Love Crafted

There’s some hustling and bustling and suddenly you and Abigail and the others are all moved off to the side of the room farthest from the ritual area. “This is very dangerous,” a girl says with a flat, bored tone. “One mistake and we could lose the black pits that are our souls. Stay away, sheep.” The girl stays next to you and crosses her arms. “Can’t believe I have to babysit.”

The rest of the club members gather around a circle with the same energy you have when you’re woken up mid-nap.

Lewis leaves for a little bit to a small room at the back, but he comes back soon enough wearing a big robe with a bunch of skulls tied to it. “Are those, are those real skulls?” Abigail asks.

That would be awful. Someone ate those people but didn’t eat their yummy yummy head bones. That’s such a waste.

“Nah, they’re made of plaster. We’re not barbarians,” the girl says. She eyes your group for a bit. “Are any of you virgins? We might need some blood or stuff later.”

Abigail and Daphne squawk and make noises while Charlotte shakes her head.

You don’t know what’s going on, really, so you sit back and watch the ritual unfold.

Lewis circles around the group with a metal thing on the end of a chain. There’s smoke coming out of it that smells like flowers. Then he moves to the front of the circle and gestures to someone who brings him a big book that’s already opened. “Step the first. In order to call upon the great Pou-tine we must bring into the circle the ingredients of Pou-tine’s making.”

You nod. That makes sense. If someone who wasn’t Abigail wanted your attention, then putting lots of naps in a circle would probably do it, maybe some pillows and happy dreams and bedtime snacks too. You’re not sure how the mortals would figure out how to make liquid nap time, but they’re clever sometimes.

If they want to summon Pou-tine, then you know they’ll need lots of cheese, and gravy, and fries.

“Bring the blood!” Lewis says.

You blink at that then look up to Abigail for an explanation. She just looks a little worried. “Why are they getting blood?” you ask.

“Ah, I don’t know,” Abigail says.

“It’s not actually blood,” the girl says. “We’re not allowed to use blood in rituals, it’s against the rules, so we use pudding with red dye.”

“Oh,” Abigail says.

That doesn’t seem like it would work, but you’re not the expert here.

“Step the second,” Lewis says. “Like calls upon like, the Great Pou-tine is a creature of the dark. His call must reflect this.”

The lights go out and soon only a single red-flamed candle illuminates the room. That might be a good thing because you’re pretty sure you’re wearing a weird expression right now. Pou-tine isn’t a creature of the dark. And she’s a she. Sorta. Mortal genders are strange, but you’re pretty sure Pou-tine would be a girl if she was around.

“Step the third!” Lewis says with more fervor. “We chant!”

The students in the circle begin to sway from side to side, all of them slowly humming something. “Om nom nom. Om nom nom.”

“Oh great Pou-tine, master of the great dark, heed our call and come unto this mortal realm,” Lewis says.

“He’s so dark and mysterious,” the girl sighs. She’s paying more attention to Lewis than anything else.

“He’s a dummy,” you say. The girl glares at you but Charlotte and Daphne both slap their hands over their mouths. “He’s doing it all wrong. That’s not how you summon anyone.”

If they really wanted to summon Pou-tine then they would need a lot more than what they have here. They have no symbols, nothing that Pou-tine would want, and their chant is all wrong. You’re beginning to think that someone taught these students wrong on purpose.

Shaking your head, you split your attention between your small mostly-mortal body and your real big body. A call goes out across the void, not a ritual but a proper message sent between two very old things.

Your message is quite simple: “Hey, Pou-tine, some mortals want to talk.” And then you attach the proper place and time to the message. Hopefully the Old Faiths club will appreciate your help.

The room starts to smell like fried potatoes.

Curious, you take a peek on the Other Side only to find Pou-tine’s gravy-like tentacles and curds of madness swamping around the void. Its fri-eyes lock onto you and it waves a hello.

You wave back because you’re a good neighbour. You only try to eat Pou-tine when you’re really hungry or in the mood.

Reaching up with you mortal body’s hand, you grab onto Abigail. “It’s time to go now,” you say.

“W-what?” she squeaks.

“Pou-tine is coming. It’s time to go.” You accentuate that by pulling her towards the door.

The other girls hesitate a little, but they follow after you.

You only just close the door when the chanting turns to screaming, and you need to step fast to avoid the splat of gravy leaking out from under the door.

“Okay, that was fun,” you say. “Where do we go now?”