In Belphegor, We Trust

In Belphegor, We Trust

Posted by A Great Liar

Belphegor

There she was, barging in the room without a warning just as her moral senses permitted her to, her morbid visage, in one fell swoop, is revealed before my eyes, containing not an element of surprise. The smoke queen I am often privileged to witness post midnight hours, who couldn’t tell the difference between a Turkish hunk and a Mexican grizzly, not that there is much to speak of.

She was in just as I was lighting the candles, the last of the rituals before the ceremony could be started. It was my first dabble with the initiations of the dark sides, and I feared she was there just in the nick of time to ruin it.

She saw me dressed in a black robe, the dark candles on the altar in front, and an elaborate looking Pentagram drawn on the floor right in the middle of the room.

She asked. "Lev, what the hell you think you are doing?”

I replied. “Well… you know ... I am tryin’ to call somebody up”.

I turned around to look at her and saw her standing against the doorway, swaying a little. Blinking, and not just from the eyes!

As if now she is there ... and now she is not, back and forth in a drunken motion.

"Calling who up?" She replied. "And why are you dressed so weird. And what’s with the cand…” She noticed the floor. “Goddamitt, you just ruined my fuckin’ floor!!! YOU OUT OF YOUR FRIGGIN’ MIND, LEV!!!”

Our floor. I thought. Our floor!

“Will you bloody calm down now, Ammo, and listen to me.” I raised my voice.

She looked hot; the simmering red against the taut white skin and bloodless veins looked out of place on her.

She replied. “I am calm. Just tell me?”

“I am calling the Dude up.” I replied, offering a mystery smile. “You know, the fellow with the universal access number of 666.”

It had a magic effect on her, because she began to look relieved, and a touch bemused. “You are calling up the Devil, … is that what you are saying”.

“Yes.” My smile broadened. “But it is not just some devil I am trying to call up, but someone specific.” Paused. “It's Belphegor.”

“Bel… what?” She asked.

I reached for the black hardbound book on the table and handed to her.

She gave it a curious look and read aloud. “A Beginner's Guide to Demons and Other Subversive Spirits: An Edition for the Damned. Are you nuts, Lev?”

“As a matter of fact, NO, I am not.” I replied. “Check out Belphegor on page 147.”

She did, and the expression on her face distorted further. “What is it, … well, there is a guy sitting on a toilet bowl. Is he … like some kind of a shit demon?”

“Not he aint.” I protested. “Don’t be such a materialistic ass, Ammo. Read about him.”

She did. “Belphegor (or Beelphegor) is a demon who helps people to make discoveries. He seduces people by suggesting to them ingenious inventions that will make them rich.”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed. “Impressive portfolio don’t you think. Dude means business. He is serious stuff, not one of those silly garden gnomes, is he?”

“Lev.” She said. “You are apparently crazier than I thought. This stuff, if it works at all, is probably very dangerous.”

“May be.” I agreed. “But it’s well worth the risk.”

“Ok. Crazy as this whole business is.” She replied. “What exactly are you looking to achieve from this. It’s a dumb question, but I need to ask.”

“An invention! What else?” I replied. “The likes of which the world has never seen. I don’t care what it is. A book, a brilliant specimen of art, or anything else. I honestly don’t care.” Paused. “But I am hoping for a book. May be the next ‘Ulysses’ or ‘Atlas Shrugged’. Hmmm, to come to think of it, wouldn’t it be rather nice.”

“But you are already a writer, Lev.” She asked. “Can’t you try and achieve all that on your own.”

“Wish it was that simple, hon.” I sighed. “But it’s not. Inspiration is the problem. Inspiration you see. One finds it either in love or in damnation. Either in the love of a woman, one with arms … and legs long enough to embrace you within her, to sink in and stay there, is where one finds inspiration.” I pointed towards the book in her hand. “Or one finds it in this.”

She laughed and said nothing. I could tell she was blushing.

I sighed. “Admittedly, Belphegor is a sorry substitute for the love of a woman … but it’s there. And since I am too crazy for the ones with ponies on their heads, why not stick to the ones with ponies up their ass.”

My last remark didn’t go down too well with her, because she simply shook her head, threw the book on the table, and left the room, banging the door behind her.

I shrugged and picked the book up, eyeing the Belphegor image, silently admitting that the fella in the picture didn’t know much about public image. In spite of our disagreements, I could give her that much. 

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