Call me

By: submission | July 15, 2026

Author: Colin Jeffrey

Deep in the remote Amazon jungle, Professor Reginald Cowhopper knew he was close. The host plant was there, the time of year was right, and locals had even reported sightings of pupae.

Scouring the forest floor, he caught a flash of red and yellow stripes.

He turned. There it was.

After years of searching, he’d finally found the beetle. Heart racing, he coaxed it into a jar, screwed on the lid, held it up to the light to gaze at it lovingly.

“Magnificent,” he whispered. “You were worth every single moment.”

He already had a name in mind for the new species: “I call thee, ‘Typocerus Cowhopperi'” he announced to the jungle.

Moments later, a blinding flash knocked him to the ground. The air filled with a sulfurus cloud.

“You summoned me, human?” growled a towering, cloven-hoofed demon emerging from the smoke.

Still clutching the jar, Cowhopper sat up, then coughed and stared.

“I… I…what?”

“You called my Ancient Name,” the demon boomed. “By invoking ‘Typocerus Cowhopperi,’ you summoned me.”

“I named a beetle!” Cowhopper cried, trying to scuttle away backwards. “It’s Latin taxonomy! Genus, species…”

The demon raised a hand, silencing him.

“Your taxonomy meddles with forces beyond your comprehension. I was sealed beneath this world eons ago. My name was bound to language. Carved into the firmament.”

Cowhopper stopped scuttling, raised an eyebrow. “Latin is… that old?”

“No,” the demon said. “But it rhymes.”

A pause followed. The beetle clicked faintly inside the jar.

Cowhopper slowly stood up. “So… what now?” he asked, hoping not to be smited.

The demon sighed. “It’s been ten thousand years. I had plans. You know – maybe an apocalypse, rivers of blood, that sort of thing. But honestly, any real ideas of revenge wore off a few millenia ago.”

“I could release the beetle if that would help?”

“No, too late. My name has been uttered.”

The demon peered into the jar, tapped the glass with one enormous taloned finger. “Is that it?”

Cowhopper nodded. “The stripes help it mimic a wasp to frighten off predators.”

The demon nodded. “Clever.”

Cowhopper looked around the jungle. “Look, if you’re not actually bringing any doom, and I’d rather not be incinerated… perhaps we can go our separate ways…?”

“I’ve always wanted to see Oxford,” the demon said thoughtfully.

“Sorry?”

“I’m in the realm of the living now, might as well do some sightseeing.”

Cowhopper looked uncomfortable.

“Listen,” said the demon. “You summoned me, and I’m stuck here now. You owe me.”

“Well…I suppose you could come back with me. But you’d need to change your appearance quite a bit. Can you do that?”

The demon nodded.

“So, say I make you my field assistant?”

“Co-discoverer,” the demon rumbled.

The professor cowered a little. “Y…yes…of course.”

—

The paper was published to moderate acclaim.

Professor Cowhopper gave the lectures, signed the books. The demon stood quietly in the back, eternally fiddling with the tie he never quite learned how to knot.

Over time, interest faded in the newly-discovered insect as other species were found and announced. Professor Cowhopper returned to relative obscurity as a university don. Years later, his obituary mentioned the beetle. Just once. Misspelled.

The demon stayed on. He now sported a coiffured beard, wore a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches and listened to jazz. He also took up editing an entomology column in the faculty newsletter.

He never did invoke an apocalypse, though he did smite the occasional critic. Tastefully. Usually just enough to leave the faintest of scorch marks on the carpet in the faculty lounge.