The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret - Bonus - The Accidental Satanist

Episode Date: October 4, 2020

The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret is a podcast in which your hosts, Joanna Hagan-Young and Francine Carrel, read and recap every book from Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series in chronological order. This week, a very special bonus episode!“The Accidental Satanist” is a monologue by Joanna, now newly recorded as a radio play in conjunction with QuirkHouse Theatre Company. Paul was played by the very talented AJ Deane.Follow QuirkHouse here: Twitter: @QuirkhouseTheatFacebook: @QuirkHouseNew radio plays coming soon on the Quirkhouse Theatre Company website.Follow AJ Deane:Twitter: @aj_deane Find us on the internet:Twitter: @MakeYeFretPodInstagram: @TheTruthShallMakeYeFretFacebook: @TheTruthShallMakeYeFretEmail: [e-mail] to follow your hosts and their internet doings? Follow Joanna on twitter @joannahagan and follow Francine @francibambi Follow Joanna’s inktober poetry project here - new poems daily throughout October!--Music: Chris Collins, indiemusicbox.comSound effects: BBC Sound Effects (background atmosphere)Zembacraftworks (beer)Qubodup (glass)

Hello and welcome to a very special episode of The True Shell Makey Threat. I am Joanna Hagan and while we are normally reading and recapping every book from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series in chronological order, today we are bringing you a special bonus episode. Having just spent a month talking about Terry Pratchett's parody of Faust, I'm bringing you my own one. This is a monologue called The Accidental Satanist, originally written for the stage and now newly recorded as a radio play in conjunction with Quirkhouse Theatre Company. So sit back and enjoy. I got turned into a goat again the other day. It's a right pain in the ass getting stuck as a farm animal.

No thumbs, you're always hungry and the smell, oh that smell, it lingers and you can't get rid of the urge to chew everything inside. You know, it can be awkward as well, socially I mean. The guys down the pub are used to it. James on the bars usually happy to stick my pint in a dish till someone gets around to breaking the curse. Salt water dows, all good fun. Could have been worse I suppose. Spent a week as a duck not too long ago. Beak, feathers, the lot. I mean, a goat, a kind of understand. I'm used to it now and there's a good long history of demonic traditions around goats. But a duck? I reckon that demon was taking the piss, you know. I still can't go near ponds without getting the shakes. That's the problem with dabbling in demonology though.

You never know what you're going to get. I never meant to actually become a Satanist. So at first it was all academic. You know what it's like. It's late at night, you can't sleep, you're bored, you're reading random Wikipedia articles, then you end up down a YouTube rabbit hole. And next thing you know, you're studying demons and trying to find satanic texts in your local library. Couldn't find any to be fair. Apparently they have to order them in special. Just picked up my latest one. It's a translated version, not the original. I can't read ancient Sanskrit. From what I've read, the first copies of this were printed on human skin. But I don't hold with that sort of thing. Bit too evil. I'm a vegetarian, you know. I really never thought

I'd get into the practical side of it. Summoning demons and all that. It just sort of happened the first time. Right. So I'm at home one night, just trying to chill out. I was having a nice relaxing bath, candles, big glass of wine, all of that. Well don't get ideas. Nothing funny about a bloke pampering himself. Anyway, I was reading this book I'd picked up. 12th century demonology. Fascinating stuff. The diagrams were a bit haunting. I still see them behind my eyelids when I try to sleep at night. The shapes. They come in from the corners of the dark as the anger and pain makes ice cream truck sounds and... Sorry, digress in there. Where was I? Oh yeah. Everything was fine in my nice bath. Until I started sounding out some of the funny latin words.

The next thing I know, bang. The candles start going crazy. The bath water turns to blood and there's a bloody great demon on the bath mat. Now, I'm not going to lie. I didn't react well. Wasn't exactly cool, calm and collected. I might have panicked a bit. Screamed like a feral cat and a thunderstorm. Well like you do when an unexpected demon rocks up. So it turns out what I'd done is I'd spilled the wine in the shape of the sigil of a degra, eater of worlds. With the candles and the latin, this guy just assumed it was a summoning and popped in. We laughed about it eventually. After the screaming. I mean, a dread creature from the depths of hell with eyes of flame turning up when you're in the altogether is a bit disconcerting. He wasn't too pleased

about the whole thing either. Not used to popping in on naked blokes, he said. There isn't an official dress code for demon summoning, but they kind of want you to be wearing something. Hence the bloody bath water. Turns out he was trying to protect my modesty. Don't worry. It wasn't real blood. Just this like illusion thing. Apparently, transubstantiation is a pain in the arse. They don't bother if they can just fool us into thinking we're sitting in a pool of blood. That'd be silly. The fake stuff's enough to cover up the unmentionables. Anyway, I begged him not to eat my soul. Cried hysterically. You know, the usual things you do when a demon interrupts your bath time. He was all right about it. He did want me to sacrifice

a couple of virgins to him as he'd gone out of his way. But once I'd explained the whole vegetarian thing and how I hadn't really meant to summon him in the first place, he settled for a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich. Went off to do whatever demons do on a Sunday night. Said my soul wasn't worth the paperwork. Thought that was a bit harsh, actually. Stupid human. We never take souls at the first meeting. And Odegra is a hack. Bloody bathwater is the only good trick he knows. Useless bastard. Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh yeah. So after the bath thing, I promised myself I'd be more careful. Avoid the texts written in blood. Maybe stay away from candles. Don't spill my wine.

Basically, don't summon any more demons by accident. Or at all, preferably. Problem is, it turns out it's a lot easier to summon held denizens than you might think. That first one was a bit low level. Needed the candles and that. But a lot of them will manifest for anything. The first time I got turned into a go, I was fairly pissed off about the whole thing. I can see the funny side now, I suppose. So I was down the pub on a Saturday afternoon. I'd picked up this book from a weird little shop I'd never seen before. It was full of all this cool occult stuff. You know, come to think of it. I've not seen that shop since either. It's like it just disappeared. Weird that. Ah, the shop trap. I forgot we had

a few of those lying around. We should really be checking those more often. Sorry. Anyway, I was flicking through my new book while I was waiting for my mate Gary to turn up. He's always late as Gary. Silly sod. It turns out though, if you leave a book like that open on the table while you ask for something, even just a pint, and a local demon happens to be an airshot, they'll just pop in. If they fancy it, I mean. They'll assume you want something from them. Luckily, luckily, no one else noticed what was going on. We get all sorts down the swam, and he didn't look all that different from the kids playing pool. You know the type. Bits of metal hanging everywhere, crazy hair.

The glowing red eyes were a bit weird, but well, you can get all sorts of funny contact lenses these days. I barely noticed the stench of sulfur, to be honest. It was Curry Club on that night. So I sit down with this foul hell creature. What was his name? Never mind. We have a beer, and he starts promising me all of this amazing stuff. Standard temptations, really. Girls, guys, power, unending knowledge of all things. All he wanted was my soul, and he said I could do that on an installment plan. It all seemed pretty reasonable. I mean, I'm not really using my soul, am I? That was Mephistopheles. He's like that. Always straight in with the sales pitch.

No subtlety. Gets results, though. I told him I had to think about it, though. It's probably not a great idea to be careless about this stuff. The demon wasn't too happy about it. Mephistopheles, that was his name. He said if I couldn't sign on the day, he'd have to leave me with a bit of chaos to be getting on with. Standard practice, couldn't help it. Left me as sigil and poof. Big stink of brimstone, he's gone, and I'm a go. Absolute bloody nightmare, I can tell you. Well, not literally. The hormonal succubus turning up at three in the morning was a literal bloody nightmare. But getting turned into a goat, no picnic either.

I was small, I was hairy, a stank. I mean, I know I'm not exactly six foot six, and you can't tell, but I could do with a shave, but I've at least showered. Worse bit if it was, I was starving. Did you know goats eat everything? Constantly. It's shy. Couldn't stop myself. Just eating and headbutting and charging about like, well, like a very confused goat. That's what got me human again in the end. The eating. I managed to wedge my head into a bag of crisps and the salt broke the curse. The guys on the bar were all right about it. I mean, they allow pets in there, and it's a fairly open-minded bunch. By the time Gary turned up, I was nice and human again,

and thinking about that sigil I'd been left with. You know, something I've noticed since I've got into this whole denizens of hell thing. The demons never just say what they mean. They twist their words. If Mephistopheles had just told me he was going to turn me into a goat for a bit, and let me know it was an easily breakable curse, I probably wouldn't have minded. These things happen, you know? But no, I had to guess that chaos means turning me into a farm animal while I'm having a pint. They keep doing it as well. It's really irritating. Gets my goat, so to speak. It's almost always goats, but they do vary it. They like to keep me on my toes. I once spent half a day as a bunny rabbit. That was the pain in the fluffy tail. Couldn't

stop my nose twitching for weeks after. I never have like carrots. Or dogs. We don't always resort to transmutation at all, only with the puny humans that won't bloody shut up. They don't all do the animal thing, to be fair. I've been through some weird curses in the last few months. Some of them are pretty clever. Could have done without that one that turned everything literal though. I don't think I'll ever make toad in the hole again. Then there was the one where I got a tiny bit shorter every time I said please or thank you. That was just annoying. I like to be polite, but I'm not a huge fan of looking up at people all the time. There was another one where maggots would pour out of every phone I used, which made

work really difficult. And you know, a bit gross. Oh and the bees. Don't talk to me about the bees. The bees were mine. I liked the bees. They were fun. After that first curse, getting turned into a goat, I swore off the occult completely. It wasn't easy. I kept thinking about that deal Mephistopheles offered me. But it didn't seem worth all the hassle. So I put all the books in the attic, got rid of my candles, and deleted my browser history. Never a bad idea, by the way. Just saying. I decided to take up knitting. Thought that would be a nice, safe hobby.

Turns out it wasn't. Found out the hard way. Never sit on a knitting needle. Trust me. There are some places it's very difficult to apply a plaster on yourself. And, as it turns out, if your bum's bleeding and you accidentally sit on a cooling glyph that a resident of hell left lying around and you forgot to tidy away, that resident will turn up. And then he starts demanding sacrifices and claim the possession of your immortal soul. Right pain in the arse. Not figuratively. I didn't actually have any virgins lying around ready to be sacrificed, funnily enough. He was willing to let it go though. Basically, your average lava demon expects it,

the really volcanic ones. It keeps them calm or something. But most of the boys from hell only demand it as a formality. Keeping up appearances. That sort of thing. It's the souls they're really after. They've got quotas they have to fill. It's not that different from my job, really. I'm in sales, you see. Double glazing, to be precise. I know, I know. We're the worst. We're basically the devil. It's no surprise I'm a Satanist. I've heard it all before. But honestly, I'm just trying to make a living. Demon-dabbling double glazing salesmen are people too, you know. Mephistopheles and I ended up having a nice chat about it, actually.

He didn't plan on being a dread hell beast. He wanted to be a gardener. But the whole fall from grace thing happened and he ended up in the same boat I did. Stuck at a desk, fielding calls, trying to hit stupid targets set by a demanding boss. Of course, my boss doesn't have flaming eyes and rarely jabs me with a pitchfork. Also, I'm selling windows conservatories and fascia boards, not collecting souls for eternal damnation. But we had more in common than I thought. We had a good long talk. Got onto that offer he made me and well, the benefits package seemed pretty cool. And there was a 30-day free trial,

so I decided to give the whole committing my soul to Lucifer thing a go. It was a bit of a weird month when I was doing the whole trial thing. I mean, there was a lot of cool stuff. I got all these strange magics, got some great office pranks in, gained knowledge of all the secret inner workings of the universe, figured out how to make my eyes glow red when someone jumped the queue for the cash point. All good fun, you know? There's a big downside though. If you're thinking about signing the agreement, anyone from hell can pop in on you whenever they fancy it and do whatever they want to you. Mephistopheles neglected to mention it. The bastard.

Chaos claws. Always pays to read the teas and seas. I know that now anyway. He's exaggerating. The chaos in the early days is minimal. Bloody humans, always overreacting. Sorry, bit of a nasty cough I've got there. Anyway, I figured afterwards the chaos clause wasn't too bad a price to pay. I was probably overreacting about the ravaging pack of hellhounds tearing up my rose bushes, and I got told the transmutation would die down once I'd signed away my eternal soul in my own blood. That bit really irked me though. I said to Mephistopheles, I said, what's wrong with a good old Byro? Nice black ink. I mean, yeah, I was exchanging my immortal soul for 24 years of demon skills. Bargain in my opinion, and I never could pass up

a bargain. But do we have to be old fashioned about it? I mean, blood doesn't even make very good ink. Mephistopheles insisted though. No chance of getting the denizens of hell into the 21st century anytime soon. They don't even have iPads. I could do so much with that place. Really bring it up to date. Get that synergy moving. Support end to end solutions and make it a real reality. But they won't hear it. We have been claiming your soul since time immortal and have never needed your silly Byros for the process. Blood is power. Blood is connection. Blood is tradition. Stupid puny humans. Oh, sorry about that. Real frog in my throat. Well, not real, thank Christ. Ow! Keep forgetting I'm not meant to say that anymore. Hell are weirdly touchy about it.

Hurts the demon living inside me. Oh, I haven't told you about him, have I? It was part of the deal. I let a lesser hell denizen reside in me and take over my body occasionally. Low level hellspawn pop in every now and then to mess with me. Occasionally I get turned into a hungry barnyard creature. I get the odd crying angel turning up and begging me to repent, which is much weirder than the rest by the way. Lots of glowing winged eyes and fire. Angels are much creepier than demons. And after 24 years, Satan takes possession of my immortal soul. In exchange, I get to spend those years in possession of a bunch of cool powers and knowledge. Pretty sweet deal, in my humble opinion.

So that's how I accidentally became a Satanist. It's quite nice, really. Didn't even have to sacrifice anyone. Turns out there's actually a few of us vegetarian hell worshipers. There's even a Facebook group. We're trying to organize a little meet up soon. You know, go for a pint, compare demon residents, swap succubus stories. Should be a bit of a giggle. I did actually get to ask Mephistopheles to properly explain the whole virgin thing for me. Some of those early demons seemed really keen on it. Bit too keen for just keeping up appearances, if you know what I mean. Apparently, it's just to help them fill the quotas a bit.

Rounds up the numbers if you know what I mean. If you're gonna wait 24 years for a soul on a payment plan, then you can claim two or three virgins right away to get you closer to that decade's target. Makes sense, I suppose. We do the same thing at work. You'll get someone a bit nervous about getting the hard sell, so we tell them to invite a mate round. Price up the windows, drop hints about cladding to the mate, fake a few phone calls to the boss for a special deal, and bish bash bosh, two thousand one day, tidy bonus and home in time for tea.

Oh yeah, I still go to work, even with the demon powers and all that. Oh I don't really need to, but I get to make people really miserable, and that's so much more satisfying these days. My little demon resident likes it. You know, it's funny. I can hear his voice in my head sometimes. Get an idea of how he's feeling, ask him questions about the meaning of life, the universe and everything and all that, but I've never noticed him properly taking over my body, speaking through my mouth, operating my limbs, that sort of thing. I mean, that's the sort of thing you'd notice, isn't it?

But nah, nothing. Maybe he just doesn't fancy it. He's not mentioned it anyway. Excuse me, take a little mothra- Will you shut up, you stupid little man? You haven't noticed me possessing you because you're an idiot. You wouldn't notice a red hot poker if it was fast approaching your arse. Bloody hellfire he whitters on, doesn't he? It's his fault we keep going goat. It's the only way to shut him up. Every chance he gets, it's blah blah. I talk to demons, I don't eat meat, aren't I clever? Doesn't bloody notice me taking over his body, does he? I'm not even sure his soul's worth it,

you know. Sorry, shouldn't have been interrupting, but I've heard this spiel so many times. Let me introduce myself. Abatu, Duke of Chaos in the Seventh Circle of Hell. Now, don't let my frustration with this lumbering moron stop you from considering taking up the worship of Satan, my great lord, and master of the fiery pits of Hell. Honestly, the chaos is minimal, and we've got a great deal at the moment. Hav your eternal torture when you introduce a friend to the occult. I know what you're thinking, but don't worry, this isn't a sales pitch. I'm definitely not selling anything. But while I've got you all here as captive listeners,

as it were, well, it can't hurt to let you know that really, signing away your eternal soul isn't a terrible idea. We offer an exciting range of long-term benefits. Solve all your philosophical conundrums, provide a variety of strange magics, and give you a handy user interface demon guide to help you navigate your new powers and improve your synergy with the demonic arts. Terms and conditions apply. After 30 days, your soul will automatically be consigned to Hell. No going back, no passing go, no collecting 200 years of salvation, no chance for salvation whatsoever. By consorting with us at all, you have effectively consigned yourself to eternal damnation. Twitching, nodding, or sneezing can be taken as agreement to sell us your soul,

live in demon, not optional. Cancelling is not an option. By signing with Mephistopheles Incorporated Corporation, you consent to constant mental and physical torture. Side effects may include insanity, transportation, the loss of your friends and family, and death. There's even an installment package, so there's no need to consign yourself to eternal damnation straight away. We offer a 30-day trial with a minor chaos clause attached, and there's very little obligation to commit automatically. You can even... Ah. You know what? I can't be asked with this. None of you are even thinking about committing your soul to my lord and master, are you? This is exhausting. I'm spending day in,

day out, stuck inside this idiot. I'm tired, and frankly, I'm bored as all hell. Bugger this for a laugh. See you lot later. I'm going goat for a bit. Thank you very much for listening to The True Shamik Yifret present The Accidental Satanist. You can check out everything Quirkhouse Theatre Company is doing by following them on Twitter at Quirkhouse Theatre or looking them up on Facebook at Quirkhouse. They'll be bringing out a lot of new radio plays, including an even newer version of this one, very soon on their website. Thank you so much to the very talented AJ Dean for playing Paul the Satanist. You can follow AJ on Twitter at AJ Underscore Dean. Obviously, you can also follow us on Twitter

at Makey Fratpod on Instagram at The True Shamik Yifret. On Facebook at The True Shamik Yifret, you can email us at The True Shamik Yifretpod at gmail.com. You can follow my Inktober poetry project, and I'll link to that in the show notes. In the meantime, dear listener,