idiot starts to smile and laugh like a manic. I returned a nervous grin, never thought my jokes were so funny... “Well,” I started hesitantly, “seeing as you’re in s such a good mood,” more insane laughter, “maybe you wouldn’t mind saying the release spell?” I watched him roll on the floor coughing and cackling. “If you don’t know it off hand, ‘get the hell out of here!’ will probably work just as well.” “This is perfect!” He managed to splutter through his dieing laughter. “I’ve got my own real life snarky demon!” I watched him sit himself back up on the bed, wiping a tear from his eyes. “Go on,” he urged, “say more words!” No one back home was going to believe this. “Ummm, ‘for it is the number of a man; and his number is six hundred threescore and six?’ ”. I was so screwed. Eugene cackled again, clapping his hands in applause like a trained monkey. “This so cool! My therapist will never believe this!” “You and me both, kid...” I mean seriously, of all the gosh darn bad luck I could get. My summoner was not just your typical a-hole magician/loser-with-too-much-time-on-his-hands and a god complex. They typically had evil schemes for taking over the world. No. No, the idiot I got was a bona fide crazy person, who thinks keeping a demon as a pet is just so gosh darn awesome. Have I mentioned I am completely screwed yet?

“Okay,” Eugene looked at me with this semi-serious look, “what tricks can you do?” “Excuse me?” “You know. Tricks. Like going invisible or-” “Or what? Taking a quarter out from behind your ear? Or do you mean like rolling over and playing dead!?!?!” Remember my ‘mock indignation’ voice? Well, this is my real indignation voice. “Or- or, would you like me to saw you in half? Huh? Maybe you would like to see me do a double back pike? That’s always a crowd pleaser. But you want to know what my favorite trick is? Showing a man his own esophagus, the look on his face is always so priceless as he just stands there, open mouthed, gaping at his own bloody esophagus just laying there on the floor while he suffocates to death. Quite entertaining if you ask me.” I had to stop my rant to take a breath or two; I searched his face, thinking that I may have managed to scare some sense into him. He had this terrible expression, as if he was having indigestion, but it turns out he was only holding back his laughter. Curse teenagers and their desensitization to violence. “Perfect. This will work out perfectly.” He was grinning ear to ear in a way that made my stomach sink. “... Alright. Since I am going to have to find out sooner or later. What exactly am I doing here?” I actually would have preferred later, but the conversation was stagnating and I can’t stand awkward silences. Though, silence may have been more preferable to what Eugene said next. “Well... gee,” deer-in-the-head-lights stare, “I didn’t, ya’know, really have anything specific in mind...” “Well that’s just great. Really great.” Eugene kept talking over me. “I figured cool stuff would just start happening.” He blinked expectantly, like a dog waiting to be fed. “So... what do you want do?” “Uh- go home, and try to explain to my boss why I ditched work? Sounds glamorous I know-” “Not really.” “It was sarcasm...” “Oh...” Have I mentioned I hate awkward silences? I sighed. Humans die in, what, eighty years? Sixty if they get some terminal illness. Besides, this kid was teenager, good chance he will die in a car crash because he is driving drunk in the near future. I could wait this out... maybe. I felt the need to break the silence again. “So, can I get like, a shirt, or something? Your mom keeps the house really cold, and I’m used to- y’know Hell and fire and stuff...” I had obviously interrupted some very deep stream of thought Eugene was having, or maybe he was just spacing out. Either way it took him a good second or so to react to my voice. “Oh! Yeah, sure.” He hopped up, giving me this fleeting glance and walked away snickering euphorically. Made me feel violated. I called after him. “If you’re sister has the matching blouse, I’ll wear that!” Vague but aggravated curses echoed down the hall. So, my predicament was not the best. It could be worse... somehow. Not really sure how exactly it could be worse, give me a few moments and I am sure I will think of a way. Though, it will probably be something clichéd like rain. Anyway, it was not great. My captor was not only mentally insane but also a complete nerd... okay, I admit, that was redundant. But not the point, the point is that I am stuck with him, and on top of his personality issues, he has absolutely no idea what he intends to do! As far as I can tell, his plan is something along the lines of us starring in a stupid sitcom on Cartoon Network, where I am his indentured supernatural best friend. Which, hate to break it to him, has been done already. I flicked away a Skittle on the floor; its happy colorfulness irritated me. I then regretted flicking it and wished I had ingested it instead. Apparently human bodies need food... I watched the cat walk over and eat my Skittle instead, the cat then proceeded to hack violently and throw the Skittle back up on the floor. Yes, it was quite disgusting. I was now very happy that I did, in fact, not eat the Skittle. Eugene picked that moment to walk back in the room. “Ew... Sparky, don’t eat the rat poison Skittles, I’m almost out.” Eugene tut-tutted, and then turned to me, tossing a hooded sweatshirt in the same movement. It was the most obnoxious shade of of bumble bee yellow I think I have ever seen. “Is this really the best you could find?” I held it by the tips of my fingers like it was a dead animal I did not want to touch. Eugene gave me an unsympathetic shrug as he collected the slimy rat poison Skittle form the floor and pocketed it. “I sure don’t want it. So, yeah, that’s about as good as it gets.” He flashed me a quick malevolent smile. I was pretty sure this was pay back for the sister comment earlier. I rolled my eyes, but really had no choice. The house was creeping slowly into the category of frigid. As my head emerged from the hoodie, the first thing I saw was Eugene staring at me from his bed. It was quite awkward, as I’m sure you can imagine. I squirmed involuntarily. “So... Are you planning on deactivating the pentacle any time soon?” I tried to make it sound like an off hand comment, casual, slick. “No. No, not really.” “Ah, I see.” I paused. “Well, no actually I don’t. Why aren’t you going to deactivate the pentacle?” “Don’t feel like it.” “Well then, I suppose I’ll be stuck here for awhile?” “Looks that way.” “And you are sure about the pentacle thing?” “Yup.” “...in which case, you wouldn’t have a Sudoku puzzle book or the suchlike?” Here’s a riddle for you. There is a four hundred page Sudoku book going thirty miles an hour at a ninety degree angle towards my head. What sound does it make? ...That’s right. You can’t hear it over my swearing. “Sorry,” Eugene mumbled in a half hearted way. “No, you’re not.” Silence. “I’d ask for a pen, but I’m oddly fond of my eyeballs, and would hate to have one of them stabbed out by a flying writing utensil.” “Now, that's uncalled for!” “Actually I consider it highly called for! Considering I have a welt the size of my fist on the back of my head!” “That didn’t leave a mark-” “Wanna come check?!?” “...No, not particularly.” We sat in angry silence for a few moments while I perused the book. A purple crayon rolled into the circle. I looked up just in time to see Eugene climb back into bed. I picked up the crayon hesitantly, and then began my puzzles. “You could say ‘thank you’...” “You’re right. I could, but I’m not going to.” When Eugene did not respond, I risked a quick glance upwards.I was dismayed to see Eugene had stopped paying attention to me and was now playing a hand held video game console. Apparently, he meant what he said. That was the end of our conversation for the day. Eugene went about doing what every other social outcast in high school does. Eat junk food, play Call of Duty, look at pictures of cats on the Internet, you know, the usual. I continued to write numbers into little grid boxes so that no matter what way you read it is always had the numbers one through nine. About half way through the book, I began to question why I had ever found this fun... It was almost, though not quite, as fun as counting sand. But, I had no intention of letting my captor know I was board. I therefore began drawing little pictures in the margins of the book. Most of them were cityscapes being destroyed by Godzilla with graphic depictions of stick figures being mutilated. I was very pleased by these, I even considered quiting my job when I get back to Hell so I could become and artist. But, then thought better of it and decided I’d just make my own DeviantArt account instead. You may have noticed I completely neglected to describe Eugene. Personally, I find him completely unremarkable and not worth describing, but since he is the main character I suppose I should put some effort into relating his various attributes to you. His hair had identity problems. Some parts of it were down right curly, but others were as straight as John Wayne. It wasn’t particularly long, but also couldn’t really be classified as short either. Not to mention the color. It was inconstantly dyed black, with the roots growing in a very mousy brown and other patches of it just fading to grey from the bleach. Eugene was very wise to keep it covered by his baseball cap as often as possible. If his hair set the tone for the rest of him, then the rest of him lived up to it very well. Acne covered his face in a way that, if you glanced at him very quickly, you might mistake for native American war paint. His eyes were the most muddy hazel eyes you have ever seen. They looked like cheap alexandrite. His nose was too big, eyes were too small. He was constantly squinting because he didn’t want to wear his glasses and couldn’t afford contacts. The rest of him was fairly average. Stupid looking hoodie, tripp pants that never seem to quite cover up his hula dancer boxers. Let your imagination run wild, chances are you are correct. Just imagine that loser punk kid in your high school who was voted most likely to be arrested in the school yearbook. That’s Eugene. Now, I haven't had a human body in quite some time. For a few moments I was completely distracted by it. I bit my finger nails, twisted my hair, contemplated what a pinkie toe is for. The sort of thought process most infants go through as they stick their feet in their mouth. I had not degraded to that level, but got fairly close. I was busy trying to look at my nose and lick my elbows when my lower abdomen made a strange noise. To me it seemed extremely loud, however Eugene was, as always, oblivious to my predicament. In a way I didn’t want to disturb him, he looked like he was busy plotting world war three and would snap on the next person he saw. But, I’m not that considerate. “Why is it making that noise?” I pointed to where I felt the sound coming from. I was completely not shocked when Eugene didn’t bother looking up. “I do say, good sir-” I saw him slam his head on the desk. “I believe there is a small angered animal attempting to escape my intestines-” “What! What do you want?” Eugene spun in his swivel chair, mouse still gripped in his right hand. “You don’t find the accent cute any more?” Mood swings much... “No! I am very busy with-” “Home made explosives?” “...Maybe.” “Anyway, this,” I gestured again, “is making odd noises and I do not approve of it. How would one go about rectifying this situation?” He gave me that dumb stare I am growing to despise. “Like, a rumbling?” “More like angry gurgling.” “You’re hungry.” “I am unfamiliar with this term. Please enlighten me.” “It’s what you feel when you need food.” “...Like Skittles?” “Yes, Skittles are food.” “Would you like to get me some Skittles, preferably not the ones laced with rat poison?” The dumb look had slowly morphed into a glare of pure anger and hatred. “No, I will not get you Skittles.” We stared at each other for a few moments, after about the first three moments my stomach made noise again. “I do say-” “Oh my God!” Eugene jumped up and stormed out of the room. I could tell by the irregular thumping that he had almost tripped down the stairs. I could hear his faint petulant voice from the floor below. “Mom! Wheres all the food?!?! Mom! Why is there never any thing to eat in this house?” And other common whinny, spoiled, good for nothing, son of a b type remarks followed.



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