"And with the blood of a virgin, the ritual is complete."
A deep voice boomed out, echoing off the packed earth lining the basement of an abandoned shack. The ground level already sat partially collapsed, the elements taking their toll on the termite-infested planks that once held it all together. Pitch blackness surrounded it in the dead of night. Trees of an unkempt forest locked away its secrets deep within their scraggly folds.
In the basement, candles burned, dripping wax like a torrential waterfall in slow motion while hooded, cloaked figures moved in from the shadows, encircling a girl bound and gagged in the center of a chalk pentagram. Her navy pleated skirt rode up her thighs, baby blue panties peeking out underneath the hem. Arms tied in front, legs bound tightly together; white collared dress shirt pressed tight, buttons threatening to burst over her breasts--her innocent doe eyes quivered at the metallic glint of a knife catching the flickering candlelight.
She tried to scream, but only muffles escaped her school uniform's tie, the maroon-tinted fabric stuffed unceremoniously between her delicate cherry-red lips. One of the figures, black muslin flowing shapelessly around their body read out from a leather-bound book--the
Sanguinomicon
. Gold embossed letters worn with years, no, centuries of use lined its thick spine.
Struggling against her restraints, she tried to crawl out of the pentagram, but dark figures blocked her. The knife drew nearer. Tears streamed down her face while she felt helpless, trapped.
The sharp edge grazed her cheek. Stormy grey eyes gazed emotionless from underneath the black hood of the knife-wielder, eyes that she knew. Sobbing, she replayed her short life through her head, bracing for the worst. The knife drew back, point directly over her chest. Silently, she tried to beg for her life. Her whole body trembled. She shut her eyes and prayed.
Her prayers were answered.
Above them, heavy footsteps could be heard. The Master of Ritual closed the
Sanguinomicon's
yellowed pages to see who invaded their sacred place of worship. Pounding on the basement door caused the other cloaked attendees to stop and stare, all eyes glued to the entrance of their holy ground.
With a bang, the basement door swung open. Strobe lights flooded the room while police sirens blared outside. Officers in SWAT gear, guns out, hands on the trigger, rushed into the basement of the dilapidated shack shouting:
"Drop it!"
"Hands up!"
Chaos ensued as the ritual stopped interrupted and incomplete. Candle stands toppled, extinguishing on the packed earth floor in plumes of smoke. Many hooded figures escaped into the night, pushing past officers in a flutter of shapeless black with the
Sanguinomicon
dropped in the confusion.
"Miss, are you okay? Are you hurt?" An officer removed the girl's gag making her cough and sputter.
"What's your name? Who did this to you?" Another officer cut the twine rope binding her and offered her a bottle of water. After catching her breath, she finally spoke simply and straightforwardly.
"I'm fine."
"Can we get your name for the record?" An officer in a bulletproof vest took out a tape recorder.
"Melissa," she said, once again, simply.
"Care to tell us why there's a Satanic ritual going on here?" Two more officers surrounded her now, helping her to her feet.
"I need to go home," she said, once again, straightforwardly.
"Give us a statement," the officer pleaded from behind his helmet.
"Am I free to leave?"
"Legally, yes, but--"
"Then I'm going home." And with that, Melissa simply stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked off into the night, rope burns on her wrists, ignoring the officer's requests for her statement. She was a very straightforward girl.
~
Three in the morning. At least, that's what time Melissa thought it was. Her birth-donors banned her from owning a cellphone, even a shit one. Unlocking the front door, Melissa entered her quiet suburban home. Tiptoeing up the stairs, she treaded over the carpet, careful not to wake her sleeping parents. In small towns like hers, news spread fast. In her backpack, she carried the
Sanguinomicon
, saved (barely) from police custody.
Entering her bedroom, she locked the door behind her. Well, technically she wasn't allowed to lock her door either, but fuck the rules. Pagan trinkets adorned her shelves, draped with black satin. Skulls harvested from roadkill, quartz crystals, and tarot cards filled every available space. And, of course, in the center of her teenage bedroom, a bright pink bed complete with pastel pillows and excessive frills sat smack dab in the center, standing out like a sore thumb. She hated her bed, but her mom insisted, and it wasn't like she had the money to buy bedding that suited her eccentric tastes anyway.
Having celebrated her eighteenth birthday just a week prior, Melissa felt very grown-up. Adults wouldn't understand. Fiddling with her lambert lip piercing with her tongue, she unbuttoned her blouse and lay down on the bed. She rustled through the musty
Sanguinomicon
, yellowed pages inked with calligraphy and occult symbols, cryptic and vast. A silver pentagram pendant on a chain hung from her neck, dangling between her cleavage while she perused the black magic between its leather covers.
The Blood Rite
: the ritual that was supposed to happen that night. Melissa didn't think they'd actually try to sacrifice her. She would have slept with Fred if she knew they'd hold her at knifepoint. Running her fingers over the vellum, probably made from sacrificed goats, she read and reread the ancient runes before drifting off into a troubled sleep.
~
In her angsty teenage dreams, images flitted across the great plane of her adolescent mind.
From the depths of her subconscious, a giant clawed hand with pointed nails burst forth, enveloping her, crushing her until she felt her breath leave her lungs. Pentagrams dripping with blood melted off the walls while the room shrank and shrank into nothingness, taking her with it.
Reduced to a speck, Melissa floated through the void. Ancient voices speaking in tongues teased her ears. She felt a tugging on her piercing, stretching her lower lip outwards and lengthwise until it stretched across the blackness, pinning itself to a pike in the distance. Being a dream, she accepted her new warped reality.
The clawed hand returned, dwarfing her in its presence. With a single flick of its gnarled index finger, her baby blue panties shredded, exposing her rounded buttocks. With lip pinned in the distance, she gasped as one giant demonic digit rubbed up and down the outside of her virgin slit. Flashes of goats with four horns and owls with six beaks taunted her eyes which were now sewn open, lids embedded in her skull.
The rubbing on her pussy became vigorous. Her clit swelled larger and larger like a balloon, expanding with each stroke of the hellish hand, the hard nub jutting out like a small dick. Young hormonal juices trickled down her legs. Moaning, she felt herself reach the edge in the most fucked up wet dream she ever had. The demonic hand sensed it too and stopped teasing. Fingers curled, sharp nails on point, the hand grabbed Melissa whole, sinking into her flesh. She felt no pain, but she felt something stir inside her womb while continuing to sail through dreamland on turbulent waves.
