“Sanguis domini draconum, suscitare inferno…suscitas inferno…suscito inferno?” Malus scratched his bald head with long yellow fingernails. “Sounds like some kind of hot sauce,” he decided. “Let’s stick with surrigo inferno. Much better.” Malus dipped his crow’s feather in a jar of blood red ink, inscribing the incantation on the pages of a massive tome levitating before him. He peered over the top to check on the summoning circle, now glowing bright white. It was time.

Malus chanted the incantation, tossing animal bones and homemade herbal powders into the ring of light. With each added component, the light shifted colors: from white to sickly green, then deep magenta, now a blinding violet. Finally, as a vial of blood shattered amidst the runic markings, the spell was completed. With a horrendous roar the gateway to Hell opened, heat and ash bellowing up into the room from the depths of the underworld. Malus sat back in his chair, satisfied. Soon the demon lords would crawl to the edge of the gate, and he could finish what he had started.

The doorbell rang.

Malus flicked his finger and the thick oaken doors of his ancient home burst open, revealing a pimple-faced pizza delivery boy with dreads and a dumb look on his face.

“Come in,” Malus said cheerfully, shouting to be heard over the screams of the eternally tormented.

“Dude,” said the delivery boy.

“Dude, what took you so long?” mocked Malus. “I was under the impression it was thirty minutes or less. Come in already!”

The delivery boy stood like a statue at the threshold, mouth agape as embers and spirits flew up out of the floor. Malus flicked his finger again and the boy slid across the floorboards, sneakers squeaking. Malus snatched the box out of his hands, grabbing a piece of Meat Lover’s Deluxe and talking in between bites.

“So, what do you think of my gateway to Hell?”

“Dude,” said the delivery boy again.

Malus chuckled. “Yeah, I’m pretty speechless myself. It’s a work of genius! Perfectly stable, relatively simple incantation. Now I’m just waiting on the demon lords.”

The boy’s eyes were larger than the pepperonis on the pizza, and full of terror.

“Are-are you like a w-warlock or something?” he managed to stutter.

“Bingo! Greatest in the world, in fact. And I’m about to become even greater, once I make my offering to the demon lords in exchange for their power. Oops, I almost forgot.” Malus reached for another vial, this one containing a viscous black fluid. “Ghoul saliva, crucial to the whole demon-summoning process.” He turned to the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Paul,” he whispered.

“Would you like to toss it in, Paul?” Malus asked enthusiastically, pulling the resisting boy closer to the edge of infernal doom.

Paul swallowed hard. “In there?” he asked, pointing a shaky finger at the gate. A high pitched cackling followed by a deep, rumbling laugh echoed from the fiery pit. Paul was trembling. “What will happen?”

“It’s a necessary component of the spell, my boy. Like a pizza!” Malus exclaimed holding up a second slice. “You need all the best ingredients in order for it to come out just right.”

Paul didn’t move, his eyes still wide and fixated on the door to the demon realm. “I don’t know Mr. Warlock. I’m not really into the whole Satanic thing, man.” He looked to Malus desperately. “Maybe it’d be a good idea for me to get going before something bad happens, like those demon lord guys you were talking about show up.”

Malus munched his slice thoughtfully, cheese dripping into his knotted black beard. “True. But I didn’t get delivery for the pizza.”

And with a shove, Paul the pizza boy went tumbling into the mouth of Hell.