The litterbox beneath the stairwell hasn’t been changed in weeks. The sand has turned to mud, the garbage bag clawed to pieces. The smell of shit wafts through the entire house and neither the cats nor the Patterson family’s three teenage kids will go anywhere near it.

Sounds like the perfect job for an enormous winged demon composed of fire and ash!

The Ifrit lingers over the gaping crevice he has torn open in the Patterson family’s front lawn and awaits his orders. He stands nearly twenty feet tall, much higher than the olive tree Michael planted two years ago to shade the vegetables in Amanda’s garden, with a fiery red mane and tasteful goatee. The low rumble of his molten guts is really pissing off the dog in the yard across the street.

“Change the litterbox, Ifrit!” Amanda says, holding in her hands the ancient book of summons she found in the Religious Studies section at the Marydale Public Library. “And make sure you use the heavy duty kitchen bags. They’re in the laundry room.”

The Ifrit roars. “I will complete this foul task within the twinkling of an eye! Verily, I am indeed strong, and trustworthy of such a task. Let there be no doubts that the felines will be pleased with my work.”

Amanda closes the book and watches as the Ifrit squeezes through her front door, careful not to set the roof on fire (like last time.) She puts away her wireframe glasses and joins her husband on the back porch. The two sit in silence, listening to their children play in the pool and the Ifrit murmuring ancient incantations  within the house.

“Did you remember to tell him to change the plug-ins?” Michael asks, placing a bookmark in his book. “He didn’t do it last time.”

Amanda takes a sip of her drink. “I forgot,” she says. Michael rolls his eyes.  “I’ll go tell him. I just hate how much he talks. It’s like every little chore is some huge thing for him.”

Amanda enters the house. Michael takes up his book again while the children take turns riding the Leviathan around the pool.