“O our mighty Lord of Darkness,” chanted Joan Styles, self-proclaimed High Priestess of the Cult of Zabulon, “thou who delights in the ecstatic throes of death and in the spilling of virgin blood; thou who haunts the tombs of the departed; O our mighty Master Zabulon, come forth! Accept our sacrifice, and grant us power!”
The hideous woman, corpulent and middle-aged, clad in a black vestment robe and blasphemous mitre, picked up the long, cruel ritual dagger and held it aloft, letting the pungent incense fumes of unspeakably unlawful herbs waft across it in an unholy rite of satanic sanctification. The assembled members of the cult watched in godless devotion.
Upon the altar of sacrifice lay a beautiful young blonde, stripped totally nude and drugged into complete submission. Her name was Gala and she was -- shocking to report -- the daughter of the “High Priestess”.
However, young Gala Styles was not going to be ritually murdered before undergoing an atrocity of even more horrible report -- for the plan of the depraved Joan Styles was to first have the girl be demonically raped; wickedly ravished by the eldritch arch-devil Zabulon himself! She would then be slaughtered, and the satanic secretion, mixed with the spurting blood of the dying lass, would be used as an anointing fluid for the members of the demoniacal cult in what they hoped would become a source of horridly puissant mystical strength.
I stood outside the circle of swirling, ebon-black occult force that was surrounding and protecting the cult; and struggled to complete the formula of banishing that would properly tear it down. I had to finish it and save the innocent girl from undergoing this unspeakable and phantasmagorical violation -- and I was running out of time.
This is not exactly the way I had planned to spend my retirement, now is it?
My name is RUMANOS -- DR. DANIEL RUMANOS, Demonologist, Exorcist, and Occult Detective. Although I have the physical form of a human gentleman -- tall, muscular, and with strikingly handsome Anglo-Semitic features -- I am in reality no mere mortal. You see, I do carry within my blood the superior genes of the mysterious Watchers of Algol; this extraterrestrial heritage granting me numerous abilities that appear as “magical” or “miraculous” to the people of Earth. Whilst most Algolites keep to themselves, only observing the goings-on of the rest of the Universe, I have for many years made it my goal to use my alien gifts in order to defend and protect the helpless from the demonic forces.
In actuality, most of those terrible creatures of evil known as devils and demons are really the disembodied spirits of certain immensely-powerful races of beings that the Watchers of Algol destroyed countless aeons ago, before our current official policy of non-intervention was implemented. These include the Cacodemons of the Andromeda Galaxy, the Shaitans of the planet Eblis, and the Maskim of Mercury, amongst others.
However, I had recently begun to feel that my holy crusade against the diabolical powers was drawing to a close. Certainly, I had done my part, eh? Along with this was the fact that my beautiful and eternally-youthful wife, KATRINA (also known as Heaven’s Hell), had completed her academic degrees in Psychology and Theology and now spent much of her time raising our young daughter, Karen. Our son, Ehrich, reigns benevolently as Prince-Regent on my glorious home planet Daemonia, ninety-three light years from Earth. Therefore, my wonderful wife and I had decided to finally retire and to never again take part in active supernatural detective work, and in stead to spend our time as intentionally superannuated superheroes there at our huge Gothic mansion residence in the Roland Park neighbourhood of Baltimore, Maryland.
Nevertheless, here I was instead working feverously to break down a mystical barrier and to save a teenage girl from being demonically ravished and murdered in an hideous satanic ceremony. Bloody hell.
“Come forth, Lord Zabulon,” intoned the execrable villainess Joan Styles. “Come forth, and take this nubile maiden for thy pleasure!”
With this most dreadfully sinful and impious evocation, there began to coalesce above the altar the darksome form of a distorted blackly-hued man with the horns and hooves of a filthy goat, its essence obscenely engorged with the lustful desires that it indeed intended to satisfy upon the naked body of the youthful and innocent girl Gala Styles. It was indeed the phantasmal, grotesque, and monstrous arch-demon himself -- Zabulon!!
As I struggled to break open the occult barrier, I could not prevent my mind from drifting back to the strange occurrences that had led to this lapse in my resolve to retire. It had all started two days previously, when I had received a telephone message from Gala Styles, begging for my help. She had heard of some of the various occult cases into which I had delved in the past, and said she desperately needed my assistance in preventing what she believed could be an unspeakably dreadful horror.
I was sceptical, but nevertheless I agreed to meet the young woman at a coffee shop in downtown Baltimore the next afternoon. She was already there when I arrived, drinking a cup of tea, so I quickly purchased a cappuccino (shaken, not stirred) for myself and sat down across the table from her.
Gala was a very attractive teenage girl of medium height, slender, with long blonde hair, enchanting blue eyes, and skin the of purest white. Her voice was melodically sweet, even though it understandably trembled somewhat as she told me her story.
It seems her mother, the widowed dowager Mrs. Joan Styles, had a fortnight before acquired a strange, medieval manuscript at a near by antique shop. Soon after, Mrs. Styles had begun to obsessively claim that she was going to “summon forth” something -- something incredibly powerful that would require a “sacrifice” that her daughter, Gala, would provide to it. Joan Styles had always gone out of her way to be certain her child did not “mix” with the lower-class trash of the city, and as a result Gala had never been involved in an actual relationship and remained a virgin.
Now, I have enough shrewdness and experience to know not to always take these things with complete seriousness. After all, the “paranormal” and the “psychic” have become so outrageously popular in recent years that most people seem to have had some interest in it at some time or another. Seriously, it bloody well seems that everyone knows someone who is a self-proclaimed “paranormal investigator”, “ghost hunter”, “wraith chaser”, or whatever is the current term for “congenital idiot who believes that spirits talk to him”. I felt fairly certain that Gala’s nutty mother would get over this long before anything spiritually dangerous could come to pass, and move on to whatever the next popular obsession for frumpy middle-aged women happens to be. That is, in by far the majority of cases of this sort, what occurs. Indeed, it was the result of wasting so much of my time with such foolishness that had played a large factor in my recent decision to retire, and, despite my rather legendary weakness for damsels in distress, I saw no reason to allow this frightened schoolgirl to nullify my resolution.
“Do not be scared,” I told her. “It is highly unlikely that your mother could have uncovered any formulae necessary to conjure any authentic demonic forces. Even the talk of ‘sacrifice‘ is likely only harmless symbolism.”
“I hope you’re right, Dr. Rumanos,” answered Gala as she attempted to control her nervousness. “But that manuscript is just so weird!”
I enquired as to whether she remembered anything contained on the manuscript, and she replied that she had, as her mother had shown it to her on several occasions. I took a pen and small notebook from the pocket of my trench-coat and handed them to her.
“Write down any of the words or symbols which you can remember,” said I. “It does not have to be perfect. Just anything that you recall from looking at that old manuscript.”
The young girl did so. It was not much. Just a couple of sentences in a dialect that I could not immediately place (though it did, I had to admit to myself, seemed peculiarly familiar). I promised Gala that I would do some research, then contact her as soon as possible to inform her as to whether there were indeed any dangers to her or anything that might in any way require my specialised services.
We parted and I returned to my headquarters, searching my rather extensive library of occult texts for something that would give a clue as to the meaning of the manuscript that had so unnerved young Gala. What I found was an unnameable horror, a terror of the deepest and most ungodly satanic lusts; of darkling desires and phantasmagorical phantasies made manifest in an absolutely shrieking, monumentally mephitic Mephistophelean ghastliness!
What I discovered was that the manuscript which Gala’s murderous and morally-malodorous mother had obtained was written in a rare variation of the Coptic script of late antiquity, even though the text itself was in actuality backwards-written Medieval Latin. The small section of writing that the girl had remembered was just enough to inform me as to the absolute shocking horror of that which was about to occur -- for what it contained was part of a satanic summoning; a most unholy calling forth of that powerfully-lustful abomination, the arch-demon and incubus Zabulon!
This Zabulon, an hellish being notorious in olden times for its hideous inclination of raping young nuns in convents, was said to be very difficult to exorcise. Its strength increased by the obscene might of the sensual terror it generated in the helpless maidens it ravished. The horrid creature’s cult of worshippers had remained small but spiritually-potent over the centuries, and now Gala’s wicked mother, the hopelessly immoral Mrs. Joan Styles, had, by benefit of having discovered this long-lost manuscript, declared herself the new High Priestess of the Cult of Zabulon!
Do you comprehend the unspeakable nightmare of this, dear reader?! Nevertheless, the shocking eldritch terror of it was even worse than you could imagine from what I have related to you thus far; for the darksome demonic fiend known as Zabulon is said to be most powerfully summoned on the night of the first full moon of springtime, when the forces of lust and unnameable desire are at their highest. As I stared at the diabolical words the innocent girl had remembered and written down for me, I was overcome by the sudden, supremely terrifying observation that sunset was nigh and that it was now that very evening -- the Night of the Moon of Zabulon!!
I immediately attempted to contact Gala Styles via the telephone number that she had provided me. There was no answer. I did not even dare to leave a message. Most likely the lass was already a captive of the Cacodemon’s cult, and it would be best if I did not as yet let them know that I was on to them and their screamingly ungodly plans.
Fortunately, the girl had also given me her home address. I left my headquarters and journeyed to the location forthwith. It was in a large, mickle old manor-house shadowed by the trees of its upmarket north Baltimore neighbourhood of Homeland.
Night had now fallen and the full moon had risen, casting its leprous light over all as I approached the house. I felt a sinister psychic force emanating from the area of the manor’s basement. So this was were the eerie Esbat of Zabulon was being celebrated, that dreadful ceremony of darkest witchcraft in which young Gala was no doubt earmarked to play an appallingly important part -- for there was now no doubt in my mind, due to my research concerning the matter, that she was assigned by her own mother’s rotten cult to be ravished by the licentious demonic horror Zebulon himself!
There were some invisible magical wards set up about the house, but they were not strong and I was easily able to pass by them. All of the most powerful occult force at the cult’s disposal had been centred on the basement, where the unholy calling of their demoniacal lord was already underway. I heard the terrible chanting as I descended the gloomy stairway to the subterranean chamber in which the disgusting cult was assembled. I heard the deplorable Joan Styles repeat the final words of the summoning in English, as her own daughter lay helpless upon the altar of madness, the other darkly-robed worshippers looking on in revolting ecstasy as the monstrous form of the demon came into view over the lovely, totally-helpless form of the fair-skinned, blonde teenager.
“Accept our sacrifice, O mighty Zabulon,” intoned the satanic high priestess, “and grant us thy power!”
The loathly, goatish black form of the arch-demon Zabulon approached the helpless nude maiden as I struggled to break down the mystical circle of supernatural power set up by the cult as a protective measure around the edges of the ritual chamber. I had only moments remaining to save young Gala from the lustful intent of the demon -- indeed only a brief time until its huge, monstrously-engorged essence penetrated the girl with the impious intention of spurting forth its filthy, hellish, diabolically slimy seed into her lusciously beautiful body!!!
I finally did manage to break through the magic circle, indeed a mere matter of seconds before that obscene demoniacal horror, that horned beast, the arch-incubus known to extreme infamy as Zabulon, would have succeeded in profanely violating the innocent young lady, that helpless girl Gala Styles -- of painfully penetrating her and pouring out its unmentionable, supremely-sickening satanic desire into her innocent, chaste form.
Quickly stepping forward, I immediately cast a bolt of my orange and blue Algolitish energies at the hideous old fiend.
“Be gone, you creature of evil!” I commanded. “For I am Lord Daniel Rumanos of ALGOL, and I do thus exorcise you! The power compels you! The power compels you! The power compels you! I do charge you to now be gone from this place, most vile and unholy one, in the Sacred Name of YEHASHUAH YEHOVASHAH!!”
Then, by the awesome power of my holy proclamation, the unspeakably wicked devil Zabulon, with a monstrous howling sound as of the lamentations of myriads upon myriads of eternally damned souls, was forced backwards as the darksome portal opened wide behind it -- the black gateway to that other-dimensional gaol set up in ages past by the Watchers for the just imprisonment of the horridly debased spirits of the Cacodemons!
“Rumanos!” bellowed the ebony demon. “Rumanos! Daemon-Star! Hell Hell Hell Hell Hell!!!”
However, before the demoniac horror Zabulon disappeared into that terrible Abyss, it reached forth one of its horrifying hands and grasped between diabolical talons its would-be “High Priestess”, the exceedingly execrable Mrs. Joan Styles, thus dragging her shrieking with it into the very depths of a much-deserved, never-ending Perdition!
“No!” screamed the villainous Mrs. Styles. “No! No, my Lord Zabulon! NOOOOOOOOO!!”
With this, the demon and its worshipper together fell directly into the Pit, the blackest everlasting void of that which is known as HELL.
The other cultists had by now fled in abject terror, the portal to the Pit closed, and I was alone in the now-quiet ritual chamber with the girl. I lifted her from the unholy altar and carried her out of that dark basement, so that her first sight upon regaining full consciousness would not be the surroundings in which the eldritch, lustful demon Zabulon had been evoked. I most fervently prayed that any memory she might have of the situation would be mercifully blocked.
There is not now much else to tell in this account of how an hideously immoral and absolutely, irredeemably insane woman by the name of Joan Styles attempted to gain incredibly dangerous supernatural power by the ceremonial calling forth of an arch-devil, using her own innocent teenage daughter as a sacrifice of lust and blood -- of rape and murder. Fortunately, Gala inherited the Styles estates, along with a generous trust-fund her late father had left for her. In addition to being an heiress, it is quite heartening to report that she is now a student at a certain major university.
As you might imagine, my previous resolution to retire forever from occult investigations was indeed broken by this bizarre and unspeakably momentous case. I shall therefore remain Dr. Daniel Rumanos -- Exorcist, Demonologist, Master Magician, Intergalactic Man of Mystery, and all of that -- and will continue using all of the forces at my control in this ongoing holy crusade, this sacred mission of protecting the innocent, the blameless, and the pure against the satanic forces of obscenely grotesque and diabolically unnameable wickedness.
And so did I indeed learn to never say never again.
***** DANIEL RUMANOS WILL RETURN *****