The 600 block of Oldham Street is a particularly execrable area of the southeast section of the City. It is in a part of town known colloquially as “Hillbilly Heights” due to its citizenship being largely made of the descendents of those Appalachian people who came to the region in order to facilitate employment at the near by Bethlehem Steel Corporation. The old steel mill is now long gone, but the population remains. They are a rather horrific assortment of people of the lowest human type -- dull-witted, uneducated, inbred, perverse, violent, and prone to alcoholism and narcotics addiction.
It is in the basement of one of the small, crumbing “row houses” of this grotesque neighbourhood that our tale of horror begins.
He was a man of about fifty years of age, morbidly obese, his hair the colour of excrement, and with a scruffy growth of beard on his face. He stood there in the cellar wearing a black vestment robe -- a garment on which was emblazoned the symbol of three interlocking inverted triangles.
On the table before him were three objects. One was a lighted candle of ebon hue, which gave the only illumination in the chamber. Another was a small piece of parchment on which had been written a string of words in an ancient Sumerian script. The third was an iron cauldron about eight inches in width.
“I do now call you forth, Pazuzu,” said the man in his ridiculously high-pitched voice, breathing heavily all the while through his mouth. “I call you forth, O great demon of the desert, O lord of the southwest wind and bringer of terror to mortals. I call you forth that you may grant me your power.”
With this pronouncement, the man then took the parchment and, lighting it afire by the use of the candle, dropped it flaming into the cauldron.
“By the usage of this most ancient spell,” he continued, “I do now call you forth, O mighty Pazuzu. I bid you now to rise, to come forth and to reveal yourself to me, O you who delights in death and violence and bloodshed and perversion and rape and pillage and horror and pain. Come forth! O mighty one, come forth now and do grant me the power to rule over this world! Come forth, O lord of darkness! Come forth, O demon of destruction! Come forth, O Pazuzu!”
By now, it was obvious that the amount of flame issuing forth from the cauldron was more than could have been caused by the burning of the small amount of parchment. That the fire was quickly developing an eldritch glare of blue-black further added to the unspeakable dreadfulness obviously manifesting within that basement room.
“Yes, Pazuzu, yes!” the strange man went on. “Rise now before me! Rise and grant me your power, O mighty one! Rise and make me one with you, O lord Pazuzu!”
It was then that it happened; for right at that moment, there in that cellar of a tiny house in that poverty-stricken southeast area of the City, a shape of unspeakable terror and unmentionable fear then came into view. It hovered over the cauldron, huge and looming. Its phantasmal form was like unto the body of a man, but with the head of a dog and feet like claws. One of its hands was held upwards, the other downwards. It had a tail as unto that of a scorpion, and a serpentine creature seemed to be growing from where its generative organ would have been. It came into view, an horrible black in colour and accompanied with a sound like unto the ghastly howling of myriads of infernal beasts.
“Yes, Pazuzu, yes!” exalted the man -- the odd working class magician that had thus evoked this hellish horror. “Yes, O mighty one and lord of damnation! You have come forth to grant me your power! The power that I shall now wield against all who would oppose me! The power that I -- Vince Wilson, the Paranormalist -- shall use to rule this world!!”
And with this, the hideously obese and utterly insane magician known to extreme infamy as Vince Wilson let forth with peals of horrendously mad laughter. …
My name is RUMANOS -- DOCTOR DANIEL RUMANOS, Extraterrestrial Espionage Agent and Intergalactic Man of Mystery. Even though I have the physical appearance of an human being, I am in fact several thousands of years old and do carry within my blood the vastly superior genes of the legendary Aeternusians or “Watchers” of the Daemon-Star ALGOL. Originating ninety-three light years from Earth, we are the most intellectually advanced race in all of the known galaxies, whose technology is so sophisticated it often appears to be “magic” and “miraculous” to lesser beings.
Whilst most Algolites tend to keep to themselves, preferring to live in elitist seclusion from the rest of the Universe and thus merely observing the goings-on of the myriad races of the vast reaches around them, I am an Operative for a secret organisation known as the KOSMIKOS or Cosmic Intervention Department, tasked with maintaining peace and order throughout the farthest reaches of Space and Time. You know, “plausible deniability”, and all of that sort of thing. It is our ongoing mission to defend the weak, the unfortunate, and the innocent from those who would harm or exploit them.
Currently assigned to Earth, I protect its people (both upon their own planet and across the eternal void) from the hideous manipulations of the arch-villain known as Magister Don Wingus, along with his dangerously-seductive daughter, Anastasia, and his occult terrorist organisation, Spectral Paranormal; as well as from alien invasions, mad scientists, and indeed all manner of menace. Assisted by my friends -- the beautiful young Hollywood starlet Miss Millie “The Girl From Beyond” Drake, and our catlike robot known as Kit-10 -- I am the living icon of Algol on this world. I am a Knight of the Eternal Spires. I am the professor of the impossible, the purveyor of Pure Mystery, the saviour of the Cosmos, and the sword of justice from the planet Daemonia. I am the cosmic crusader. I am the stellar swashbuckler.
These are my memoirs. This is my story.
I am -- THE DAEMON-STAR!!! …
“But I thought he was dead,” said Millie Drake.
“He was,” I affirmed. “Vince Wilson -- stage magician, con artist, and Spectral Paranormal agent -- died whilst taking part in that scheme at WBUM Radio.”
We were seated in our secret headquarters, located as it is in the golden trapezoidal rooftop of a downtown skyscraper, far atop the Italian takeaway restaurant that is on the building's ground floor. I was clad in my usual finery, including a frilled poet shirt, purple velvet suit, and military boots. My opera cape and panama hat hung from a near by hallstand.
My companion, Miss Millie Drake, is a young lady of exceeding beauty, petite and perfect with hair of a rich chestnut hue, enchanting violet eyes, sun kissed skin, and a sensuously wide mouth. The tight, short, rose-coloured dress she wore only served to highlight the soft curves of her wondrously adolescent figure.
Also present was Kit-10, our mobile personal computer that resembles nothing more or less than a small mechanical cat.
The computer screen at which we were looking (despite the surroundings of the much otherworldly technology and artefacts collected at our HQ) was not at this time accessing any of the numerous secret files and underground networks to which we have access, but was rather showing a common internet social media site known as Likebook, on which was an advertisement declaring “Vince Wilson the Paranormalist presents Magic and Mystery at the Lord Biltmore Hotel! Tonight only.”.
“But if he really died that day,” said Millie, “how is he back now?”
“I believe it is a side effect of him having had homosexual contact with Magister Don Wingus,” I explained, “soon after the latter’s usage of the Time-stalker.”
“So now that he has returned, what do you think he’s up to?”
“Difficult to say,” I admitted. “As you remember, our systems had very little information on Vince Wilson. He was completely unknown when he suddenly started proclaiming himself an ‘award-winning magician’ and doing gigs in various local hotel conference rooms that he pretended to be his ‘theatre’.”
“S--,” suddenly interrupted Kit-10 in her simulated yet pleasantly-feminine voice, “I have managed to locate certain files on the history and precedents of this individual, as per your previous request.”
(It must be noted here that Kit-10, in addition to her other catlike characteristics, is possessed of the total inability to openly show respect to anyone, In truth, the closest she ever manages to come to it is when she refers to me by a slight “s--” sound -- for “sir” -- and Millie Drake by “m--” -- for “ma’am”.)
“By the Triple Star,” I swore, “I had completely forgotten that I had asked Kit-10 to do a deep search on his life and background after our last encounter with him.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Daniel,” said Millie Drake sweetly. “Vince Wilson seems like an easy person to forget.”
“So, Kit-10, what have you uncovered?”
“Accessing,” replied the robotic feline. “Subject born Vincent Gale Wilson Junior to low-income family in the southeast metropolitan area. Background in low-level carnival entertainment, including stage illusions, fake hypnotism, and ‘psychic’ confidence trickster schemes. Income augmented by dealing in illegal narcotics. Also has history of sex crimes charges, but his public record has been expunged.”
“Interesting, but prosaic,” I mused. “He does sound basically like the type that Wingus would indeed recruit for Spectral, but nothing really distinguishing. We need to find out what his current plans are, since something has so emboldened him to return to the public eye. Anything else, Kit-10?”
As I spoke, I was only vaguely aware of a noise growing in the room; it was a distant noise, so far easy to overlook; a noise that sounded as unto the far off howling of wild beasts.
“His most recent activity,” replied the mechanical cat, “is having made a covert deal with a certain Daven Bridgewater, a known narcotics addict who has gotten employment in the hospitality business as part of a government-funded rehabilitation programme. His current job title is Front Desk Manager at the Lord Biltmore Hotel.”
“Hmmm,” I mused. “So it seems obvious that Vince Wilson has traded illegal drugs to this person in exchange for a booking at the hotel. Obviously he has some nefarious purpose in mind, but we still need to find out exactly what it is that he… ”
“Oh my gosh, Daniel!” suddenly cried Millie. “Look at that!”
I looked in the direction at which the girl was indicating and beheld an horror indeed. It was like unto the disembodied head of a dog, hovering in the air several metres above the floor. It was accompanied by the howling sound, which was now rising to a crescendo of cacophony. In the thing’s eyes was an hellish blue-black glare.
Before we could even react, a wave of darksome energy suddenly shot forth from the looming phantasm, sending both Millie Drake and me sprawling to the floor!
Although somewhat stunned by the sudden attack, I rallied my forces and took an object from my jacket. It was the transonic turnscrew, an highly advanced scientific instrument somewhat resembling a large writing pen. I quickly aimed it at the demonic horror.
“Spirit of the Earth, remember!” I said whilst activating a certain setting on the device. “Spirit of the Sky, remember!”
Within a few seconds, the thing faded from view, taking with it the horrid howling sounds.
I struggled to my feet and then helped Millie Drake in standing up as well.
“Are you all right, love?” I enquired concernedly whilst returning the transonic to my pocket.
“Yes, I think so,” gasped the girl. “Daniel, what was that thing?”
“That, my dear Mills, was Pazuzu!”
“Pazuzu? Isn’t that that name of some mythological demon?”
“Quite so,” I affirmed. “Pazuzu is a demonic creature from ancient Chaldean legend. He is known as the personification of the southwest winds that bring devastating sandstorms across the desert.”
“But surely such things are not real, Daniel!”
“Well, they are not ‘supernatural’, in the sense that laymen use the term, hmmm? Nevertheless, they are ‘real’ in their own way.”
“But how, exactly?”
“Pazuzu, just as an example, is perhaps the mentalist essence of a creature that came into being shortly after the original formation of Earth itself, whilst the very elements of this planet were beginning to coalesce into the forms by which we now know then. This was shortly after the time of the Kaiju, when what we now see as mere concepts and natural phenomena could take very literal and quite monstrous forms.”
“I think I understand,’” reasoned Millie. “So how did the Chaldeans come to know of it?”
“According to the stories of the ancient Sumerian kings,” I explained, “some of them were also what later became known as ‘Magi’ and utilised some technology that had been obtained by secret contact with our own Algolite race. Hence my use of one of their spells along with the transonic device. It is also believed that one or more of the old kings misused these powers and conjured up Pazuzu.”
“So now Pazuzu has been brought back by -- oh my goodness, do you think Vince Wilson did it?!” enquired the girl.
“More than likely,” I admitted, “and he has tapped into a power beyond anything he could possibly control. For Pazuzu to have breached the psychic securities of our headquarters here is quite unprecedented. If the creature is called forth in its full power the spell I utilised before will be of little or no avail.”
“We need to get to that hotel and stop him!”
“Indeed we do. Kit-10, do you think you can… ?”
I looked over at the robotic feline and noticed that her head was drooping down. I quickly ran over and examined her.
“Her power has been drained by close proximity to the energies of Pazuzu!” said I.
“Poor Kit-10,” said Millie Drake. “Will she be all right?”
“In time,” I said. “She will have to stay here to recharge whilst we go to investigate Vince Wilson.”
I attached a cable from Kit-10’s side port to one of the computer banks, then, after I had fetched my hat and cloak from the stand, Millie and I went out into that fateful night to face the demonic horror. …
At that same time, in the conference room of the Lord Biltmore Hotel, the execrable Vince Wilson was standing before a small audience of spectators. He was dressed in a garishly multicoloured suit of the type worn by carnival barkers.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced in his reedy voice, still heavily mouth-breathing, “I am the world class magician Vince Wilson, and tonight I will bring you a wonder, for this very evening I will conjure forth a power beyond anything you have ever seen. Tonight I will call forth the mighty Pazuzu, whose power already flows through me!”
With this, Vince Wilson raised his hands and suddenly a wave of blue-black power surrounded him, swirling and moving in adverse circles around his corpulent form.
“Tonight,” he continued, his face twisted into perverse satanic ecstasy as the energies continued to grow around him, “I will show you my power, that you may fall down and worship me! Tonight, I call forth the great demon of the hot desert winds! Tonight, I achieve glory that no one shall stand before -- for tonight you will also see me destroy the enemy of our paranormal powers! Tonight you will see me kill Doctor Daniel Rumanos!!” …
Millie Drake and I stepped through the entrance doorway of the Lord Biltmore Hotel into its spacious lobby. We strode past the front desk, taking no notice of the person standing behind it.
He was an African-American man of about thirty years of age, his hair styled in thick dreadlocks. He was clad in the casual clothing of modern hotel employees, including a nametag that said “Daven”. As we passed by him, he noticed Millie Drake and a look of perverted lust appeared on his loathsomely bestial face. …
We entered the conference room and beheld Vince Wilson standing before his small audience. The eldritch power of Pazuzu was by now strongly swirling around the room. Wilson turned his head slightly and gazed upon us as we approached him.
“Welcome, Doctor Rumanos and Miss Drake,” he sneered. “Welcome to my magic theatre. I am Vince Wilson, the world-renowned parapsychologist, magician, illusionist, hypnotist, author, actor, ghost hunter, and paranormalist, among other things. You have gotten here just in time to witness my conquest as ruler of this world!”
“Stop this ridiculousness right now this instant, Vince Wilson,” I told him. “As operatives of the Kosmikos, we cannot and will not allow you to raise such chaos upon this planet. Your attempt at conquest will end now, or we shall be forced to destroy you utterly.”
“No, Doctor, no,” rejoined Wilson. “You will not succeed in stopping me. Even the Magister Don Wingus himself could never dream of the power I will now have. The power of Pazuzu is mine. He is here, and his power is mine!”
Moreover, with this, the full form of Pazuzu manifested itself, there in the conference room of that downtown hotel. Huge and hideous, with its manlike body, dog’s head, clawed feet, scorpion tail, and serpentine phallus. It hovered over the chamber accompanied by the horrid howling sound as of high winds mixed with the cries of great beasts and the anguished sobbing of millions of damned souls.
“Oh my gosh, Daniel,” said Millie Drake. “Look at him! At Vince Wilson, I mean! His eyes!”
Indeed, by now Vince Wilson’s eyes had themselves begun to glow an evil black -- forsooth the ebony hue of the very energies of the demon!
“Vince, you ungodly fool!” I said. “You have allowed the satanic power into you and thus have surrendered your dignity as an human being!”
“Oh no, Doctor,” replied Wilson, his face twisted into a mad iniquitous grin. “I have received his power! The power of the mighty Pazuzu, demon of the desert winds and lord of pain! I have that power within me and I shall now use it to bring about your destruction!” …
As we continued to speak with Vince Wilson, the slum born drug addict turned hotel employee blasphemously known as Daven Bridgewater approached the conference room.
“I's gonna have that lil’ white girl,” he muttered lustfully to himself. “I's gonna do her hard.” …
By now, the audience had fled the conference room in absolute abject terror. Millie and I were there alone with Vince Wilson and the dread creature of unhallowed darkness known as Pazuzu. The darksome energies continued to swirl about us in cascades of unnameable horror.
“And now, Doctor Daniel Rumanos,” announced Vince Wilson, “the power of Pazuzu, which I so expertly wield, will destroy you!!”
The power then hit us hard. Millie Drake was thrown backwards a few yards and fell to the floor. I just managed to keep my feet but was experiencing extreme anguish at the touch of the demoniacal energies. I knew that, at all cost, I had to prevent the powers of Pazuzu from going any further. I had to keep them from escaping the conference room and then spreading to the rest of the hotel, the city, the country… the world. Nevertheless, how?
It was then that the execrable perverted Daven Bridgewater took his chance. He had crept into the room, his animalistic lust blinding his senses to all else that was occurring. He saw Millie lying on the floor, still stunned by the demonic energies. Then Daven Bridgewater reached down and grabbed the helpless girl, dragging her out of the conference room with a look of sinful expectation on his subhuman face.
It was then, just as my beloved Millie Drake was taken away, and whilst I was being hit by increasingly painful waves of hellish power, that Vince Wilson laughed. It was then that Vincent Gale Wilson, Satanist and self-proclaimed “world class magician”, laughed a laugh of unmentionable evil and insane ungodly triumph!!
Can you even begin to realise, my ever-loyal friends and readers, the true and fateful import of the extreme occult and tragically satanic horrors that we were experiencing that darkling night, there in the Lord Biltmore Hotel? There I was, being hit by wave of wave of dark eldritch power from the obscene phantasmagorical manifestation of the demonic Pazuzu -- the very creature of hell that the insane magician known to eternal shame and horror as Vince Wilson had conjured forth. At the same time, young Miss Millie Drake was being abducted by the unspeakable ghetto thug and front desk manager Daven Bridgewater, who intended to slake his perverted lust upon that helpless young lady!!
“It is all over for you, Doctor!” exalted Vince Wilson, his eyes still aglow with the blue-black satanic power of the demon. “You are finished, and I am now the ruler of this world!”
I was just managing to prevent the demonic energies from spreading to the rest of the hotel, but they were pummelling me hard. I could barely move. …
The noxious Daven Bridgewater, still dragging Millie Drake, had by now just reached one of the hotel elevators.
“Now, lil’ girl,” he said whilst pushing the lift’s up button. “We gonna go up to one o’ the rooms, where I's got some good stuff to give you that’ll make you want me, an’ then I's gonna give you a taste o’ my big black… ”
The girl had by now recovered from her shock and, with amazing quickness, then delivered a series of expert kung fu kicks to Daven Bridgewater’s torso and head. The would-be rapist then fell unconscious to the floor.
Millie then turned around and ran at full speed back to the conference room. …
Still reeling from the effect of being hit with the satanic energy, I saw the girl enter and approach me.
“Oh my goodness!” she cried. “Daniel, what can we do?!”
“Millie, my dearest,” I replied from amidst the chaos, “there is still one chance.”
I reached out and took Millie Drake’s hand. At her touch, the demonic energies around me lessoned somewhat.
“I love you, Millie,” I said.
“I love you too, Daniel,” replied the beautiful young girl.
I reached my other hand into my jacket and took out the transonic turnscrew, activating it and pointing it directly at the horrendous hovering form of Pazuzu.
“Spirit, God of the Earth, remember!” I invoked. “Spirit, God of the Sky, remember!”
The howling sound then rose louder and louder in response to my calling. Then, the form of Pazuzu suddenly turned from us and in stead faced Vince Wilson.
“No!” he shrieked in sudden terror. “No! Not me! No, Pazuzu, no! I am Vince Wilson the world-class magician and paranormalist! You can’t do this to me! Nooooooooo!!”
Then the demon reached forth one of its hands and touched Vince Wilson, causing him to immediately flicker and fade out of existence. In a mere instant, he was no more. Then, as the howling sound gradually lessened into nothing, the demon also vanished from sight.
All was now quiet, there in the hotel conference room. Millie Drake was still holding my hand. I pulled her closer to me.
“It is all over now, my dear Mills,” I assured the girl. “The power of our love augmented the ancient spell and overpowered the demon of hate, sending Pazuzu out of our reality. That was the missing element, the one force that, when added to the exorcism, the demon could not stand against. For hate shall never prevail against love. All is now well here, and I am certain the City Police Department will be along soon to restore some semblance of order to the hotel. As for Vincent G. Wilson Jr., he is no more. He has been entirely vaporised due to contact with the infernal energies of the demon.”
“So do you think he is gone for good this time?” enquired the beautiful Miss Millie Drake.
“I certainly hope so, my beloved,” I replied. “Vince Wilson deserves nonexistence, and there are very few beings I would ever say that about.”
***** DANIEL RUMANOS AND MILLIE DRAKE SHALL RETURN
