Rise, our Great One!” shouted Miss Riley O’Brien. “Rise, Kuthalu, dead but dreaming! From your home in the sunken city of Urilia come to us and help us to rise above the insignificance of humanity! IA KUTHALU!”

Riley, twenty, and her little sister Melissa, eighteen, were prostitutes (though they much preferred the more upper-class sounding appellation “call-girls”) from suburban Essex, Maryland. They had come to this profession after Riley’s boyfriend, Jimmy Curwin, had died of a drug overdose. Jimmy had originally come from nearby Dundalk, and had been “disowned” by his family when they found out he was dating Riley. Why? Because she was not of their blood. The Curwins had practiced strict inbreeding for generations in order to preserve what they saw as a sort of divine strain in their origination. Riley did not understand any of that, but she had always loved staring at Jimmy Curwin’s webbed toes, his oddly-staring eyes, and the rough areas on the sides of his neck which resembled rudimentary gills. But after Jimmy was gone and she no longer had the money from his crystal-meth lab to live on, Riley turned to hooking, bringing her younger sister along with her. After all, it was better than going back to their hideously abusive trailer-park mother.

Among the late Mr. Curwin’s belongings, Riley was surprised to find a book. Bound in leather that looked suspiciously like human skin, it was none other than the horrid Necronomicon, written by the medieval “Mad Arab” named Abdul Alhazred.

Now, you see, Riley had actually made it as far as the ninth grade before dropping out of school a few years before, and so was quite proud of her ability to read the volume that her boyfriend had left, so she felt, as his final gift to her. In it she had found the formulae for calling forth alien gods that had ruled during certain debased, eldritch periods of prehistoric Earth. Chief among these was Great Kuthalu.

The book had also taught her the use of sexual energies in raising the “Magical” forces necessary to successfully complete these evil ceremonies. Having knowledge of this, Riley and Melissa had found it quiet easy to find a “john” willing to go along with it all. His name was William C. Bundt, a Baltimore City businessman whom they had met, of course, via social media. Bundt basically lived for three spare-time things: fornication, marijuana, and pseudo-Satanism. These were his fetishes, and, coupled with his naturally submissive nature, they made it rather a simple task for the two cute hillbilly girls to lure William out into the woods overlooking the Back River Waste-Water Treatment Plant in the suburbs of Baltimore, with the promise of some hot sex, good weed, and black magical thrills.

So, now, as Melissa got on her knees before William Bundt and did what she could to raise as much “Magical energy” as was possible while the copious narcotic incense smoke drifted around them, her sister Riley read aloud the hideously grotesque incantation of Kuthalu:

“Rise, our Great One! Rise, Kuthalu, dead but dreaming! From your home in the sunken city of Urilia come to us and help us to rise above the insignificance of humanity! IA KUTHALU!”

“IA KUTHALU!!” repeated William, as he had been instructed to do when Melissa brought him to climax. “IA KUTHALU!! Oh my God!! Yes!!”

Then, with a flash of light black as the very heart of evil, the thousand slimy tentacles of the monstrous, wicked abomination known as Kuthalu burst forth from the filthy, polluted waters of Back River!

It took but one of the monster’s huge, writhing tentacles to reach forth and pull the lecherous Mr. William Bundt under the sickening, brackish water shrieking to a horrible fate better imagined than described. The two girls stood by, laughing at the success of their ritual -- Their success in bringing forth the horrific, unspeakably ghastly extraterrestrial deity which would now attempt to destroy all civilization upon the planet!

It was then that I arrived on the scene, all black leathern great-coat and obvious indignation at having to deal with this plebeian rabble.

“Bloody Hell, you little harlots,” I said to the two sisters, “Did you actually think you could go and do something like this without my knowing about it? I have tangled with your disgusting ‘god’ before -- to ITS disadvantage I might add!”

I turned to the creature called Kuthalu and, raising my right hand in the Elder Sign, spoke the words of Sumerian exorcism:

“ZI ANNA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA! Spirit of the Sky, remember! Spirit of the Earth, remember! I invoke the covenant sworn between you and the race of men! I am the One Living Icon of the Daemon-Star, and the most supreme ordained Magician of the Sorcerers of Shem! It is hereby declared that the one known as Kuthalu shall not come forth this day to bring destruction upon human-kind!

“Be gone, foul one! Your time is not yet come!!”

After this, with a piercing, otherworldly scream, the insanely awful form of Kuthalu vanished as if it had never been there.

I glanced at Riley and Melissa O’Brien with a stern look of warning before taking the Necronomicon from them and then levitating upward, flying off into the Stygian darkness of that Baltimore County night -- towards my posh headquarters in Roland Park.

The O’Brien sisters gave up Magic after that. Riley left whoring and got a job at a local fast-food joint. As for Melissa, she became an internet porn star. I will leave it up to you, dear reader, to decide from this which of them received the worse punishment for their wicked deeds. …

My name is RUMANOS -- DR. DANIEL RUMANOS, Intergalactic Man of Mystery. Although I have the physical appearance of an human being -- a tall, strongly-built gentleman with dark hair and strikingly-handsome Anglo-Semitic features -- I am in reality far more than this. For I do indeed carry within my blood the superior genes of the legendary Watchers of the Daemon-Star ALGOL; this extraterrestrial heritage granting me numerous powers and abilities that appear “supernatural” to the people of planet Earth.

The vast majority of Algolites, Masters of all Space and Time, tend to live in isolation from the rest of the Universe. However, there does exist hidden deeply within the government of our people a secret service agency known as the KOSMIKOS or Cosmic Intervention Department. The purpose of the Kosmikos is to covertly intercede in cases that threaten the security of existence anywhere throughout the incalculable reaches of Creation. Plausible Deniability and all that. I am an operative of this organisation, stationed upon Earth from whence I work undercover in cases involving paranormal espionage.

My encounter with the “Call-Girls of Kuthalu” was a minor skirmish in comparison with the debacle in which I soon after found myself, a tale which I shall now relate to you. it is the story of my battle with the false minister Rev. Dave Moylan and the Horror at Fell‘s Point, at which I witnessed A View To A Conjuring!!! …

My resolve to investigate the bizarre goings-on at St. Peter’s United Church of Jesus was certainly being tested in the extreme. Having to sit in that room with the church’s congregation, all of whom were obvious addicts of certain unnatural sexual perversions, was bad enough. The necessity of sitting through the ultra-liberal, feel-good-about-yourself sermon was an added encumbrance.

The small church, located in the waterside Fell’s Point neighbourhood of Baltimore, only had around a dozen or so congregants that Wednesday evening. Most of them were male poofter types, as I had expected from the reputation of the “United Churches of Jesus” denomination as a “tolerant” choice among Christian sects. Hideous.

There were a couple of women present, however. I am surprised to say that they were both young and attractive as well. Their names, as I later ascertained, were Misty Holobaugh and Andrea Ackles. Misty was tall and slender, with rather short raven hair and large, passionate blue eyes. Her jeans and generic rock-band T-shirt did not succeed in hiding her smashing figure. Her girlfriend Andrea was also cute, very petite with chestnut hair and grey eyes. I immediate summed up their supposed Lesbianism as just a fad, as faked homosexuality has now become among many young people.

As for the pastor, he was known as the Reverend Dave “BJ” Moylan, a one-time Roman Catholic layman who had joined the UCoJ after accepting his own homophile predilections and having failed to make a name for himself in several other religions and cults of which he had been a member. After all, the United Churches of Jesus do indeed make ordination an exceedingly easy thing. So long as one tows the organisation’s liberal party-line and agenda, they are quick to bestow honours. Moylan’s gayness made his rise even faster. The fact that the UCoJ’s current leader is an old flamer himself probably had a lot to do with it, especially considering the weekend that he and Dave Moylan spent together at a luxurious island resort immediately preceding the latter’s ordainment. Oy vey.

“We are all children of the Lord,” preached Rev. Moylan that evening. “He loves us all no matter who we love! Men with men. Women with women. It does not matter to him. He sees us all through the lens of the Redeemer, who never said anything against gay folks!”

The usual queer agenda, I inwardly sighed. Ignoring large portions of the Scripture, condensing the Word of God to suit your own twisted desires. Of course, the ultra-conservatives do the same thing. Both have their own favourite, skewered translations and never dare stray from them.

“Yes, beloved ones,” Moylan (himself a thin individual of medium height, with brown hair and a rather pallid complexion) continued as the congregation swooned at his rehearsed words of sickening consolation, “He loves us all. In fact, I’ll let you in on a little secret. He loves those who disobey him even more! ‘Why?’ you may ask. Because the disobedient need Him more! He needs us to need Him, yes He does.”

I did not care for the sound of this, to say the least. I had expected heresy from this disgusting excuse for a “church”, but I now had a creeping feeling, a most horrid presentiment, that what I was hearing from this would-be pastor was something even worse -- something with absolute preternatural diabolism at the very root of it. I was soon to find out that I was indeed correct in this assumption. In fact, the grotesque supernatural terror lurking behind the words of Rev. Dave Moylan -- there at the blasphemously-named St. Peter’s Church in Fell’s Point -- was something beyond even the most bizarre imaginings of fiction or fantasy. It was an obscene satanic evil most ancient, horrendous, and unspeakably ghastly.

“That is why, my beloved,” Dave Moylan went on as a look of unnameable wickedness spread across his countenance, “He needs more than any other those beings to which I will now introduce you all. That is why He will forgive us for worshipping them here tonight. For now they will come forth, back into the world to avenge us against those who hate us for our membership in the LGBT Community. My dear friends, tonight shall come to us the Adversaries, the spirits of the desert, the fallen ones who protect us if we will only honour, love, and worship them -- the SHAITANS!!”

This announcement, though of unnameable dread and unmentionable horror, was not a complete surprise to me. You see, Dave Moylan had at one time been on the membership of that particularly odious satanic cult known as the Order of the Shaitans, the various members of which had dispersed after the death of its “High Priest”, the wicked and unmentionably perverted Magister Reginald “Ron” Mershon. This Mershon, I should add, had been destroyed some years previously after a perilous and terrifying magical fire-fight with me.

My mission for the Kosmikos had been to find out what could Moylan now be up to at this so-called “church”. Was it just a new way for him to get sex and money, or something even more sinister? I had known that it could indeed be something of exceedingly dangerous paranormal import that was going on at this Fell’s Point location of the execrable UCoJ.

That, then, is how I came to be present at that Wednesday evening service at which the horrible “Reverend” Moylan announced his intention of calling forth the Shaitans; those phantasmagorical spirits of the one-time rulers of the now long-destroyed planet Eblis. The Shaitans -- arch-demoniacal beings worshipped by the heretical Yezidi sect of the Middle East and later by Ron Mershon’s grotesque cult!

“And now, my beloved ones,” intoned Moylan, “they come forth to show us their love! So let’s dance into the Hellfire with THE SHAITANS!!”

Indeed, at that precise moment in response to the false pastor’s invocation of their most unholy name steamed forward from the very area of his heart an ungodly throng of ebony black spirits as the eldritch Shaitans themselves entered that unhallowed sanctuary. Dave Moylan then began laughing, cackling in sickening mirth as the demons went to take the sacrifice he had prepared for them: the assembled members of the congregation who now began falling down lifeless, as the diabolical Shaitans drained the very life-force from them!

I just barely had time to ready my Algolitish defences before the Shaitan spirits reached me. I thereby surrounded myself with a barrier of orange and blue energy that succeeded in deflecting the horrid, nightmarish entities away from myself.

All around, the helpless members of the congregation of St. Peter’s United Church of Jesus were dropping down dead as the eldritch Shaitans drained their very life force from their bodies. However, I then noticed something quite odd: only the men of the congregation were dying. Strangely, the evil spirits had not attacked the two girls at all. Why would this be so? Then it dawned on me: Rev. Dave Moylan had been possessed by the demons for some time, and they had, if only for a while, picked up certain of his predilections. Moylan was an homosexual, and the Shaitans -- grotesquely enough -- were for now only “interested” in men!

The two girls huddled cowering in each other’s arms in the corner of a pew. Andrea was whimpering sadly whilst Misty was wide-eyed with shock at the horror of the situation. I went over to them and we quickly made introductions.

Meanwhile, the sickening satanic sodomite known as Rev. Moylan was still laughing with maniacal glee at the deadly havoc his obscene Satanism had wrought.

“You two need to get out of here whilst you can,” I said to the girls. “The spirits could overcome Moylan’s programming and attack you at any moment! I shall keep him distracted so you can get to the exit.”

I accordingly turned towards the insane, false “Reverend” Dave Moylan and immediately cast a bolt of my Algolitish energies directly at him. He was still somewhat protected by the Shaitans, which continued to swirl around him -- an ebon-black cloud of unnameable terror. My bolt, nevertheless, hit him with enough force to cause him to cry out in pain -- and even more in outrage.

“What!” he exclaimed. “Who dares? Who would dare to thus defy the mighty power of my beloved Shaitans?”

“I am Daniel Rumanos of Algol,” was my reply, “and I am here to bring the proper punishment upon you for your wicked and unholy deeds!”

“Rumanos!” answered Moylan, his voice dripping with disdain. “You are the meddling Magician who murdered our mighty Master Mershon! By the power of the Shaitans, and by the Creed of the Yezidis, we tonight will have our revenge!”

I heard the girl Andrea screaming pitifully from behind me. She had reached the doors, but found them to be sealed. Moylan had taken precautions that no one would escape his phantasmagorical display of occult power. The other girl, Misty, was standing beside me, facing the madman and his swirling fog of Shaitan spirits. She was still shaken with fear, but seemed determined to stand and face the dreadfulness -- come what may.

“We can’t escape,” she said with surprising composure, “so we might as well die fighting.”

A brave and noble sentiment indeed, but nevertheless I felt rather sorry for the young woman. After all, she could not possibly even begin to understand the true implications of the phantasmal and supernatural horror that we were actually dealing with.

“Shaitans!!” bellowed the obscene Dave Moylan. “In the name of MERSHON, go forth and destroy the wretched Rumanos and those he would protect! Kill them all!!”

And with this, the horrid mass of demoniacal spirits, now completely renewed with satanic vigour and empowered with the abominable evil of Moylan‘s filthy and disgustingly repellent lifestyle, rushed directly towards us!

Then, young Misty did a rather interesting thing. She suddenly lifted her right hand and quite calmly made a sign in the air before her whilst speaking a prayer in German. The hideous mass of Shaitan spirits, although not entirely halted by this, did slow in their rush towards us.

“What exactly did you do?” I enquired of her.

“I made a Pennsylvania Dutch Hex Sign,” she replied. “I remembered learning them in my childhood just outside Lancaster -- but never knew if they actually worked!”

It looks like they do, at least to some extent. The Shaitans backed away and turned in another direction. Unfortunately, it appeared they were hurrying across the room towards the other girl, Andrea. I ran over to her in order to offer my occult protection.

“No!” said Andrea -- oddly enough, to me! “Go away! You’re a man and all men are after is sex! Stay away from me! Misty will protect me! Misty!!”

At this declaration, Andrea indeed ran in the direction of Misty. Unfortunately for the poor, misguided lass, the horrid conglomeration of evil spirits had advanced between the two of them and Andrea, to my horror, ran directly into the centre of that jetty-black, swirling chaos of demoniacal power. The girl was dead within seconds, blood spurting from her every orifice as she slipped lifelessly to the floor.

The insane Rev. Dave Moylan guffawed with Mephistophelean merriment at this.

“Yes, my most beloved Shaitans!” he shouted. “Destroy them all! For the memory of Magister Ron Mershon! For Eblis! For your unfairly-hated people, the Yezidis! And for the Baltimore LGBT Community and our Satan-given rights!!”

This Moylan, I realised, was beyond madness. Oy, I thought, at least the late Mershon wasn’t a bloody great pansy! I then knew what had to be done. I spoke the words of an appropriate banishing, an exorcism against the Shaitan spirits that the repulsive Dave Moylan had conjured in this mindlessly immoral plot to further his ungodly sodomitic lusts:

“Cum masculo non commisceberis coitu femineo quia abominatio est! Qui dormierit cum masculo coitu femineo uterque operati sunt nefas morte moriantur sit sanguis eorum super eos! GARGOUELLIOS!!!”

A gateway immediately opened -- a gateway to the dark inter-dimensional gaol prepared countless ages ago by my people, the Watchers of Algol, in order to imprison the spirits of unnameable darkness. A gateway to what is known as GEHENNA!

The spinning throng of evil spirits, with their cacophonous howling echoing horridly about the room of that unhallowed “church”, fell directly into that great Abyss, which then closed behind them with a sound as if the shutting of the unspeakably immense doorway to a vast stone vault.

A look of fear then clouded Moylan’s countenance. He backed away hurriedly, not noticing that he was walking directly into the control box of the room’s electrical systems. There was some open wiring and, with a ghastly shriek, the devil-worshipping maniac known as Rev. Dave Moylan was electrocuted, dying in hideous pain but indeed still far more quickly and mercifully than he truly deserved!

Sparks from the wiring and from Moylan’s charred corpse had reached the carpeting, and I knew it would be best to let this building -- this blasphemous “United Church of Jesus” -- burn to the ground as a rightful purification of the perverse, abominable horror that had been unleashed and so frighteningly experienced there.

I grabbed Misty by the hand. She did not resist at all, and we ran quickly from the unholy edifice. …

A short time later, the girl and I were standing in an alleyway a few blocks distant, behind the Admiral Fell Pub, as the light from the near-by burning building of the false church lit up the sky. It was going up like a pile of faggots. I knew that the purification would be complete by the time the Baltimore City Fire Department could arrive, and the whole thing would be attributed to bad wiring. So be it.

To my delighted surprise, Misty suddenly embraced me and kissed me passionately on the mouth, her desire and appreciation extremely obvious.
“Hmmm,” I said in response. “I kind of had the idea before that you didn’t like men.”

“Well,” she replied with a sultry smile, “I guess I’ve never met a real man until now.”