//------------------------------//
// 71 I SUMMON THEE 
// Story: Moonie shorts [Filly Nightmare Moon] 
// by Eighth 
//------------------------------//

"Oh, demons from the beyond," cackles Moonie from the side of your bed, "I call upon thee... Beseech? Look, I want something. From any of you with the power really, I'm not fussy." 

You move your head slightly from your pillow to peer over to the filly on the floor who is dressed in a strange garb that looks like a shrine maiden. Almost. A shrine maiden if she were about to go vampire hunting or something. Once you let out what barely sounds like a croak of irritation in a vain attempt to ward of disturbers of sleep, you bury your head back into the pillow.

A heavy lullaby still grips you like a starving Bengal tiger that just wandered into an orphanage full of kids too malnourished to run. So rather than do anything but hope you can get back to sleep, you watch. Well, you actually listen as your eyes are still too sensitive to the light and you need to keep your head buried in a pillow, unmoving. As far as Moonie is concerned, you're still asleep so she raises her voice an octave.

"I offer to you, oh being of terror and torment, this sacrifice. A... Well, it calls itself human but I can't be entirely sure. They're not even mythical, just alien. I just call him Anonymous, or peasant for short."

"Wht hf I toll yew abt his?" You muffle into your pillow.

"What?"

With a sigh, you cock your head to the side once more but keep your eyes closed for fear of the light as if its burning sight will make you unable to return to the plane of slumber like a holy retribution for allowing the evil ritual in your room.

"You are to stop trying to sacrifice me."

"But what if I get something really good?" Moonie protests with a stamp of her hoof.

"No."

"Like maybe a big grilled cheese toastie," adds Moonie, ignoring you.

"I'd like to think I'm worth more than that," you grumble lowly so Moonie can't hear however in your sleep deprived state, she does.

"Yes but obviously I'm not going to get market value, otherwise the demons would never make a profit. Where is your sense of stable economic bartering?" Moonie scolds.

"Right," you reply dismissively as you sit up, "What do you want?"

"Food, you peasant. Obviously. When is it ever anything else?"

Moonie rolls her eyes and heads off, likely to the kitchen. You groan, almost as if in pain, and sit on the side of your bed where your feet dangle down and slip into the tomato sauce Moonie has used to draw a large seal around your bed.

"Moonie, you're cleaning this. Now!" You bark.

"NO!"

"Then you'll starve," you command without any real conviction.

"Then I'd die and rule over hell where you couldn't tell me what to do and then when you die your soul would be subject to MY ETERNAL RULE," she bellows, and you could swear you heard a thunder crack during the last part of her sentence.

"You wouldn't rule hell," you reply as you shuffle into the kitchen.

"Even if that was true, which it isn't, it'd still be preferable to here. Pitchforking tormented souls, orchestral screaming, and all the other horror-based delights," Moonie squeals with a shudder of glee.

"And you'd enjoy all that?"

She nods enthusiastically.

"Then that wouldn't be hell."

The smile on her face quivers, "what do you mean?"

"You're meant to suffer there... No, for you, hell would be boredom. Like you've never experienced before. For you... It'd be like a... Well, like a job. You'd be constantly filling out forms from an inbox that is eternally full, listening to nothing but a clock's ticking with hands that never move, breaks with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling to count the fan's rotations, and customer service!"

Moonie screams.

"What is wrong with you? How can you imagine that? Oh, you are sick!"