Rimsky-Korsakov (Part Two)

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

“What's your name?” Knocker said, deadly serious.

The glass moved to the 'W', then the 'A', the 'S' and finally the 'P'.

“Wasp?” Knocker said.

“YES,” the glass told the trio. “I A-M W-A-S-P.”

“You're Wasp?” Banjo said, trying his best to conceal the fear in his voice.

“YES,” the glass told them.

“Are you a ghost, like, a dead person?” Banjo said.

“NO. I A-M W-A-S-P.”

“Fuck,” Knocker muttered. “Are you a demon?”

“NO, N-O-T E-X-A-C-T-L-Y.”

“What are you?”

“I A-M J-U-S-T A M-E-S-S-A-N-G-E-R, M-Y I-D-E-N-T-I-T-Y I-S O-F N-O I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-C-E, B-U-T T-H-E-R-E I-S A-N E-N-T-I-T-Y H-E-R-E W-H-O W-I-S-H-E-S T-O C-O-N-T-A-C-T Y-O-U.”

“What's his name?” Knocker said.

“R-I-M-S-K-Y K-O-R-S-A-K-O-V.”

“This is bollocks,” Bumble said. “It's you two fannying around, I know it is. Rimsky Korsakov is a composer or something – a long dead one that only puffs and fossilised old stuffed shirts listen to, but that's beside the point.”

“M-Y M-A-S-T-E-R I-S N-O-T T-H-E S-A-M-E I-N-D-I-V-I-D-U-A-L Y-O-U A-R-E R-E-F-E-R-R-I-N-G T-O,” the glass spelled out, “A-N-D T-H-I-S I-S N-O-T B-O-L-L-O-C-K-S, B-E-L-I-E-V-E M-E.”

“What is your master?” Banjo said. “Is he a demon? If we say his name three times backwards will he appear in the triangle?”

“M-A-Y-B-E H-E I-S, M-A-Y-B-E H-E I-S-N'T. M-A-Y-B-E H-E W-I-L-L, M-A-Y-B-E H-E W-O-N-T. W-H-O K-N-O-W-S? C-A-R-E T-O T-R-Y I-T? F-E-E-L-I-N-G L-U-C-K-Y, B-O-Y-S?”

“I don't like this!” Bumble said. “I'm scared, and I don't care if you do think I'm a pussy - I want to stop!” Alan pulled his hand away, and it was clear that he didn't want to play the game any more.

“No way, Hosea,” Knocker said. “It's just starting to get interesting. How do you say Rimsky – whatsit backwards?”

“I'll write it in the dirt,” Banjo said. He scratched the words 'Rimsky Korsakov into the dirt with a stick, then he carefully wrote it backwards. “Vokasrok Yksmir..... You wanna give it a try, Knocker? We'll say it together.”

“Vokasrok Yksmir, Vokasrok Yksmir, Vokasrok Yksmir,” Banjo and Knocker said slowly and deliberately, looking disdainfully at Bumble, who sat studying his hands. They sat there for a long time staring into the fire, which was burning low because they had neglected to bring a supply of branches into the circle from the trees that Nigel's dad had cut down at the bottom of the garden, and no one fancied wandering around in the silent darkness that all of a sudden hung around them like a cloying blanket. To the dismay that their bravado forced them to display and their secret joy nothing happened, nothing at all.

“It's late,” Bumble said. “I think we ought to get in our sleeping bags now and get some kip.”

They heard a low grating noise; at first they didn't have a clue where it was coming from, but then they all saw the glass slither across the board of its own accord and come to rest on the word “NO.” Swiftly it travelled around the crude circle of letters. “N-O S-L-E-E-P,” it spelled out.

“Fuck!” Bumble said. “Get rid of that thing, throw it in the fire!” Banjo picked up the board with his fingertips as if it was infected with a selection of deadly diseases and tipped the glass into the fire because he didn't want to touch it. He threw the Ouija board face down into the glowing embers, because that was the side he urgently wanted to see burning. A thin curl of smoke poured from beneath the square of plywood, and it burst spectacularly into flames. “Wash us all in the blood of Christ,” Bumble muttered, rocking back and forth and rubbing his arms against the sudden chill in the air - he was reciting the words he had heard his mother say when she was praying about some calamity. “Please, Heavenly Father, forgive us all for our sins, particularly the heinous one we've committed tonight, and protect us against the denizens of darkness. By His stripes we are saved!”

There was a low rumble like distant thunder, and a bank of blood red clouds rolled over the formerly clear sky. “He has no power to save you!” a voice hissed from somewhere in the darkness. Banjo stood up and attempted to flee, but Bumble grabbed his legs and hung onto him tightly.

“Don't do it – you mustn't leave the circle!” Bumble said. Over the triangle that Knocker had etched into the soil just outside the circle a dark something was forming in the air. At first it was only half visible, but it had an inner light as if it was full of electricity and little bolts of bluish lightning shot down to earth from its fat hovering body. It was a wasp, a monstrous wasp as big as a crow.

“Hello boys,” the apparition said in an impossibly shrill voice. “I am Wasp. Don't be alarmed, please, I mean you no harm – I realise that right now you find that difficult to believe, but it's true. It's a shame I can't say the same about Vokasrok Yksmir, the dark master who holds me in bondage, but his reaction to three interfering little boys will depend on his mood. If he's in a good mood he might laugh at your amateurish meddling and leave you unmolested, but if he's in a bad mood, well..... In that case he will mean you harm, he'll mean you incalculable harm.

You want my advice, kiddies? Stay in the circle and the sick fuck won't be able to touch you – mark my words, if you run you're finished. Of course, if Vokasrok Yksmir is in a foul mood and he's hungry it's in his interests that you leave the circle so that he might feed off your terror and maybe suck your sweet juices and nibble on your tender young flesh, in which case he'll try to frighten you into running blindly off into the dark where you'll prove easy prey. He's evil, is my master, oh yes, you'd better believe it. He's Evel Ker-fucking-nievel..... Oh, and if you get out of this mess alive it would be wise not to meddle with Ouija boards again – they're bad news, you never know who or indeed what you're inviting into your reality.” The wasp vanished with a loud pop, and silence once more prevailed.

*************************

The boys huddled together in the middle of the circle. “What the fuck was it?” Knocker said. “A ghost, a demon, or something else?”

“I don't know,” Banjo said. “Somehow we've opened an invisible door to a bad place, a door that should never, ever be opened. As that thing said, we've let in something very unpleasant. I say we phone my mother while it's quiet, and then make a run for the house.”

“No!” Bumble said. “You heard what the thing said, we mustn't leave the circle. We don't know what we're up against.....”

“It might have been lying,” Banjo said. “I'm gonna call my mum anyway.”

“You can try if you want,” Bumble said, “but I don't think you'll get a signal. I think reality has been altered, the world's not quite how it was until the spell is broken.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Knocker said. “You've been watching too many episodes of the Twilight Zone, you flid.

“Look at the fucking sky, man!” Bumble said. “Now look over there. Before we started playing with that damned Ouija board we could see the outline of the rooftops against the sky, and now there's nothing but a ragged tree-line – we're not in your garden any more, Banjo, or if we are the houses have disappeared.”

“That can't be,” Banjo said. “It's just got darker, that's all.”

“If anything it's lighter now that these red clouds have rolled in,” Bumble said. “I'm telling you, Banjo, your street isn't there any more.”

Banjo took his phone out of his pocket, selected his mother's number from his contact list and pressed the green call symbol. “I'm sorry, but this person cannot be contacted right now,” a familiar robotic woman's voice said. “Please try again later. You have three alternatives..... If you wish to take alternative one, which is 'run like fuck,' press one. If you choose alternative two, which is 'sit tight, bravely ride the storm and utter a string of worthless prayers to your largely indifferent Maker,' press two. If alternative three sounds more to your liking, which is 'cover yourself in chocolate sauce and lie down on a silver platter outside the circle waiting for the master to feed, which is the least painful choice, press three. If you're feeling confused about these choices, you sad little fuck, please call the Satanic Hotline for further assistance, because I'm just a lowly minion and I'm not permitted to give you any helpful hints.”

“It's just ringing,” Banjo lied.