Owl Magic, A Short Tale Of The Occult

The heat came down like the beating of giant wings, suffocating, intense, taking the air right out of your lungs  and sucking it up into whatever was beyond the bonewhite glare of the sun.

So deal with it. Not easy, but I strode into the furnace and somehow made it to the Shamrock filling station pick 'n steal. A short walk across the anteroom of Hell.

"How's it going?" I asked across cracked formica in the cooling blast of air conditioning. She rose up from checking cheap cigars, Swisher Sweets, in all their lurid 99 cent, bluntish glory.

"OK. That it, coffee?" 

"And a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro Light, short, box."

She had the cigarettes ready. It was a morning ritual, regular and repeated but something was different.

"You like the smell?"

Stick incense wafted on the AC, familiar enough; like the odor of tipis in Wales, Austin or San Francisco.

"I smell it," I replied, "It smells like hippies."

She giggled, suddenly coy.

"But hey, better than a toilet, right?"

"So true, better than a toilet. But what's with the owl?"

She paused, laughter most definitely over, and looked at the plastic bird glaring round-eyed from the top of a glass counter and its  sign for burned offerings. 

We gazed in silence, while darkness flickered in and out at the edge of vision, barely perceptible shadowmen, closing in. I ended the spell.

"So what's with the owl. Guarding against evil spirits?"

Liquid brown Aztec Inca eyes met mine and stayed there before another giggle. "No, he's just an owl, you know, like some stupid bird."

I walked out into the heat, coffee in hand, to return the next day; rituals bear repetition.

The owl looked down from his perch and darkness clustered, sharp and flitting, almost out of sight.

"Coffee and cigarettes?"

"That's right, same again."

"You remember the owl?

"Yes."

"You're right. He stops the evil."

"I know."

I looked at Mictecacihuatl and she at me, impassive, empty, a void, this was just the way it was. 

Vade retro, I walked into the searing light of the day, "God bless."

Behind me came a rustle of feathers and the sound of tearing, plucking, ripping and pulling at flesh. I didn't look back.

All Gods, readers, are not the same.

God bless,

LSP

Head of Intelligence

Bark, Bark, Howl, Bark! It was Head of Intelligence, Blue Gehlen, giving his usual predawn stand to. You know, that eerie hour or two when you scan the perimeter, waiting. Or in my case, catching up on email and saying Morning Prayer.

This Dog Says Liturgical Experts Are Clowns

And none of your modern rubbish either; I use the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. Why? Because it's better than the newfangled, pitifully translated, soapy pablum that was foisted off on us by the liturgical experts. What a crew of clowns. Ignore them.

Then it was time to take my security chief on a quick recce patrol as the sun was rising over the church. 1st RV was at the local Pick 'n Steal, where everyone was buying Blunts and lotto tickets. I got a coffee and moved out to the 2nd RV, a chainlink fence by the Disciples of Christ church. 

Keep The Agency on a Tight Leash

Blue Gehlen resupplied on an old tootsie roll while I drank coffee, like a warrior. Then we headed back to the Compound; all in all, a pretty typical morning. Next stop?

Visit the flock and shoot pistols.

God bless,

LSP

Go On, Walk The Dog

After Morning Prayer, I like to take my dog, Blue Aggressor, for a walk to the local Pick 'n Steal and get a coffee. I like the way the sun makes a shadow of the animal's ridiculously pointed ears.

I don't like standing in line while people in dirty pajama bottoms and slippers get lottery tickets, blunts and liters of soda. But whatever, it's all part of life's rich weave. Speaking of which, there was a weave lying in the gutter on the way to the coffee shop and I was going to take a picture. It lay there, abandoned, for a few days, but it disappeared; I guess someone salvaged it.

Then, coffee in hand, I walk back to the compound with Blue Eschaton. He's taken to trying to attack anything with a trailer, as well as the mail truck, which he hates. Good thing I have him on a leash.

He's a popular dog and I get a lot of compliments, "Good lookin' dog!" or, "I like your puppy!" That said, people tend to give him a wide berth.

Wisely.

LSP

No Indictment

Presented without comment.

LSP