Curse of the Summoned

Intrigue

         After a certain point in my life, I didn't know what to do with myself. Around 29, I entered into this realm of mundane life. Circling around and around every single day. Doing the same thing. Seeing the same faces. After a while, I started to withdraw. I couldn't handle talking about what I was doing this weekend, what I did last weekend, and I was tired of asking. I didn't want to hear about how much of a bitch this customer was or what an asshole this coworker was being.

       I was at work at our local grocery store on a particularly dark evening, rain falling hard, yet peacefully, when he walked in. A man in a dingy gray hoodie with a mid length black coat over it and unremarkable dark jeans with old sneakers was walking at a leisurely pace down the same aisle I was opening a new box of products. His hood was over his face covering his eyes leaving only his dark beard showing. Water was dripping off his sleeves. I raised an eyebrow at his somewhat mysterious appearance, but barely took notice as I grabbed more cans of soup to fill the shelves. There was nothing about him that looked very peculiar, but there was something about him as he got closer... something that felt very...strange. Like an energy coming off of him that could almost suffocate you. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one that I was eager to get away from, so I left my stocking to go grab a drink and take a few minutes outside. While walking past him I noticed that instead of perusing the shelves trying to work out which brand of product he wanted, he was walking down the middle of the aisle with a slight lilt in his gate.

     It was quiet as I was walking to the front of the store, mulling over the unusual feeling I had just felt, when another one began to creep up slowly. I got to the counter to pay for my soda and looked from where I had just come. The man in the dark clothes was just standing there in the middle of the aisle. Even though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel them. Staring at me. I became vaguely aware of a mumbling sound coming from in front of me, but my eyes remained on him.

"Huh?" I said half heartedly.

"I said, 'Hey Andy, how's it going?'" said Sharon through bright pink lips. She was an older woman with graying hair accompanied with heavy make-up trying desperately to hide her age, and an apathetic air about her.

"Oh...I'm good, Shar. Thanks. That man down there is freaking me out. Maybe get Dave to keep an eye on him," I said low enough so that only she heard and turned to finally look at her. She turned her head to glance in the same direction.

"What man?" she asked.

I turned back very confused. There was no one there. What the hell?

"Hm. Maybe he's looking around. I'm gonna step out for a minute. Have a quick cig and I'll help you lock up."

"Okay honey." She went back to flipping through the Us Weekly magazine she had been carelessly examining.

        The air outside was cool and heavy in the autumn evening, but was a refreshing welcome from the warm air inside. Rain splashed little droplets onto my black sneakers as I walked to the side and observed the mostly empty parking lot. I leaned against the wall and opened my soda to take a sip, listening to the crispy sizzle as I twisted the top. I took a small swig and replaced the cap right as I heard footsteps coming out of the front door. I could see a dark figure from my peripheral vision and my heart sped up a bit. What was this guy's deal? I took a couple of steps further to the side as I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and grabbed a sneaky peak at the stranger. He moved to the lean on the wall a few feet from me.

"That'll kill ya you know."

I looked at him directly this time then looked away.

"So I hear," I replied, my body a bit more tense than before as I exhaled.

        He seemed to be gazing ahead of him, arms hanging at his sides, water still cascading down his dark sleeves. Almost like he was speaking without really thinking at all. I relaxed a bit. This guy must be high on something. Not uncommon these days. I focused my energy on my half-smoked cigarette and leaned on the wall in silence with him. I kept my peripheral on him as I took another small step to the side. I let the smoke slowly escape from my lips while trying to spy anything that would give me a clue as to who he was. When the cigarette was almost at its end, I put it out in the ashtray on top of the bin and started walking back inside. As I was a few steps away from the door he spoke again.

"You're being summoned," he said in a low voice. It sounded a bit rough, yet smooth at the same time.

I stopped, startled by what he had just said. He didn't move or even attempt to see if I was still there, but he seemed to know. There were only a few cars in the parking lot and no one else outside with us.

"Excuse me?"

       He remained silent before he turned his head, his eyes still covered, took a breath and exhaled then spoke more clearly this time. His voice wasn't too deep, and surprisingly warm. He seemed to be a bit of a paradox.

"You're...being...summoned," he said this in a very pointed manner that caught me extremely off guard.

       He most definitely must be high. Now, not only did I feel uncomfortable, I couldn't help, but feel a bit intrigued though not enough to stick around. Without another word, I moved away from him more swiftly and grabbed the handle of the door. I saw him lift his head a bit and stuff his hands into his coat.

"He won't wait much longer, "he said with what sounded like a hint of urgency in his voice.

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but I think you've got the wrong person, "I replied and stepped inside, locking the door behind me, and turning the 'open' sign around. It was nine o'clock. Closing time.

       Sharon and I did our closing duties and said our goodbyes to Dave, who had fallen asleep in the manager's office and was relieved it was time to leave. I checked a few minutes before to see if the stranger had gone. I didn't see anyone and made sure to check the cameras in the back of the office. No one. It was only our three cars left in the lot. The rain had slowed down, but the temperature seemed to have lowered a few degrees. My hands were very cold as I went to unlock my car door.

"I told you. He won't wait forever."

      The voice startled me, making me drop my keys. I turned around already knowing who it was. When I saw him standing there in the rain a few feet from me I felt my stomach drop with the weight of panic. I leaned down quickly to grab my keys and hold them with three keys sticking out between my knuckles and took a deep inhale of air while attempting to settle my nerves.

"I don't know if you're drunk or high, but I told you before I don't know what or who you're

talking about."

      I did my best to sound firm, but this whole thing was feeling more and more threatening given the circumstances and ominous weather. He reached into his pocket and I took a sharp breath in, only releasing it when I saw that he had pulled out a card. This was very curious indeed. If it wasn't for the rain, I'd have been able feel the slight tickle of nervous sweat running down my back, despite the, now, icy temperature.

"I'm talking about the Devil, of course. And you'll be needing someone to answer questions very soon." He reached out the hand that was holding the card. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I reached out and grabbed it slowly, never letting my eyes leave him, in case he decided to make any sudden movements. It was heavier than I expected and felt slick and expensive. I glanced at the card quickly.

"Is this a...business card?" I asked, complete and utter confusion riddling my voice as I turned the card to have a look at both sides.

"When you're ready, call the number." I briefly looked down again and back up, but to my surprise, he was gone again. I spun around looking all through the parking lot and finally started to feel how cold I actually was. I got into my car and locked the doors quickly, turning it on and waiting a minute for it to warm up so I could blast the heat. It was an older boxy Volvo that my mother had given me a few years ago and I didn't want to push it more than it could handle. I took one more look at the card I had just been given to properly examine it.

The card was made from good stock. It was dense and entirely black except for a number written in small

red print on one side and a name on the other: Atlas Day.

What the hell indeed.