Sitting, John trembled in the dark, night blind. He whispered, "I can't do this," and squeezed his eyes shut and hugged his knees.
Lisa bent over and put her cheek on his shoulder. She rested a hand on his knee and the other on his far shoulder. "You can, and you will. It'll be easier this time. Don't try for something so grandiose." She nuzzled him.
"Your septum ring is freezing," John said.
"It does that when --Yeah. It does that. Come on," she picked up and handed the copper knife back to him. "You got this. Just a tiny bit, okay?"
"Okay, got it. Phones off?" John asked. He felt her nod, in the dark. He took a deep breath and nodded. He gripped the blade of the knife in his right hand and inhaled and sawed down into the pad of his thumb.
The blood came fast, a surge like a dropped ziplock bag. A moment later, Lisa grabbed his hand and held it over the incantation on the floor. She shook his hand and he gasped a little and her eyes went wide. She bit his shoulder, hard.
John shut his eyes and readied the words. He mouthed them. He sang them and then there was light. Light and a chill as if the basement were bathed in a wan winter dawn. The broken pipes and the hung tarps cast a spidery web of shadows, but none crossed the incantation circle.
The floor in the center of the incantation circle farted -- a tiny, miniature sphincter twitch and then, curled fetal in the center of the circle lay a ten legged goat, covered in a blood membrane. It neighed and whinnied rolled it's head. The legs uncurled, it shivered. It's eyes opened, it vomited, a thick stream of earthy effluvia that splattered back and did not pass the line of the incantation circle. It whinnied again and goat legs rubbed at the side of its mouth. Three de-socketed eyeballs hung from its jaw and swiveled and jittered in snotty sacs.
Tentatively, the beast tried to stand up.
John convulsed and Lisa pointed him away from the incantation circle before he puked on it. She chuckled. She said,