The last will and last testament
Of
Stephen S. Lost
I
I came to sorcery at a young age, a so called wilder, I was 14. Most must apprentice for 20 years but not me I just understood the theory and made it so. I was nothing powerful could barely make fire but I could hide like the wind and make a simple suggestion that no matter how ridiculous the request would be obeyed. I did not seek power or fame or money just knowledge and a little bit of fine pussy, and just to hide from my stepmothers abusive touch was nice in the beginning. Nature and books were my solace and then one day I found an old book in some crappy bookstore stuck behind the rest of the occult books no title just 33 pages. That was the beginning of the end at sixteen I had found my way into Satan’s arms.
I think of Darwin he would have loved to meet me for I am the next evolutionary step. I had jet black hair like a ravens wings born into darkness. Only three fingers on each hand and 7 toes on each foot. I had one blue eye almost grey and one green like autumns moss. The real thing that singled me out though was my memory; anything I read I would never forget, nothing ever in my entire life would I forget…
And later that gift would bring madness or maybe I was just born evil and insane; you be the judge. I used it though and never let anyone know I hid in humanity like the stick bug on the tree branch. I sought magic like a moth to the flame and I found my first book, of course I stole it and tried to decipher it. I am fluent now in Latin, Italian, Russian, French, and German necessity dictated me becoming a linguist but in the beginning it was a fucking nightmare. I would lay in bed at night and run the words through my head obsessively just trying to understand. I love that evil tome still to this day it is 33 pages of shit but run through over and over three pages 13 paragraphs were a spell to summon and bind a minor demon my first unforgivable sin, it was a trap but I was to ignorant to realize it. Two weeks later on the hayloft floor I sliced my wrist open made the symbols and summoned and bound what wasn’t a demon but a minor devil. Rule number one never use your own blood…
Now demons and devils and daemons and revenants we will get to later. I destroyed my eternal soul on that day and gained my first taste of knowledge. You can summon them easily if the thaumaturgy is right and pull information out of them but to bind one brought it here under complete control and that is the trap. The name is what matters if you know their true name you have complete control. I got what I named Fetch cause that’s what he did he found things and fetched them. Money, women, books, books, yes books that’s what I wanted and what fetch got me and it was a trap.
I found out later that this book was created just to bring hell to me and hell to the world. Books of power have different rules they don’t stay in one place they will seek those which are capable of using them. They also never make sense its just gobbledygook until you figure them out. One day you go to the bookshelf and it’s fucking gone a whole new quest just to possess it again. The grimores of summoning are the worst to; many have been gathered up by inquisitors and locked in the Vatican but still they will move even out of that Fort Knox.
Inquisitors are my enemy yes they still exist and they are powerful sorcerers. The heretics are for the most part all dead as far as I know a summoner has not existed since the 1700s. They are hunted down quickly and killed no more burning or torture they just cut your throat and steal your books and go on there merry way. They can smell you like a vulture smells carrion even a simple priest can smell my filth. They have been my only true fear in this life except for setting a demon loose with a mistake. I got over the fear of setting a demon loose very quickly though. Fetch got me what I needed and I perfected my art quickly.
Fetch had nothing to lose in our acquaintance, he was a weak devil-kind a servant often tortured by those more powerful. So being whisked away from hell to serve a pitiful child of god was wonderful for him. Also on the day I died he would stand next to me with that shit eating grin and be rewarded for bringing such a monster to hell. A win win situation for him. He took to the binding quick just wanting to please me. We became friends and companions quickly. The first book he brought me was called a treatise on summoning the foul , by a fucking madman named Anton Romanov from the sixteen hundreds written in St. Petersburg Russia try learning 15th century Russian you think Shakespeare sucks. I found it to be a lot of superstitious bullshit with a good grain of truth he had gone insane by the time he reached 25. The second book or lets say pages was a list of names by the same author written on the day he hung himself. That list sent me to the forefront of my profession. A list of 13 names of greater and lesser demons who all I have bound and have kept them in my innocent looking rock collection. AAAhh the knowledge they contain you could never imagine. I just had to learn Thaumaturgic symbols that would protect me in a summoning and then the world was my oyster and I would be the black pearl. Those symbols the true backbone of my art appeared strangely enough in my complete Greek histories on modern paper in page after page, I know not their origin but I have my suspicions. I think fetch wrote out all the formulae that he was given permission by some more powerful infernal beast. Or maybe were just a gift from Satan himself, the text was precise and perfect in every way and fetch can barely write his own name legibly. Anyway somehow I had all I needed except my freedom by 17 the family situation was pretty bad I would have to do something. The beatings had gotten worse and a mage doesn’t need his mother and father looking over his back.
I woke up Saturday morning and assessed the situation it was my 17th birthday today the future would begin. I had other interests like any normal teenager at that age that could practice magic. Masturbation, I had even lost my virginity and shot heroin on the same day with a redheaded whore but women really suck I came to find early. Bestiality was the way to go some high boots and a lamb was best I’m telling you wetter and tighter than a 12 year old virgin. I could bust my nut over and over in a sheep for hours. They don’t bitch or moan (very much) complain or anything and they love to get fucked. I would walk in the barn and the ewes would all show me there ass and wiggle, like I said so much better than a woman. More than sex more than magic almost :I loved hand rolled cigarettes and lots and lots of booze. I was a full blown drunk by 15 I would just walk in a store and walk out with as much as I could carry remember I could hide, 24 beers a day was my habit by 17. What else did I like oh my yes violence sweet violence.
I know the word that says it all: hedonist. I am and was a hedonist and you are all sheep that talk to much. So on that day I sharpened a knife my athame still to this day I carry this 10 inch chef knife. Packed some clothes and my favorite cassettes, candles a little food, and threw them in my dads pickup went to the woods and bathed in the creek and drank a twelve pack all before sunrise while I talked with my bud fetch he knew what today’s present would be; freedom. We didn’t talk about what was going to happen that day you could see it in the gleam of our eyes and the maniacal grins we were sporting. I went home and fed my beloved animals reverently. I would never see the pigs, chickens, cows, or even the grumpy horse (horses hate me) and oooo to say bye to my beloved sheep. I went in the basement and got two gallon jars and went back to the barn I uncoiled two ropes and set them with simple slipknots thrown over a beam and waited. I knew that cunt of a mother would come looking for me if I just sat in the barn and waited; sure enough. I heard her bitching before she ever came in the barn and sure as shit she stepped right in it and I hauled her right into the air tied it off and let her scream it would bring dad sooner or later. The fucking slouch I got sick of waiting and ran in the house he was still asleep I threw a fit screaming “help, help come quick mom its mom,” and ran back to the barn. I swear its harder to catch fucking rabbits in a snare. I let them scream it out and went to dads liquor stash grabbed some breakfast and introduced them to fetch.
Fetch has a few forms his usual guise is that of a maniacal midget woman, I like that one. Or young boy someone you would never notice but best of all for this purpose was his true form. He came walking in bearing a red velvet birthday cake singing, he does nice things like that, for me, a true gentleman or err. His color is somewhere between phlegm yellow and babyshit green. He is only 2 feet tall and all scaly, his feet and hands are long nailed fingers. He has a long pointed nose like a carrot and a devils red eyes, fangs of course but still an almost dainty mouth and pointed ears not a drop of hair anywhere. The most noticeable and terrifying is his long prehensile tail with one nasty stinger. A simple poke from that thing will paralyze any human though they will remain conscious for hours. One, two, snicker snack, and the screaming stopped. “ I brought you cake master, and you have whiskey.” Now feeding this fucker has always been one of my biggest problems, he can eat 10 pounds of meat in one sitting and drink 6 bottles of wine. I was so grateful I killed him a lamb and we ate and drank while my parents hung there like meat in a slaughterhouse. What a birthday but now it was time to open the presents. I sat a jar beneath mom and dad and ever so gently opened a small slice on their left wrist. I wanted this to be slow, I wanted to watch their eyes slowly glaze in death saving all that precious blood. That shit was more valuable than a hundred virgins blood, a parents blood harvested by their son. And Jesus wept… I remember their eyes; I have seen so many eyes, but once they had filled with futility as I scrapped each clot out filling my jars, the look in the depths of their sorrow filled eyes still gives me chills. I capped my blood jars and cut their bodies from crotch to sternum then set the pigs loose on their entrails, walked out of the barn and never looked back.
I drove an hour to Cleveland abandoned the pickup and walked to a deserted warehouse Cleveland is full of them, then set up shop. I had one more present from Fetch. She gave me two antique doctors bags filled with colored sand and crushed gems, herbs and candles that she proudly proclaimed were made of human fat there was even holy water, a crucifix ( which I could barely handle it made me so nauseous) and a bag of communion wafers. I don’t know how he got those I frequented churches and learned not to touch the holy water cause it would just evaporate and leave a black stain in the basin. Where does a devil acquire holy sacraments? But what I know is she gave me a very valuable summoners kit.