[ WP ] Due to your poor spelling , you 've accidentally summoned Stan .

The circle was complete, the pentagram neatly chalked. I had triple checked all of the sigils, a strange mixture of Norse, Aramaic, and Persian that seemed to fight with itself when you gazed upon it. The book was open on a convenient stand, small containers of salt, sage, and silver hung next to it. A few feet away was a more modern consideration - a large fire extinguisher. After all, better safe than sorry when summoning the Prince of Hell. 
 
 I began the incantation. The words, long practiced in private, rolled from my tongue like liquid fire. I had made sure to only practice every other word during the rehearsals, as the summoning website I had Googled had warned me to do. Now those weeks of memorization stood me in good stead. I made not a single mistake. Minutes of chanting rolled by. The sigils began to glow. Haze rose from the inside of the pentagram, and started to resolve itself into a scene. I squinted at it, trying to make it out. 
 
 White? Snow? Was there a place in Hell that actually contained snow? As I continued to chant, I ran through some of the Hellish lore that I had read about. Tartarus? Carceri? Some perverse demiplane for when Satan wanted to ski? Something felt a little off. I kept chanting. 
 
 The glow grew brighter. Smoke began to rise from the sage, filling the room with a strange smell. I glanced over and saw that the silver had melted... and the salt was starting to melt. Somehow, the plastic bins they hang in were untouched. I turned back and saw what was now undeniably snow. In the background was what looked like a brick-and-mortar retaining wall, about knee height. There was some kind of a geodesic structure, like the kind of that children climb on. I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and kept chanting. 
 
 Finally, something started to materialize in the circle, dead-center of the five-pointed star. It was shorter than I expected. Much shorter. It made noises, high-pitched and disorted, that sounded an awful lot like English profanity. After a long moment, the ghostly image began to resolve completely, from the top down. Red. It was red! It was a red... pom-pom? I blinked. The beginning of a blue knit cap? Without warning, the first intelligible words roared forth from the dimunitive figure: 
 
 *'' NOT AGAIN! GOD DAMMIT CARTMAN! `` *
