Not Quite The Gateway To The Beyond

With nothing left to lose he decided it was time to strike the bargain. So he pulled out the ancient, grime-encrusted book and opened it to the chapter on summoning.

Carefully but quickly following the instructions to the letter he was soon sitting in the center of a pentagram drawn on the floor in his own blood, the two points facing north. Ten candles, one at each intersection of the five vectors, lit up the room with a warm yet somewhat off-putting glow.

For a few minutes he sat stock still, working up the courage to speak the words that would bring the demon forth. 

Then he spoke, at first chanting the incantation in a low, barely audible whisper but soon in a loud, confident voice, as if he was delivering a proclamation instead of making a request.

For almost an hour he sat on the floor and repeated the same four lines that were said to have been written before the dawn of civilization. The room appeared to grow smaller with the passing minutes, but that was, he eventually realized, only due to the light of the candles slowing beginning to dim.

Then he began to feel it. 

A cramp, in his left thigh, no doubt caused by the nearly full hour of sitting Indian style. He knew then that he would have to stand up and stretch soon, or he was going to be in serious pain.

"Damn," He thought to himself, "this conjuring crap is for the birds. Screw this."