Sigils for Bullies

Brent mowed him over just before practice started.  The coaches were in the field house and other players were still suiting up, leaving the few witnesses available conveniently looking the other way.

Scott wasn’t looking, he was down on one knee tying his shoes.  That’s what the impending doom that was Brent did, taking his prey by surprise was his power.  Scott was his designated victim since the early years.  Actually, it had been barely over a year since Scott’s family moved on up to a new town and a new start and a new school, but in Scott’s young world days equaled years, months were centuries, and years were eons.  That made Brent his eternal bully.

The early reasons were typical.  Scott was a spoiled only child, and each birthday and Christmas was filled with just about everything he asked for, which made him usually the first on the block to get the latest action figure or video game.  He was quickly labeled as all kids were required to be, it was like microchipping your dog.  Scott’s was The One That Got All He Wanted.  Some got jealous, but it faded, others liked him and came over for play dates with his new toys, the girls didn’t care.

Brent’s jealousy didn’t fade – it mutated to hate - but he bided his time with only occasionally name-calling and staring at Scott from three-rows over in class.  Beating the hell out of someone was too old-fashioned and would give Brent the wrong kind of attention, including suspension from school.  That made him the only thing worse than a bully – he was a smart bully.

Scott could feel it, seeing Brent as the train on the other end of that long tunnel.  He was scared every day when his mom dropped him off, throwing him from the lifeboat into the roaring sea.  Brent held the door so he couldn’t get in, lasting just until the bell rang or a teacher or principal walked by.  

Now they were all old enough to play football.  Scott joined under duress from everyone, including his parents.  

Now’s your chance to show them how tough you can be.  They’ll respect you and leave you alone.  The girls will like you, especially if they are cheerleaders.  It’s either that or study hall, and you know what they think of kids that lounge in study hall.

So he did, and was now thankful as he lay on his injured shoulder, welcoming the pain slowly rippling from muscle to bone to nerve.  It was the best pain he ever felt.

Brent loomed over him.  “Now I can add another skull to my helmet, sissy!”

Oh yes, the skulls.  For accomplishments on the field, the pride and joy of each player.  They were halfway through the season now, and most players had one or two rows filled with skulls.  Scott was tight-end, which mostly kept him out of the way.  He had one skull for making a decent block but other than that, his shiny scuff-free helmet could have been a museum piece.

As he raised up favoring his injury, one well-intended player whispered for him to go back and nail Brent the same way while his back was turned.  Scott chuckled at that death-sentence.  He was no match for that roaring train.

What the hell, he tried and did what they told him to do.  Now he could quit and study hall was looking very nice, a safe island he could swim to.

“He hates you more now, ya-know?”  Randy said, watching the spinning quarter as Scott timed it on his new databank watch.  It was their daily ritual that ended lunch period.  Randy won this round by ten seconds, managing a careless grin as the coin fell and settled.  

“Why would he?”  Scott asked, scratching his shoulder, fresh out of the sling after three weeks.  “He did it to himself.”

“C’mon, he’s suspended for three more games.  It’s your fault as far as he’s concerned, you know how it works.  Now that sling is off, and you’re fine except for that damn itch. He won’t wait much longer.”

“I know.”  

Randy bounced to the vending machine and came back with two chocolate bars, as Scott’s mind filled with the train making a U-turn and barreling toward him twice as fast as before.  Brent had not tried anything since for fear of being expelled altogether, but that didn’t keep Scott from looking over his shoulder every day and planning each move to avoid him.  Even holding his bladder and walking past the bathroom if he saw Brent go in was now a perfected hobby.

Maybe I should put the sling back on, he thought.  Faking a relapse could buy him more time, but for what?  Randy slid a bar over to him.  “Let’s see if we won.”

“We’re not going to win that stupid car.”

“I have the front half; we only need the rear.”

“Randy, everyone has the front half.  Getting the back is like winning the lottery.”

“That’s what makes it fun to play, you never know!  Wouldn’t it be cool to drive up in that classic when we get our licenses?”  Randy looked at the inside of the wrapper and waved it.  “Hey, another free bar!”

“Congratulations,” Scott chided as he lifted his bar up to be greeted by what he expected to be yet another free bar or another picture of the front half of a fully restored 57’ Chevy, the grand prize of a contest no doubt devised to empty the pockets of hopeful players twice as fast.

The wrapper winked at him with bright bold letters:  SORRY PLEASE TRY AGAIN, ENJOY YOUR BAR!

He frowned and scratched his shoulder.

Study hall turned out to be the nice peaceful island and even better than Scott hoped for.  Actually being able to finish homework at school felt like a new secret he was the first to discover.  Well maybe the second, Randy had been a resident there since day one.  

He slammed his notebook shut with fifteen minutes to go and lowered his head for a quick nap when Randy slid a dirty brown pamphlet over. 

“The hell is this?”  Scott asked with a furrowed brow and involuntarily reached over to scratch his shoulder without knowing it.

“Maybe you should get to him first.  Teach him a lesson.” Randy said.

“What do you mean?”  Scott asked, feeling his shoulder flare again.  The front page had the initials LKOS and nothing else.

Randy pointed at the title, “Lesser Key of Solomon, this is just the first book, but it’s all you need.”

Scott flipped through the pages, in them were rows of sketches drawn within circles and square borders, like the doodling he would make when bored on a rainy day.  

“Exactly what is all I need?”

“I can’t tell you how to use it, you have to want to.  If you want it, you’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

Randy kept going like he was rehearsing a speech in front of the mirror.  “This is just a printout for reference, you don’t need the real thing.  Just draw the one you want to use before you imprint your intent.  It has to be in your hand.”

“Imprint my intent?”  Scott asked in a raised voice, then his shoulder flared up in a rush of pain so sharp he slapped it like a mosquito bite.  The substitute at the desk lowered her magazine briefly.  The boys smiled back, and she resumed her article on the latest formula to erase baggy eyes forever.

“Try something small,” Randy continued, “like your shoulder.  Get rid of that itch.”

“Mom and I are going after school to buy some cream for it.  I’ll be fine,” Scott laughed.  “Look Randy, I know we like these types of movies, but I don’t believe in this stuff.  That’s why I watch the movies because I wish-”

“...wish it were true,” Randy finished the thought that brought a warmth to Scott that only best friends could.  At least he had this one – maybe stuck in a moment of temporary insanity – but Scott was still thankful and wouldn’t have lasted this long without him. 

So like any best friend would, he decided to humor Randy and play along.

“Ok, what did you use this for?”

“First it was Valerie.   You know how I always felt about her.”

Scott nodded. Val was Randy’s biggest crush.  She was also the subject of every other sentence until she finally had to transfer out over the summer due to medical issues.  Scott was sorry for those circumstances but thankful she was gone so he could have Randy back to himself, as selfish as that sounded.

His eyes went wide and for a second, he felt a kernel of belief.  A seed planted.

“No...” Randy continued.  “I mean, I never wanted her to get sick and leave.  Just like me enough to go to the Honors Banquet.  I never even pushed it far enough to have her kiss me. I just wanted one night to be close to her.”

“So, it worked.  Right?”

Randy swallowed hard.  “Sure, it was the perfect night.  Then it backfired, I guess.  She got to where she would stutter or just stop talking completely in the halls when I got close to her.  We had to change seat assignments in Dickerson’s class because she would freeze up from sitting next to me.   Then she dropped out and left over the summer.  She’s fine now, from what I hear.  I guess it’s because she’s away from me.”

Scott never knew those details aside from them going to the banquet together.  He leaned back in his chair, shocked speechless.

“You said she was first what else did you do?”  Scott asked, feeling like a detective interrogating his suspect.  He could see the fear and loss of control in Randy’s eyes.

“You know the McSpadden’s dog next door to me?”

“Oh God, you didn’t!” Scott gasped, stifling a shout.

Randy held his hand up, “Don’t worry, he’s fine.  I love animals as much as you do, but that little bastard hates me.  I couldn’t even play in the backyard without it barking up a storm and trying to jump the fence for me.  I tried a lesser Sigil on him.”

“Sigil?”

“That’s what those are called.  Anyway, now he goes completely silent when I’m around and stays on the opposite end of the yard.  Hell, sometimes he claws at their back door begging to be let in, just to get away from me.”

Scott flipped through the sketches again, each one just random tiny geometric shapes connected with angles and curved lines, like the paper snowflakes he made in kindergarten.  Yet – also like snowflakes - these seemed to have an order to them.

“So one worked at first but backfires, and your second one seemed to work just fine.  Why would I try this?  I hate Brent, but I don’t want to kill him.  What if what I do backfires worse than yours did?”

“That’s what I mean by starting with your shoulder, try it on yourself first.”

“Oh, great,” Scott scoffed.  “Then it backfires, and I literally won’t be able to stand myself.”

 “No, not if it’s just you, and you’re using it for healing.  Also, you have more control in general, you’re so damn disciplined.  Be pure with your intent, that should be easy for you.”

The bell rang.  Scott glanced again at the Sigils and felt the seed start to sprout as he reached to scratch his shoulder again.  There was an art to them, almost beautiful.  

He loaded the pages in his backpack and they headed out.  Rounding the corner to the front door he bumped into Brent who clasped his shoulder, mocking an apology.

“Sorry dude, how’s the limb?”  Brent squeezed hard, sending a bolt of lightning through Scott’s arm, but to Scott it felt more than that.  Inside that sprout was growing fast, and suddenly all he could think about was which Sigil he would choose.  Maybe they were more than just doodles.

“Just don’t try the last row, I never got to those,” Randy said before splitting.

Scott was never much of an artist, but duplicating was never an issue if he had a reference.  He gazed through the pages of this part of the Lesser Key called Ars Goetia.  The Sigils numbered seventy-two in all; each symbol encircled by letters forming the name of the demon it represented.  Of course, they were demons, you don’t summon angels for this sort of thing, at least not according to the movies he watched.

The one you want to use must be in your hand, Randy had told him, but none on the first few pages spoke to him.  There was no connection or flow of power, at least not with the early ones.  Scott felt no urge or feeling until the last few pages, somehow the power was stronger there, feeding that seed planted inside and causing it to grow at twice the speed he felt in study hall.

His finger stopped at the last row as another wincing pain blew through his shoulder, much worse now since his bully squeezed it.  Scott had been piling on the cream his mom bought since they got home, but it wasn’t working.

Not the last ones, Randy said, don’t try those.