Journal of an American Satanist

A novella from the unpublished series, 'American Satanist'

 

BY ANONYMOUS

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

 

You are a winner Baby! I have a test today in calculus. I will get an 'A'. Marnie asked me yesterday if I would like to join the Yearbook committee. I'm so busy as it is but I told her I would think about it. I think she wanted an answer right away, but I'm sorry I'm in demand. I'm already in Choir, the Chemistry Club, Debate, Speech, Homecoming committee, National Honor Society, Raider Pep Team (When I have time) and Junior Prom committee.

You have to focus Baby. How am I going to get into a good school if I don't buckle down and keep my grades up. But of course a large number of activities looks good on the resume. I can do this.

As you know, the last Wednesday of each month is Chili night. Mother had to work late last night so Daddy made his special chili with deer meat. I really didn't care for it at first but, like everything else, I have acquired a taste for it as I've matured. Speaking of maturing, Daddy said he was real proud of me. He said I have really grown up to be a "beautiful young woman." That was so nice to hear. I had goose bumps when he told me. It was really nice to spend time with him, you know just the two of us. We talked for nearly two hours after dinner. I know I should have spent more time studying for my calculus test but I am confident I will get an 'A'.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You are a winner Baby! That nerd Stewart asked me out yesterday. What a loser! I don't mind turning down boys but I wish they would have it least the wherewithal to know that I'm a little different. I'm out of their league and they should know that! He wanted to take me to Mankato to see a play at the university. I'm so bad, I interrupted him before he could tell me what the production was. I'm so ruthless. My friend Jenna said once she thought he was sort of cute but I deserve better. I know I do.

I just got back my term paper for Civics class. I received an A++. Two pluses!! Mr. Olson, as he was passing back the papers in class yesterday, said that I "did a great job!" he spoke loud enough so the whole class heard. I am so smart. I'm sorry humility is not my best attribute but winners aren't shy.

I helped out Josh yesterday after school in the library. It's part of the "Student-to-Student mentoring" program that I volunteered for last spring. I didn't know it was going to take up so much time. I'd like to say that is because Josh is so stupid but the fact is he doesn't have the discipline. My God, he's a sophomore and he still doesn't know the multiplication tables. He reads like a retard but there's something about him. He always smiles when he sees me. I wonder if he has the hots for me? I tried to make him buckle down but he is SO lazy!! If he put just a little more effort into his schoolwork he'd be OK but he doesn't care.

I have to give a speech today. I know what I'm going to say, it's about Nano technology. I should do very well.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You're a winner Baby!! I woke up at 6:15 this morning so I'm writing this in biology. We had a test today and surprise! I finished early so I have a few minutes before the bell rings. I sent away for some information on some schools yesterday. I have to start getting serious about this. I would love to get accepted to either Rutgers, Northwestern, Princeton (please, please) or MIT. Mr. Sikowski didn't want to get my hopes up, but he said if I applied myself I may have an outside chance to get into MIT. I put out requests to many more schools so for now I'll keep my options open. What I don't want to do is settle for a Minnesota public college. Mr. Sikowski says if I can maintain my good marks in my science classes I should have no trouble getting into a good school.

I have a meeting after classes today with the Homecoming committee. We pretty much are all ready for the festivities, which are in two weeks. It's just a matter of tying up some loose ends. It's going to be a great homecoming. The whole school will be depending on you Baby. You can do it.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You're a winner Baby! I started drinking coffee in the morning. It's 5:00 a.m. and it really gives me a quick jolt. I was studying late last night (as always) and I didn't hit the pillow until after midnight. I drink coffee down at the Coffeehouse every once in awhile. Usually in the form of a Latte or cappuccino. I used to hate the taste of it but now I kinda like it and the caffeine helps too.

The school counselor, Mr. Sikowski, talked to me yesterday about college. He thinks I should apply to Brown. It's an Ivy League school, which would be great, but I have my heart set on Princeton. I've applied to Princeton but I have yet to hear from them. Mr. Sikowski said he has a friend in the admissions department at Brown and that she would do what she could to get me in. I told him I was holding out for Princeton but he said "it doesn't hurt to apply, you can always change your mind." Mr. Sikowski has been really helpful so I think I will send in an application as a courtesy to him.

Sean asked me out to the movies on Friday. I accepted. He's kind of cute. I don't know him really well, although Roger knows him. I'll have to ask about him on Thursday night. I wonder if it will make Roger jealous? I hope it does.

You will have a great day!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You're a winner Baby! Remember I mentioned that I would be going out with Sean. We went to see a movie called "Fear City 2," a horror movie which was awful. I don't have time to watch a lot of movies but this one was such a big waste of time. So unrealistic.

Sean asked me out again. I agreed. We just kissed. I'm not sure if I like him or not so I don't want to move too fast. You know give him the wrong idea.

Today's Saturday so of course I slept in. It's 10:00 a.m. right now and I'm on my second cup of coffee. I am so thankful the city library is open on Saturdays. I will be there until it closes at 5:00. I have to get as much information on the country of Spain. It's a term paper for my geography class. It's not due for five weeks but I want to get it out of the way before the end of the semester because I'll be getting an avalanche of tests. Mom and Dad are going out for dinner tonight in Mankato so I think I will order a pizza tonight from Calletti's.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

 

You're a winner Baby! Only a few weeks left. I can't believe it. I finished my term paper on Spain last night at about 1:00 a.m. I will hand it in this morning. I'm pretty confident I will be the first to get it done. I know I did well. I even had my father pick up some fancy paper to print it on. You know it's heavier than normal typing paper and it has a real nice shine to it.

We had our last meeting of the year for my Chemistry Club two days ago. We elected officers for the coming year and I was elected vice-president. I didn't even campaign for it but our advisor Mr. Lopez put my name up for nomination. To be honest, it helped that there were only two people on the ballot. It will look great on my resume though. Speaking of which, I sent another application in to Princeton. I hadn't heard from them so I thought maybe they lost my papers. I've narrowed my choices to Princeton and MIT. Mr. Lopez says my good grades in science and math will only help my chances to get into MIT but he told me not to get my hopes up because those kind of prestigious schools only accept a small percentage of applicants. He said MIT will be worse. But I disagree with him. I know I'm good enough to get into any of those schools. I'm confident I have what it takes. The few times I have fallen down I snapped back right away and I'm even stronger. I don't know where it comes from but this saying is so true, "whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger". Mark my words, I am going to shock the world!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You're a winner Baby! Today is going to be a great day! Because I'm on the junior prom committee I will be setting up the gymnasium this morning for the big dance. I told myself that I would relax and have a good time. Roger and I will be going together. After he split with Carrie two months ago he has been giving me hints that he would like to date me romantically. I don't know how to handle it. I asked him to go to the prom since he said he hadn't planned on going anyway. I didn't have anyone to go with but since I'm part of the committee I have to be there anyway so we'll go as friends.

Mr. Lopez told me yesterday to write up a letter of recommendation and he would sign it. I already have about 15 letters of recommendation from teachers and people I've worked with in volunteer activities. I had asked him last fall for a letter of recommendation and he forgot about it. I should have written it up myself in the first place. Normally I like my teachers but why are they so lazy and incompetent? If I'm going to get anywhere in life I'm going to have to rely on one person: myself. I am the only one I can depend on. Only you Baby!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You are a Senior Baby!! Yesterday was the final day of school. I have successfully fulfilled my obligations to complete my junior year of High School. So technically today I am a senior. I start my new job today. I just told my mom last night about it even though I've known about it for a week. The extra money will be nice. I'll be working at Grady's making specialty coffee drinks and clearing tables. Because it's kind of a hang out for everyone, I assume I will be able to keep up on all the gossip during the summer while school is out.

Speaking of which, I have to wait for my final grades. I'm pretty confident I aced all my final exams except for philosophy. Mr. Reinhart has been such an ass. On my last paper he gave me a B-. Can you believe that!? B minus!! I went and talked to him about it and he wouldn't budge. We never have tests per se in that class, it's basically all term papers. I asked him what I did wrong and he accused me of not reading the questions. I spent two long evenings working on it! I thought I answered the questions completely. I'm nervous about my final paper. If he gives me another B-minus that could give me a B for the course and threaten my 4.0 GPA. I'm getting upset just writing about it. I swear, if he screws me out of a 4.0 I'm going to kill him.

You're still strong Baby!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

I was afraid this was going to happen. It was waiting for me when I came home at 11:30 p.m. from my shift at Grady's. I knew it was coming. I've spent so much time working for this and then it all comes crashing down. I was "refused admission" at Princeton. I didn't get to sleep until after 3:00 a.m. I swear to you, I felt physically ill since I read the news. I haven't eaten anything. I don't even think I could hold down a cup of coffee.

I haven't talked to Mom and Dad yet. I'm sure they'll be anxious to hear what was in the letter. I know they'll say it doesn't matter to them but I'm not looking forward to telling them. I think I can honestly say this is the first time in my life where I feel like a failure. I hate this feeling. I hate it!

I feel too upset to say this but I know I must:

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber H.

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You are a winner, Baby! I'm almost over Princeton. Maybe not. I feel better though when I don't think about it. I actually called Mr. Sikowski to see if he could contact his friend at Brown University (it's not Princeton, but at least it's an Ivy League school). He thought I had submitted an application already. I meant to but I figured what was the point? I was going to Princeton anyway. Nevertheless, he said he would call her immediately. I filled out my application last night and after I'm finished here, I'm going to drop it in the mailbox.

I've been seeing someone lately. Steve Torgelson is in my class and he's real smart. He started coming into Grady's at night. We talk every night. He asked me to go to a party in the country. It was fun, there were a lot of people from my class. I think it's starting to dawn on everyone that our days together are numbered. After we graduate next year, everybody will go their separate ways.

Make it a good day Baby!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

YOU ARE A WINNER, BABY!! I'm running late so I'm going to make it brief. It's hard to get up at 10 minutes to 5 in the morning when I work the evening shift at Grady's. I'm in the third week of my senior year and I don't know if I can keep this up. No, I do know. I will keep this up. I can do this. Daddy didn't raise a quitter. I'm feeling more awake now. The caffeine helps. Really, right now, my only enemy is time. I can do it on just a few hours of sleep. I know I can.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed!!

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

Failure is not an option Amber!

Finals are in one week. To be honest, I'm too tired to be nervous. I must overcome. I was up until 1:30 in the morning catching up in my Trig class. I am embarrassed to say I have fallen a couple of days behind, which is not good. I was totally lost yesterday in class.

Randy Meyer asked me out yesterday. It was a total surprise even though I've been flirting with him during our English Composition class all semester long. We talked a lot during class but to be honest, I hadn't thought about it any further. Steve has'nt called me in almost a month. I said 'Hi' to him the other day and he totally ignored me. What an Ass!!

I thought Randy would already be with somebody although I don't know who it would be since I've never seen him with anyone. He is pretty hot though. I know he's a jock because I've seen him at the football games and last winter I saw him wearing the Raider hockey jersey so he must be on the team. I really like him, he makes me laugh. Hopefully, everything will turn out OK.

Have a great day Baby!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You're a winner, Baby! My first semester grades weren't as bad as I had suspected. I received all A's except for one, which I don't want to talk about. I'm really looking forward to Christmas vacation. I have two term papers, which are due in January, and I am embarrassed to say I haven't started either of them. Since it's my day off tomorrow I'm going to run to the library after school and get a head start on them.

Randy called last night after work and we talked until 1:00 a.m. I think I'm falling in love. Can you believe it? I'm actually becoming a hockey fan! I've seen all of his home games so far this season.

I'm learning how to budget. I've saved up $300 to spend on Christmas presents. When am I going to find time to go shopping? I think I'll drop a hint to Randy about driving to the Mall of America one day in the next week. That would be real fun. I hope my mother lets me go. What am I thinking, I'm the perfect daughter. The time is getting away from me so I must get myself ready for school.

You will succeed Baby!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

Christmas Eve Morning

I'm celebrating today because I've completed my term paper in Foreign Policy and I'm almost done with my Advanced Biology paper. I purposely worked on my Foreign Policy assignment first because I knew it would be more difficult for me. I should be able to finish my biology term paper on Deformed Frogs in Central Minnesota in no time at all.

I have to work the early shift at Grady's today because of the holiday. Randy and I went to a party last night. There weren't too many people there. Pretty small, it was at Randy's friend, Kyle's house. His parents were out of town.

Mother wants me to go to the midnight service tonight. We're opening presents tomorrow morning before going to Granddad's house in Litchfield.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You are still a winner Baby! He won't talk to me. I thought he was different, not like Steve. Steve was and still is a jerk. I know Randy hasn't talked to me in class the past few days which isn't a big deal because I'm always so busy anyway. But he hasn't called me in over a week. I waited for him outside the ice arena on Monday night and he just walked by me. We were having such a good time. I'm thinking of calling him tonight if he doesn't speak to me in school today. If he just says "Hi" to me I will definitely call him tonight. I hope he talks to me today.

He says he is going to the University of Minnesota to become a veterinarian like his dad. You know I haven't mentioned it to anyone but I was seriously debating whether to go to the University myself. The way things have been going I may have to settle anyway. I don't know if they have told my parents or not, but Mr. Lopez pulled me aside a couple of days ago and told me there is an investigation about me. Somebody caught me cheating on my Trig exam. Ms Lawrence didn't see me but somebody else did. I didn't tell Mr. Lopez if I had cheated or not (although I acted as if the charge was preposterous). He said he wasn't supposed to tell me but he thought I should know. I don't think he believes I did, which is a relief.

What's funny about the whole thing is that I'm more concerned about losing Randy than getting punished for cheating. I'm so bad.

I can get through this. You are resilient Baby and a winner!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You're a winner Baby! (No matter what anybody says) Randy still didn't talk to me yesterday. I thought about calling him up last night but I lost my nerve. I purposely walked by his locker three times today and he totally ignored me. I guess we're over. Get over it Baby, you've got bigger problems at the moment anyway.

Mr. Lopez called me last night while I was at work. Mother left me a note but it was too late to call him back. It took me awhile to get to sleep last night. I was so worried about what Mr. Lopez has to say. It must've been pretty important for him to call me at home and at night. I suppose I should go right to his room the first thing today, but I'm afraid about what he's going to say.

Be strong Baby! Do not be afraid of anything. You're innocent. Besides, why would the smartest girl in school cheat? No one would ever believe it! You will overcome because you are a winner.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

Nobody can tear you down Baby because you are a winner!! I finally caught up with Mr. Lopez today during his free hour during third period. He said that the administration is reviewing the accusations but no decision had been made. He repeated to me again that I should not tell anyone that he told me about the investigation. He said he could get reprimanded or even fired. I promised that I wouldn't. I begged him to tell me who the person was who has "accused" me of cheating. He said he wouldn't tell me that but he said he thinks the person has a grudge against me.

He did give me some good news. He said that he would be conducting the investigation and that he doesn't believe I did it. I asked him if this would affect my admittance into a good college and he said that's why we are keeping it a secret. He told me not to say anything to anybody. I definitely will not tell anyone anything.

You can get through this because you are a winner, Amber, you will overcome this.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You are a winner Baby!!

You definitely are a winner Amber, you go girl! I have had this piece of paper for seven hours and I still can't put it down. It reads: "Dear Ms Hoffman, we are pleased to announce that you have been accepted into the undergraduate program at Brown University..."

I am on Cloud 9. Did anyone say Ivy League?

I saw the letter on the kitchen counter last night when I came home from Grady's. I didn't want to open it at first, I've been getting so much bad news lately that I didn't think I could tolerate any more negativity. But I made up my mind that I would have to live with what ever happens. You have to stand up to fear Baby. When I read the letter I purposely screamed real loud so that it would wake up Mom and Dad. I don't think they minded. Daddy says we will have to celebrate this weekend.

You are the envy of everyone because you are a winner!

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

You know you're a winner. I can't believe there are only a few short months before I will officially be a high school graduate. I know I shouldn't act like it's such a big deal because really it's just High School. I have bigger mountains to conquer (Ivy League here I come).

Mr. Lopez talked to me yesterday. I purposely have been avoiding him so he doesn't think I'm trying to influence him. Then he may know I did it. He tracked me down between classes and said he was finished with the investigation. He said he would recommend no action be taken so the case would be closed.

I asked him if there would be any permanent record that would say that an investigation had occurred. He said that he would shred his notes but that there would be a one-line note in my confidential file that did say an investigation was conducted after an accusation was made. Fortunately no one should be able to access that information.

So I guess that's the end of that.

I saw Randy during lunch yesterday. He didn't acknowledge me but I just had to tell him about Brown. He didn't blow me off right away. In fact he actually congratulated me. I was hoping for a little more response but that's the way it goes. What were you expecting Baby? A marriage proposal. I refuse to let him bring me down. I have bigger concerns. I'm better than this town anyway.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

 

I feel like I'm the smartest, most powerful person in the world. No one can stop me. Let me write that again. No one can stop me. My power is limitless.

All my hard work has paid off. And I deserve it!

But I can't be lethargic, I must keep the eye on the ball. I must close the deal, as Daddy would say.

Mr. Sikowski says depending on how my finals come out, I should be a shoe-in for class Salutatorian. Of course I would've preferred Valedictorian but Steve has had that wrapped up since 10th grade. I'm not jealous...OK I am. But the guy does nothing but study. Besides, he was born with greatness, his family has ruled this town for ages.

I'm not concerned. I'll take on Steve any day because I have the animal instinct. I'm a fighter.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

The police were called last night. Someone had broken into the house. They busted a basement window and crawled in. I was sound asleep and didn't hear anything. My mother heard a voice and woke Daddy. He heard it too and decided to call 911. He couldn't get a dial tone so he used his cellphone to get a hold of the police.

It took awhile for the cops to get here so the intruder was gone by the time they arrived. They did a search of the house and discovered that the phone line had been cut. That's why Daddy couldn't get the dial-tone when he tried to call 911.

The police don't know who broke in. They didn't even dust for fingerprints. They said it was probably someone who was looking to steal something. I haven't gone back to bed. Daddy says they broke in about 2:00 a.m. and I went to sleep at 1:00 a.m. It's 5:45 a.m. now and I have to get ready for school.

We looked all over the house but we didn't find anything missing so that's good. The cops said we should install a security system.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

I made a point to seek out Mr. Sikowski and thank him for helping me get in to Brown. I don't know how much it helped that his friend was working in the Admissions department but I think it's best that I make sure I show some gratitude to the ones that have helped me. I hate to have something come back to haunt me because I was so lazy and I didn't think to acknowledge someone who believed in me.

Mr. Sikowski told me to call him when I became a big success. I surely will.

I went with some friends to Mankato for shopping last night (I had a day off at Grady's). We went to the Mall and shopped for clothes. I picked up a sweater for a really great price (Closeout sale-it was out of season).

There's only three weeks until graduation. I cannot believe it! Before I know it I'll be a big college girl at Brown. The first Hoffman to go to college. I don't think Daddy realizes how big a deal Brown is. I think he would be happy with Gustavus Adolphus. I love him, if it wasn't for him I don't think I'd be here. And Mom has been great too. I don't think she, as a first-generation immigrant, knows how significant college (and an Ivy League college at that) can affect your status in society.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

As you can tell, I didn't write in this on Sunday. I'm so embarrassed to say this but I didn't get out of bed until 9:45 a.m. I had the biggest headache I have ever had in my life. I went out with some friends on Saturday to a party out in the country. It was actually in the river valley with a lot of trees. A forest. I'm all right now but I was basically useless all day Saturday. My mom brought me some chicken soup, believing I had a cold, but I flushed it down the toilet. I wasn't able to hold anything down even if I wanted to. I hope she doesn't see that I didn't consume it.

I had an interesting time at the party. Randy was there. We actually talked but I can't remember what he said (I hope he could understand what I said). 

It has been fun spending time with my classmates. We don’t have much time left. Daddy says that I will be surprised how that after graduation everyone will sort of disappear. I hope that doesn’t happen to us. To be honest, I haven't had a lot of true friends in high school. I've had many acquaintances but not a lot of close friends. I think maybe I'm too driven. I think Amy has taught me in an offhanded sort of way that a social life is just as important as ambition. A part of me wishes I had more friends years ago.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

Tom

Part ONE

 

 

 

It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years at college when I knew that I would have a significant role in the third coming of the Star Child*. No one had any idea that the opportunity would arise, you could say it was more of a hopeful myth that eventually the day would come when the demonic forces would converge and yield such an occurrence. But come it did and I was there to witness it. What is even more remarkable was that I knew about it years before it happened.

I had made a friend in the winter of my freshman year, David Olsen. We had met on the first day of practice on an intramural basketball team. We both came from rural farming areas, so we both had a sort of mutual hick kinship, a down-home aura that differentiated the two of us from everyone else. He wasn't a member of the Circle unfortunately and of course he had no idea of my background with the group. So most of the time I hung out with a few of his buddies at his apartment near campus. It wouldn't do him any good to be around my frat house, since most of my brothers were pretty antagonistic towards outsiders and the fun quotient would be fairly low. David and I got along well however, and except for my involvement with the Circle, we shared parallel backgrounds. We both took similar classes in high school and we were also former members of the FFA, we liked sports, although we were smart enough to know we couldn't compete on a college level.

The main reason why Dave played into my role in finding out why I knew about the Star Child was because he had invited me back to his hometown, a rural city of about 12,000 called River Rock, for a couple of weeks after spring finals. I was to take a trip to Europe to attend Mystery school in Marseilles in two weeks. The trip would last most of the summer and I had two weeks to kill before departing. It really wasn't long enough to secure a job, surprisingly I didn't have any money problems at the time-a healthy college trust fund took care of that, and most of my frat buddies were either home already or were in the process of heading out for the summer. I didn't feel like heading back to my hometown for the two weeks-mother was in one of her "moods" again and I had no idea what my old high school buddies were up to either. That's when Dave suggested I go home with him to River Rock. He had a job lined up from his uncle working at a loading dock for a trucking company. He worked days, which was great because, he said, 'we could swill beer and hit on all the high-school girls' at the many graduation parties that were just beginning to rev up at night.

My only problem for the next two weeks would be trying to find something to occupy myself for the morning and afternoons when Dave was at his job. I figured I'd sleep-in for half the day then catch up on my reading. I noticed that my fiction reading dropped way down while I was away at college for my first year. Every time I thought of reading a book, I would get guilty because I had so many piles of laborious nonfiction reading assignments to catch up on for my classes.

Dave's parents really didn't care how much partying we did or how late we came home, but they insisted that we attend church services at the Calvary Lutheran Church on Sunday mornings. It wasn't such an outlandish request; I had enough experiences going to church every Sunday for years that it wasn't much of a nuisance. Since my family were considered 'Dual-Sect' members of the Circle, I had my fill of ceremonies, rituals and countless church services throughout my life. "Dual-sect" means that we were members of both the Circle and the more mainstream church. On the whole, dual-sect initiates, at least in Europe and America, believe that Jesus Christ is the son of Satan. That's why you see so many Circle initiates wearing crosses. To us, the cross is just as sacred as the pentagram or the Hemot.

The Hemot*, which is usually referred to as the Black Heart, is worn around the neck of female members of the Sect, it has actually become quite pervasive in the Circle community since the pentagram is now worn by everybody from celebrities to dirty punk kids who claim they are full blown Satan worshipers. Those of us in the Circle would always laugh at those clicks they have in every high school; they would bang their heads listening to heavy metal music and then talk about how they were going to sacrifice a dog to the moon the next weekend. Most of us were jocks or on the preppy side in high school, it was always very tempting to pull those idiots aside and tell them how confused they were. I always wanted to bring them to a real satanic ritual at one of the larger temples in the Twin Cities; I could see them shitting their pants at the immensity of the movement. They think they're being unique and original but in reality most of them were just another pathetic soul trying to attach themselves to something so overwhelming and elite that they could never, in their wildest dreams, assume the privileges of such an Order.

The Black Heart, if you can find an authentic one, is distinguished by the three tiny droplets of blood located just off center of the pendant. It's quite in vogue for Dual-Sect women to wear it in public because it's rather nondescript, they put the heart on a chain and wear it around their neck. Your average John Q. Public doesn’t recognize the significance of the charm, so women can wear it without the threat of disclosing their beliefs. The Pentagram, though important, is less displayed by Dual-Sect members because of its notorious reputation. Believe it or not, you are more likely to see us wearing a crucifix. Not only is the Christian symbol commonplace and won't arouse attention needlessly, but it exudes tremendous esoteric power dating back to its enigmatic roots.

My story concerning the Star Child began when I thought I saw the Black Heart around the neck of a girl who was at Sunday Services at Calvary Church in River Rock. I didn't see it right away, only until the congregation began emptying out of the nave. She dressed conservatively, wearing a white flowery dress that went down to her ankles. I noticed her right away because she came in with her parents rather late, and instead of sitting on one of the back pews in which there were plenty available since this being the start of summer, they chose to haughtily march to the front of the sanctuary and plant their behinds smack dab in the first row.

I was immediately attracted to the girl from the start, she had long reddish blond hair that was curled ever so slightly, as if her late winter permanent was beginning to wear off. Throughout the service, she swung her curls back whenever she bowed her head to read from the program, sing a hymn or pray. We were a good 12 rows behind them which was all right, since no one was sitting between us except for a few on the far side and I had a clear shot of her for the whole service. I don't know why, but at the time I took note of the fact that when she and her parents went up to the altar for communion, her mother exulted 'Amen!' so loud I'm sure if you sat in the very back pew and had a significant hearing problem, you would have had no trouble making out what she said. At the conclusion of the service she and her parents were the first to file out so I caught a brief glimpse of her again. I tried to focus on her face but at the last minute she zeroed in on me and I looked away. I could've sworn I saw her wearing the Black Heart. Now I know it looks like any other form of jewelry. But that’s only for the lay person. If you know what a Black Heart is and what it symbolizes you can definitely differentiate it from the thousands of other amulets out there. Even though it was a brief glimpse I was almost certain about what I saw.

After the service, Dave and I rode back to his place to change out of our church clothes and into shorts. A few high-school graduation parties had been scheduled for the afternoon and we were intent on hitting every one of them. Dave was one of those guys who had more younger friends than those of his own age. It's pretty commonplace to have friends a year older, or a year younger, since a lot of the time everybody shares the same classes. I couldn't tell you how popular he was, because in college popularity tends to go out the window anyway, along with the letter jacket and the prom sweetheart, but Dave seemed to like the idea of coming back to his hometown to show off his new status as collegian. I tried my best to fit in, striking up conversations with some of the new graduates.  I didn't get laid, if you were wondering.  Partly because I think the girls were more concerned with staying around their friends and milking their last 'good-byes' for as long as possible and partly because I was still thinking of that girl at church. I wondered if my quick glance deceived me or maybe she truly was a member of the Circle. I also found myself thinking about Sela, we had taken one of our 'leaves' from each other a few weeks before finals. I was to see her in Europe at Mystery School, and I guess I was debating the idea of breaking clean from her or not. But as the day wore on, however, my mind kept going back to thoughts of that church girl with the long flowing hair and the conservative dress that went down to her ankles.

Dave was up and gone by the time I rolled out of bed the next morning. Both his parents and younger brother were away at work too, so I had the whole place to myself. River Rock was a river town as the name suggests; two rivers intersected there which was probably why the city was larger than it should have been. They lived in a refurbished one hundred year-old home a few blocks off the city's main street. Unlike other towns, the town fathers had made an aggressive effort to keep the main shopping district downtown, even at the expense of economic development. Over the past year, Dave's father had sold his farm and got a job working at the Clover Meadow Cheese Factory in town. The downtown was remarkably clean and at least 90% of the storefronts were occupied. I had my car along for the trip, so I drove downtown to a Cafe for breakfast. Since I was hitting the place at 11:30 in the morning, you could say I would be eating lunch. I let it slip to the waitress that I had just stumbled out of bed an hour before. She flashed me a look of mock incredulity, then, extending her thin index finger to a line just below the heading on the laminated menu, she mentioned that breakfast was served all day. I took coffee, and opted against the pancakes for the daily noon special which was chili and grilled cheese.

I sat with my chair facing the wall looking around for a newspaper. I spotted a well-read copy of the sports section from the Minneapolis Star Tribune. I scanned the headlines for the score of the previous day's Twins game, as luck would have it, the Twins had played an uncharacteristic Sunday night game on the west coast and the game wasn't over by the time the State edition went to press. Typically, the scores from West Coast games made the latest edition of the Minneapolis paper, but the Twins game against the Angels had started at 8:00 p.m. Central time which was too late to make the early edition of the paper that went out to the rural areas.

The waitress brought over an insulated pitcher of coffee and poured me a cup, then left the pitcher on the table. I turned the page of the paper to look for Sid Hartman's column but he wasn't writing that day. A couple of farmers were making loud conversation at the counter, near a glass case of stale donuts.

"I fed those hogs out in three months," one said to the other, "and it wasn't the corn, no, it was super-feed."

"Whatdya use concentration or something?" the other guy wondered.

"Super feed- my own special blend-got it down at the co-op feed store."

"Who mixed that for ya?"

"L.P."

"Who?"

" L.P. You know, Lane Pierson."

"Oh yah," the other roared back in delayed recognition, "Oh yah, he's a good guy."

"You betcha-I call that in the first thing in the morning, damn if he ain't out there before lunch."

I smiled at his reference to lunch, in Minnesota "lunch" means that coffee break people have between breakfast and the meal people have at noon, only the "Minnesota lunch" is usually a meal within itself. I found this out from my days in high school when I helped a neighbor bale hay. I ended up eating so much food during the coffee break that I was bloated the rest of the day.

"Yah-I even tried my luck feeding out a couple of feeder calves-L.P. knew what to give em'... Had em' butchered last winter, darn good." He turned his attention back to his steaming cup of coffee that he had propped in his hand under his chin, he turned toward his friend and spoke again as if the point needed emphasizing, "and it was good too."

It was funny listening to them banter back and forth--it reminded me of Sela and how she would always preach about her vegetarianism. I don't think she was a full-blown vegetarian, I mean I've seen her eat meat before. She was really into it during college when she flirted for a time about becoming a Wiccan. Someone told me later her grandmother was part of an ancient witch's coven-which surprised me since I never met a Circle initiate, other than Sela of course, who was also a witch. I'm sure there's some similarities between the two religions, just like there are between the Christian faith and the Sect, but from what I could gather with what little I learned from my Circle teachings, the two groups are pretty divergent. Especially in man's relationship to man.

Sela would always argue that vegetarianism was the best way to live your life. She argued that not only was it better for your health, but that if all the people of the world were to live a vegetarian lifestyle, "no child on earth would go hungry." This she used time and time again against my frat brothers when they would get in their famous discussions. Sela said that the large amounts of vegetation it took it to grow a cow or a pig was so great that the soil could be used far more efficiently to grow vegetables to feed people.

It was comments like that that made me wonder if she understood the basic tenets of the Circle philosophy. In some ways, she could be real insightful, but in other ways she was just so naive.

My food came and, even though I really didn't have anything else to do, I quickly got out of the cafe before the noon rush. I decided to take a stroll down Main street. The business district stretched for about six blocks, quite large for a rural city. I skipped the series of clothing stores and found a small used bookstore. It looked like the owner was manning the counter, he asked if I would like to order a "fancy coffee drink." I assumed he meant a cappuccino or espresso, but I begged off and continued on my walk down the main street. I came across another bookstore, the sign above said something in foreign lettering, then 'Books' in English. I discovered later that the city of River Rock was settled by Norwegian immigrants and the Chamber of Commerce encouraged businesses to play on their Nordic heritage to attract tourists. I stepped in. The store was all new books, plus a sizable comic book section. As I looked over the selection, a thin, bearded man with glasses asked if I needed any help.

"Like the comic books do ya?"

"Yeah," I said, "haven't bought much lately though-I've been in college for the past year so my reading time has been pretty much booked up," he smiled and suggested I might check in the back of the store.

"If you can't find what you need there, I have loads of back issues in the store room."

I found a pair of 1970's era "Richie Rich" Comics and a dog -eared copy of a book of classic Batman comics. I paid him, then went back outside. I walked along the storefronts, just looking curiously around, veering my eyes towards the window displays until something would catch my eye. A couple blocks down, I stopped immediately when I glimpsed a white electric guitar in the window of a store called 'Chords & More'. One of the things I wished I had done when I was wasting my time in high school was to learn how to play the guitar and start a rock band. I always loved music, the summer after graduation I met some friends who set up a small practice stage in an abandoned hog barn. They would have parties out there just about every weekend, they played a few gigs here and there too, but most of the performances were out at that farm.

When I finally stepped inside the Music Shop, I realized that it was more of a Christian Book Store-the shelves were filled with religious trinkets and Bibles, with a few instruments set up in the back, but not enough to make a stop be worth my while. I was about to make a quick exit, when I caught the attention of a middle-aged woman with shoulder length hair and an overly bright smile.

"Can I help you find anything?" she asked.

"No, thank you, I'm just looking."

"Okay, feel free to look around, may God be with you," she said, then returned to dusting off some porcelain angels on a glass shelf display. I thought I'd better spend at least a few minutes browsing before moving on. I made my way to the back of the store where the music instruments were. Most of it was school band instruments. I gazed at the drum kit that was set out, before focusing on the two electric guitars that were hanging from the ceiling. I strummed the strings with my thumb; the guitar swayed uneasily from a hook attached to the ceiling. I quickly pulled my hand away…

"You break it you bought it."

I turned back, embarrassed, "I'm sorry, I won't touch it again."

My words came out before I realized who she was; it was that girl at church from the day before, the one with the Black Heart pendant.

"Don't worry about it. If you want, I can take it down if you're interested in playing it."

"Uh," my mind was still thinking about her, "sure, that'd be great."

She smiled and came closer to me. She was wearing a similar dress to the day before, ankle length-she had her long blond strawberry tinted hair bound in a large ponytail.

"Didn't I see you at church yesterday?" I asked.

"At Calvary?" she replied.

"Yes."

"You must have been at the 10:30 service-I can never make it up in time for the 8 a.m. I guess I need my beauty sleep or something."

I discreetly tried to look to see if she was still wearing the Black Heart around her neck. I didn't think I imagined it the day before, but she definitely wasn't wearing one today--all she had around her neck was a silver-dollar sized crucifix.

"Are you a member?" she asked.

"No, actually, I was there with a friend's family-I just finished classes at the U."

"Oh-You go to college-I'll be starting in the fall."

"Where you going?" I asked as she handed me the guitar.

"Minnesota State."

"Good school, I have a few friends that go there."

"What brings you to River Rock?"

I gently strummed the strings on the guitar, not knowing what the hell I was doing; "I had a couple of weeks before I leave on a trip to Europe, so a friend invited me down to your fair City."

"Who's that?"

"Dave Olsen-do you know him?"

"I know who he is, he graduated last year."

I quit trying to play the guitar, since it was obvious I knew nothing about it and concentrated more on the conversation we were having, "so, you work here?"

"No, I was just walking by and I thought I would come in and help assist customers."

I hit the palm of my hand onto my forehead then self deferentially quipped, "Stupid question!" It made her smile.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Heather, my mom owns the place. I mostly come in down here in the summer when I don't have too much going on with activities and things."

"That's nice of you," I replied, "how late does she make you work?"

"What's your name?" Heather asked before I could finish asking the question.

"Tom."

"I work until she needs me, usually about 6, 7:00 o'clock, we close at five, most everything does here-that's small towns for ya."

"Have you been hitting the graduation parties?"

"A few, most of my friends have either already had them or will have them this weekend."

I began to wonder if she was a true Bible thumper-one who won't go to all the parties where there would surely be drinking.

"I was going to say I would probably see you at one of the parties tonight, but it doesn't sound like you will be going."

"I don't know if I can make it."

I assume she was beginning to brush me off.

"Okay, well I..."

"Maybe I'll see you tonight at the Coffee Shop," she offered.

"Coffee Shop?"

"Yeah, well it's really a Coffee House. It's right across the street. I'll see if I can't get away," then she whispered in a hushed tone, "my parents are kind of strict."

I smiled, somewhat in relief that she wasn't giving me the cold shoulder, "Okay, that would be great."

I awkwardly handed her the guitar and said goodbye. She turned to me and smiled. As I left the store, I believe it was her mother who said, "please come again, God bless."

When Dave came home later that afternoon, I told him I met a chick and would try to catch up with him later. I figured if she was all for it I would take her to one of the parties that were sure to go on tonight. I made sure I brought my cellphone to the coffeehouse. Normal practice during graduation season would be to cruise the main strip of town until you found someone you knew. In River Rock, most everyone would meet at either the far end of the parking lot of Terry's High-Valu supermarket or the other spot was a vacant city lot that lay in the center of town. It was similar to my hometown and I guess it was pretty much how most small towns are. Dave and I cruised back and forth between the supermarket and city lot for about a half hour until he saw a couple guys from his Legion Baseball team. They told of a party on a farm just outside of town. Dave dropped me off downtown before heading out there himself. I thought I would get to the coffeehouse a little early. Heather said she would try to be there at 7:00. I took a book along and made it there by 6:30. I figured I would play up a sophisticated college image by being well engrossed in a book by the time she stopped in. Of course that plan was foiled from the moment I stepped into the place. Heather was leisurely sitting in one of the plush worn sofas, sipping a latte and reading a National Geographic. Her choice of periodicals made me chuckle, I assume she was trying to present an image as well.

We talked some more, she didn't seem to be too keen on going to any of the parties, which was fine. After 4 cups of coffee over two and a half hours she asked me to walk her home. She lived up the hill from downtown-a good short walk that took us about 20 minutes to make. I was beginning to think the adventure was all for naught when I turned to give her a hug goodbye near a large spruce tree in front of her house. I was stunned momentarily when she practically threw herself against me, we embraced and kissed for a few long seconds then made plans to see each other the next day. I told her I would stop into the Chords & More store to say 'Hi!' and to decide what we would do.

I called Dave from my cellphone, but he was too drunk to come and get me so I was stuck walking back to his house.

The next day I woke up late, again, then made it in to see Heather at the store about 1:00 p.m. Her mother paid particular attention to me. Which meant Heather must've mentioned me to her. I felt her eyes upon me the whole time I was there. The thought of those leering eyes boring into the back of my skull almost made me miss noticing the Black Heart pendant dangling from Heather's neck, she hadn't worn it the night before. I was almost positive that other, non-Circle members never wore the black heart amulet. At that point in time, I had never met anyone who did, but I still questioned myself whether Heather knew the significance of what she was wearing. As many Christian people who are devout followers of Satan, I could see someone giving her the pendant as a joke since she obviously comes from such a religious family. But then again, I'd look to my own family's persona, who are as near fanatical about Jesus as any overly devout Christian. So I guess it was possible and in retrospect I guess that's why I was so fascinated with her. If nothing else, getting to know her to just satisfy my own curiosity.

I offered to take Heather out for dinner-she suggested we stop at a nearby deli and pick up some sandwiches, then head to a county park located just outside the outskirts of River Rock for a picnic. I drove my car out there since it was quite a significant walk. She surprised me again, when I went to pick her up at her house around 6:30, she opted to wear another one of what seemed like a huge wardrobe of conservative ankle length dresses. It didn't really bother me, but it made me wonder why she wouldn't feel more comfortable in jeans or better yet shorts on such a warm evening. I imagine, to her mother, I dressed like a slob in my T-shirt and shorts. I also wondered if Heather wasn't subliminally sending me a message of her chastity. To tell you the truth, sex wasn't that big of a deal for me at that point in my life. Like I said before, if I wanted it-it was there. I was more interested in a long slow romance-it was more challenging. To me it was more fun to corrupt a good girl over time than fucking a willing sleaze during a one-night stand.

I didn't get a chance to check to see if she was wearing the pendant until we sat down to eat. This time she was really playing with my mind, she was wearing both the Black Heart and a crucifix. Heather had brought along a blanket for us to sit on. I sat opposite from her; she unpacked the sack of food. She said she didn't know what her major at college was going to be but she was leaning toward International Business. That nugget of information prompted her to ask about my trip to Europe. I said it would be my fourth journey across the big pond. I humored her with what little knowledge I could remember from my trips to the continent. My plane would be departing in a week and a half. Although I would be spending the rest of the summer there, the Mystery School where I would be staying was located in a remote area outside Marseilles and from what I understood the retreat would not leave much time for sightseeing, as most of it would be taken up with my Circle Studies. Not that that was a bad thing, I haven't said this before but I was being groomed for work within the Sect hierarchy. My father was an associate of a CEO from Peru Oil who has a friend who was fairly influential in the Order internationally. The plan was to have me spend my freshman year summer at Mystery School in France and then my sophomore summer I would then be in Washington at a DC think tank. From there, the plans get fuzzy, but from what I've been told, if I kept my nose clean I could have my choice of careers as well as a high ranking within the Sect.  

After we sat awhile, I suggested we take a walk. I reached for her hand to help her up, she never let go, and we walked hand-in-hand the rest of the evening. She led me down a dirt path into some woods, the park had a wonderful and well-connected trail system. Heather showed me a narrow creek down a small hill 50 yards from the path. This is where I bent down and kissed her. She didn't resist, rather she enthusiastically grabbed me, held me in a long embrace. We talked and kissed, kissed and talked. The time passed quickly and before we knew it, the woods were nothing but long shadows. We ended up back in the central portion of the park, near the children's play equipment. I offered to push her on the swing but she suggested I sit and have her push me. She giggled playfully as I sat, swinging back-and-forth. After a few pushes I leapt off and started running after her. She got on her high horse and began to run. Not very well, since she was wearing that long ancient dress, I caught up with her and gave her a big bear hug. She relented. It might be that we were getting more comfortable with each other or the exuberant flirting, but we were kissing more passionately now more than ever.

"You know what I like?" she whispered into my ear, barely out of breath.

"I know a lot of things," I replied.

"Is that so," she smiled in the darkness, "I'd like to know what else."

I stopped nibbling on her neck and spoke, "well," I said holding her Black Heart pendant in my fingers, "I know what this is."

I looked into her eyes to gauge her reaction.

She grew quiet, backed away from me-her face appeared as if she didn't know how to respond--an expression of aloofness, as if to say, 'what in the world are you talking about?'

I smiled to break the tension.

"Pardon me?" She finally said.

Now you must realize, I can't come right out and ask her if she's a member of the Circle. As an initiate, I could be killed if I breached the silent pact with anyone outside of the Order, so it put me in a precarious situation. I began to feel uneasy, maybe the fact that she was wearing the Black Heart had a perfectly legitimate explanation. Perhaps the Heart was more popular than I had thought. Though I sensed something about her reaction. Was it fear? Or maybe she thought I was beginning to act crazy. I had figured I'd gamble and see how she would react to such a cryptic remark. But now I was having second thoughts. Nevertheless, I thought I'd go for broke without breaking the line, "Aw c'mon, Heather-I'm one, too."

Heather eyed me closely, then remarked, "one what?"

I began to think I made a mistake in bringing it up-now she's definitely going to think I'm off my rocker. I tried to change the subject--"I'm sorry, I thought you wore that necklace because it was a symbol of your astrological sign-I'm a Pisces."

"The symbol for 'Pisces' is a fish," she corrected.

I stammered a response, she had me in a corner, "yes, I…No, but..." Her eyes pierced through my brain, "well…uh…a friend once told me that a heart is sometimes worn by Pisces."

"Oh," she replied, "actually, I'm a Taurus."

Although she acted befuddled and I looked like a fool, I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. I could have really screwed up. Now all I would lose was a potential relationship. Que sera sera.  Naturally, the date pretty much ended there, an uncomfortable conclusion which, up until the point when I made a fool of myself, had been a real nice evening. We walked back to my car, it felt too awkward to hold her hand again--sensing she was having second thoughts about going out with me. I had to ask her for directions to get out of the park and back to her house. Other then asking which way to turn, I remained quiet the whole time. Thoughts kept darting through my head about how careless I had been. I shouldn't have been so risky, and even worse the chances now of me getting the opportunity to corrupt this heavenly woman were a million to nil. By the time I pulled up in front of her house I had resigned myself to banging a few drunken high school chicks for the duration of my stay in bucolic River Rock. Take the whole episode as an embarrassing life lesson. Never open up your big mouth again, IDIOT! I shouldn't beat myself up, because it really could have been a lot worse. I mean, telling a highly religious person you're a Devil Worshipper could only lead to trouble. Very public trouble. Jesus, she may even round up the townsfolk and have me burned at the stake for crying out loud! Man Tom, you are so stupid!

I had settled down some by the time I reached her abode. I opened up the car door to let her out, when she leaned over to me, kissed me on the cheek, and whispered, "se ana satanis." It took 20 of the longest minutes of my life but I received a clear response to my cryptic remark. She essentially whispered, 'Yes, I am with Satan'.

I burst out laughing, "you are in the Circle, why did you leave me hanging so long? You bitch!" Heather cocked her head, smiled and said, "well, I like to see my men sweat."

Now I was literally breathing a sigh of relief. Of course she was using a phrase that only another initiate of the Children of the Divine Beast would know. Understandably, she wasn't sure about me and she wanted to be as careful as possible. I gave her my cell phone number and she said she would call me the next day.

 

 

 

HEATHER

I was 17 years old when I received the 6th Mark in the Order of the Beast. That's pretty good considering most people only attain the degree of the fourth mark, usually as a teenager, and very rarely reach above that degree for the rest of their life.

It was the early fall when the Sect Priestess received my Affirmation papers from Brussels. I had completed all obligations to attain the 6th mark except for the final test, or rite, which was no easy task and probably explains why very few people ever get to this point to begin with.

Of course the rite would have never been considered if my father didn't shell out $125,000 for the ceremony. Actually, the money came out of my college fund. I guess you could say that attaining the 6th Mark of the Beast in exchange for an expensive 4-year liberal arts degree was a good tradeoff, considering the 6^th Mark was a fairly significant milestone in my education anyway. Daddy gave me a choice between attending St. Olaf College in Northfield--which would mean delaying my Affirmation to who knows when--or attending the much cheaper public college in Mankato. In the end it was really a no-brainer.

You wouldn't believe all the preparation that is involved. It is so tedious. In the morning, my mother gave me a tea made from Yarrow--a herbal concoction that provides empowerment. The ritual required me to bathe in a purification bath, containing Hyssop, lilac and mugwort (both for protection), in the morning before the ceremony. Since it would take place during the Friday Black mass, I had to perform some of the rites during school. Thirteen hours before the start of the ceremony (11:00 a.m.), I had to excuse myself from class and go to the bathroom to drink a vial of Haslif. My friend Cassie anointed me on the forehead with the Mark of the Beast using lamb's fat laced with crushed Nettle cloves. Of course I had to wipe away the mark as soon as it was made so that no one else would see it in school. Although it didn't much matter whether any of the school officials saw the mark or not. Both the school principal and superintendent had plans to attend the ceremony that night. Other than the tea and haslif, I really hadn't consumed anything since the day before. The instructions require that I fast for at least 36 hours before the rite. At 2:00 p.m., exactly 10 hours before the start of the Affirmation ceremony, I again had to excuse myself from class and find a solitary spot in the building preferably near a window, face West, kneel and chant these words aloud: "Radular Torren L'Spawto, Radular Torren L'Spawto  O-lum," three times. Between 2:00 p.m. and midnight, I would have to repeat this performance every hour on the hour.

If all went as planned, a celebratory reception was set to take place at the ballroom in the Rockline hotel downtown near Schmitz Park along the Pine River. The ceremony was to take place at the base of a city Monument, an obelisk directly in front of River Rock City hall. I know what you're thinking, how could a ritual occur on the site at one of the city's most public landmarks. Here's the story, the obelisk was actually commissioned by a few Sect elders who, with the help of some like-minded city leaders, managed to have a secret altar constructed underneath the obelisk during some major street repair work two years earlier. The monument was actually installed at the confluence of energy fields where spiritual powers are said to be at its greatest in the city. At the time, only two rituals had been held there. Interestingly, the submerged temple is connected with the rest of the city's sewer system but is all but closed off from most city workers. Security around the holy chamber was so protective that only three initiates, that I know,  hold the key to the room. Above ground, the general public regarded the monument as an innocuous city landmark. Known as the 'Soldier's Tower,' it was dedicated to those who served in the Vietnam War. The obelisk* was inscribed in part: "To the men and women of River Rock who traveled to distant lands in order to defend the American way of life."

In an effort to avoid suspicion, all initiates attending the black mass did so at various entry points throughout downtown. After all, it would look rather strange for a group of 50 people entering city hall at 11:30 p.m. on Friday night, so initiates parked their cars in front of Sect businesses and entered the tunnel system from there or at the county courthouse four blocks away or from the police station down the street. Since everyone's vehicles would be scattered throughout the city no one would think twice about the extra traffic.

Judge Harry Torgelson and his wife, Maureen, were close friends of my family and made a special point to come. Maureen was the president of Local Pro-Life chapter and a devout evangelical Christian who was not only a good friend but also one of mother's best customers. Because he was close to my father, Judge Torgelson arranged all the legal work involved in the ritual. He worked with Angela's family in hammering out the details. Angela was a life-long initiate in the Sect and a year younger than myself.

Although I make it a point to know every Sect initiate in River Rock, I did not know Angela that well, save for the occasional greeting at the seasonal Circle festivals. The festivals, which occur four times a year upon the change of seasons, were the mandatory ritual that all initiates were expected to attend, save for the Christmas and Easter Black Masses. Angela didn't seem to be very enthusiastic over her Circle requirements. From what I was told by some friends at St. Michael's, she ran mostly with the stoner crowd at school. We had invited her to parties in the past but she ignored our overtures. This being the second week of September, Angela had just completed her first full week at St. Michael's Catholic High School, while I had completed my first full week as a senior at River Rock High.

Angela and her family entered the River Rock tunnel system through the basement of the State Bank of River Rock on Fourth and State, which was quite a long walk from the obelisk chapel on Main Street. They were still dressed in their street clothes and would change into their cloaks in a special catacomb just off and below City Hall. The family remained expressionless although I noticed Angela's mother smiled brightly and happily greeted me. I suppose she was happy for the $125,000 remuneration. I was already dressed for the occasion: mask, prerequisite leather gloves and black silk gown. I wondered later if I had appeared too anxious to Angela before the ceremony was set to begin. But the more I thought about it the more I realized I was doing the right thing and probably could have done more. I wanted her to hate me. Because much of what was happening, on an otherworldly basis, is that emotion, the real strong emotions that bind all humans together, makes them subject to authority. And hate can be a valuable resource. Every emotion imaginable has its place whether it be anguish, fear, relief or joy. The important thing to note is that now I had learned how to harness the emotions of others. And with Angela…Jesus, Thomas I could feel it! She was just dripping with sorrow and fear and anger. The split second that we laid eyes upon each other that night I knew I had her. The sacred obelisk only enhanced the sweet emotion Angela's soul expended. The energy surged through me and only grew the closer she approached the energy vortex near the obelisk. Analysts like to have people work through their emotions, overcome fear and all that nonsense. Fear to us is probably the single most powerful force on the planet; even more powerful than money. That's not to say money is not important because it is, but when you can harness and induce fear you can get all the money you want because anybody will do anything for you.

All the members had been assembled inside the chapel. The mayor of River Rock, Gail Nettles, was there as was the two Circle initiates who were on the 5 member City Council. I don't know what it's like in your hometown but we like to keep a majority of Satanists on the Council, however slim, at all times. At this point and time, the Circle didn't have a majority on the council but we did have the mayor's seat in order to win the votes in the very rare cases when there was a tie. About one half of the local business owners were there as was the superintendent of schools, five of the city's local pastors as well as the priest from St. Michael's, Angela's priest if you were wondering.

I spent a few minutes welcoming initiates into the holy chapel before escaping into one of the rooms to await the ceremony. At about 20 minutes to midnight, Judge Torgelson's wife, Maureen, came rushing in and said that Angela was having second thoughts.

I felt a twitch in my stomach. I feared that little bitch would pull something like this. To be honest, I thought she'd have a change of heart and run away before the rite, so I thanked God she made it this far. The most significant part of the ceremony was having the mother willingly present her child for sacrifice so naturally the whole exercise would be pointless if she didn't cooperate.

Angela had found herself pregnant the previous January. Not wanting the family's name to be tarnished, Angela was sent away on orders from her father. Her classmates at St. Michael's were told that she went to a boarding school out east. But the rumor spread that she went away to get an abortion fearing that Catholic school officials would find out she was pregnant. As it turned out, that rumor worked just as well as the first lie. When Angela returned to River Rock in late August, no one knew that she had actually kept the child. Although most went on the assumption that her boyfriend was the father, no one knew exactly how Angela became pregnant. It was suspected her father was the culprit. As you know, those kinds of things are neither questioned nor judged in the Sect. It was entirely possible she was a breeder* but again you don't scrutinize these things unless there's a chance of exposing the whole. Much like the Beast, self-preservation is first and foremost our main goal. That's not to say such ideas as sentimentality and a measured sense of decency are not admirable. They can be, but we do have a purpose, and that transcends human existence. Therefore anyone is expendable if it means survival.

Acquiring souls for sacrifice is more difficult than you might think, most of the time it comes down to sheer luck. I mean really. Who knows when another child could be found. You know this as much as anyone Thomas, we don't have access to an endless supply of pregnant women eager to hand over their newborns. Of course, it's not that we couldn't import a child from overseas. Romania has a good market for human trafficking; and reasonably priced as well. Central America is good too but can be a pain in the ass, the task becomes even more difficult when the baby is taken away from a Mother, who is reluctant to give it up. And to top it off, this rite absolutely requires her participation so in actuality, $125,000 was a small price to pay because this way I could get my degree and have enough money to buy the soul. I must tell you, the ritual was the end of a long and arduous road which put me under a lot of stress and made me consider forgetting the whole thing. Get this Thomas, even at this late hour, I still didn't know the sex of the child. Which would normally seem odd since many sacrificial rites in the Sect are specific to the gender of the victim. But this ceremony, a bloodletting at the monument, was not gender specific. Of course, that is an anomaly, at least in our brood. Sure there are other clans who could care less about detail (i.e. ignoring important dates, substituting animals for human sacrifice). That is so disrespectful to God! It is so bad! For us, we stay true to the text. I mean, it was no mere coincidence that the child we used was exactly 13 days old.

Angela was holed up in a room just off the chapel. Even before I entered, I had to take a moment to gather myself because I could sense her anguish; it felt heavenly. She was holding the child, who was bundled in a black satin blanket.

"I'm sorry, I don't even know if it's a boy or girl," I remarked as I approached Angela, who was sitting on a table at the side of the small room.

"A girl," said Angela in barely a whisper.

"Can I hold her?" I asked, outstretching my arms.

Reluctant at first, Angela eventually handed the child over after a few moments.

"Oh, she's adorable. She has your nose."

Angela forced a tepid smile.

"You haven't named her have you?" I said, sometimes the Sect would force the mother to give the child a name to increase the personal bond between mother and child in an effort to magnify the emotions during the ritual.

"No, my mother wouldn't let me I was going to call her 'Faith', but then I figured, you know, what was the point."

"Good," I concurred, not really caring one way or the other at the moment, "you don't need a name do you?" I said to the child in exaggerated baby talk.

Maureen opened the door to the room, then spoke in a coarse manner, "is she ready yet?"

I glanced toward Angela, who seemed oblivious to Maureen, her head turned downward toward the opposite side of the room.

"Here Maureen," I reached out the child, "we'll be out in a few minutes..." Maureen took the bundle and left to be with the others.

"Would you like a cigarette?" I asked Angela after the door closed.

Angela lifted her gaze from the floor and affirmatively nodded her head. The first positive response she had given thus far. I pulled out a box of Virginia Slims and handed her one. Angela placed it in her mouth, then cupped my hand as I lit it for her.

"I haven't had a cigarette since I found out."

It took me a moment to understand what she meant, "Oh, when you found out when you were pregnant?"

"Yeah," answered Angela with a smile. It made me wonder just how attached she had become to the little imp. Why in the world would she quit smoking for the health of the baby when she knew it would be expended?

I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a cloud of smoke in her direction. We remained in silence for several seconds, puffing away before I decided to break the ice again.

"Angela, we need you to make the presentation."

She didn't react.

"A lot of people are depending on you," I continued, "don't let them down, don't let yourself down. You've come too far to blow it now."

Angela took a pull from her cigarette then tapped off some of the ashes onto the cement floor.

"Do you know what I'm saying?" I asked.

Angela nodded; more out of assimilation than agreement before gently responding, "I see no reason why I have to be in there."

"Oh come on Angela. You're the most important part."

"You got your baby," Angela said, her voice suddenly turning sharp, "what do you need me for?"

I rolled my eyes dramatically, turned my head slightly, and let out sigh, "This is…"

"I can't go in there and do what you want--I just can't!" She interrupted.

I focused on her for a second, took one last drag then put out my cigarette on the floor." What's your father and mother going to say? I'm sure they will not be happy with your decision to hide away in here. After all, even though you're the reason we're here, your mistake is the reason we're here."

Angela had to think about that one for a moment. Obedience to one's parents is a trait all initiates find hard to shake no matter how far they stray from the Brood. I lit another Virginia Slims; the anxiety was getting the best of me.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Jesus, you know what we want you to do --don't plead ignorance with me!! You're not that retarded!"

"Fuck You!!"

I was taken aback by how forceful she spat at me. I turned away briefly before gently prodding her again, "C'mon!"

"I don't think I can do it."

"Of course you can, you've done worse," I said, remembering Angela's role in a crucifixion ritual at Easter.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of the guilt! Don't think for one minute that you're feeling guilty! You're not afraid of them!" I said pointing, referring to the brood in attendance. "You should be glad that something positive resulted from this. You realize this will only help in the long term health of the Order. "Not receiving an adequate response, I softened my words, "And then you can say that 'I, Angela, did my part for the sake of the tribe.'" I inched closer and cradled her head against my shoulder. Stroking her hair, I spoke gently, "you can do it. You know you can, you know you'll be rewarded for everything you do for the Lord--you know you will.

"I'm not here to blame. No one is!" I told her, lying through my teeth, "this is just the path laid out for you. To not follow it would be blasphemous."

Angela's cigarette had been burned down to the butt for the last couple of minutes; she threw it on the floor. Her gaze turned back downward as if she were contemplating.

"It's up to you Angela."

"I know," Angela responded in a barely audible tone.

Sounding like a car salesman I heard myself refrain in a whisper, "what do I have to do? Just tell me." I consoled, still stroking her hair.

Angela kept stoic for a few moments then mumbled something.

I stood back and took a pull on my cigarette, "What did you say?"

"I want to get her baptized," Angela said softly.

"Is that all?" She caught me by surprise, a premature plume of smoke escaped from my mouth as I spoke in mid exhale, "That's all! A baptism?"

Angela nodded.

"You will present the child just as long as she is baptized?"

"Yeah," Angela said meekly.

"All right then," I couldn't disguise the joy on my face, "wait one minute." I left to talk to the Sect elders. As fate would have it, Angela's own priest was in attendance for the ceremony. Father Hammond, from St. Michael's Church, hurriedly performed the baptism. The child needed to have a name so they went with 'Faith'. It was rather unusual, but not out of the ordinary that the child had not been baptized first. After all, in the Sect both the esoteric practices of the Order and the more mainstream rituals of the Christian church work in concert with each other.

------------------

Angela only held the child for a brief few minutes after she entered the chamber. I, standing under the obelisk and in front of the altar, kept my eyes on her. She refused to gaze down upon her daughter. When the High Priestess asked her to come forward, I was intrigued to notice the baby still had the remnants of the holy water on her forehead from the baptism.

"Do you have a gift for our Lord?" asked the High Priestess.

"Yes," responded Angela in a surprisingly loud and clear voice. She handed her bundle over to the High Priestess who carelessly lifted the child and then draped it over the altar table.

The Priestess took hold of Angela's arm making sure that she wouldn't flee the room. I placed my hand over the stomach of the naked child. I could feel the heart beating feverishly. I knew without the blanket it would probably be cold in this underground chapel, but it didn't cry--at least not yet. With my hand on her tummy I chanted:

"Monteros tias a solus! Monteros tias a solus!"

We have to keep a hand on the body in order to absorb the energy. Faith was breathing quite heavily and as I chanted the words over and over again I felt its soul leaping into my hand. The gathering sensed this but I had no way of knowing their reaction since I was so consumed with the rite. The only thing I could hear was the now thunderous beating of her heart. After a few moments the Priestess let go of Angela and knelt down before me, outstretched her arms and called out, "Satan, father of Jesus, use your conduit to take this child..." Then raising the volume of her voice for emphasis she implored "Take this soul! Satan, Take this soul!" As she spoke these words I continued to chant, "Monteros tias a solus! Monteros tias a solus!" The seemingly dissonant chants created a cacophony of words echoing throughout the chamber. A gust of wind began to be heard coming from a distant corridor. My mother and Maureen, dressed in their ceremonial cloaks, began pacing around the pentagram etched into the floor of the hidden sanctuary. Maureen burned carnation in a censer on a chain, while my mother walked in the opposite direction around the circle with a censer of burning Hawthorn berries. The smoke wafted throughout and combined with the two torches at the head of the altar casting a ghostly picture on the proceedings. Angela appeared to be exhausted from the energy swirling around her and collapsed to her knees next to the High Priestess, who was still in measured chant to the Lord. To my delight, Faith began to cry (Not because I could hear her weep, but because I could feel the fear streaming from her chakras and through my body) Sponge-like, my being was already saturated with the pure emotion. I couldn't help myself and spontaneously cried out in praise, "Hail Satan! Hail Satan!" The gathering repeated my exultation. The divine energy grew ever more fierce with the progression of the ritual. A wind, that could only be heard down the hall, now was among us and combined with the burning incense to create a stormy mass of clouds that enveloped the assembly and seemed to energize the gathering to a insatiable appetite.

The brood continued a droning yet enthusiastic praise of our Lord; their taste for blood was becoming more evident. Faith was bawling uncontrollably and although it was now time for me to lift my hand from her throbbing form, the sensation was so delectable I had to fight myself to do it. I hope no one noticed*. Angela's mother brought forward a goblet of her daughter's breast milk. She knelt before me, keeping her balance as best she could with the now gale-like wind whirling amongst us. I took the goblet and set it down. Faith hadn't been fed all day, according to the instructions of the rite. Maureen and my mother walked the circle surrounding the pentagram and the High Priestess was still on her knees but in deep silent prayer. My hair flew madly, continually covering my face and sticking out briefly on end. I turned my back on the gathering and retrieved the dagger. Facing the brood, the congregation fell silent when they saw the Holy blade in my hands. Thunder cracked and combined with the wind making it practically impossible to say my chants. I screamed at the top of my lungs in order for the others to even hear me faintly, "O' la sen men Satanis, O' la sen men Satanis" I bellowed the sacrificial chant, "O' la sen men Satanis, O' la sen men Satanis." I maintained the chant while leaning in closer to the child, my blade protruding out. My senses were swimming in ecstasy. I felt beyond and powerful. The first cut was to the stomach from thigh to thigh. Faith wailed but by this time the storm in the chamber was so fierce I couldn't even hear her.  I brought the chalice, filled with mother's milk and acquired as much blood as I could dripping from her torso. I could only get enough to discolor the milk to a mild pink, but it was sufficient to satisfy the conditions of the rite.

I extended the chalice skyward in deference to the Lord. The storm had eased a bit to where you could hear the High Priestess in obedient praise. The gathering, taking the cue, began chanting "Hail Satan!" ominously, in a low murmur, anticipating what was coming. Faith, still clinging to life, sobbed uncontrollably. I turned my gaze to Angela, who was still on her knees but was now hunched over, in a near fetal position. I reached down and caressed Angela's cheek, she reached up and touched the back of my hand and stroked my leather glove then rested her head on it as if grasping for support. I lifted her chin up, an act to implore her to sit erect. With Faith writhing on the table beside me, I brought the goblet of milk and the blood of her daughter to her lips. Angela appeared to resist it at first but I guided her head to the sacred liquid. She only took in a small quantity before I tilted the chalice upwards, coaxing her to consume a healthy swallow. Her tongue fought it and a few trickles of the pinkish cocktail seeped down her chin. I bent down and opened her mouth, her tongue was stained with the holy liquid. I briefly touched Angela's shoulder and even through my glove, I could feel her shivering, I couldn't contain my satisfaction enough as a smile seemed plastered on my face. I even went so far as to bend down and lick off the excess milk on her lips with a kiss. The combination of milk, blood and dried tears was surprisingly pleasing. Sorrow has a palate of its own, you know.

The chaos within the chamber had settled a bit. The chanting had ceased and the High Priestess opened her eyes to await the final act as Faith was remarkably still gasping for life on the table.

I prided myself for carrying on the sacrifice for so long. There's an art to the rite and it doesn't come easy, it takes a lot of study. It would have been embarrassing, to say the least, to put on a weak performance in front of so many important people. I don't think I would've forgiven myself if it didn't go as well as it did.

I hadn't noticed it right away, but the child had defecated, and was now bathing in a puddle of mustard-colored feces and blood. I offered the chalice to the High Priestess, who promptly took a drink of the Holy concoction. She passed it back to me and I did the same. According to the agreement, the goblet was to be shared first with Angela's family then the Circle elders and then to everyone else. My guess was that it didn't get much further than a Circle elder or two. Most were waiting for the internal organs anyway but the milk and blood mixture is of highly symbolic importance as well and in fact was considered a delicacy.

Faith lay in a pool of blood, her stomach guts--intestines and internal organs--spilled from her body. My glove became saturated with blood when I shifted the body around for presentation. I overtly licked my fingers for dramatic effect to the roaring approval of the brood. I purposely glanced at Angela when I did this. Unfortunately, she didn't see it. I lifted the baby high above my head, to the heavens and I should note right underneath the obelisk. The gathering became too anxious at the sight of this and the orderliness began to break down. They moved in closer nearly trampling over my mother and Maureen, who now found it pointless to continue with the burning of the herbs.

Faith's body seemed to fall apart in my arms; she was still clinging to life, but just barely. With the child still lifted to the sky I exulted "A tias clovis Lucreian men Satanis" ('Satan, Accept our offering'), I laid Faith back down on the table; the brood could not contain its excitement. I could hear laughter above the moans emanating from an orgy that had been brewing for the duration. I couldn't contain my own contentment and glanced at Angela who, to my surprise, was staring right at me with an emotionless expression on her face. I thought maybe the smile on my face perturbed her. Just to let Angela know that I didn't forget she was present, I gave her a wink, picked up the blade and slit the throat. Someone immediately came forward with a second chalice. It was smaller and only filled the bowl half way as most of the blood was left on the table.

Gail, the mayor, and a few of the Circle elders lurched forward to get a taste of the blood. The mayor was already completely naked having been engaged in sweaty intercourse with the school superintendent. In my experience, fresh warm blood always seemed to work as the best aphrodisiac, arousing the gathering more than anything.

The next step was going to be rather arduous, I had to cut open the body without damaging the heart. To do this, I cut a slit from the top of the throat to the breastbone. Then pull the body apart like a butcher would de-bone a chicken. It's not pretty but it's the best way to preserve the heart. I gently separated the ribs; Blood splattered my face when I popped the cavity open. The heart was on its last legs but was still beating. One pull and I held it up to a roar of approval from the gathering, including Angela's parents who pressed forward to get a piece of the sacred organ. Her mother nearly devoured it whole. She angered me to the point where I had to slap her across the face. "May I remind you who paid for this!" I spat at her. Like she had this attitude of entitlement. But if it wasn't for her daughter's mistake, she would have never been allowed to set foot into the place. This was an elite function, the crème de la crème, the who's who of the Sect. Just because she raised her daughter without moral stamina didn't entitle her to the fruits of the Lord's rite. The woman pathetically slithered back into the crowd. I presented my father the last piece of the heart--a token from a grateful daughter, I guess. The rest of Faith got lost in the frenzy of the horde.

Naturally Angela wept uncontrollably through much of the whole service. That was a good thing, of course, but more importantly she stayed for the duration. In my opinion, Angela did get off easy since most times the mother is forced to commit the act. If her family had more standing within the Circle, she wouldn't even have to consider giving up the child. I don't think her family needed the $125,000 so it wasn't an issue of money though that can act as a good enticement. I saw Angela later on when everyone was leaving. I was having a cigarette with my friend Cassie. I thought about saying something but then I decided to purposely ignore her. I mean, what does she expect? That I should get down on my knees and heap praise and thank you's on her for the sacrifice she made. She made her choices. You don't see the rest of us getting into those kinds of lurid predicaments. The bottom line is, she'll always be a breeder, nothing more. My ignoring her was, my way of making certain she knew that. I took from her what I could, and then some. I will take all I want. You see, it was her own fault. And I refuse to feel guilty for it. Besides, my sins were cleansed long ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tom

Part Two

 

"I'm getting off early today," Heather called me about 10:00 a.m. "Do you have anything planned?"

It was Wednesday, but I'm sure Dave was getting a little perturbed because I hadn't been spending enough time with him but this was starting to get interesting, "no, not really-what do you have in mind?"

"Meet me at the parking lot next to Rocky's Bar."

"Where's Rocky's bar?" I asked.

"Find it."

"What time?"

"Be there at 4:00…and wear pants."

She hung up, I wondered what she meant about wearing 'pants', I speculated she didn't like my attire, but it was summer-if you don't dress like a slob in the summer when can you? I sifted through my suitcase for the best trousers I could find-some smoky gray colored khakis. Most of my wardrobe was still in the closet in my room back at the frat house. I figured I would stop there and pick up a more substantial collection of clothing before my trip to Europe. The only reason I brought a couple pair of pants on my trip to River Rock was on the outside chance there would be a chilly day.

Dave's younger brother, Chuck, stopped by the house for lunch, he said he wanted to pick up some CDs a friend of his at work had been bothering him about borrowing. He stopped at Hardee's, the main fast-food joint in town, for a sack full burgers and fries. He offered me some but I wasn't hungry. I asked him where Rocky's bar was. He said that it was on Main Street, I thought I'd walked the length of the downtown but I must have either missed it or not walked far enough. He said it had a side entrance with no sign on the front. "It's in the basement of the old Freemasonry building," he said.

 

------------------------------

I drove around town early in the afternoon to find the bar-I didn't want to be late. I found it, my watch said, 3:50. About a minute before 4:00, after countless stares from the locals, a motorcycle pulled up. My eyes followed the vehicle, but I quickly turned away when I caught myself staring. The parking lot of Rocky's was unique in that it stood adjacent to the building--taking up valuable storefront space. Chuck said they turned it into a parking lot when the old Ben Franklin store burned down. He said that happened only a couple years before. The owner of the store had rented out the upstairs apartments. A fire had started in the apartment of an elderly couple, probably because an absent minded wife had forgotten a pork roast in the oven, according to Chuck.

As I stood looking out towards the street, waiting for Heather, I heard a voice coming from the motorcycle, "Hey Pisces! Over here!"

It took a second to adjust my eyes and match up the voice in my head. It was Heather, and this time she wasn't wearing a dress. Fitted in black leather chaps, jacket and gloves. Without taking off her helmet or even killing the engine, Heather told me to hop on. I hadn't had much experience with cycles; although I did have a dirt bike as a kid though. Heather told me later her father got her the bike a year ago. Seems she was an avid rider, but that not even her close friends knew she had it. I got the impression that she cloaked herself in black, even hiding her face behind a tinted visor under her helmet, to keep her toy a secret as well as her secret life.

It was rather strange holding on to her as we rolled through town, Heather would shift into first gear after a stop and then come blaring across the intersection. To an outsider it might seem a bit careless, but I know that when you're in control you have no fear. I, on the other hand, was holding on for dear life. She sped south out of town until we came to an intersection with no stop signs. She slowed just enough to make a left-hand turn, within a few seconds she had the bike up to 60 again. I really hadn't ventured far outside the town of River Rock. Most of the scenery I had witnessed on my brief vacation was nothing past the city limits. Heather turned down a paved road that was quite hilly. I assumed it followed the river since most of the terrain in southern Minnesota is flat and uneventful. I believe she had the thing to 80 by the time we hit the bottom of the first slope. I squeezed her body and begged her to slow down. She brushed aside my pleas and hit the next hill just as fast, popping a small wheelie as she entered it. The sides of the road were mostly wooded; occasionally a rustic farm could be seen situated on a small flat part of the land. But other than that it was mostly forest. We got about 6 to 7 miles out of River Rock when she finally began to slow down to at least a speed near the legal limit. I had thought she was beginning to sympathize with my pleading, but as it turned out she was only looking for a place to turn off. Eventually slowing down to practically a snail's pace. She pulled her bike into what looked like a field approach. Only there wasn't any field, the dirt path led into a dark abyss of trees. She looked for any traffic coming, seeing none; she killed the engine and told me to hop off. Heather jumped off then gripped the handlebars, pushing the bike into the dark protection of the forest. She set the kickstand down and instructed me to cover it with brush. I broke off a few leafy branches and draped it as best I could--"worried someone's going to throw it in the back of their pick-up truck?" I asked.

"I'm not worried about the bike, I just don't want anyone to find this place," she said, hoisting off her helmet and tucking it underneath the chassis. Heather unzipped a diagonal pocket on her leather jacket and pulled out a flip top box of Virginia Slims. Plucking a cigarette from the pack, she mentioned the calm of the forest--"it can both frighten and protect you, you know," she lit her cigarette, "it sucks having to always play the good girl," she remarked while striking a pose that made her look like a cross between an elegant beauty queen and an underage biker slut showing off to the boys. All of us played double lives of course; I knew exactly what she was talking about. Most everyone in the Circle are essentially forced to live a double life, especially if you're in the Dual-Sect.

I finished covering her bike, "are you going to hold my hand?" she asked, reaching her arm out to me.

Exhaling a plume of smoke in my direction, she smiled, took my hand, then led me into the woods. We had to step over some brush that was permeated with thorns. I assumed this was why she told me to wear pants. A slight breeze created a loud, yet distant swooshing sound among the high treetops, while at ground level the trees made the air still and the atmosphere foreboding. For some reason, my heart still races when I'm venturing into something unknown. You might reason that since I've been a Satanist for so long, nothing should frighten me. Believe me, it happens more than you think. I think it's a good thing really, we were always taught in Mystery School that the most successful people in the world become that way by overcoming and facing their own fears. That's not just for us, many others have philosophized the benefits of overcoming fear. I guess you could say we were just taught it at a younger age and in more extreme ways than the rest of the world. I was learning to master dread before I even knew I was in the Circle. Once, my father tied a rope around my ankles, I think I was nine. He hung me upside-down out the door of the hayloft in the barn of our family farm. He wasn't the irresponsible sort, you know, he had all his faculties and he knew what he was doing and looking back, I understand why he put me through that ordeal. I didn't react at first-I think I felt I was being punished for refusing to stack the hay bales that he had bought for my mother's horses. I guess you could say I passed the test, he let me hang head dangling in the air for 20 minutes or so before he returned with a knife threatening to cut me down. Which wouldn't have been too fun because I surely would have snapped my neck on the hard ground below and gotten killed as my hands were bound behind my back. I begged him to pull me back to safety, "No son, you haven't learned respect, here!" he shouted while at the same time severing a roll of fibers on the rope. "Thomas, your sin is disobedience," it was a favorite saying of his. He also liked to quote from the Bible. One of his most popular passages that he barked over and over again to both my sister and myself was from Romans 13:2--"he who rebels against authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves."

"Does that make any sense to you Thomas?" he screamed, "the power is for the chosen, but the chosen will be denied the jewels if they are weak!"

Of course by this time I was crying my eyes out-screaming anything he wanted to hear or what I thought he wanted to hear--"I'll be good, I'll be good!" I kept repeating.

He cut another roll of fiber. I felt the jolt when the rope dropped me a few inches then held me up suddenly as if for some strange reason the rope was trying to grant me forgiveness.

"Will you obey?" he asked me in a tempered voice.

"Yes yes yes, I'll obey!!" I couldn't get my response out quick enough.

He pulled me back into the barn, untied me with two swipes of the knife. I lay for a moment on the wooden floor of the hayloft--trying to get back my dignity more than anything. My dad knelt down beside me, smiled--"you'll learn, Thomas, you'll learn," he said it in a reassuring way, as if to say 'all of this will make perfect sense to you one day'. Which of course it did. You could say I learned obedience that day-but that wasn't the most important thing because through that obedience I gained a more valuable lesson-Power. I respected his power. Still do as a matter of fact. From that day on, I began to realize my own potential, my own limits I guess. It's something I'm still learning. Some days, I feel no doubt that I could rule the whole fucking world.

The Woods hid a secret place; one that Heather knew the way. The path that she looked for was hard to find; we had to climb over several feet of thorny bushes before she stumbled across it. She explained that most of her Circle friends knew about the secret place in the woods, and that they tried as best they could to hide it from those that happened to come upon the small forest. The land was the private property of an elderly initiate who couldn't do much to keep the general public out of it. Although Heather said that her friends and those local Satanists before them did their best to keep the area as uninviting as possible for any and all outsiders. She said they once had to nearly kill some kid from school who was bent on having a party out there. He knew about the secret spot on a hunting excursion one Saturday morning. I guess he had planned to have a few kegs and half the student body at this secluded area in the country for what he called the bash of the year. Heather said once it was known where he was talking about, the Circle put a scare on him through a local cop who was also a lifelong member of the Order. When the kid still insisted later on about having the party, Heather said she and some of her friends worked out a plan to off the guy. Eventually, they decided against it because they couldn't get the final permission to do it from their parents. Heather said they were going to make a big production of it-sacrificing the guy, with full ceremony in the same spot where he wanted to have his party. In the end, a second visit from the cop in the company of the guy's parents, was enough to nix the whole thing.

Heather took me down a steep sloped trail, she held on to me for stability. After we negotiated the treacherous path, I noticed a fast running stream. Because of that, I assumed we were getting close to a larger body of water, "where's the river?" I asked.

"It's on the other side of the highway, it drains into it over that way," she motioned as she waived her arm in the general vicinity.

We followed the stream a few yards until we came upon a slimy, blackened log that rested crookedly across the waterway. The natural bridge was just long enough to allow a short hop over the water. Heather met me on the other side and surprised me with a kiss-she held me in an embrace for a few moments, and then let me go, "are you ready?" she asked.

I nodded, figuring any other response would seem sardonic. We trotted to a relative clearing on the other side of the stream. Except for a scattering of a few poplars, the only shrubbery was some moss on the nearby rocks hugging the shoreline. We walked south out of the clearing encountering a large rock, about 6-feet across and 4 feet high. The boulder rested between two hills that connected on to larger cliffs that lay towering over the small valley. The massive stone was the only visible space between the two hills bordering it, it looked as if a Giant took a steak knife to the hill and cut out a pie-like slice of the earth.

Heather sat down on the boulder, appearing to get a surge of energy she reached up, as if for luck, "kiss me again Tommy," her excitement could be felt by her now heavy breathing. Upon kissing me, she lifted her legs up and twirled herself around to allow her legs, which were now on the other side of the boulder, to enter the hidden valley. She stepped in and immediately disappeared into the darkness like a fadeout at the end of a movie. It amazed me that she could disappear so quickly, I jumped the oversized rock. Even though it was not yet 5:00 p.m., and the day still had a few good hours of sunlight, I swear I couldn't see my hand in the front of my face. I reached out and touched Heather on the shoulder, she gently took my hand and led me into her secret place. Except for maybe past experience, I had no idea how she could find her way in this. My eyes didn't readjust until several minutes later and the only thing I could make out in the meantime with any kind of certitude was the trees along the western top of the adjacent cliff because the sun shone just enough to outline a healthy line of birch trees. When my eyes became accustomed to the shadowed surroundings, the first thing I could make out was a circle of tree stumps that lay perfectly around a hole, about 8-foot in diameter. Heather took hold of my hand and led me to the edge of the pit. I followed and instinctively looked down. She braced her hands against my stomach, "be careful," she said, "if you fall, you'll never get out."

I stepped back, then leaned my head down to get a better look, "how deep is it?"

"Deep," she replied, then added dramatically, "some of the elders like to say it's a doorway to hell."

I chuckled then kicked up a stone that was hidden under a thick blanket of damp leaves and tossed it down the hole-I didn't hear it drop, "is there water down there?"

"Hardly," Heather said, "it is filled with the blood of those who wish us harm," she smiled, "I'm sorry, that's what they always tell us-we had a sort of a field trip out here when I was in fifth grade-I think it was the Priestess' way of scaring us."

Or strengthening, I thought, "where did you have Mystery School?" I asked.

"In the basement of the church, usually at night."

She explained that the classes took place in a windowless room when no other regular church activities were scheduled. The Order went so far as to have the classes at odd hours. To keep the meetings discreet and from the prying eyes of the public, some of the more important ceremonial classes were held after midnight. She recalled being awoken countless times in the middle of the night to attend Mystery School. I could relate, you know, we used to have those classes at initiate's homes. Sect elders were okay with that, but they were pretty adamant that when it was time to conduct any rites or special occasions a more holy place was required. Now we had certain locations back home that we would frequent. You know, cemeteries, even public landmarks. Most people don't realize the significance of their public surroundings. If the Sect has any say in it, everything from the County Courthouse to the local library has been placed there for a good, esoteric reason. The spirits have to be aligned in sync with our holy sites. We consider the sun to be a major religious symbol. It provides warmth, illumination and above all life. The most important factor in situating monuments is of course the energy fields. Where the energy converges at its most strength is where we want it to be. The most sought after spot to hold a ritual, if you must know, is the sanctuary of a church. Most churches, if they were done under the direction of the Sect and if you didn't know let me tell you most are built to the aforementioned specifications. Some may think this odd but remember, there would be no Christian church without us. We've nurtured it for 2000 years.

Heather walked upon a flattened moss covered rock that set in the earth on the edge of the pit, she whispered for me to follow. She stuck her hand into her jacket and presented a switchblade knife, she took the palm of my hand and proceeded to cut me--"what are you doing?" I protested then yanked my hand from her grip.

"I would like to tell you it won't hurt-but it will."

I held my hand behind my back--"awe c'mon, show some backbone-you're not one of the weak are you?" She prodded.

Not wanting to be considered spineless, I caved and gave her my hand-she sliced about a one-inch cut over the heart of my palm. Blood quickly streamed out, she lifted my hand over the pit. Drop after drop plunged down into the bowels of the hole-"Malutem sectum proscus taes," she spoke the incantation, "Alvurm diab runnas eecrin." Heather repeated the phrase three times. She chanted a prayer, asking for the power of the Seer. My hand was beginning to go numb before she held it back from the pit. She bent her head down and pressed her lips to my palm, she looked at me with her bright eyes as she slurped up the excess blood from my wound and then reached out her hand and drew my lips to hers. Her tongue stained of blood, she pushed it into my mouth. She had brought a bandage along in which she wrapped around my scar. By this time, my eyes were as adjusted to the darkness as they were ever going to get. But that didn't help much because the only thing I could see with any kind of clarity were those row of birch trees high atop the western cliff. Heather, noticing my confused demeanor, grasped my hand, the one with the bandage on it, and set out on a journey I will never forget for the rest of my life. Even on into eternity I will not let that memory escape my consciousness. In retrospect, I guess you could say the things I experienced that day were more like a dream than they were palpable in the physical sense. I can't tell you where we entered the realm, but it was the total opposite of the darkness we endured surrounding the pit. Heather took me into a place of vibrant colors, waves of purple, red, yellow and green. We came upon a brook-there was no water, what was supposed to be water turned out to be a stream of orange fog. Heather cupped her hands down into the pool-she drank of it, then proceeded to talk. When she was finished we were standing next to her motorcycle that I had covered with leaves and branches. She said that I would witness the ordination of the Star Child-that I would even taste the blood of the Covenant child. Heather was even astonished at what she told me. Since the beginning, we had heard the story of the Covenant child and how Satan connected to the Circle. But, to be honest, we regarded the whole thing as a fable than an actual event that would one day come to pass. I didn't put much stock into her prediction. I didn't think much about it until a few years later when I found myself on a private jet over the Atlantic on our way to France.

I asked Heather what she called the secret spot, some of the older members of the Circle flock claim it was called Valhalla. Which, in actuality, is the place they call heaven for dead Vikings. From what she said, the area was once home to a small population of Scandinavian settlers. But she really didn't know if the name stemmed from that or not. She commented that the powers of prophecy does not happen every time, although, she said the giving of blood almost always gives you entrance into the Realm of Colors. The reason she brought me there was that the ability to prophesize generally only occurs when a person entering Valhalla is fresh, or sheds new blood.

"There is a story that was told to me by my grandfather," Heather said to me as we were cleaning the brush from her motorcycle, "that if you were to offer up a sacrifice into the pit-you would be granted the 'power to master Valhalla'."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, I could never understand it myself..." She stopped, then turned sort of bubbly, "but wouldn't it be neat to find out?"

She said it like she was dangling an offer. I looked down at the ground for a moment, contemplating her suggestion, "what if you don't want to 'master Valhalla' or what if something bad happens?"

Heather lit another cigarette and blew a stream of smoke towards the treetops, "I guess that would be the risk you would have to take, Love." She moved in to kiss me, nibbling hungrily on my lips as if wanting more than I could give. It was then that my longing for Sela began to fade away.

She drove us into a nearby town-there wasn't much to offer, save for a handful of houses, a Bar & Grill and a fix-it shop. Heather had her own fake ID, from which she bought two pitchers of beer. We played a few games of pool then headed back to River Rock.

I had made plans to hang out with David on Thursday, I figured I'd better spend at least a little time with him. But I must say that time spent with Heather was plenty more titillating than hanging out at some graduation party-sneaking warm beer with an alternative girl just fresh from high school. Heather invited me to a party she was having at her house on Friday night. I accepted then I asked if Dave could come too, she was very adamant that he not come around or even that I tell him about it. Again, I knew full well about the secrecy of certain things. She knew Dave wasn't a member of the Order so I told him I was going out with Heather on a date. And to make sure he didn't drop by her house, I said we were driving to Mankato to an all-night party at a frat house.

Heather told me to stop by her house around 6:00 p.m. Her parents were still home, even though she had said they were leaving for the weekend. When she invited me in, she was once again wearing one of her full-length summer dresses, her mother was in the kitchen-she looked to be packing a cooler. Heather mentioned they had a cabin way up north near the town of Walker. Heather's mom seemed to be a little cheerful this time, she said hello and then was almost oblivious to me, singing Christian hymns as she packed a cooler for their drive up north.

Heather left me with her mother for a brief time; her mother used the opportunity to suddenly start talking religion...

"What church do you belong to?" she wondered.

"Oh, I don't live in River Rock," I said.

"Oh, what religion do you normally attend?"

"Well," I responded, "I'm a Lutheran by birth... " Just then Heather entered the kitchen.

"Mother!" Heather said exasperatedly, "he has the lineage."

"Lineage?"

"Of the Sect."

It didn't quite register immediately with her mother, "Oh," her eyebrows went up as if to say 'what a pleasant surprise'. After that, she quit singing hymns. I guess she figured I didn't need to suffer through her subtle preaching. Later I discovered that she had grilled Heather for hours about yours truly.  It still stunned me that Heather's family belonged to the Sect. Although the Circle is quite prevalent, the Sect does not have as much of a following in the Midwest, particularly in Minnesota. In actuality, the Sect is far more dominant in the south, especially the Bible Belt as you might guess. People tend to leave us alone down there. My father once told of the time he traveled to Mississippi on church business. As a Sectarian, they treated him like a king, which caught him off guard because he figured they wouldn't want much to do with him because he was a Yankee. 

I offered to carry their cooler out to the family van. They said their good-byes; it struck me that the relationship between Heather and her parents was extremely close. At least from appearances, even though it was only for the weekend, the family embraced as if they were going away for a long trip. A far cry from my family, which at that point in time was having difficulty in getting together let alone gathering up enough sentiment to even embrace.

I stood with Heather on the driveway, waving to them until they safely pulled away from their cul-de-sac.

"Do they know you're having a party tonight?" I asked.

"Yes," she said instantaneously like I should of known better, "they helped me set it up, Love."

Heather was now calling me 'Love' as a nickname. I think she picked up on it when I mentioned I would be staying in London for a few days on my impending trip to Europe. I was a big fan of the TV show Hogan's Heroes, and when I was discussing my stay in London, I adopted the accent of Newkirk, the British prisoner on the show. He tends to say, 'Love' a lot when referring to a particular woman he is with. I didn't mind it much that she called me that, because she was only endearing herself to me, and I was finding myself falling for her more and more. The icing on the cake was the fact that she was in the Sect. Eventually, when I marry, it will have to be with one of my own and up until that point I had never dated anyone within the Sectarian Order.

When we got back into the house, I asked when the party was going to start?

"It already has," she said.

"I mean, when are your friends coming over?"

Heather snuck her arm around my waist, eased her hand to my butt and gave it a healthy squeeze--"Oh, in a couple of hours or so, by the way," she said, I assumed she had something else on her mind other than preparing for the party in the time that intervened, "come with me," she instructed, holding my right forefinger over her shoulder and pulling me along as if I were a poodle on a leash, we stepped into what I found out later was her parent's master bedroom. She left me at the entrance and sifted through the top drawer of the dresser.

When she turned to face me, she held a condom between her fingers-we hadn't had sex yet, so I assumed what she was getting at. I was more than ready, my libido had been building since Sunday, I bent down to kiss her. The aggressive way that I did it tipped her off to my intentions. She put her hand up, "no, not me."

"What?" I said as if suddenly being shaken awake.

"Her," Heather said, nodding towards the bed.

Somewhat confused, I glanced towards the bed, all that was there was a quilt piled in a lump over what looked like a couple of pillows.

"Who or what are you talking about?"

Stepping toward the bed, Heather reached down to pull the quilt, "I've brought you a present, Love," just then, she tossed the quilt to the side, revealing the torso of a naked female body. Thinking the worst, I lifted up the woman's wrist--"is she dead?" I asked while at the same time checking for a pulse.

"No, of course not Love she's just asleep for a while."

"What do you want me to do, fuck her?"

"Well, I thought you might want to be first," she said sweetly as she dangled the condom in front of my eyes.

"Who is she?" I inquired.

"Oh, kind of a friend…" then she stopped herself, in a contrived way, "No. Not really a friend, more of a nuisance. A nuisance that needs to be taught a lesson."

"What is she doing here?"

"I acquired her for you, Love."

I rolled my eyes, "C'mon Heather, what are you planning on doing with her?"

She turned away and reached into her handbag to retrieve a cigarette while answering matter-of-factly, "Oh, she needs to be eradicated."

I was neither fazed nor moved by her remark. I've been on this planet long enough to know that, however rare, sacrifices do happen and as I would find out later, that reality was not an unusual occurrence in River Rock, "What is she, a breeder or something?"

Heather smiled and blew a stream of smoke before answering, "Yes, you could say that I suppose. Yes, let's just call her a Breeder".

"Is she pregnant?"

"No. At least as far as I know she's not. Actually, we're waiting on blood test results tonight," Heather dragged on her cigarette and giggled, "but I don't anticipate any surprises".

"Are you killing her tonight?"

"Well I can't tell you, but we have some plans for her first."

"When will she be sacrificed?"

"When her usefulness has been expended".

I thought it best to stop there. I probably knew too much already frankly. Even though our philosophy is based on secrets, sometimes not knowing is a better place to be in. It seems The Breeder didn't live up to her obligations and now she lie naked and unconscious, unknowingly awaiting the arrival of the 'best and brightest' of River Rock Senior High, a who's who of Sectarian youth, all of whom would be arriving for a special Midnight Mass to make their final respects.

 I felt guilty that I would have first dipping rights, since I wasn't the victim of her frigid sexual behavior-you know, she never refused to 'put out' for me. Then again, I told myself she never had the chance to turn me down either. Up to that point, I always imagined that a big college student like myself would have broken-down Breeder's chilly walls of resistance. But that's neither here nor there, because I had her anyway. Heather practically forced me on to the poor girl, spreading her limp legs apart, then coaxing my penis with her soft hand-Heather even slipped the condom on for me. The bag wasn't so much to protect from diseases (even though the Circle was and still is notorious for being obsessed with the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases), as it was to destroy potential evidence. As I found out later, Heather was pretty sure the Breeder wasn't going to make a public fuss about the act (or acts as it turned out to be), but just in case her assumptions were wrong- our involvement needed to be shielded.

Security as you can tell by now is paramount. Even though I haven't gone into as much detail as I could, for the most part, no action in the Circle is taken unless we are 110 percent sure we can get away with it-and that includes, especially, any hint of wrongdoing. Rumors in the Sect are taken extremely seriously. I've heard of people getting killed because of rumors that got around to the general public. Sometimes, though rare, even a false rumor that is floating around about somebody, who happens to be a member of the Sect, has been grounds for serious corrective actions against those passing the rumor. Those actions have indeed included murder.

From my hometown, one of our Circle initiates happened to be the owner of the local car dealership. His name was Rupert Kracker; Kracker Chevrolet was the dealership. Somehow, word got around town that his freewheeling son Niles had gotten into the business of selling drugs. It didn't matter that the police had never even questioned the guy as a potential suspect, let alone investigate the charges. Plus the fact that most townsfolk didn't believe the rumor anyway. After a little bit of investigation, the fabricated story was traced to the 19 year-old son of an employee at the local feed mill. The kid was only a year out of high school and was about to take a plane to Alabama in a month to begin a six-year stint in the United States Army. Kracker used his connections as best he could, and after a month and a half in the service, word got back to town that the 19 year-old recruit had gone AWOL during basic training, gotten drunk, then was killed when he lost control of an army vehicle he had allegedly stole. Of course none of this was true, but what was amazing was how fast the news spread. The kid was being dubbed "unpatriotic" and a drunk when in reality, he was well set up. Coincidentally, during the same week that his obituary appeared in the local paper, a feature story was written about Kracker's son and his four distinguished years as a pilot in the United States Air Force. In the end, the 19 year-old was disregarded as a drunken liar and Niles Kracker was dubbed a respected local hero who served his country honorably.

I clasped both of her knees, spread them apart, then drew them around my torso. The condom wasn't lubricated, so it took a few turns to get a good swinging motion. I imagined how her thighs and vagina were going to feel the next day with all the abuse she was about to take before remembering what her fate was going to be. It started to go a little easier, then I looked down and saw a coat of blood draped over my genitals.

"Heather!" I yelled to her, she was in the bathroom adjacent to her parent's master bedroom.

She heard the alarm in my voice and came swiftly through the door "what is... ", She stopped speaking when she noticed the Breeder's red pelvis, then started giggling, "I would of thought she'd have lost it by now-My God, they were right, she is frigid."

By this time I stepped away from her body, almost afraid of the lifeless thing. My penis went limp-"what are we going to do now?" I asked.

"Whatdaya mean?" she replied as she knelt down before the Breeder and sunk her face in between her legs.

"She's going to know..." I ceased speaking, briefly startled by the sight of Heather orally sopping up the secreted evidence of the Breeder's once chaste life. "What are you doing?' Oblivious to my question, Heather succumbed to the sudden opportunity before her. Her hands latched onto the Breeder's thighs in an animalistic grip as if determined not to relinquish a fresh kill. In between feverish laps of her tongue, Heather moaned in seemingly hungry ecstasy. She carried on for a number of moments before releasing her mad hold. She turned toward me grinning, her eyes exuded a divine expression of satisfaction, "Don't you just love the taste of virginal blood?"

"What!?"

"Virgin Blood. Don't you like the taste of it?" She said out of breath with blood on her lips.

"You've had it before?"

"Of course," she replied with a hint of surprise in her voice, "Haven't you?"

I was too ashamed to say that I hadn't. My particular brood had few opportunities for guys my age to partake in the practice. The times it did occur, virgins were primarily reserved for the Sect elders. The brood frowned upon the younger initiates enjoying that privilege, so it surprised me that this wasn't Heather's first experience with a virgin. "How many times have you had it?" I asked somewhat defensively.

"A few."

"How is that possible? Where I come from only the High Priest has that right."

"Well that's not very democratic!"

"How big is your brood here in River Rock?"

"Around 900 or so."

I chuckled, "And there are enough virgins to go around?"

"No," Heather giggled as she playfully swiped her hand toward me, "actually a few of us fly to South America each year."

"There are more virgins there?" I sardonically quipped.

"Very funny. We vacation at a Sectarian resort in Brazil. Every now and then we buy a virgin for the Black Mass. Haven't you ever tasted it?"

"No."

"Well," swooned Heather as she accepted my now limp penis into her mouth, "it's about time you did." She worked it expertly, bringing me to erection with only a few swipes of the tongue. Her mouth smeared with the holy serum, she gave me a long passionate kiss.

I won't lie to you and say the moment was an unbelievable, transcendent experience. It wasn't. It tasted like blood. Heather loved it. I guess she had acquired a taste for the sacred fluid. I was just content to say that I finally could say I tasted it which was more than I could say five minutes earlier.

Heather held me in an embrace then whispered in my ear, "Say a prayer."

"What?"

"Say a prayer to the Lord. It's your first time."

Usually the taking of a virgin is done in the midst of a rite, so I guess Heather wanted to at least note the blessing given to us. I complied then began to strip off my rubber.

"What are you doing?" asked Heather.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you want to finish her off?"

"Heather, she's going to know she was violated!"

"Oh please," Heather said, making a 'give me a break' expression with a wave of her hand, "don't stop now, you got a chance of a lifetime Tommy 'the deflowering of a virgin'. Besides, you are entitled. We all are." Heather reached down again between the Breeder's legs. She dipped a finger then scrolled a message on her forehead. She wrote 'slut', but she wrote it backwards. Which I thought curious at the time but Heather later explained she wanted the Breeder to have no difficulty deciphering it when she saw herself in the mirror the next morning.

When I was finished, I checked the rubber to see if there was any tears--Heather cleaned up the blood, not to the extent that the Breeder would know she was raped (she would already know that), rather, Heather didn't want her friends to see that the Breeder was already de-virgined before the ritual even started. "Did you have fun?" Heather asked me nonchalantly as she dried her hands with a towel.

"Yeah, it was okay," I answered, to be truthful I like my sexual partners to be at least a little engaged. I never had a desire towards the sensation of fucking a cadaver. Although, truth be told, the Sect was known to have a number of initiates involved in necrophilia.

My assumption was that Heather's friends would be none too happy, if they knew that some out of town college frat boy stole the Breeder's virginity before any of the other boys had the chance to violate her themselves. There tends to be a lot of envy within the Sect, like any other organization. Lay people like to open the Bible and declare that pride is a sin. In actuality, pride is a good thing. It makes us stronger. But the reason it's in the Good Book is to reduce the competition on the field. It's better to have just the chosen few hacking it out for riches of the world. It's better to have the majority of the world compliant and weak. The masses must have another set of rules to play by. That is how it is written.

Heather had told the Breeder about the party she was having that night-she made it out to be a huge bash. You know the kind of an event where anybody who was anybody was going to be there. But the only thing about it was that it was to be an elite party of Circle initiates exclusively. Heather had taken the Breeder out for a late lunch, once back to her place, Heather spiked the Breeder's iced tea with an ancient yet reliable recipe called Vixen's Sorrow. She would be out for the night. Her friends wouldn't start coming until after 8 o'clock, most wouldn't until after midnight. Which is pretty normal really, Circle events try to revolve around midnight for obvious esoteric reasons. Sure, sometimes out of sheer necessity, a more convenient time is required, but that rarely happens because the shroud of the night adds to the privacy of it. Heather's mother had helped her decorate the basement for the performance. Heather, from what I could tell, was your typical daddy's girl with a thousand stuffed animals stocked everywhere in her bedroom, a closet full of outfits and a brand new Pontiac Grand Am in the driveway. Gloria, her mother, helped decorate the normally bright basement into a cave of blackness. Heather's canopy bed, which her father had dragged downstairs, resembled an open casket, complete with black satin sheets and black lace shrouding the bed from the light. They also strewn dark purple drapes over the walls-black lights were fastened into all light sockets, and incense was burning everywhere.  Heather's father had put down large sheets of clear plastic, the kind that painters use, to protect the carpet and furnishings.

To the simpletons, it may seem rather alarming for parents to put so much effort into something as dastardly as this. But, in reality, it's no different than any other family event or party that a parent would help with. The party was actually put on by the females in the group. They gathered in the basement, sipping Haslif, a concoction of red wine and cows blood. Something Heather's mother had prepared earlier in the day. I've had it many times, it's supposed to both relax the body while at the same time give the consumer a lust for blood. The recipe is rather simple-for every one part blood you mix in seven parts wine. It is indeed a staple of Sectarian rites. Even in church, I remember some of the older initiates demanding Haslif in their communion cups instead of just wine. The acolytes would mark their cups with a piece of masking tape to distinguish from all the other cups. Just like putting grape juice in an alcoholic's sacramental cup, the Haslif addiction worked the opposite. The old timers really needed the shit to fulfill themselves.

Along with the stock of Haslif chilling in the refrigerator, Heather and her mother kept a sacrificial pig caged up in a corner of the garage. Not even close to slaughter, the animal was considered a feeder pig, about three months old and about 40 pounds. Most Circle groups in the Midwest tend to use pigs for sacrificial rites. Simply because they're easy to obtain and since so many hogs are produced in the region. Another, more symbolic reason, is the nature of the swine, a smart Beast who yet eats everything in its path. You may have seen pictures of a charcoal black pig's head, which most all Circle groups in the Midwest have adopted, as a sort of emblem. In other parts of the world, where different species are more plentiful, the emblem is different. Not necessarily of an animal, although an evil goat head is quite popular-animal or human skulls are used too, but most emblems are symbols of one kind or another. The 'X' mark crossed with a crucifix is popular among Dual Sect groups as is the pentagram. In Minnesota, we use a pig's head surrounded by the Universal Circle emblem, which is a double circle containing various symbols between the circle borders including a pentagram, a crucifix, a crescent, the symbol for infinity and the Star of David.

Some initiates will have their own altar in their house, but unless one has a large home which can keep visitors from seeing it, most people veer way from such things. Heather's mother constructed an altar in the basement complete with pig's head emblem hovering over a table lined with black silken cloth. On the table was a large silver chalice and on the floor in front of the altar was laid plastic. The pig would be sacrificed there; one of Heather's girlfriends would have the honor of cutting the hog.

A couple of the boys had brought in a coffin that they had constructed in shop class. Their teacher was under the impression that it would be used in a student play at summer camp. Which you could say wasn't too far from the truth. It was made of pine and shaped like one of those weird coffins you see in the old black-and-white movies. You know, the kind that is narrow at the feet, then bulges to a corner where the hips would rest, then narrow at the head. They didn't have to build it this way but they thought it was kind of funny. They drilled eight holes into the side of it to insert four rope handles. Straps were installed inside, to Circle specifications, to bind the victim so she couldn't move.

Heather's friends lugged the coffin into the master bedroom where the Breeder was still passed out. They lifted her naked body into the box and then tied her legs, hands and forehead. The guys who constructed it had placed holes on the lid so she could breathe; the girls put the lid on and fastened it down with four hand screws.

It was well after 9:00 p.m. By this time, I followed Heather as she checked the basement room to see if everything was in place. A limousine, which was borrowed from a local Satanist who also owned a small regional chain of restaurants, pulled into the driveway. One of Heather's classmates was driving it. Pushing the button to open up the garage door, Heather made sure he had it parked inside before closing it up again. They needed the limousine to take the body for a brief ceremony at Calvary Lutheran church, the one I attended the Sunday before. Heather and four of her friends would ride in the limo with the Breeder in the coffin down to the church. The rest of the girls, who by now had changed into their black hooded cloaks, would wait and welcome the contingent of boys for whom the ceremony was planned.

Upon checking to see if everything was set for the ritual, Heather noticed that among the various potions and oils that would be needed, she was almost out of a vial of sleeping potion. She was mad at herself for not having noticed sooner because without it the whole evening would be lost. She explained her predicament to her friend Cindy, from what I gathered she was quite knowledgeable of the various recipes of the magician's craft. Cindy told her to call Lilly, who was the source of ritual recipes among the local Order. Heather, anxious over this crucial stumbling block, called Lilly on the phone. She explained what was going on and how they were down to only a few drops of sleeping potion-not enough to even yield a mere yawn. Lilly and her husband ran a local hardware store downtown. Lilly explained that she didn't have any of the potions at her home, but she said that would give her the key to get into her store downtown. They would be able to pick up the sleeping potion on the way back from the church. We headed into the garage, the coffin was slid into the trunk, it had to go sideways but it fit. Heather thought we would have to put the Breeder's box in the front with the rest of us. As we pulled out of the driveway, the first of the boys arrived. We had to run a mile or so out of town to stop at Lilly's home in the country. Heather was in there for about 15 minutes before coming back. She settled into her seat, twisted my wrist to get a look at my watch, "Shit!" she said, "Pastor Bob is waiting for us."

Heather yelled to Andy, the driver, to speed us to the Calvary church. As we coasted through town, it became apparent that most everybody were turning their heads to look at us. It took me a couple of seconds before I realized they weren't recognizing us as much as they were staring at the long black limousine. With all of the kids back in town from school, carousing on Main Street and waiting for a night of parties, I wonder how many of them dreamed that in that mysterious limousine was a rock star who had gotten lost. I know it wasn't Heather's intention to attract attention, nor any of them. The only one who got a charge of it seemed to be Andy the driver, who began honking the horn every time he recognized someone he knew. Problem was, the owner of the limousine, the restauranteur, specialized in Mexican cuisine and when the horn was deployed it blurted out the tune-"La Cucharacha." Andy's fun time ended when Heather noticed his horn playing caught the attention of a cop who was just getting out of his squad car to have a heart to heart with some local punks in the city parking lot.

"Andy! Zip it!" She snapped, generally the last group of people we have to worry about are cops, but there's always that chance that you could get one of those new, wet behind the ears officers who doesn't know any better. It's rare, but it happened to a Satanist in Montana. His particular Order included the town mayor, the local hospital administrator and the county sheriff. A young cop pulled him over and noticed a drop of blood on the keyhole of his trunk while he was making a cursory inspection of the car. A body was later discovered in the trunk, the guy kept his mouth shut so no other initiates were implicated but now he is serving a 20-year sentence for Murder-2 in a Montana prison.  When it's all said and done, it's best to error on the side of caution and not risk an abrupt meeting with a cop. 

The Calvary Church located on Main Street was situated in an area that was predominantly residential.  So even though there wasn't anyone on the street at that time in that part of town, the streetlights around the church were many and bright. I suppose to a layperson, our limousine looked like a hearse going to the church to make a drop off. Not very far from the facts, now that I think about it. But I'm sure if Mr. and Mrs. John Doe chose to peek out their window at that time of night they would question why the funeral director chose such an odd hour to make a delivery. Which is really no big concern, because if you know Minnesotans when they see something out of the ordinary, they may make note of it, maybe even casually tell a friend about it, but the last thing they will do is make a big fuss about it like calling their local city council representative or notifying a police officer. No, those folks keep pretty much to themselves, which is good for us--at least those of us in the Circle--So when strange things do occur like a local farmer wondering why city folk buy so many 40 pound feeder pigs when they don't have a place to raise it or when a significant number of the town's more prominent citizens often will be seen gathering in a far out cornfield or gravel pit many times during the summer or when a hearse pulled up to a local church after 10:00 p.m. on a Friday night they probably figure there's a good explanation for it. In the end, however, even with the lackadaisical neighbors, it's best to be cautious.

Heather told Andy to turn into an alley that led to the doorstep of the rear entrance of the church. We wanted to get the coffin into the church as quickly and silently as possible, so all of us helped hoist the pine box out of the trunk. Andy opened the door to the church building. He surveyed the area, looking primarily for teenagers who happened to be passing by.

I was holding the head side of the coffin as we moved into the church. Because we moved it in head first, I was the first one in, going backwards. I almost broke my neck discovering the stairs leading downward almost before it was too late. That entrance went directly down into the basement kitchen. We lugged it down there into the dining area. Heather told us to place the coffin on one of the long, collapsible serving tables that was left standing from the last church supper. She went upstairs and returned after a couple minutes. She had a flashlight in her hand. "Pastor Bob says we can't turn on any lights," she said, "follow me."

Heather lighted the way up another flight of stairs that led towards the nave. The staircase was a little narrower than the first one we maneuvered by the kitchen. Just as we reached the top of the stairs, I thought I'd felt a movement in the coffin.

"Wait a minute," I said listening for a sound to emanate from the pine box, "shush, I think I heard something."

The rest of them held it for a few seconds, then protested, "my hands are going numb," said Tracy. We set it down and listened again.

Heather came back to us, "what's taking so long?" She said, "Pastor Bob is waiting for us. He's been here for nearly an hour and he is pissed."

"I'm sorry," I replied, "I thought she may have woke up."

"What does it matter," Heather said coldly, "she's going to die anyway."

Her friends giggled healthily even after being exhausted from lifting the coffin up the stairs. I turned my back to the coffin, bent my knees and lifted it behind my back; this way I could see the floor in front of me at least moderately well. Heather quickly walked around the corner, seeming to forget about the rest of us lugging her box. She didn't want to keep Pastor Bob waiting any longer, I guess he was the type to get particularly annoyed over the most minor inconveniences. I got to know him a little in the years since-he acted strangely similar to my own pastor back home, Pastor Stephen Guth. Guth had a way of knowing his parishioners. He was a Dual Sect cleric, leading services in both Satanic and mainstream churches. Not all the ministers of the Dual Sect church practice both faiths, in actuality only about 40-50 percent of the pastors handle both, so I was kinda surprised to see Pastor Bob do it as well. In most cases, they complain about the workload, so a church member is usually assigned as high priest or priestess so that they can run the more secret rituals for the brood.

Pastor Guth was the sort who would find ways to keep the parishioners on their toes. I'm not talking those of us in the Circle, we already knew much of what they taught us in the regular church was all bull shit. No, I'm talking about the rest of the congregation. The ones who didn't particularly like church but they went because they thought that it was the good or right thing to do. These people would file into the church two maybe three times a month, go through the motions, repeat the prayers, phrases and hymns, and go back to their otherwise secular life. Whenever Pastor Steve would get wind of trouble amongst his flock, you know, maybe a couple is having marital problems and thinking about a divorce or maybe a rumor about a gentleman who was given a ticket for public intoxication or something as petty as a family who doesn't attend church often enough. He'd find ways to teach them a lesson, usually in a humiliating way. Pastor Guth was brilliant in the ways he preached. You've heard those ministers who preach mostly about living a pious clean life. But in most cases they speak on general terms. Guth was different in the way he would preach, he would belittle a specific individual right there in church. And I don't mean as a counselor in a one on one conversation in the pastor's office. No, this was right from the pulpit, in front of everybody. Pastor Guth had such a knack for it, if he would see someone who, maybe was separated from his wife and considering a divorce, he would actually insert in his sermon a few words about the 'evils of divorce'. His spiel would go something like this: "...There is someone in church today that wants to find happiness but he can't. He's had tough times in his marriage. Has a couple of kids still in school but he can't turn away from God. He's got to learn to get along with his wife. He needs to work harder; At home and at work. The Christian thing to do is to keep your bills paid. We all have struggled with that but he needs to pull himself up by his bootstraps and get his credit rating in line. And it wouldn't hurt to help around the house as well. I know it has become commonplace in today's world, but you must realize divorce is evil."

What was so wonderful about the way he would do it, is that everyone knew, even the people he was directing it to, who he was talking about. I remember one time Pastor Guth was going on about a troubled marriage in his sermon, he upset the distraught wife so much she had to leave her pew. We could hear her bawling as she left the church. When I was away at Mystery school a few years back, I realized why he took such an aggressive approach in dealing with parishioners. It wasn't so much to keep them sanctified or holy in God's eyes, the Good Pastor wasn't bleeding for your soul-in reality he could give a shit about your spiritual well being. What I learned was that the most important reason for doing it was to maintain order. I was taught long ago, and this will sound crass, but unless you are a Blood member of the Sect, you were put on this earth to serve me and my brothers and sisters. Of course, we're not all that bad. I mean we're not slave drivers so to speak. Even though we would be justified. On a higher, more spiritual level we are the kings of this earth and Jesus is our leader. We can't be that controlling or else we would lose power. And it is pertinent to point out that it really doesn't matter which particular denomination is in control. The point is to be in control. Truth be told, the millions who flock to church every Sunday really want to be controlled. They feel safe that way; indeed it's natural to feel that way, even understandable. And that's where we come in.  One of the Circle's basic tenets is to keep order--it's the basis for our power. And Pastor Guth taught me that before anyone else did.

Pastor Bob was cut from the same evil cloth. The previous Sunday, Pastor Bob was ranting against the local Unitarian church. His entire sermon was centered on the importance of following the one true Lord, only the 'true faith', Jesus Christ. Those who refuse to accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior, he added, will suffer. And that's another important point. The best way for us to control a mainstream church is first to take hold of the leadership; just like a government in a 3^rd world country. When you have that, you control the minister, no matter who he or she is. When you control the preacher, you control the pulpit and the message. I remember stopping into a bar in St. Paul a few years out of college and running into an old college classmate, Ted Manning. Ol' Ted was having a drink with a childhood friend, who had just completed his first brief gig as a minister for a Presbyterian Church about 50 miles outside the Twin Cities. This guy had a couple in him and he wasn't shy about the anger he felt toward his now former parish. He literally said his church had become 'bastardized'. He wanted to enlighten his parishioners about such issues as the plight of local Latino workers, human rights and gay tolerance. You know, he was one of them activist preachers. He claimed the majority of the church members had never really logged any complaints about his community activism or his sermons. I think you can imagine how politically correct those lecturers were. He said he had received nothing but compliments. In fact, the only people who complained were the three members of the church council and the church president. As he told me his story it became obvious to me that he had been overthrown from the pulpit by a coup from a Sect insurgency. Later, I checked the church out and indeed, it was a Sect-friendly parish. The coup began with the president informing him that he was being placed on probation because of "Administrative Concerns" held by the church council. After a couple months of at first gentle prodding and eventually over the shoulder surveillance, the do-gooder pastor was notified by certified mail, mind you, asking for his immediate resignation due to "Insufficient Support" from the church council. No hearing. No appeals. Simply perfect. The whole process took only three months to complete. The point was that there were no rules broken. The preacher's removal was done legally, albeit shadowy, according to church law. They just had the right people in the right positions to get the job done.

The Reverend stood waiting in his pastoral robe, a white number with a large iron crucifix dangling down to his navel. His face was illuminated by a pair of cream colored candles at the head of the sanctuary, he wasn't smiling.

"Next time," he shouted, "can we be a little more punctual?"

None of us replied. No smart remarks, no sarcastic comebacks. We knew we were late nothing could be said to calm his temper. Even if we had had the best most logical excuse in the world, he still wouldn't have accepted our apology. We fucked up, plain and simple. That's another thing to know. There's no room for crybabies in the Order, That is something, pardon the pun, which is taught at birth. 'Weakness is for losers', I can hear an old football coach say, and that pretty much summed up our tolerance for excuses.

He pointed to a table underneath a mural of Jesus. A pair of candles hung over the spot where we were to rest the coffin on the altar. Pastor Bob stood off to the side of the altar, waiting for the rest of us to set down the coffin. His left hand clasped a spot just above the wrist of his right hand, in his right hand he held a hymnal.

I checked to make sure the coffin was resting squarely on the ledge-I didn't want it to unexpectedly slip off when Pastor Bob approached it. As he approached the coffin, everybody else stood in a semicircle about 15 feet away from the pine box except for me.

"Has she been awakened yet?" Pastor Bob asked as he eyed the top of the coffin, probably wondering how to open up the lid.

"Uh-No, I don't believe so," I said, looking back at Heather for confirmation.

"No?" The Pastor quipped in a way that said he wasn't confident in my response.

"Well, I thought she may have awoken on the way up the stairs," I said, "but I think she fell back asleep."

The Pastor turned his attention away from the coffin momentarily and flashed me a stern look, "I like to have things in order. You know this behavior is quite childish and shouldn't be characteristic of responsible young adults," he added with a nod toward Andy and the girls standing a few steps away.

Heather looked downward shamefully as did her friends. Pastor Bob sighed helplessly then blurted, "Well, let's see what we got."

One of the girls came forward to hand me a vial of something then stepped quickly back to her spot amongst the semicircle. Pastor Bob tried hoisting the lid of the casket himself-"How was this attached?" He asked, while at the same time struggling to remove it. 

"You have to unscrew these first," I said, twisting off one of the four hand screws. He loosened the two opposite screws and slid the lid off.  It appeared the Breeder's body had shifted to one side--her head and the majority of her weight was pushed sloppily toward the wall of the coffin.  The straps couldn't even help the albeit brief ride down to the church. Pastor Bob didn't react to the shifting of her weight or the fact that she was naked. He probed her with his fingers however, not in a lascivious way, although he seemed to be fascinated with her skin. "I need a gag," remarked the Pastor to no one in particular as he leaned over the casket like a devout coroner obsessed with his work. Heather reached in her pocket and produced a strip of cloth, she held it out to him, "Put it over her mouth," he said without acknowledging her. Heather waved it toward me with a pleading expression on her face. I took the cloth, lifted the Breeder's head and placed the gag on her as best I could. I had trouble tying the damn thing behind her head so I ended up binding it on the side of her head. It looked awkward, but it got the job done. The Breeder had already been blindfolded. The good Pastor seemed perturbed that they hadn't had the wits enough to gag her as well.  After he ceased the poking, he removed her blindfold before I handed him the small vial. He uncorked it and waved it a few times under her nostrils. I assumed it was smelling salts as the Breeder awoke immediately. He tucked it away before she was fully conscious.

What's going on? She tried to speak through the cloth gag. She jerked her head as much as the straps that bound her would allow.

Father? The Breeder recognized her Pastor-the one who both baptized and confirmed her. As quickly as she recognized him she realized that she couldn't move. What's happening? What's going on Father, what's happening? She was now practically screaming through her gag. Although the sounds she made were muffled, everyone in the sanctuary understood what she was trying to say.

Pastor Bob completely ignored her screaming. Instead, he acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

The minister reached into a pocket on his robe and produced a baggy of dirt; he threw the earth on the Breeder's naked body. He opened up his hymnal.

He began, "From dust you have come; To dust you shall return"

Oh my God! I'm dead!!

"From dust you shall rise again"

No, Father! I'm still awake!

Upon hearing her stifled cries, Heather and her friends could be heard giggling, the Breeder took notice, What is this? Somebody help me!

More laughter.

Pastor Bob continued-ignoring the Breeder's frantic, yet stifled outbursts. "Let us Pray; Our Father in Heaven, Hallowed be Your Name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven, Give us this day our daily bread…"

Help me, will somebody please help me!! I'm still alive!!

The good father emphasized the next line of the Lord's Prayer, raising his voice in an almost angry, spiteful way, "Forgive us our sins!!"

The Breeder let out a piercing scream so loud that it echoed throughout the chamber.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Ignoring her with the obedience of a surgeon, the Pastor concluded the prayer, "As we forgive those who sin against us; Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil; For the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory are yours now and forever, Amen." The minister made a cross with some more dirt from his pocket, except this cross was in the form of an 'X', the Sectarian cross. We use it in most of our ceremonies. Typically, one line is drawn diagonally from left to right to honor the crucifixion of Jesus. The second line, drawn from right to left and thus completing the 'X' symbolizes Satan's (God's) will upon the essence of Humanity's soul.

Consumed by fear, the Breeder squirmed, but those straps held her down pretty good. Probably the most important aspect of the Sect Rites is the feeding off of the emotions resulting from the infliction of pain. It truly is a delicious experience. That's why evil needed to be created to harness those most base emotions. I have no doubt that there are some cultures and religions that consider flogging and the infliction of pain as a good thing. It's really all in the head. The emotions those people let out are much different than the ones who live under a typical western mainstream religion. A good strict value system is important, even if most of the population strays because that's expected. The reality is, those basic societal morals are pretty much ingrained deep into the consciousness of the majority of certain people. Thus, in the end, with that kind of strict indoctrination, the Sect can proceed unimpeded. Now, I realize that mainstream religion is only a portion of the culture. But when we can control that small sector, along with local politics and business, it's like we've cornered the market on hope and truth.

She writhed just enough so that the cross made of soil on her stomach began to disfigure. Granules slid down the sides of her naked torso. Pastor Bob began to speak again; a prayer only known to the Sect, "The grace of the Lord, Jesus Christ, His Father Lucifer and the love of Satan and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with His believers, Amen." The hard part had been done. Sure it was an annoyance to have the good Pastor conduct the funeral ritual inside the church, but every ritual has a systematic step-by-step order to it. And those rules must be followed. Every one of us in the Sect has at one time or another had to experience the death ritual where we are placed in a coffin. Of course we were much younger than the Breeder when that event occurred. Unlike her, however, we didn't have the luxury of being drugged. Rather we were assumed to have the pedigree to withstand such a frightening hazing. As I have gotten older, I've realized the importance of the act. In a way, I think it made me feel special, stronger. After all, we are the chosen whether you believe it or not. I think we had to prove ourselves, in the eyes of our parents and fellow initiates as resilient enough to carry the torch for the Lord.

Andy and I slid the lid back on top of the coffin, screwed the thing down again then lifted it off the altar. Heather's friends helped to carry it back to the limousine. A bit trickier this time as the Breeder was showing some resistance by jostling her body in a vain attempt to cheat death. After we had maneuvered the coffin back into the trunk of the makeshift hearse, Pastor Bob cleared his throat, "now, we have a Youth-in-Christ picnic tomorrow, I don't want any excuses for not showing up."

"We'll be there," Heather answered in rote fashion, "hey have you met Tom," she added placing a hand on my shoulder.

"No, I don't believe so--I was trying to place you," he stretched out his hand.

"How'd you do?" I said shaking his hand, "I saw your service last Sunday. I'm a friend of David Olsen."

Pastor Bob appeared to be taken aback, fearing the possibilty that an outside member of his flock might possibly know of his devout Satanic beliefs. His expression spurred Heather to speak up--"Tom's a Sectarian initiate from out of town."

"Oh, well, nice to have you here."

Heather told Andy to take a swing downtown, we still had to pick up an extra vial of sleeping potion. He parked sideways in front of her mother's Christian Store. She asked me to come along, the rest of them stayed in the idling car. The main street that ran through downtown was actually the second of two strips the teenagers would cruise to be seen, pick up friends and generally socialize. The other main drag was a couple of blocks to the west. That street was the main thoroughfare in town, had a slightly higher speed limit and was where most of the fast-food joints could be found. In talking to Dave, young turks out for a typical Friday or Saturday cruise would follow the main state highway road through town (the one with all the fast-food joints) to the abandoned A&W restaurant near the city limits. There they would turn right two blocks, make another right, then cruise the downtown Main Street. After passing a flurry of closed downtown businesses, and a handful of still open bars, some drivers would continue on through 10,11 blocks of residential homes until the street disappeared into the back wall of the Harrison & Sons Frozen Foods plant. There, they would turn right and drive five blocks until they reached the main strip to start all over again. My hometown had a similar route, but it wasn't near as grandiose. Usually, if we wanted that much fun we would either have to truck a few extra miles to Wilmar or Hutchinson. Once in a great moon, we would head up to St. Cloud, but we always tended to get lost up there, making the whole routine seem pointless.

Heather had her own set of keys to get into her mother's store. For some reason, she didn't want to use the front entrance, so we entered from a side door in a narrow alley that was next to a small law office building. Heather opened the door. As we stepped in, I remembered that she had picked up the key to get into the local hardware store--"I thought we were going to the hardware store?"

"We are," she replied.

"Why did we come here?" I remembered from my walks downtown that the hardware store was a block and a half-further north.

"To get into the hardware store."

Before I had time to think about what she was saying, I was following Heather into the back storage area, she shone her flashlight to the door upon opening it, she scooted downstairs into the basement of the store. Once down there, she used the lantern to find another string that turned on a small bank of fluorescent lights.

"What's going on?" I wondered aloud.

"You sound worried, Thomas," it was strange having her call me by that name, something only Sela and my mother referred to me as, "you're not one of the weak ones, are you?"

She put the butt of her flashlight against my stomach, in a rather firm way, it caught me by surprise and I stumbled back a little. I hate being accused of weakness-it sounds petty now that I'm older, but being denounced as weak is the worst kind of name calling for a Satanist.

Heather opened up an olive colored wooden door that looked like it hadn't seen paint in about 60 years. The bottom of the door scrapped against the ruddy cement floor, a sign that it probably had swollen from the perpetual dampness of the basement. We walked in, this room didn't have the convenience of lighting and the fluorescent light in the other room only illuminated a few feet of the cement floor before resigning to the darkness. Heather turned her lantern on a blue steel door, it had a big keyhole, in which she inserted a key to unlock it. The door was thick, probably reinforced, the only way I could describe it is it kind of resembled the door to one of those old upright safes that are rarely seen anymore. I saw one once at the Insurance Agency my father patronized back home.

"Make sure it doesn't close behind you," Heather instructed as we stepped through, "okay, follow me," she said then stepped down a narrow corridor, about 4 feet wide. The ceiling had to be less than 6 feet tall because I'm 6'1" and had to tilt my head forward and hunch my back in order not to hit my head.

After about 20 steps and no signs of stopping, I realized we couldn't possibly be in the store anymore, "Are we under the streets?"

Heather stopped and shone the light down a separate corridor that had joined our path in a "T." She took a moment to look down it before answering, "yes, why?"

I chuckled, "just wondering."

We continued. I could feel drops of water randomly exploding on my neck. It got to the point where the liquid was seeping down my back, "I'm getting drenched back here!"

"What do you want me to do about it, hold your hand?" Heather said, turning around to chastise me. I think because it was such an important night for her, she placed her anger on me.

We came upon two more separate corridors, each time Heather stopped to shine a light down each of them. I assumed she was looking for the entrance to the hardware store. By the time we hit the fourth corridor, she stopped again, only this time she decided to take it, it went for about 50 feet then met another corridor. This one was about twice the width as the others and about 1 ft. taller. She took a left, walked 5 feet then paused to pull the switch to turn on the lights in the tunnel. It was quite amazing, in an instant, the corridor illuminated in two directions for what seemed like a mile or more. Heather switched the flashlight off and took my hand. We came upon a closed steel door, similar to the one we had entered the tunnel system. But this one had writing on it-in a thick black marker, someone had written 'Jacobsons'.

"That's the clothing store," said Heather, "only two stores away."

On the next door it was written: '5 and 10'.

"That's the dime store it should be the next one." I remembered from just the day before that the 'Five & Dime' was the building that had burned down they must've forgotten to paint over the name.

About halfway between the 5 and 10 door and the hardware store door, a rat, about the size of a medium-sized cat scooted out from an adjoining corridor. Heather's initial bravery in this underground labyrinth gave way momentarily as she screamed, then literally climbed upon me as if I was a tree. I held her aloft as best as I could on the spur of the moment like that, then I danced erratically as if I were being shot at the feet by a belligerent midget cowboy when the rodent began scurrying around me. I found myself splashing away in a small stream of water that up until this point we had managed to avoid getting near. The rat seemed oblivious to the racku________________________________________et I was making and actually slowed down so as not to get splashed with water. The animal wasn't afraid of me, that's for sure. I quit splashing water as the animal now hovered before us in a small circle.

"What are you doing? Scare him away!" shouted Heather.

"Now who's weak?" I said, taunting her.

"Fuck you! Love!" she growled back at me.

I tried moving forward around the back of the beast, it cut off my path on either side.

"Just jump it!" Heather shouted again.

"The both of us?" I asked for confirmation, realizing I would be making a leap for two, with Heather in my arms.

"Yes!! Hurry, we have to get back."

I backed up several feet in order to get a running start. The rat didn't make up the ground I gave up, rather it stayed in the same spot, as if it were patrolling a checkpoint. I exhaled, then inhaled deeply. I ran right at it and about 3 ft. from the thing I leapt into the air, as high as I could. Problem was, I didn't take into consideration the clearance. It was a foot taller than the corridor before, but it was 2 in. shorter than I needed to make the jump. Both of us hit it pretty nasty. The worst of it was we landed far short of the mark, in fact, we hit the ceiling pummeling down right smack on either side of the rat. After a few seconds of trying to comprehend what had happened, we realized the little beast was now crawling all over us.

I was rubbing my sore head before I got my bearings enough to realize that this king-sized rodent was rubbing up against my ankle. I could feel its course tail skirt across my exposed skin--"awaaaaaa!!" I screamed.

"Shit!" Heather yelled, then quickly stumbled to her feet and ran down the tunnel. I followed close behind. Before looking back and noticing the rat zipping down the corridor and then disappearing into another opening.

"I can't believe you have rats in your town," I remarked, other than a few field mice, I always believed small towns were immune from those kind of rodents.

"Every shit-hole town has rats," Heather shot back, as if she was angry that I didn't know that supposedly common fact. As I brushed away some of the dirt that soiled my pants, Heather found the doorway to the hardware store. She inserted a skeleton key into an oversize keyhole and pushed open the door--"Come on, Thomas!" she shouted, "we're late as it is!"

I followed her inside. She pulled a string that turned on a single light bulb that dangled over her head. Heather went straight to a tan colored box. It was a security computer. She flipped open the cover and punched in a series of numbers. An alarm, which sounded an amazing buzz, ensued. She turned the silver doorknob and pulled on a door attached to the adjacent wall, when she pulled the handle the buzzing stopped. We both went inside, it was a small room, about 15-foot square, that resembled an underground laboratory for a mad scientist. Shelves took up every inch of wall space. And of those hundred or so shelves, every inch of space seemed to be filled with an endless supply of herbs, tonics, oils, spices or medicines. A table in the center of the room contained beakers, Bunsen burners, a scale, everything a doctor of home remedy would need.

All Circle groups have their own 'resident pharmacist' so to speak. Most Broods use the local town Pharmacist; one who is trained in both the esoteric arts and conventional medicine. Back home, our supplier of ancient herbs and potions was Lance 'Kermit' Kjermstad. Kermit never married, although he was a decent looking guy. Always neatly dressed, very polite. He lived in his parents' home, they had passed a few years back. He learned the 'trade' from one of his grandparents I believe. To the real world, he was a farmer. But he made most of his money producing and selling ritualistic potions for Circle rites. Not to mention the medicines and such for Circle initiates themselves. I never had the privilege of seeing his laboratory, so it was somewhat of a treat to enter Lilly's secret shop. My mother usually was the one who would go to Lance's house to get what she called 'household medicines', although, as you might guess, its uses were employed far beyond the narrow scope of healing the sick. We have needs like anybody else, but other than the typical potions for libido encouragement, subtle mind altering stimulants or hallucinogens for the occasional Sect party, drug use is pretty rare in the Sect. We do have a fair share of alcoholics and the number of addicts is probably comparable with the general population. We don't necessarily have rules forbidding drugs, but over-use is roundly frowned upon and in some cases can lead to nasty ends. A good friend of mine and Sect initiate from High School, Scooter Digby, told me about an unfortunate story involving his uncle. Living in Duluth, he was not a part of our particular brood. He was in his forties and had been a chronic alcoholic and drug abuser for years. It got to the point where his wife left him and he fell deeper into the bottle. The trouble began when he scared Sect elders with his loose tongue. What irked the higher ups the most was a story he told in a drunken stupor at a local watering hole about the sacrifice of a homeless Romanian street child, imported specifically for a prosperity rite. Fortunately, word of the sacrifice never reached further than a few doubting ears. The real cause of death was the result of an untraceable poison acquired from a Sectarian pharmacist. Scooter said his aunt was so pissed at her husband for breaching the protocols of the Sect that she refused to report him missing for several weeks and only after a gentle prodding from a revered Sect elder. The body had decomposed so much that the official identification had to be done using his teeth. Ultimately, the authorities determined Scooter's uncle died of chronic alcoholism in his apartment.

Heather found the sleeping potion and tucked the vial into a pocket in her skirt. She left a short note, thanking Lilly for saving the day. As we left, Heather re-punched the code into a computer box to lock up the storage room again. Thankfully, we reached her mother's Christian store, without encountering another savage rat. I discovered later that the underground system of tunnels was all over River Rock. It's mainly used by city employees to service the water and sewage apparatus-but interestingly, only a few select business people-those who are Circle members have the clout and longtime standing to possess a key that allows them to enter the tunnels for themselves. Heather told me once that sometimes the Sect has had to use the underground labyrinth to carry out certain "rites" or rituals. It makes the perfect cover to transport and dispose of sacrifices she told me. Since the majority of churches lie at the far reaches of the city, the only house of worship that connects to the tunnel system is St. Michael's Catholic High School and Church. Heather said that when the city of River Rock replaces the old lead water pipes under Main Street, which was tentatively scheduled three years later, tunnels would be constructed connecting the two remaining downtown churches, which, as you probably guessed, were established at or near the beginning of the city's founding and have strong Satanic connections. One of the reasons we didn't use tunnels for this ceremony was that the Calvary Church had yet to be connected to the system.

Often times, communities have large numbers of churches and congregations who compete with each other. Not so in the Sect. Of course on the surface a Sectarian will hint that his denomination is 'more holy' or 'more Christian' than say the Baptist Church across town. A bit of community rivalry, if you will. But behind the scenes, away from the public eye, all Sectarian churches, regardless of denomination or congregation, come together as brothers and sisters in Satan's name. It's very common, especially in mid size communities, to have many different denominations represented in one brood. The only time you see anything different is when you are in a remote small town that only has one church in the community. It's quite typical to have many different ministers from a specific city meet on a regular basis to plan Sectarian activities.

Having said all that, there are pecking orders for each congregation. An older, more established Sectarian Church will have much more reverence than a Sectarian Church that was built a mere 30-40 years ago. The older Sectarian Church will garner all of the important ceremonies and rites above all others. Although it must be said that the newer Tin Box evangelical churches are more and more being utilized because of accessibility. Don't be deceived, those structures are built at the crossroads of energy fields too and leaders tend to have powerful charismatic personalities with deep understanding of the satanic philosophy with the capability of attracting large numbers of souls.

We headed back to Heather's house, her friends asked about her dress that had gotten dirty from falling in the tunnel. It didn't matter since she would be changing clothes when she got back home. The garage door was open when we pulled into the driveway. It was after 11:00 by this time and the house was full of Heather's anxious classmates who were awaiting our arrival. As the automatic door was about to close in the garage, Andy pushed the button in the glove box to unlock the trunk. A contingent of the girls now dressed in black gowns with hoods gathered around to unload the casket. The boys were already waiting in the basement, dressed in similar black robes, sipping Haslif (the red wine and cows blood concoction that Heather's mother had prepared earlier in the day). Those of us who had just returned with the coffin needed to prepare for the evening's festivities upstairs.

Heather gave me a hooded gown of her father's since I hadn't brought one from home. She also let me borrow one of his silver plated pentagram necklaces. I slipped it on for kicks; it hung down below my chest. I found myself thinking about the reaction I, a stranger, would get from Heather's friends. They probably would think I was some ordained High Priest or something. I figured I'd let them think what they want and play it up to the hilt.

The boys in the ritual already had had their faces painted red to disguise themselves from the Breeder. A number of precautions had been taken, not the least of which was the sleeping potion which should cause her to forget the whole evening, but since she would be awake during the terrible act, having the faces painted was just another added security measure. Although the women of the Sect would be present, Amber would be tied down and unable to see any onlookers, so they didn't bother with the face painting. Besides, she was to be put to sleep after the whole thing anyway so it was almost guaranteed she wouldn't recall a thing. Oh, no one was under the impression that she wouldn't know that something had happened to her the next morning, I mean she was going to wake up sore no matter what kind of medicine she was eating. I know Heather wanted her to feel and to know that she had been violated the next day. I know some may ask, 'Why take the risk?' but really that was the whole point. They just didn't want her body, they wanted her self respect, her courage. Hell, they wanted her being.

Heather had told me to gather all the boys, basically to "get them organized" as the ritual was about to start. At this point, the Breeder had been conscious in the coffin for two going on three hours now. She had to have heard the chatter all around her and I'm sure she recognized some of the voices of her supposed 'girlfriends' in her groggy state even with the lid of the coffin sealed.  If my memory serves me right from my own death ritual, she would begin to truly believe she really is dead right about now. Her coffin was stored up in the living room, near the girls who were waiting to commence the sacred ritual. I rounded up the boys, I wasn't expecting much because they had been drinking. You know, getting themselves loosened up for what was about to occur. Instead, I was encouraged to see they were rather composed; almost nonchalant over the whole thing. I asked them to sit down in the chairs that had already been set up in the basement. Heather and her mother set up two groups of chairs: 13 on the right side of her bed and the other 13 on the left side. The idea was to have the women sit on one side of the proceedings and the boys on the other. I fully expected them to be as rowdy and lurid as my frat brothers, but really they were almost too quiet. Kind of a freaky quiet, if you know what I mean. They each drained at least a goblet or two of Haslif, but not to any kind of excess. If I were to bet, more were nursing their drinks than were downing them. My guess is they didn't want anything to hinder their own performance as it could prove to be embarrassing in front of their fellow comrades. Anyway, I had them seated and waiting within a scant few minutes, I ran up to inform Heather that they were ready for the ceremony to begin.

Upon returning, I snuck around to a spot in the back; Heather's father had a bar built in a gameroom a few feet away, I stole a barstool and set it up in a corner behind the Gathering. I figured I didn't want to get in the way since it was their big night--I had already muddied the waters enough anyway by stealing the Breeder's virginity.

Heather led the procession into the basement. Barefoot, she, like the rest of the women, wore little makeup save for some eyeliner and black lipstick. She wore the standard black cloak, a silky number that stretched to her feet and even dragged along the floor as she walked. As she neared the esoteric sanctuary, she pulled her hood forward, well past her forehead, revealing her sleek raven latex gloves. At the time, I was taken aback by the gold belt she wore around her waist. Typically, the only followers who are allowed to wear the gold belt are clergy (High Priest/Priestess or above). It's very unusual for someone to attain the amount of esoteric knowledge that allows him or her to wear such an esteemed accessory. And it's nearly unthinkable for someone as young as she is to hold that status. In the realm of the Sect, the first (and lowest) grade of belt is white, followed by violet, gray and then gold. What was so astonishing was that it is not uncommon for an entire brood to be wearing white belts, save for the High Priest. Everything is so particular within the Sect, even the color of your robe can have a symbolism to it. Generally the High Priest, or Priestess, would wear the white robe as it was quite common, especially in rural areas where the High Priest often doubles as the Pastor of the church. In actuality, the same white robe he wore at Sunday Services was the same garment he wore at the Satanic Black Mass a day before. As with the belt, there is a certain hierarchy related to the color of your robe. Most initiates wear a black robe, which anyone, as long as they are baptized, are free to wear. It is the most common and accepted garment. If you have attended Mystery School and have attained a fifth degree in the esoteric arts, you are entitled to wear a red robe, although most prefer to wear their black cloaks. Some Orders command their initiates to dress according to their status but on the whole it is not required. If you have attained the 6^th degree (or Mark), you can wear a dark purple robe. Most who have attained this degree choose to wear it, but since only an elite few have attained it you rarely see it in the local rites.

Most initiates, even those who have attained the 6^th mark or higher, wear black. On occasion, the initiate who leads a specific ceremony will wear the white robe. The World High Priestess will usually do this. Typically, the best way to check the status of an initiate is to check the color of their belt.

Heather rang a bell that resembled an old school bell that one-room school house teachers would swing up and down to hurry the children in from recess. Only Heather rang it differently. She rang it more slowly, in a kind of languid rhythm. It cast a somber tone-yet I hardly believe that it doused any libidos. A group of 12 (thirteen total) of her female Sectarian classmates all holding lighted black candles and all dressed in black hooded gowns followed behind. They all walked to their place on the left side of the blackened canopy bed. Next, six girls brought the coffin down. They walked in a slow but delicate fashion, in time with Heather's bell ringing. As the coffin approached, the entire contingent of boys stood in ritual obedience. What you might find most interesting, was that even though we were all basically kids, shit, I was technically still a teenager, there wasn't any joking around, no horseplay, no unnecessary talking, no flirting between the two genders.  No, this was serious. What we were doing went to the heart of not only our social fiber but our spiritual fiber as well. Even absent the parental guidance, all of them were smart enough to know the importance of the event. To be sure, all their parents knew what they were doing that night. Hell they approved it. But they also didn't want to let their mothers and fathers down. They were on the verge of adulthood and they had finally earned the trust of their elders. Now they would put that trust into practice. Everyone had a purpose to what they were doing and nothing was going to infiltrate that mission. This was the test, the bar exam, the senior thesis. Heather and her friends had to do a lot of convincing to get permission to use the Breeder in this ritual. My parents would never have gone for it. Not in a million years. Heather had not only earned the trust of her parents but all of the adults in the brood as well. She gained their trust because they all knew that Heather had paid her dues.

The coffin was placed lengthwise on top of the bed. The ones to bear the casket went to their places, then waited as the 13 who brought lit black candles carefully placed each candle on candle bras that were set into semicircles next to the bed. The 13th and last candle was used to light two candles on the altar, which was located 15 feet in front of the bed between the two groups of chairs. After the altar candles were lit, all in attendance sat down and then the 13th candle was placed on the candle bras stand near the foot of the stairs at the entrance of this now "holy place." When the one who held the 13th candle returned, she stood before the altar and intoned at the conclusion of the last ring of the bell, "Let us begin." Heather set her bell down and the prayers to the Gods began:

"Holy ones, the Father and His Son

Hail Satan, the kingdom is before you

Hail Jesus, the kingdom is ours

Hail Satan!"

"Hail Satan," we all replied in unison.

At the sound of another bell, the Breeder was removed from her coffin. Two boys had been previously designated. They unscrewed the top and took the lid off. I wondered if enough air holes had been drilled into that box. Hopefully, for the sake of the ceremony, she'd still be breathing. The two un-strapped her body from the inner walls of the coffin, then stuck their arms underneath her back and upper leg. The Breeder fought some, but another guy jumped up to immediately strap her to the bed. Heather's father had fitted the bed with long vinyl straps that when fastened looked like a seat belt for a piano. The girl who held the 13th candle also acted as the High Priestess for the evening. Particularly because she didn't know the Breeder at all, in fact she was a member of the Sect brought in from out of town. As a Sect initiate, she was well beyond in her Mystery School studies yet she could speak and be seen because the Breeder had no idea who she was and therefore wouldn't be able to identify her in case the Breeder suddenly got brave and decided to notify the authorities. For the purposes of identifying the woman I'll call her Tracy. In the Sect, she is known as a 'Blind Initiate'. Loosely defined, it is someone who is not associated with anyone in a certain brood and is unknown to the victim. A Blind Initiate is usually brought in when the participants know the victim or victims. My mother acted as a Blind Initiate a couple of times with an Order in Brookings, South Dakota and one time up north near Detroit Lakes. Since most broods import human victims from outside the country, most have no need for Blind Initiates. They are most commonly brought in as plain clothed officers to patrol the occasional outdoor ritual or when something needs to be communicated with the victim face-to-face. Most of the work the Circle Police do are under the guise of a Blind Initiate.

After the Breeder was sufficiently strapped down, Tracy stepped forward to remove the girl's blindfold. Tracy smiled evilly down upon her. Trying to get adjusted to the weird lighting; the Breeder seemed a little confused at first. Tracy anointed her with some oils, usually this was done on the forehead, but Heather had told Tracy to avoid her finger painting of the word 'slut' on the Breeder's head. Tracy ran her finger of oil down the bridge of her nose; drops filled the reservoirs in the corner of her eyes, causing her to shed some tears. For the most part, the only job that the boys had to do was to show up and of course take part in the violation. Two of them had the duty to leave their chairs and go back to the garage where a small stainless steel pen was set up to house the sacrificial pig. It squealed in protest when they picked up the beast by its legs and brought it into the makeshift chapel. They had duct taped two of its legs together to make it easier to hoist. Killing is one of the most messy and inconvenient parts of being in the Sect. Even though it is an annoyance, it is considered an important and traditional act that many in the Order still regard as a necessity. Other supposed 'enlightened' Circle groups have taken steps to abandon the practice only to hypocritically engage in the grisly act on special occasions.

The two commenced the sacrifice in silence, the only thing that could be heard were the desperate squealings of the black spotted swine and the struggling murmurings of the gagged Breeder.

What are they doing with that thing-it sounds like a pig. Oh Jesus! What are they doing?

When the last final squeal emerged from the beast it gave way to the sound of the dagger shedding open the rib cage. Most of us, at least those of us in the Sect, learned at one time or another how to butcher an animal (I include Homo-sapiens in that designation as well). I grew up on a farm so it was practically second nature for me. The one who did most of the cutting here was good too, it was inside 90 seconds before she had the heart of the beast stuck to the end of her knife, the blood drained into a ceremonial chalice and most of the limbs lopped off. Five minutes later, they had stripped the bones of most of its flesh and had arranged them in a crude circle with the stump of the head at its center.

Why did it stop making noise? Why? They killed it!! They fucking killed it! Oh God no!

Tracy approached the Breeder with the heart that was stuck to the knife.

O God! They're going to kill me! Nooooooooo!

Without touching the bloodied pig organ, Tracy pressed it hard against the Breeder's breast. She drizzled blood from the organ onto the Breeder's form, drew a cross then overlapped that with an 'X'.

Oh No! Get it off me! Get it off me!! Please God, get me out of here!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!

It was at this time when a sample of blood was taken from her. Not too much, just enough to fill up a small vial. Some may think the students had their sights set on drinking her blood. We do acquire a taste for blood at an early age but vampire cults are rare in the Sect. There are a few vampires on the West Coast. In Minnesota, the only person that I had ever heard of engaging in the practice was Sela's cousin Karen and she was forced to do most of her training in California and out of the country. For expediency's sake, most of the blood we drink is cow's blood. On special occasions, when the opportunity arises, we will drink human blood although that is a rarity.

Along with the blood, they stole a sliver of a toenail and a lock of the Breeder's hair. Later I had asked Heather why they had done this since the only time that happens is when a Warlock is involved in the ceremony (Usually in reading the future or some other magical reason). I think she had something else up her sleeve as she coyly refused to respond.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tom

Part Three

Amber's Affirmation Journal

It's 2 p.m. and I'm writing this. I believe this is the latest I have ever written in here. I'm getting so lazy. Last night we had our prom. I was the "advisor" for the prom committee so I helped to oversee the preparations. I stayed for the Grand March but I can't remember anything after that. Traditionally, seniors leave early from the prom, at least the ones that are cool. That's what Heather said. We left for a real "exclusive" soiree in Minneapolis. We rode in a limousine with Jenna and her escort Bruce and Tim. We didn't get there until midnight (our intention was to go to some of the clubs on E Street). I'm ashamed to say it but I drank the whole way up there. I think it was because I saw Randy at the dance with some girl I hadn't seen before. Heather said she was from out of town. I know it's difficult but I have to get him out of my head. Like Heather said, "You're in a different class than he is." She's right. I know I've said it before but Heather is so cool. I think we're going to be real good lifelong friends.

I should go. I've been so tired lately. I feel weak and I need to get some strength back inside me.

I profess this day to vanquish my fears. I will be resilient, I will be strong and I will succeed.

-Amber Hoffman

 

 

What the fuck is she saying? What is this? A Satanic cult? She's waving that knife around and I think she means to use it. Please don't kill me. Oh God, what did I do?

Tracy dropped the heart into the chalice of blood; careful not to step on the bones and carcass that were neatly placed at the base of the altar.

"Sisters," she turned toward the women, "approach the beast to receive your mark."

One by one each of them came forward to get their 'X' painted on their forehead. Their hoods were pulled way forward to shroud their faces from the straining eyes of the Breeder. When they were finished and back in their seats, Tracy dipped two fingers into the chalice of blood then smeared it on the Breeder's vagina, "I sanctify thee for the preservation of the brood--hail Satan!" Tracy faced Heather and her fellow sisters, "Who requests the punishment of this soul before us?"

In unison, all thirteen ladies replied, "Yea!"

"Does not one protest this rite for which we are about to commence?"

The sisters unanimously remained silent.

"Hearing no protest, I shall begin." Tracy turned to face the Breeder. Reading from a text she spoke, "Amber, your actions have threatened the Order. You are accused of deceit and perjury. You have brought dishonor onto your being in the face of the Lord. In doing so you have betrayed others for your own selfish ends…"

Oh NO!! My God NO!!

Tracy continued, "…You have deceived and brought harm to your peers. Because you have refused to admit your guilt and you continue to flaunt your extrication to the brood you must endure the consequences…"

No!! Jesus NO!!

"…Therefore, judgement has been passed on your fate. Your punishment is sacrifice by Holy Rite!"

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Tracy stepped way from Amber and signaled to Heather to ring the bell to start the humiliation. The first in line was rock hard and inserted his member without hesitation. Amber's legs were well secured at practically right angles to her torso and shook nervously before and after the penetration.

You can't do this to me. Please don't do this! Don't do this!!

He came within five minutes, when he was done he carefully slipped off his condom, dropped it in a trash can that had been set next to the bed and sat back down.

Why me... Why? What did I do to deserve this? Is it my turn? Fuck you all, bastards! I hate you!! I fucking hate you!!

I know who this is. It's fucking Steve Torgelson. I could tell by the smirk on his face when he mounted me. I resisted him, I couldn't bear to lose my virginity. Not to him, not to anyone. He tried to get me that night last summer after Cornfest. Even though I had been drinking a little, I had enough in me to resist him. He hated me ever since that night. But I didn't care. Like my mother says, "there's a million fish swimming in the sea." But now he was getting his chance. He's coming now-I can tell by the smile on his face. Fuck you Steve. Oh, Jesus, my body hurts. No not again!!

Randy you asshole. You tried to have me last winter. I loved you, you know. I would have-If you had given me more time. I didn't tell you, but I thought you were the one. You wouldn't even talk to me after that night. Why didn't you even talk to me? Randy, what's wrong, you've stopped. Can't perform? I've heard that some men can't do it all the time. Maybe if I weren't tied up I could help you out. Maybe…no, fuck you! Let the whole world witness your weaknesses. You got it going now, but your forcing it…Jesus, I hope you burn in hell!

One after another, with obedient precision, they approached her. The women all sat, completely entertained by the proceedings. Sipping Haslif, seductively smoking cigarettes then reacting quietly to the punishment carried out on the sinner. After about 6 of the boys had violated the girl, Amber grew weak and passed out. I attributed the occurrence to a reduction in the air she could breathe due to the gag in her mouth and her vain attempt to resist. The procession kept on coming however, I guess to them it didn't matter if she was awake or not. She came to when abuser number 10, a tall, lanky ox whom she had to have known. My guess he was probably captain of the basketball team. Amber awoke but even from my distant seat in the audience, you could tell she was giving up, whereas before she would start to make eye contact with each one. Now she would turn her head to the side as much as the strap would allow, mostly she seemed to just avert her eyes. She kind of resigned herself to the perpetrators. You know, she quit and gave in to them. Sort of like an out of body experience. She was aware of the crimes placed upon her, but she was often in her own world. Not a safe one, mind you--I mean she was still so totally wracked with fear to the point where I could practically taste it.

I never went out with you. You never even asked me out. What's the fixation Todd? You didn't want me and frankly I never wanted you. So why are you complicating my life with this? I hope your dick hurts. I hurt. I swear I'll kill you when this is done. You'll have to kill me tonight. Why don't you do that, just kill me. Just kill me. God no!

You were all there. Kyle, Dustin, Lance, Randy, Steve, Sean. Roger, even you were there, shame on you. I thought we were friends. We talked for hours at Perkins. You said your father didn't understand you, you wanted to be a graphic designer. I said you needed to follow your dreams. But he wouldn't let you. Why are you, of all people, doing this to me? Oh shit. I'm crying, they're going to love that. I wish I could be stronger, stop crying Baby. Stop it! I think I'm bleeding now down there. I know I'm bleeding. Stop crying Baby. Stop it! Oh God, don't let me cry, please stop. I wish I had the strength enough to stop crying. Just kill me, please God just kill me!

Of course it was now to the point where Amber's emotions (her fear, humiliation, shame, anger and desperation) were in fact, inciting the boys. They were actually feeding off her trauma and the energy she was expelling. This was pretty extraordinary to see so many young initiates in the same Order, who all knew how to indulge in the expulsion of emotion from their victims. Usually, one had to grow in the Sect for 25 years or more to learn the craft. But as I discovered later River Rock was regarded as a bastion of Sectarian knowledge. I was one of the few in my own brood who had the ability to sense and absorb emotion at the time. None of my fellow classmates in my Order back home could do it or at least have an awareness to do it. Attribute that to my mother's strict insistence that I attend Mystery School for every summer for as long as I can remember.

Heather had to leave her chair to instruct the boys to settle down as there was some rustling amongst the them; those that had done their duty had taken to egging on the others. It was sort of a demotion to have at the girl towards the end. I don't know how they chose who would go first but rest assured they had a precise order to it. We always did. Like any group, the Circle had its own strata contained within it. Ritual enhances the energy and orderliness is part and parcel to the ceremony. In short, the rite is power.

The whole ordeal lasted for a good hour-and-a-half. Upon the final thrust of the thirteenth perpetration. Heather rang the bell. Tracy closed the ritual by smearing cows blood from the silver chalice onto Amber's vagina then refraining--"It is done."

As the procession of six girls who carried the casket in stood up to take Amber out, Tracy moved to pull the blindfold back over Amber's eyes. Suddenly, the whole room froze. Heather had risen to heed Tracy. A shocked hush echoed throughout the room, Heather had pulled her hood back behind her head revealing her identity to Amber. The procession returned to their seats, horrified by Heather's bravery in the fear of being pegged as one of the perpetrators. To prove to Amber that she hadn't lost temporary control of her senses, Heather looked straight into her eyes.

I can't believe it!! Of all people, My God Heather you had been my one true friend, confidant.

 Heather looked down upon her; she tilted her head, as if resembling a hint of empathy. I could see caring in her eyes. Heather appeared apologetic, like she was saying she was forced to do all of this. Like the whole ordeal was beyond her control, an unwitting participant perhaps. She mouthed the words "I'm sorry" with so much compassion that even I momentarily believed her sincerity. I couldn't believe my eyes. The gesture seemed to touch Amber.

I want to tell you that I understand. It's not your fault. I forgive you. Peer pressure is a powerful force, Heather I know it's not your fault. I know it's not.

But as quickly as Heather mouthed the words she shook her head, ever so slightly, in defiance of any thought of offering sympathy. She cocked her head backwards, inhaling deeply through her nose as if she were rejuvenating herself. She slowly turned her head forward until she met Amber's eyes again. Heather's black lips parted into a fiendish smile, her tongue curled upward against the corner of her upper lip, like a child salivating over a partially melted ice cream cone. Her eyes came afire as if to communicate a taunt, 'No, I'm not your friend after all, I'm not your sympathizer and I'm not your savior!'

How could you? Heather, I… 

Amber suddenly felt a jolt, but it was too much now for her mind to comprehend.

Heather, WHAT DID YOU DO?!!?

 Streams of water began to flow from Amber's blood shot eyes. Her anguish certainly didn't diminish the malevolent smile on Heather's now glowing face.

NOOOOOOOOOO!!! Jesus, what did you do to me?!?!!

Heather had taken a hind leg bone of the slaughtered pig and inserted it between Amber's legs. The initial, startled reaction of Heather revealing herself was replaced by her peers' laughter as she continued to twist and push the bone in as far as she could. Although the entourage remained relatively civil throughout the evening, Heather's final, humiliating gesture caused a loud response of pure jubilation. Of accomplishment. 

Heather wanted to put the most into her performance, she turned down toward Amber, smiled and quipped, "Precious," before abruptly stepping away, leaving the bloodied hog bone protrude from between her legs. The bone, which had bits of pig muscle, skin and blood still on it, hung there even while they lifted her back into the casket.

I did eventually find out Amber's whole story. From what I pieced together, Heather never really was a friend of Amber. During their high school years, Heather ran in different circles than her. Amber, for her own part, was modestly popular among the student body. Quite smart, she was so precocious as a child that she jumped ahead a grade in elementary school. She graduated second in her class and was pretty enough to attract the attention of most of the male student body at River Rock High.

Amber drew the ire of the privileged set (All Circle initiates) however when she was caught cheating on a major exam. It normally wouldn't have caused such a stir, since we all cheat any way, but some in the Sect believed that one of their own was denied class Salutatorian. Amber was confronted with the allegation, but she denied it. They told the principal about the incident but there was not enough evidence to punish her. The Sect students decided to take the matter into their own hands. The main problem, however, was that although she landed dates with several of the more popular boys in her class, she was regarded as more of a flirt than anything. Amber came from a poor working-class family, she was smart enough to gain acceptance and a full ride scholarship to an acclaimed university out east. This new stature in society didn't play too well with the Circle click in school, mostly because it is believed the girl 'didn't pay her dues', so to speak, to the powers that be. Those powers being the boys in the Circle who regarded her as an attractive prude. Heather said they had been planning this event since late winter when the River Rock Courier had reported that Miss Amber Hoffman would be the first River Rock High School student to attend the prestigious Ivy League school Brown University. For her part, Heather agreed to start a mock friendship with the girl, something she had nurtured since the beginning of March.

Heather had force-fed the sleeping potion into Amber as the guests were leaving. She was sound asleep when the last guest had left. I helped her clean Amber up. The only thing she left un-cleansed was the backwards 'slut' on her forehead. We dressed her in the clothes she had worn and then drove her back to her parents' house down the hill near the City of River Rock Utility building. Heather had planned the evening well. Not only had she befriended Amber for practically three months, I mean this wasn't a casual friendship, they were together, from what she says, constantly for those three months. But she also organized the absence of Amber's parents for the weekend coinciding with the ceremony by rigging a contest at her mother's store whereby Amber's parents won a weekend stay at a lake resort near Brainerd.

We left Amber in her bedroom, her clothes still on, even though her parents wouldn't return until late Sunday night. By then, Amber would have cleaned the word slut off her forehead, forgotten about the abuse she took from 13 hooded classmates and would be left wondering why slut was painted on her forehead. Oh, she would know she had been raped, her above average intelligence coupled with the soreness between her legs would be enough for her to figure that out. But she wouldn't remember how or who did this to her. She would know it, but it would be hidden deep inside her unconscious-wreaking subtle havoc on her every waking moment.

For the duration of the summer, Amber had acquired the nicknames of Hog Boner, Suey Slut and my favorite Miss Piggy. Amber was also plagued by the constant "oink-ing" sounds wherever she went. The poor girl was taunted all summer and numerous rumors had circulated around town in one form or another, none of which was anywhere near true of what actually happened. Amber couldn't remember what she did that night but she knew she did something and I guess that was the beauty of it. Like Heather said a couple of months later, "It wouldn't be fun if it wasn't so bad." Of course nobody was punished for anything. Not because there was no evidence, there probably was if you looked hard enough, but because Amber was too ashamed to confront her suspicions. You see Heather and I'm sure the Sect elders knew that Amber would be so consumed with fear that she didn't dare act on her presumptions. Amber, at the heart of it, was a weak little girl. Whatever strength and confidence she gained over the years as a model straight A student went out the window that night, (along with her virginity and peace of mind) and in the end, the endeavor was worth it because at the very least she was taught a lesson: never again would Amber challenge the establishment. Brilliant. Fucking Brilliant!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amber's Affirmation Journal

I need to get my life in order, I'm not thinking right. I'm feeling a little weak. Don't be so stupid, Baby, you're strong. I feel vulnerable lately. I don't know. Since the break-in at the house I don't feel secure anymore. Daddy says he thinks it was some drug dealer who needed some quick cash. He's right I'm sure. I still feel uncomfortable being alone though. Lately, (I know this sounds corny) I feel like someone has been following me. Don't be so stupid Baby! You're smarter than that. I know, Jesus, I know.

I have to get over this feeling or I'm going to be worthless at Brown. Jesus Christ Baby you're going to Brown!! The first graduate of River Rock High School to be accepted there! Baby, you have to get yourself together.

Thank God I have Heather as a friend, she's been so understanding. She gets me. I told her about the dreams and the intuitions, she is so understanding. I wish I had gotten to know her sooner. She gave me a bible. She said I should read it every night before I go to bed. I think I have unwittingly ignored Jesus in my life. My drive to succeed has overcome me to a detrimental extent. I have sinned. I must repent. I have to begin to open up my heart, I have started to say the Lord's prayer before I go to bed each night.

Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven, Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory forever and ever Amen.

Jesus help me!

Amber

 

 

"What I'm hearing which is sort of scary is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this--this [chuckle] is working well for them."

 

-Former First Lady Barbara Bush speaking in reference to the evacuees at the Houston Astrodome from Hurricane Katrina in September of 2005*

 

 

 

The Sacrifice of Amber**

 

I always hate spring. I think it's because it always seems so dreary. Most people say they like spring because everything begins to turn green, plants and animals that had previously lay dormant all winter suddenly awaken. Evidence of God's beauty abounds. Of course the mere definition of spring implies new beginning.

For me, however, the coming of spring tells a different story. It's either raining or the ground is so saturated with melted snow induced mud that the vibrant green hue of the season has been repudiated. Maybe it's the prospect of bad weather. The tornado season officially begins in April. One year, the worst tornadoes we ever had occurred way back in March.  If I had to pick a favorite season, I think I would choose fall. In Minnesota, Spring turns out to be just two colors: off-white and brown. Much of spring is consumed by a dirty snow covering of old snow that has melted, froze, melted again then froze. It ends up to be tiny pellets of ice mixed in with a fair amount of mud. Autumn, on the other hand, is an eclectic mix of colors. Leaves turn from one vibrant color to the next, lush green pine needles magically transform into golden lancets and the endless meadows of vibrant prairie grass fight off nature's yearly ritual of mass annihilation. Throw in a light gray overcast sky and I'm in heaven.

For some people, fall can be interpreted as the time of death. Spring on the other hand, is considered new life, rebirth, everything comes alive. I don't see it that way. Bring in the new, to me, is more like, pushing out the old. Maybe I think too much about it. A head doctor might say the reason I hate spring so much is that's when I lost my daughter, Amber. She was away at college, her first year. We got word that she had committed suicide. She was alone, in her dorm room. They don't know what time it happened, but they figured it must have occurred between Friday afternoon, after her roommate had left to go home for the weekend, and Saturday evening about 9:00 p.m. when a residential advisor stopped in to check on her.

Amber was our only daughter, only child for that matter. Love of my life. We were different than other mother-daughter relationships, we were close and except for a short time during her freshman year in high school, we would talk on a daily basis about most anything. I get mad at myself sometimes thinking that I needed to be there for her. I wonder that if I was with her, just to talk to her, listen to her. Would she have resorted to killing herself? I have tears in my eyes just saying it. You know, you don't think of suicide in those terms until you actually begin to dissect it. But that's what she did-killed herself.

We were very proud of her, she graduated second in her class, salutatorian, she even earned a scholarship to an Ivy League school, mind you. It was a good thing too because we could have never afforded it. She knew we didn't have the money but God bless her she persevered. It didn't matter what material things she had. Amber made the best of every situation and believed in herself.

Life is lonely right now, even though it's been going on five years since we lost her. She's still on my mind constantly. God help me. She's on my mind when I get up in the morning, and she's the last thought I have when I go to bed at night. In between, I only ponder her memory about a hundred times. Yes, it's difficult.

My husband, good as he is, still puts up with everything. I won't lie to you, we have our troubles. Just the other day I yelled at him for no apparent reason. OK, he forgot to bring the empty water containers to the store to get refilled. We have real terrible water here in River Rock, and our old house, which seems to be falling apart by the minute, still has those old lead pipes. We bathe in it and wash dishes but you can't drink it.  Normally, he accepts my outbursts and we usually forget about it. This time, I guess he had had enough, and he yelled back. That just got me angrier, so I yelled back some more. You know, for the life of me, I can't remember what I said. The only thing I can remember is the thing that broke up the argument. Stopped it dead in its tracks. It was one line my husband said, "I'm sick of you!"

You don't have to tell me, I know he didn't mean it. Yet it's because of that fight that we haven't spoken to each other in over a week and a half. I'd like to say something, because the silence makes things excruciatingly lonely. It made me think about all the times I burst out. You know, I have never apologized to him before. After a fight we just keep going on, as if nothing ever happened. I know this is personal and I'm sure this means something but I will tell you anyway. My little outbursts increased markedly after Amber died.

Sometimes I'd like to walk up behind him, throw my arms around his big shoulders as he is sitting in his La-z-Boy recliner in front of the television and tell him how sorry I am.  Only thing is, I don't know how to do it.  I wish I could learn how because the only thing I have now is my job and that's a solitary endeavor in itself. I don't know why I'm writing this but I'm crying again. I guess sometimes I feel like I'm at the end of my rope. I work hard, at least I think I do, my muscles ache so much in the morning it's painful to get myself out of bed. 

I work for Dust n' Scrub Cleaning Services, going mostly to nice houses and a few small businesses to clean. I'm on my knees pretty much most of the day. I purchased kneepads, the same ones kids use when they go roller-blading. Sometimes I would forget to take them off, you know they get to be so commonplace I feel naked without them. I smile when I think about it because it was the cause of embarrassment to my Amber. I would forget I had them on and would wear them downtown to pick her up or meet her. Her friends never said anything, I don't think they cared any way. But boy would I hear it later. I would chide her, tell her next time, I would forget to take off my thick yellow rubber gloves, you know the kind you wear for scrubbing toilets.

I'm smiling now because she would get so angry with me. I guess I was an embarrassment to her. If I had been in her place I probably would have felt the same way too. My nickname for her was 'Precious', a term of sweet endearment. I started calling her that when she was a baby. It didn't become a problem until two of her close friends found out, they taught Amber to hate the word. Which seems funny since she had no complaints throughout all of her teenage years. Didn't mind it until round about the time she graduated high school.

My darling Amber. I still think she was the best thing that ever happened to me. I used to think she was the reason God sent me to this earth. It makes me want to hate her for taking her own life. It wasn't hers to take. The pastor at church says that suicide is a sin and those who do it, will go to hell. I will always remember that, he said it in a sermon the Sunday after the funeral. I tried to cry back then but for some reason the pain didn't want to be let out. Sometimes I think I use my pain as a defense, you know, it's my way of keeping everyone from peeking inside of me, including Dean, my husband.

I make $7.05 an hour. On a good day I can clean three houses. Not a real good down and dirty scrubbing mind you but a decent cleaning. The clients seem to be satisfied-although they hardly ever say it. Most of the clients are fairly well off. Either too busy to do it themselves or their house is too big to be handled by one person. At least those are the reasons they usually give. They tell you without even asking. It's funny, I know. I suppose they feel guilty for having a maid.

Today, I'm working on the Anderson's house. Mrs. Anderson likes to be here when I do the cleaning. Her first name is Gloria, but she doesn't like me to call her by her first name. I actually knew her personally before I started working here. Her family belongs to my church, Calvary Lutheran downtown. And her daughter, Heather, was a friend of Amber. I had talked to Gloria a few times at Ladies Aid meetings and a few funerals. She has a small business of her own so she didn't make it to every church function. After about the third or fourth time I had cleaned her house, she asked me into her little office that she kept near the kitchen.

"Gaby!" she yelled, "I need to speak to you for a minute."

"Yes, Gloria."

"Yes. I need to talk to you about your behavior here... In my home."

I thought I really screwed up. I try to do a good job, but sometimes you never know. Maybe I missed something. "Is there a problem?" I asked.

Gloria was sitting at her desk, "well, nothing about your work, I can't complain. You could maybe work a little faster sometimes, but I do have a request."

My body stiffened. I felt my stomach turn.

"When you are in my house and you need to ask me something. Could you please refer to me as 'Mrs. Anderson' and not by my first name."

It was an odd request so I was taken off guard for a moment. The look on my face must've been a sight. "I... I just thought that... " I stammered for an explanation, "you know... since I had known you from church and..."

She nodded her head while slowly closing her eyelids up and down in a deliberate manner that was condescending yet told me she understood what I was trying to say.

"…I mean, I didn't mean to show any disrespect to you," I said.

"I know," she added, "but, I have to tell you, this is my home. I'm paying you good money to do a service. I deserve some respect. Put another way," she struck out her forefinger for emphasis, "I'm paying you hard earned money for respect. While you're here, I am the employer, and you, the employee."

"Well, I'm sorry Mrs. Anderson," I purposely emphasized the missus part.

Perturbed by the way I apologized, she retorted, "You know, Gaby, I don't ask for a lot. What I do want is respect."

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to be disrespectful. It's just that we've known each other at church…" I became speechless for a second, still shaken by what she was demanding, "Uh--well, would you like me to call you Mrs. Anderson at church?"

Gloria nodded her head, a forced sympathetic expression on her face, "I would prefer it that way. I guess you could say I would feel more comfortable if you would not refer to me by my first name at all," she added, as if her point hadn't already been made clear.

Recently I was working on Mrs. Anderson's house. On my knees, I was washing her kitchen floor. I really have to scrub real hard because she has these Spanish tiles with grooves in them. It takes me twice as long to do Mrs. Anderson's kitchen floor. Occasionally, she'll come into the kitchen just to watch me, making sure I'm doing a good job, I suppose. I feel uneasy because she'll stand there, stoically with her arms crossed, I believe I have this sense, an intuition perhaps, that comes over me in the form of dread whenever she's scrutinizing my labor. I feel her eyes. Sometimes I screw up and ask her if she wants something.

"Just checkin' my help," she'll say, with a mock smile, a little embarrassed that I noticed her. But she knows I sense her watching. She'll stand just a few feet away-leering. It wouldn't be so bad, but when she does it, she'll watch me for 3 to 5 minutes. Which may not seem like a long time, but when you're working, it's like an eternity.

She was standing guard over me for only a couple minutes today, until I was saved by her daughter, Heather, who entered the stage. Heather came into the kitchen. I was about to get up to say 'Hi', but then I remembered Gloria's admonition, I figured I best not say anything. I know Heather a little bit, probably more than I do her mother. Her and Amber seemed to be inseparable there for a while, just before the two started college. I read in the Courier that Heather had just graduated from college. All I can think of is that Amber missed out on the opportunity.

Because I work for her mother, I tend to see Heather quite a lot, more than I do any of Amber's friends. I remember seeing her while cleaning her mother's house a couple of weeks after Amber's funeral. She didn't say anything at first-probably too broken up over it. It's hard for all of us to deal with death, I know that as much as anybody. It wasn't until she had a talk with her mother that she came out to where I was working to express her sympathies. She put her arm around me and gave me a hug. Said she was sorry, real sweet girl. I was so overcome; tears were dripping off my cheeks and onto my dusting rag. I suppose I was entitled, but it still felt embarrassing. I think I broke down because Heather reminded me of Amber. It's hard to look at kids her age, so youthful and filled with the promise of hope.

I'm crying again. I'm a sad case aren't I? This will sound cruel, but I purposely avoid contact with teenagers, even younger children. Sometimes, Barb, my boss, wants me to train-in some fresh faced high school sweetie. Jesus forgive me, but I put them through the wringer. I know I'm mean to them. They never last more than a day or so.

Well I don't want to go any further but that was the last time I spoke to Heather. Now, the only time I hear her voice is when she engages in hushed conversation in Mrs. Anderson's office. I did feel a little guilty one day a few years ago when Heather complained, rather loudly, to her mother that her bedroom wasn't cleaned yet. Apparently, she had a test to study for and came home for some peace and quiet; a tranquil haven from the chaos of her off-campus apartment. Mrs. Anderson gave Heather some money and sent her on an errand, then told me to hurry up and clean her bedroom. I told Mrs. Anderson that I must have lost my head because I could've done Heather's  bedroom first.  She replied that "it was neither here nor there, just get it done."

I haven't talked to Heather in quite some while. It's not like I haven't had the opportunity, I see her quite a lot in her home since she graduated. Like I said, it's difficult to talk to Amber's friends.

Actually, Heather just walked past me on her way into Mrs. Anderson's office. I can hear them talking. I try not to be intrusive, but her office door is open and they're speaking in a loud and clear tone. They're talking about a dinner party or a social or something. My knees are killing me today. I went to a doctor a couple of years ago to see about getting some pain pills for it. He checked it out and said that I would eventually need surgery on them. I don't have medical insurance with Dust n' Scrub, so I haven't been back. With the cost of everything these days, they'll probably have to bring me in on a stretcher after I have collapsed from having my legs give out on me.

And so here I am, on my knees dutifully scouring Mrs. Anderson's Spanish tile floor. It's an interesting vantage point, seeing the world from down here, and even though it gets harder and harder to stand up on my own two legs, it's better than being laid up or impotent because in my mind the reverse would be so humiliating. It'd kill me to have to depend on others.

 

 

 

 

Dear Thomas,

I've missed you so much! I'm sure you're pretty busy as am I. I am just beginning to like college. It was pretty trying at first but I made a few new friends, mostly from a sorority I joined. I'm still living in the dorms but I think I may move into the sorority house next year, unless I transfer to the U of M. (I knew that would get your attention.) Mother wants me to stay here in Mankato so I'm closer to home. It's not that she doesn't want me to be near you, she actually really likes you, Thomas. You're the first boyfriend she has taken a liking to. She even says she met your mother a few years ago. Small world huh?

I almost forgot, remember dear "precious" Amber? You know that little tramp we "eulogized" last summer. Well the rite was concluded last month. They said she used an extension cord. I wish you could've been here Thomas when we found out. All I could think about was the sight of the little cunt hanging there, her neck pulled from its spine. I pleasured myself over and over again until my legs grew weak. Oh I wish you could have been here. I am soooooo looking forward to seeing you Thomas. We arranged to acquire Amber's heart and skull before it was cremated (we're good friends with Mr. Hansen, the funeral director). Of course we had to pay our respects. It was the least I could do. Since the rite went so well, I was recommended for acceptance at The Institute*. Can you believe that!! My friend Kyle made a necklace for me with her teeth. Remind me to show it to you when you come.

Love Always,

Heather

 

P.S. I almost forgot. Don't ask me how we procured it, but I have enclosed a copy of Amber's diary or something. It's quite entertaining and a good story. I especially enjoyed the parts that included me.