Dream: Best Laid Plans, Part 1 of 2

Names have been changed, some details altered and/or omitted…

Besides, it’s only a dream. Much to do today, so here is part one of what I dreamt the early morning of November 10, 2010.

I’m knitting. Killing time in my favorite coffeehouse. Headphones in place, tucked away in a corner. Knit one, yarn over, knit two together, repeat. A close friend comes looking for me. He knows precisely where I’m hiding.

“Heya, Keri. Do you have a minute to spare for assaulting me?” Rigson taps me on the shoulder. I free my ears to hear him. “A friend of mine is looking for something, and I think you can help him.”

Uh-oh. “Looking for what? I’m a stingy bitch, you know.” I pat the bench, he sits beside me quickly.

We hug in greeting. My hands return to the busywork of knitting, but I’m watching his face with tainted mirth.

“Well, um. He’s planning some magic ritual, and needs the help of a spirit caller as a focus.” My hands keep knitting as I mentally turn over all the various ways the statement can be interpreted.

“Do you know the details? And what the hell gives you the idea that I’m agreeable to this?” He is uncomfortable under my gaze, so I look down at the knitting to give him room to squirm.

“He said he is invoking a power. That he can’t invoke the power into himself because he’s not strong enough. And that all he wants is a seal charged, and the power will be dismissed.” I peek at him accusingly. “Honest! That’s what he told me!”

“Did he show you where he wants this done?” I had not agreed to it yet, but was greatly curious myself about the plans.

“In his house. His living room doubles as magic space.” I can’t complain about that. He gets to practice freely. I’m stuck in a corner with most of my things hidden from view.

“Who will be present, assuming, I’m crazy enough to agree to this?”

We both laugh. He knows if I’m asking these questions, I’ve already committed to do it. I just have to convince my conscious self to go along with it.

“Him. And me. And trans-dimensional squirrel aquanauts on vacation.” He’s joking about the squirrels.

“You? You’re participating in this? I thought ritual magic wasn’t your style.”

Rigson looks at me with unusual severity. “If you’re there. I’m there. What he is asking will put you in a vulnerable place. I’m not participating. I’m guarding.”

It’s odd to have someone care for me more than I care for myself. I’m not used to it. It’s unnerving as fuck.

I turn back to my knitting. “What power is he calling?”

“Something angelic. I think Enochian. He tells me he isn’t calling anything dark or left-handed.”

“So, he’s lying to you. Gotcha. Tell me again why you think I should help him?” I realize I’m pulling the stitches unduly tight. I wriggle the needle to work slack into the row.

“Because if he tries to do it alone, I think he’ll hurt himself. At best, nothing will happen. At worst, he calls something he can’t expel. And the squirrels take pictures for Earth’s Funniest Videos.” That’s Rigson, always injecting levity where it is least expected.

“So, why do you think I should help him, if your boy is playing with things he can’t control?” My hands have the proper flow again. I let muscle memory continue on.

“Because you’re never in control.” The knitting stops in mid-air. I turn to stare at him, more perturbed than angry. Rigson has two very annoying habits. He insert nonsensical statements in the most inappropriate of conversations. And he tells the truth with wrecking ball finesse.

Before I can gather enough words for a response, he continues on. “You’re like the drunkard in a car crash. When things get out of control, spirit-wise, you tend to tumble and fall through it all and walk away with barely a scratch, a hell of a good story, and another stamp on your astral passport. If this gets out of control, I’m more worried about what you will do to him, than what he will do to you.” He turns away, weighing his next words. “But I still want to be there, just in case.”

My hands return to knitting. I think his words over. “Is there anyone else you would consider?”

“No.”

“You know he’s lying his ass off to you. Solitary time with the Enochian angels is not a bad thing. Whatever power he’s planning to summon, it won’t come gently.”

“I figured as much. But I’m worried he will hurt himself if he tries this solo.”

“And I’ll be in the clear?” I wrinkle my face at him. “Gee, thanks for considering my safety in this.”

“Keri, I know you’ll be just fine through this. After all, you’ve been ridden by worse.” He again tries to be cheerful about the prospect.

“By worse how?”

Deadpan, he answers, “Your favorite guy, that I really don’t want to piss off because I really would like to keep all my teeth in my mouth.” He holds both hands up in an act of submission. Which doesn’t help my sudden flare of temper.

I chew my tongue for a few seconds and keep my hands on the knitting for a few more. “You realize now, I’m committed. If for no other reason than to prove being ridden by him is not as bad as you make it.” I put the knitting away. “Alright, when and where. Let’s get this over with.”

He bounces off the seat with delight. “This evening, and you don’t have to move your car, it’s within walking distance.”

“I need to get something to eat now, then. Come on, my treat.” We leave the coffee house together. I’m wondering what the hell am I getting myself in this time, Rigson is expounding on the territorial wars of trans-dimensional squirrels and cyborg chipmunks. I tell him to put my money on the chipmunks.

Not realizing I’m dreaming, the sudden shift of time and scene to the house of Rigson’s friend doesn’t alarm me. It’s a little formula house, tucked away on a formula street. Nothing on the outside to make it more remarkable than the other identical houses around it. Rigson knocks on the door, and his friend answers. A man I’ve seen around at the coffeehouse welcomes us and ushers us inside. A brief thought nags at me, that I should have formally requested permission to enter, but the thought leaves as Rigson pulls me in with him.

Rigson is quick to introduce us. “Keri, this is Jack. Jack, this is Keri, the spirit caller I told you about.” I shake hands with a man in his late twenties. Long hair, thin build. His shirt sleeve is covering most of a tattoo on his arm. I sense nothing out of the ordinary from Jack.

“I dunno if I can claim the title of ‘Spirit Caller’. I have no titles really. Other than ‘Professional People Pisser-Offer’, which I tend to be very good at.” Rigson jumps into the conversation with anecdotes and personally witnessed examples of my misanthropy.

While he expounds on how to make people cry, I take a look around the living room. The couchs have been moved to the walls of the room. I can see the marks on the hardwood floor made by the sliding furniture. The television has also been moved and turned to face the wall. I note the room is bare of small, breakable things. Removing potential weapons?

On the living room floor, are trails of sand and chalk. A large square, as large as floor space allows, has been marked out in white sand. Within the square are two smaller squares of differing sizes. The larger square has a diamond marked within, and a circle marked within that. The smaller square has a triangle marked within, pointing towards the outside, and a circle marked within the triangle. Within the lines, without the lines, and circumscribing everything, are squiggles, seals, and occult symbols.

I know nothing of how to summon Enochian angels. I can not say for sure if this setup is truly proper or not. I can say, looking at the arrangement has me greatly concerned.

“Let me guess, I’ll take point in the triangle, and you’ll take point in the diamond.” I continue studying the markings as I interrupt the two men’s camaraderie. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack nodding. I hear him tell Rigson to return for me in a few hours.

“Rigson stays.” I turn to face Jack fully.

“His presence is not necessary for the ritual. It may even interfere, if you know him as well as I do.” Jack takes on an air of authority. This is his ritual, and he knows what is required and what is not.

“Rigson stays, or I leave. If he remains true to form, his presence will only interfere when it is necessary for it to interfere.” Jack continues to protest. I grab Rigson’s arm and head for the door.

“Okay then! He stays. But in the kitchen.” Jack is upset at the alteration of his plans.

“No. He stays in here. You have everything marked out. Anything outside the greater square will not interfere, if you’re done your wards right.” I tilt my head in thought. “Or is there something you are not telling me?”

Jack stutters a bit before answering. “No! No. Just. I’m not used to an audience. That’s all.”

Rigson looks at Jack with concern, then back at me. “Your call, Keri. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh no, Rigson. I’m committed now. I have to follow through. Looks like you won’t be on the receiving end of any shit, this time. Jack, don’t set up the rest of it just yet. I need Rigson to help me with something before you seal me in.”

I take off all my jewelry, including the opal pendant. Tucking them into my purse, I pull out a necklace of beads, two lengths of ribbon, and a blindfold. I kick my shoes off at the door and carefully step over the sand lines into the smaller circle.

“Rigson, hold my purse. All my belongings are in it. But if you must, hand over the money but not the opal.” He nods. “Now, come over here. Stand without the grand square.” As he walks over, he is careful not to step over any lines. “Take the ribbon, and tie one to each ankle. You’re hobbling me.” He raises an eyebrow in askance. “Just do it.”

He does as I ask, bending down to one knee and ties each ribbon snugly. Standing, I hand him the bead necklace. “Now, wrap these around my wrists, binding them together. You’re shackling me.” I hold my wrists out and close together, as if waiting for handcuffs. Jack is visibly upset but says nothing. Rigson remarks that I can easily snap the necklace cord without being angered. Despite the comment, he does as I ask and wraps the beads tightly around my wrists.

I drop the blindfold into his hands. Carefully turning around to face the medium square, I stand still while Rigson ties the blindfold snugly around my face.

He guides me into a cross legged, seated position. “Okay, Jack. I’m ready. I have sat down and will now start my descent while you seal me in. Once I start, I won’t consciously know anything until Rigson unties the blindfold.”

I hear Rigson walk heavily to the couch. He forgets I am blinded, not deafened, and yells, “I’m here, Keri. I know all the names you call me by, if you need help, just yell.”

Rigson starts verbally describing what Jack is adding to the “circle”. Inaudibly, I start laying down my own wards and protections. First I lay down a series of runes around me, mostly consisting of Ehwaz and a few others in repetition. A sudden inspiration forces me to call Elhaz as well, but not to protect myself, but to protect those around me from any violence on my part.

I know candles have been added to the room. I can smell the burning wax. Various incense is being burned. I get whiffs of different scents swirling from different burning points. I can hear Jack intoning in a strange and difficult tongue. This all helps to push me deeper, downward, within.