My house smells like shit and brimstone.

Anyone who has dogs or small kids and a Roomba knows. You walk into a room, you smell poop and you pray. Nine times out of ten, Rosie’s bastard cousin finds the poop and smears that shit everywhere.

Last Wednesday was no exception. I went to eat some shredded cheese from the bag like some kind of opossum and the stench hit me before I even entered. A combination of a box of SlimJims he’d destroyed, death and maybe a hint of wet food. Rowdy had definitely released the beast.

“At least it’s on tile.” I thought as I entered, prepared for the worst.

I thought I was prepared for the worst. My Roomba had wandered into the kitchen. It’d tried it’s absolute best to clean up the soiled area. Unfortunately, shit just makes those things go crazy. It had bounced around the kitchen like a drunk toddler until it got wedged under a barstool.

“YAAAAAAAARGFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKAAAAAAAAAAARGH” I growl-screamed. It was cathartic.

I went to get my mop and Lysol, when I heard an ungodly growling and retching come from the kitchen.

“Goddammit Rowdy! If you make more of a mess I swear it’s the pound for you!”

It sounded like something barking in the kitchen. I came back, mop, bucket and Lysol in tow. The stench was considerably worse and now there was a mass of brown, swishing goop in the middle of the kitchen. Standing back, I could see it was dead center of a pentagram of smeared dog shit.

The mass gurgled and swelled, but it didn’t seem nonsensical. I felt dirty just hearing it, like it was a tongue that I shouldn’t know, like my divorced guidance counselor. Words echoed through my kitchen that can’t be translated, words that refuse physical representations. A form began to hulk from the mound, as if pulling itself from the depths of an abyss.

A vaguely humanoid form lifted from the muck, dripping and churning the foul birth from my dog’s innards. Featureless but the bodily motions told me it was disgusted as it looked at it’s own upturned hands. It flung it’s arms into the arm and let out a primal scream, it’s jaw opening on what must have been feet, flinging dog shit in every direction. It flung it’s limbs, trying to get the shit off of it, but the only success it had was making me want to burn my kitchen down.

“Who summoned me?” The monstrosity bellowed, spewing feces from it's abyss of a maw.

I stood there awkwardly, trying to find the sentience to run. Or beg for my life, anything other than that thing biting my head off. More form emerged, but it stayed a gurgling, flowing mass. It snapped its neck back and forth and shifted it’s jaw from side to side. It made noises akin to a child trying to utter it’s first words.

“Who. Summoned. Me?” it growled

I started backing away. I wasn’t sure how fast it was, but I was pretty sure it was going to hurt me. “I- I- I don’t know anything about summoning,” I stammered, “But uh, you, uh, Mister Shit uh, Mister Shitlord? Came out from where my Roomba smeared Rowdy’s shit.”

A large yellow eye show out in the center of it’s head and it collapsed to all fours like a dog. “Imbecile!” it bellowed.

I turned and ran for my life. I glance over and it lunged for me. It missed and went for a second powerful leap. The slimey limbs gained no traction on the linoleum, though. A roar like a tiger ripped through my house. Windows rattled, pictures fell from the wall and Jesus Christ the smell that ripped through was unholy.

It screamed in frustration, tearing through my narrow hallway.

“YOU FORCED ME INTO A BODY MADE OF SHIT!” it screamed in a fit, sending splashes of brown out.

If a poop pentagram brought it here, I reasoned, maybe some of the other horror movie solutions I’d soaked in over the years would work, too. I doubled around the house and back into the kitchen. I grabbed the bag of rock salt that I keep for my icecream maker. I dug out a handful as it burst through one of my windows. I hurled the salt at its giant eye and gaping maw.

It coughed and hacked, but stayed standing. “So you need to season the shit that YOU put in my mouth?”

That yellow eye was starting to turn red. I poured the salt in a thick circle around myself.

Its shoulders heaved and it shook its head, “Fucking mortals.”

It walked right through the salt and smacked me in the back of the head.

“You’re a fucking idiot. I’ll just take the warning labels off of everything in the house and let God sort it out.”

Then he popped his shit-finger into my mouth. As I hacked and retched, it crawled back into the pit and pulled it shut.

That was two weeks ago. My house reeks, the spots that it flung shit are permanently scorched. I put the Roomba up on craigslist, free to a good home. Or a not good home. I think I’m going to have to sell this place. Cheap.