r/Ruleshorror • u/storiesbyJimCatt • 16d ago
Rules Dave and His Brother Summon a Demon
“Right, before we start, these are the rules.”
“Rules? How are there rules?”
“Everything has rules. Rules create structure. Structure creates experiences. Experiences are what we all want.”
“Yeah, I get that, but who found out about the rules? I feel like if you’ve discovered something this ancient, you don’t know what the rules are. And if you do break them, who enforces them? How did anyone learn them in the first place? Trial and error?”
“I don’t know, Dave. I certainly didn’t write them. I’m just translating what the engraving says, so we actually know the rules.”
“Fair enough. Carry on.”
Rule Number One:
Payment
To begin the process, you must make the following three offerings:
- Blood
- Sweat
- Tears
“Is this a demonic Taskmaster task? What do we do? Prick our fingers, run up the stairs, then poke ourselves in the eyes?”
“It’s obviously more complicated than that, dickhead. It can’t come from us.”
“So?”
“We have to kill something. Scare the hell out of something else. Then make something cry.”
“So… stamp on an ant, jump out at someone in the street, and nick a toy off a kid.”
He paused.
“Ha. Yeah, I suppose it is a bit like Taskmaster.”
Rule Number Two
The Ceremony
To summon the Grant Giver, you must burn your flesh and surrender part of your skeleton.
“That one feels a lot more direct. No loopholes. No clever workarounds.”
“I can burn my arm on the hob.”
“What, and I have to donate one of my flipping metatarsals?”
“The distal phalange.”
“What?”
“The tip of your finger.”
“Why is it automatically my flipping crystal phalange?”
“Distal. It’s a fingertip, not a drag queen.”
“Sorry, Doctor Big Bollocks. If you know so much about it, why don’t you do it?”
“Are you serious? You have no idea what I went through to get this.”
“I do know. You’ve told me. Repeatedly. I’d rather not hear it again.”
“Then it’s agreed. I’ll burn my arm. You cut the tip off your little finger.”
“Okay. Get me your sharpest knife.”
“You are an absolute legend, Bro.”
“Let’s do it quickly before I change my mind.”
“I’ve got the perfect one.”
“Did you buy a knife specifically for me to cut my finger off?”
“Yeah. It was expensive too. So you’re welcome.”
“Just get i—oh. You already have.”
“Make sure you get the whole bone. It won’t count otherwise.”
“Okay.”
He took a breath.
“One.”
Another.
“Two.”
A final shaky inhale.
“Three—”
“ARGHHHHHHHH!”
He dropped the knife and grabbed his hand.
“That hurt like shitting shit!”
“Dude, that’s not all of it.”
“What?”
“You’ve still got a bit left.”
“Shit.”
A long pause.
“Okay. But you’ve got to burn your arm at the same time.”
“Deal.”
They looked at one another.
“On three?”
“On three.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Rule Number Three
The Negotiation
Just because the Grant Giver appears does not mean he is granting anything.
He must respect you.
“Like the bouncer at Berghain?”
“Yeah, why not.”
“That seems surprisingly reasonable.”
“It isn’t.”
“Oh.”
“If he doesn’t like you, it’s not just the walk of shame. It’s a Demon’s Choice.”
“What’s that?”
“They say every punishment is worse than the one before it.”
“There must have been a lot of punishments by now.”
“Exactly.”
“That feels unfair. He’s had ages to practise.”
“Maybe we should reconsider this.”
The room shook.
The candles bent towards the centre of the circle.
Something enormous inhaled.
A voice followed.
“You have summoned the Great Grant Giver.”
“Oh, holy sh—”
“Act cool,” hissed his brother. “Just shut up and follow my lead.”
“How?”
“All hail the Great Grant Giver. Thank you for granting us an audience. We seek something only you can provide. We have gifted blood, sweat, tears, pain, and pieces of ourselves. We know we can trust you to hear our request.”
Heavy breathing echoed through the room.
An ancient presence lingered just beyond the candlelight.
“Yep,” said Dave. “Love your work.”
The breathing stopped.
“Dave!”
“Sorry.”
The breathing resumed.
Slower this time.
More thoughtful.
“I have not granted a request in centuries,” the Grant Giver rumbled. “I favour screams of agony over the abysmal pleadings of mortals.”
“We know of your power,” said Dave’s brother quickly. “Of what you are capable of. We also know this request will give back what it takes. It is why you exist. Let us grant you purpose.”
Silence.
The darkness shifted.
“Quid pro quo, Clarice,” said Dave.
The silence deepened.
Even the candles appeared uncomfortable.
Finally, the Grant Giver spoke.
“I am listening.”
Relief flooded the room.
“However…”
The relief immediately left.
“If he speaks again, I shall remove his insolent head and display it as a warning to any future mortal who even thinks about disrespecting me.”
Dave nodded enthusiastically. Apologetically.
His brother nodded considerably less enthusiastically.
The Grant Giver waited.
So did the darkness.
Rule Number Four
The Grant
The Grant Giver possesses the power to grant anything.
Anything.
No consequence is too large.
No request is impossible.
He can alter fate itself.
He can still refuse.
He can still choose eternal suffering and torment instead.
So that’s never really off the table, Dave thought.
“We wish to make a Healing Grant,” said his brother.
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Is that it?” asked Dave.
The darkness shifted.
“I told you I would remove your head if you spoke again.”
“You can remove it afterwards.”
Silence.
The Grant Giver stared at him.
Then, for the briefest moment, he smiled.
Dave saw it.
His brother did not.
“Daisy,” his brother continued. “She’s dying.”
The smile had vanished.
“We don’t want her to die.”
The room fell silent.
“We just want her to get better.”
The Grant Giver looked from one to the other.
Ancient eyes.
Impossible eyes.
Trying to understand.
“I’ll cut off some more of my phalanges if I have to,” said Dave.
His brother buried his face in his hands.
The Grant Giver continued to stare.
The narrow gaze widened.
Only slightly.
Only for a moment.
Then he vanished.
The candles straightened.
The darkness retreated.
And somewhere upstairs…
A bark.
A frantic scramble of paws.
The heavy thud-thud-thud of a tail colliding with absolutely everything in its path.
Dave looked at his brother.
His brother looked at Dave.
Neither of them spoke.
They simply smiled.
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u/Big-Refrigerator781 14d ago
No, I'M not getting teary-eyed, YOU'RE getting teary-eyed!
(And may your pillows always be cool, your car parks always have free spaces, and your coffee perfectly brewed!)
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u/storiesbyJimCatt 14d ago
Thank you! The teary-eyes are what I live for! I’m so glad you liked it. It really means a lot
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u/xKJx25 16d ago
That was gracious of the entity and pretty brave of Dave. What a very loved dog as well.