Chapter 14: The Summoning

Final Preparations

I, David Parker, former marketing executive, current HOA patsy and sex slave, stood in the recreation center basement clutching a ridiculous ceremonial dagger shaped like twisted bones. What a perfect metaphor for my life: holding a weapon I didn't understand while watching my son get strapped to a sacrificial altar. Father of the Year material right here.

Evelyn flitted around the ritual chamber in a crimson robe that somehow managed to show more cleavage than fabric. Her usual perfect composure had cracked, replaced by something manic and electric. One moment she was meticulously adjusting ritual symbols, the next she was practically vibrating with excitement, touching the ancient book, the Codex, with a reverence usually reserved for expensive handbags.

"Isn't it magnificent, David?" She gestured around the chamber, her pupils dilated. "Decades of planning, coming to fruition!" She ran her fingers over the stone altar, a shudder visibly running through her body. "When Lord Alaric emerges, he'll be so... hungry." As she said it she reached down and gave her crotch one firm, slow stroke with her middle finger.  It was kind of hot, but as I looked around no one else seemed to notice, so I played it cool.

I nodded mechanically, still clinging to the fraying threads of my denial. This wasn't a vampire summoning ritual. This was an elaborate HOA performance art piece. The red substance flowing through the copper pipes? Probably cherry Kool-Aid. The fact that my son was strapped to an altar? High point of the season for community theater..

Speaking of Ethan, he was staring at me with an expression that said "Dad, what the actual fuck."

"Dad!" he shouted. "They're going to kill us! Like, for real!"

"Language, young man," Mrs. Peterson corrected from where she was carefully arranging ceremonial bowls shaped like open ribcages. "This is a sacred ritual, not a skateboard park."

Evelyn shivered again, closing her eyes momentarily. "I can feel him," she whispered. "Alaric stirs beyond the veil... waiting... anticipating..." She sounded like she was narrating a supernatural romance novel.  Despite the circumstances, I stifled a laugh.

One of the HOA members wheeled in Margaret, who was unconscious and wearing what looked like a Halloween costume shop's idea of a "virgin sacrifice" outfit. Her usual badass leather was replaced with a flimsy white shift bound at waist, wrists, and ankles.  It was almost completely transparent, which didn’t really matter since her breasts were hanging out, anyway.  I took a good, long look, then once again noticed no one else was gaping, so I pretended there wasn’t a gorgeous, mostly naked woman splayed out in front of me.

"Begin transportation to the grove," Evelyn commanded, her voice shifting from breathy anticipation to steel command in an instant. "The amplification nodes have achieved resonance."

As we marched through Cedar Lane's perfectly manicured streets, I got a good look at what had replaced those three evicted houses. Where the previous houses had stood, metallic pyramids had been erected that would have made an architect on acid proud. They pulsed with red light.  Neighbors emerged from their homes and fell into the precession following some silent queue, all wearing identical robes. 

"Dad," Ethan whispered as we approached the grove, "this isn't a game. They're really going to kill us."

"It's just a community ceremony," I replied automatically, the words feeling ridiculous even as they left my mouth. "An initiation. Community is important, son"

"You’re being such an asshole." Ethan hissed and rolled his eyes. "How can you still pretend this isn't real?"

The grove came into view, transformed from a pleasant community garden into something out of a heavy metal album cover. The central stone, now fully excavated, was surrounded by a scaffolded platform.

Evelyn took her place at the head of the altar, the Codex open before her. She looked completely transformed, her usual perfect blonde hairstyle now wild, her eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. She lifted her arms dramatically, and I swear the wind picked up on cue. Someone had been practicing her villain entrance.

"Children of Cedar Lane," she called, her voice carrying effortlessly. "For twenty-five years we have prepared for this moment!"

The crowd responded with a murmur that sent chills down my spine. It sounded like they'd rehearsed, which made me wonder if there had been cult choir practice sessions I'd missed.

"The alignments are perfect," Evelyn continued, practically purring with satisfaction. "The vessels prepared. The catalyst primed." She looked at Ethan with the kind of hunger usually reserved for chocolate desserts after a breakup. "With the blood of youth, Lord Alaric will emerge in all his glory!"

She ran her tongue over her lips, eyes half-closed in anticipation. "And he will be so... grateful... to his faithful servant." The way she emphasized "grateful" made me think she was expecting more than a thank-you note from this vampire lord.  I’d never had a cuckold fetish, but my dick stiffened thinking about it.  I would probably just be one of these HOA members in a mask, cosplaying as a vampire as he fucked her.  But, hey, that could be fun.  

Evelyn handed me that ridiculous bone dagger, snapping me out of my day dream. "Take your place beside your son," she instructed. "The guardian of the catalyst. A position of great honor."

As I took my position, Evelyn began reading from the Codex. The symbols on the ground glowed more intensely, and the red lights from those pyramid structures glowed brighter. Above us, the sky warped in ways that NASA would have a field day trying to explain.

Reality itself seemed to bend around us, and in that moment, something in my mind finally, finally broke through. Everything I'd told myself was metaphorical, was literal. Everything I'd dismissed as eccentric roleplay, was real. And my son, my actual, real son, was about to be sacrificed.

"Oh my god," I whispered.

"Not god," Evelyn corrected, her eyes wild with ecstasy as the ritual gained momentum. "Alaric!" She looked down at me, her perfect makeup now streaked with sweat, her expression caught between religious fervor and sexual anticipation. "Isn't it wonderful, David? Don't you feel it? The cusp of transformation! The moment of ascension!"

I looked down at the dagger in my hand, then back to my son's terrified face. On my left, the woman I'd been sleeping with was about to summon a vampire. On my right, my son was strapped to an altar. And somewhere out there, my wife was probably planning to kill me if we ever got out of this.

The Awakening

The ritual kicked into high gear as Evelyn produced a small ceremonial blade from her robe with the dramatic flair of a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

"The first offering," she announced, approaching Ethan with the reverent expression of someone about to unbox a limited-edition collectible. "Just a taste to prime the connection."

Before I could process what was happening, she slashed my son's palm with surgical precision. Ethan yelped, partly from pain, partly from the indignity of being a supernatural appetizer.

"Dad!" he shouted, blood dripping into Evelyn's waiting silver bowl. "Do something!"

Paternal instinct finally overrode magical/sexual brainwashing, and I lurched forward. "That's enough!"

My heroic moment lasted approximately 1.3 seconds before what appeared to be an animated clay doll sprang forward and grabbed my wrist with surprising strength for something that looked like a rejected Claymation character. Two other committee members seized my arms, their grips suggesting they'd been doing HOA-approved strength training.

"The guardian remains at his post," Evelyn said without even looking at me, using the same tone she'd used when rejecting my garden gnome application.

She carried Ethan's blood to the central stone and poured it into a small depression. The moment the blood touched stone, every light in Cedar Lane flickered simultaneously, like the neighborhood was experiencing a synchronous power surge.

I watched in horror as the copper pipes running beneath the transparent sections of the platform began to pulse with dark fluid. The "eco-friendly infrastructure" I'd so casually dismissed was now carrying blood from every house in Cedar Lane.

"The collection system is activating," Mrs. Peterson announced with the enthusiasm of someone narrating a home makeover reveal. "The entire community's contribution is flowing to the center!"

Above the altar, reality began to warp and twist like a Salvador Dalí painting having an existential crisis. What started as a small distortion grew into what looked disturbingly like a mouth opening in the fabric of space itself.

"He comes!" Evelyn cried in a near orgasmic tone I had come to crave. She swayed on her feet, arms outstretched, expression hovering between religious ecstasy and … normal ecstasy. "Lord Alaric approaches the threshold!"

The neighborhood continued its synchronized chanting. The portal expanded, reality tearing like wet tissue paper, revealing glimpses of a realm that made my eyes water and my brain hurt.

I looked at my son strapped to the altar, at the neighborhood I'd moved to for "safety and stability," and at the interdimensional doorway now opening above our heads.

I looked at Margaret; at some point in these proceedings she had come to.  It looked like she was trying to get out of her bond.  We made brief eye contact and she shook her head in the negative.  

Well, fuck.

Thomas Arrives

The portal above the altar had grown to the size of a garage door, pulsing with sickly light as Evelyn raised her ceremonial dagger above Ethan's chest. The chanting reached a fevered pitch, and I stood frozen, my mind finally clear but unable to move.

"With this final sacrifice, Lord Alaric shall walk among us!" Evelyn cried, her voice giddy with anticipation.

That's when Claire burst through the circle of cultists, weighed down with what appeared to be Margaret's entire weapons collection. Swords crisscrossed her back, daggers were strapped to every inch of her legs and bandoliers of throws stars formed an ‘X’ between her cleavage.  My wife now looked like she'd raided the costume department of an action movie. I noticed she was also wearing Margaret’s jacket and had a short pang of jealousy. 

"Get away from my son!" she shouted, her voice surprisingly steady despite the trembling crossbow.

Evelyn laughed. "Claire! How wonderful of you to join us. You're just in time to witness the culmination of everything Cedar Lane was built for."

Claire fired the crossbow. The bolt went wildly astray, embedding itself in a ceremonial cake that Mrs. Peterson had apparently baked for the post-summoning reception. Because, of course, there was catering. This was still technically an HOA function.  Mrs. Peterson wailed, staring at her impaled dessert.

Claire abandoned the crossbow and pulled out a wicked-looking dagger, charging forward with maternal fury overriding any sense of self-preservation. Three cultists moved to intercept her, their synchronized movements suggesting they'd practiced this defensive formation during community yoga.

That's when it happened. A dark shape dropped from the night sky, landing in the center of the ritual space with enough force to crack the platform. The figure straightened.  It was a man with silver-streaked hair past his shoulders and a worn leather jacket that had seen better decades. 

Before any of us could react, he moved.  He didn’t run, didn’t sprint, but simply appeared to be in multiple places almost simultaneously. One moment he was at the center of the platform, the next he was beside three cultists who crumpled to the ground.

Claire skidded to a halt, her expression cycling rapidly through confusion, relief, and then back to confusion.

Thomas continued his impossible movement, appearing beside Margaret's altar, snapping her restraints like they were made of paper. Then he was at Ethan's side, freeing him with the same efficiency.

"Get them out of here," he ordered Claire, his voice carrying an authority that bypassed conscious thought.

His eyes were reflective like a cat's, glowing slightly in the ritual light. And his teeth were longer and sharper than any human's should be.

"Oh my god," I whispered. "He's a—"

"Vampire," Evelyn finished, her voice faltering for the first time. She knew him. The recognition in her eyes was unmistakable, and so was the fear.

Thomas turned to face her, and suddenly the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Karen," he said, his voice carrying centuries of weariness. "Still playing with forces beyond your control."

Evelyn's perfectly manicured hand flew to her throat, her usually flawless composure completely shattered. "You," she breathed. "It can't be. You're supposed to be—"

"Dead? Sorry to disappoint." Thomas's smile showed just enough fang to make my knees weak. "I told you twenty-five years ago what would happen if you tried this again. Yet here we are." He gestured at the portal above the altar. "Another half-baked summoning, another suburban death cult. Your aesthetic choices have improved, I'll give you that. This place was basically a trailer park in '75."

Evelyn's eyes darted between Thomas and the portal, which was now fluctuating wildly. "You don't understand," she said, trying to regain her composure. "This time it's different. The Codex showed me—"

"The Codex is not a DIY vampire lord instruction manual, Karen." Thomas sighed with the exasperation of someone who'd had this conversation too many times. "How many times do I have to stop you from doing this?"

Around us, the remaining cultists seemed torn between defending their leader and running for their lives. Mrs. Peterson was still mourning her cake, which seemed like questionable prioritization given the circumstances.

I managed to find my voice. "You know each other?"

Thomas spared me a glance. "We've met. Every twenty-five years or so, when she tries to summon Alaric. It's getting a bit repetitive, honestly."

"You ruined everything!" Evelyn shrieked, abandoning all pretense of HOA president dignity. "I had it perfect this time! The synchronized sprinklers, the collection system, the amplification nodes.  It was all going to work!"

"The sprinklers were a nice touch," Thomas conceded. "Very... suburban. But you still got the convergence calculations wrong.  I don’t know why you blood witches are always so bad at math."

The portal pulsed violently, reality stretching and warping around it.

"We need to go," Margaret said, now standing and looking remarkably composed for someone who'd just been a ritual sacrifice, though her tits were still hanging out.  "That portal isn't stable.  I’m not sure what’s going to happen if she tries to continue, but it won’t be good."

Thomas nodded. "Take them out of here," he told her. "I'll deal with Karen."

"It's EVELYN!" the HOA president screamed, looking decidedly un-president-like with her perfect hair now hanging in her face and her mascara running down her cheeks.

"Whatever." Thomas waved dismissively. "You've had a lot of names. It’s hard to keep track."

As Margaret herded us toward the edge of the ritual space, I caught a glimpse of Claire's face. My wife was staring at Thomas with an expression that said she was rapidly reevaluating everything she thought she knew about reality.  Welcome to the club, honey. I'd been doing the same thing for the past five minutes.

Behind us, Thomas and Evelyn continued their supernatural standoff, decades of grudges playing out in our community grove.

Alaric Emerges

The portal above the altar had grown to the size of a garage door, pulsing with sickly light. The chanting continued, reaching a fevered pitch. 

"If I can’t have the boy’s blood," she hissed, her perfect composure completely shattered, "then a different sacrifice is required!"

Before anyone could react, Evelyn grabbed Mrs. Peterson by the hair and sliced the ceremonial dagger across her throat in one fluid motion. Mrs. Peterson's eyes widened in shock.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Peterson screamed, breaking ranks with the other cultists. "That wasn't what we agreed to!"

"Adaptations must be made for success," Evelyn said coldly, collecting Mrs. Peterson's blood in the ceremonial bowl. She moved with frantic energy, pouring the fresh sacrifice onto the central stone. "Lord Alaric requires power to manifest!"

Thomas lunged forward, but he was too late. The portal, which had been destabilizing, suddenly snapped back into focus with sickening clarity. The tear in reality widened, the edges of the doorway now perfectly defined, like a hole cut into the fabric of our dimension with surgical precision.

"YES!" Evelyn cried, her voice edged with manic triumph. "COME FORTH!"

A massive clawed hand emerged first, gripping the edge of reality itself. What followed was a nightmarish blur of limbs and features that seemed to shift and reconfigure with each passing second. The temperature around the grove plummeted, frost forming on the ritual implements.

And then, in a final pulse of energy that knocked several cultists off their feet, the entity fully emerged and immediately began... shrinking. The towering monstrosity contracted, its form compressing and resolving into something almost disappointingly mundane: a middle-aged man. He was naked, with a pudgy midsection and an unimpressive cock hanging flaccidly between his thighs.

The only hints of his true nature were his eyes (completely black, like holes into the void) and the faint shimmer in the air around him, as if reality itself was struggling to accommodate his presence.

"Lord Alaric!" Evelyn dropped to her knees, arms raised in worship. "At last you walk among us! I, your faithful servant, have prepared this world for your—"

"SILENCE!" The word carried physical force, shattering nearby windows and causing the remaining cultists to clutch their ears in pain. Despite his unassuming appearance, Alaric's voice still contained multitudes, like a thousand voices speaking in perfect, terrible harmony.

He looked down at his hands, flexing fingers that occasionally rippled with inhuman movement, as if something much larger was trying to escape its confines.

"You dare?" he growled, rounding on Evelyn.  "You DARE summon me before my time? In this... THIS?" He gestured at his form with obvious disgust. "This WEAKENED STATE?"  His voice changed as he spoke and became the nasal whine of the accountant he appeared to be. 

"My lord," Evelyn began, her confident smile faltering, "temporary limitations can be overcome with proper feeding. I've prepared a community, cultivated for decades—"

Alaric moved as Thomas had before, seizing Evelyn by the throat and lifting her effortlessly. "You think I would not recognize a botched summoning? The alignment was imperfect. The catalyst substituted. The convergence INCOMPLETE!"

Thomas used the distraction to rush over to us. "Go," he ordered Margaret. "Get them out. Now."

Margaret nodded, all business despite the thin sacrificial shift she was still wearing. "This way," she told Claire, Ethan, and me, gesturing toward a gap in the hedges behind the grove.

"But the ritual—" I started, still somehow caught in the bureaucratic mindset that had ruled me for weeks.

"Is about to become a bloodbath," Margaret cut me off. "Move!"

Alaric punctuated her point by casually tossing Evelyn aside like an unwanted toy and seizing the nearest cultist, poor Mr. Henderson from two doors down. In one smooth motion he ripped the man’s head from his neck and drank in the arterial spray.  

The remaining HOA members broke from their trance state, screaming and trying to flee. Alaric moved among them with the casual efficiency of someone sorting mail, feeding indiscriminately.

Even Evelyn looked shocked at the violence as she scrambled away from her summoned master. She looked less like an HOA president and more like someone who'd just realized she'd ordered takeout from the wrong dimension.

"Thomas!" she cried, abandoning dignity completely. "You have to stop him! This isn't how it was supposed to—"

"You never learn, do you?" Thomas replied, somehow appearing between her and Alaric. "Step back, Karen. I'll handle your mess. Again."

We didn't stay to watch the supernatural showdown. Margaret led us through the perfectly landscaped terrain of Cedar Lane, keeping to the shadows between houses. Behind us, screams and the sounds of destruction echoed from the grove, accompanied by flashes of strange light that hurt to look at directly.

As we reached the relative safety of Margaret's black house, I couldn't help glancing back at the neighborhood I'd been so eager to move to just weeks ago. The amplification nodes still pulsed with sickly light, but now their beams wavered erratically. Several houses were on fire, the flames an unnatural purple that spread too quickly to be normal.

"So," I said to no one in particular as we hurried inside, "I'm guessing this violates several sections of the HOA agreement?"

Claire gave me a look that suggested her sense of humor hadn't quite recovered from watching a vampire god emerge from an interdimensional portal. Fair enough.

As Margaret secured the doors with what appeared to be magic as well as locks, Thomas slipped in behind us, his clothes singed but otherwise unharmed.

"Alaric's contained, temporarily," he reported. "Unstable summoning means unstable manifestation. He'll break free shortly, though."

"And Evelyn?" Margaret asked.

Thomas's expression darkened. "Got away. Again. That woman has the survival instincts of a cockroach." He sighed. 

As the night's events caught up with me, I sank onto Margaret's couch, trying to process everything. Just this morning, I'd been a suburban dad worried about lawn regulations and my marriage. Now I was hiding from a vampire elder god with my wife, my son, a supernatural security consultant, and a hippie vampire.