With my eyes closed, I rehearse the ritual steps, the words, and the requirements, checking each off with a bright red checkmark as each appears in my mind. While I want it to work, I also fear the possible consequences.

Lore sits cross-legged, sweaty hand holding mine and Chars. Her dark black eyes rapidly roam around Char’s basement room, purple lips glisten and frown.

“Do we have enough crystals?”

She licks her lower lip, frowns, glances down at the crystals, and then up at me. A purple spot on her front tooth mares her yellowing teeth with too much plaque buildup. I avoid her gaze, staring past her shoulder at the inverted cross and discount devil poster beside it. The blood-red walls absorb the feeble light from the flickering candles.

I close my eyes. “It’s fine.”

“I couldn’t find enough red ones. Do you think purple is ok?”

Impatience for this child grows as her voice trembles and her fingers wiggle in mine. I close my eyes tighter.

“They’re fine.”

I remind myself that I need her. The ritual requires three.

“Do we need to light more incense?”

God, anymore, and we all die of cheap clove. I wish I could do this on my own.

“No. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

I hope this works, it needs to work. Char remains steadfast, but Lore needs a chill pill. I knew I should have gotten Morg to hook me up with something to drug her with.

“What about the pentagram? Is it straight enough?”

I open my eyes and glare at her. Her gross, sweaty hand squeezes mine harder. Her legs bulge out from too-tight shorts, strained shirt rises and falls too quickly. Hopefully, she will hyperventilate and pass out soon. Char’s dry hand barely holds mine.

“What do we say now?”

I lower my voice.

“Repeat after me.”

God, I so hope this works.

“Diabolus.” “Diabolus.” “Diaboulas?”

I roll my eyes and tighten my lips.

“Diabolus.” “Diabolus.” “Diabolos?

Fucking useless warm body. Too late to find someone else. Stupid Satanists in this town do not advertise themselves like Christians. I need to remain thankful for finding these two.

I sigh then intone, “Ligamen.” “Ligamen.” “Ligaman?”

Thank God we started early.

“Diabolus. Ligamen.” I increase the tempo.

“Diabolus. Ligamen.” “Diaboulass-Ligaman”

“Diabolus. Liga...”

The world turns red and something bites into my brain.

Consciousness returns.

The long black waxed strings burn at their base while only a faint clove odor remains. The family dwelling remains whole, but the vertical dividers spin and wobble in the almost-dead light.

I taste and smell iron. My hands return covered with thick, slick, red fluid when I wipe at my sticky face. Bracing myself on the box of clothes, I stand, and grimace like a frail, aged woman.

A blood-red line cuts the reflecting surface in the middle, splitting my reflection into two equal parts. My healthy, naked, upper body has little red drops scattered across my perky breasts, shoulders, and face, while my sickly, naked, lower body remains clean. My bloodshot eyes match the red of my erect nipples, but the bright, white grin does not match my squint. My fingers wiggle and vibrate even as I lean forward on them.

Interesting.

Lorne whimpers from my right. Curled in a ball, she holds, and rocks, herself with two red crosses shoved up her ass and cunt. Beside her, Charlotte’s body twitches randomly. She stares at the ceiling without blinking. Two small, perfectly formed, red handprints adorn her milk-white breasts. Black, viscus fluid leaks out of her cunt.

The banging on the wooden board increases.

“Char, are you ok, Dear?” a man’s voice yells.

Interesting.

“Dear, open up. Your mom and I are worried about you.” A bang accents every second word.

“You’re not in trouble. We just want in.” a woman’s voice adds.

“I’m going to...” the board smashes open, swinging on metal braces, extinguishing the little lights.

The shadows of the parents stand wide-eyed in the entrance, hands to their mouths. An acidic, metallic odor wafts into the room.

Interesting.

The lady rushes to the convulsing Charlotte while the man steps forward with his meat hook hands in fists.

I push past him. I need to clean up.

“What the hell?” he sits on the floor, holding his bleeding nose.

Interesting.

The chlorine-scented, too-bright white, room jars my senses. Flower juice, burnt ashes, and special cream, cover a white porcelain bowl that gushes cold water. The coolness steams as I rinse off the virgin and soiled blood. The water carries the red down the void. Washing takes moments. The new splashes of red enhance the everything-white room. My long braided brown hair artfully avoided getting christened.

I return for my clothes. The overhead lights cast deep shadows under the sleeping slab, and in the corners, as the pentagram’s pink salt sparkles across the black cotton flooring. The Devil Rock images mock the room’s inhabitants. The dad sits beside his daughter, still holding his nose while he speaks into a white electronic device. The mom lays across her daughter, protecting her from the lingering evil.

Lorne remains whimpering beside them, ignored, the crosses still buried inside her.

Interesting.

I grab my clothing and dress as I leave.

The next moment, I sit and eat at the maple wood plank with Mom and my brother, Brock. Dark shadows surround us while perspiration shines on Mom and Brock’s faces.

“Brock, it’s a school night. Midnight’s too late,” Mom scowls at Brock before sipping from her black liquid-filled cup. The odor smells improper, metallic, and sour.

“I was out with friends,” Brock dips his breaded chicken meat.

“Teg was home on time.”

“I’m not my fucking sister!” bits of chicken explode from his mouth.

“You could be more like her.”

“Seriously? No!” Brock storms out of the room, leaving Mom and I to clean up.

I shake my head and cut my sandwich in half with a large, gleaming, silver cleaver.

“Anything exciting tonight?” Mom asks and closes her eyes.

“Nothing,” I place the red, sauced-covered blade between Mom and me.

She puts her head on the table and covers her black hair with her pale hands and I finish the sandwich.

“Good-Night Mom.”

“Night.”

The stairs creek as I ascend them and only the upstairs passageway light illuminates my path. Brock sits typing in his dark room, as the passageway light paints a trail to him. A pair of dull metal scissors remind me that my hair needs trimming.

“You, ok?” I ask and step into my brother’s space.

“Sure, just Mom.” Brock keeps typing on the electronic device.

“She cares.”

“I know, but I’m not perfect like you.”

“I’m not perfect. Yet.” I giggle and massage his shoulders.

“Dam close,” he lowers his head and moans.

“Thanks, and good night,” I step backward out of his room.

“Yeah, night, Teg.”

I strip and curl up in my sleeping sheets. I like my new red freckles.

My right fingers snake down to my bushy cunt while my left fingers play with my nipples. Both press and explore, sending shivers and energy bolts around my body, as I slip two, then three fingers in. I moan louder while my brother listens at the entranceway. My thumb frantically rubs on my clit while I twist and pinch my nipples. In orgasm, I scream loud enough for my mother to hear downstairs. I fall asleep before my eyes close.

Friday morning, I walk in with Mary, a new girl, and ask if she remembers Olivia. Teacher Barrett lifts her gaze and strains to hear my words.

“Never mind, I forgot you just came here. Someone I admired before the pregnancy,” I make sure Ms. Barrett hears.

Mary takes her seat near the teacher while I sit further away. Blonde Isabella leans forward and blows in my left ear, “Teagan, I love you.”

I stare at Ms. Barrett. The teacher licks her lips. Blonde Isabella blows into my right ear, “Teagan, I want you.” I quickly twist around. Blonde Isabella leans to her right and talks with Sally. I glance back at Ms. Barrett, she stares at me and fixes her hair.

I spend the weekend having quality time with Mom and Brock. Dad calls on my white electronic device to invite Brock and me for a night of movies, but I hate him. He cheated on Mom, so he doesn’t deserve our time.

“Teg, I haven’t seen either of you since last weekend. I want to see both of you.”

“No.”

“Teg, I’m all alone.”

“No.”

“Ask Brock if he has time?”

I glance over to Brock. Brock shakes his head, strange because Brock likes Dad more than Mom.

“Bye, Dad.” I hang up and return to cuddle with Mom and Brock on the soft, long bench. I sit smushed between them, eating butter and salted, exploded corn, that Brock didn’t instantly devour, watching the first Hellraiser movie that Mom hates. Dad didn’t let me finish watching it the first time.

My device rings again. I press a button to ignore my former father. Then Brock’s silver device rings, but he ignores it. Finally, Mom’s grey device rings, but she doesn’t even glance at it.

Understandable, the jerk cheated on her with our neighbor, the fat, old jerk. Just because Mom hates sex doesn’t mean my former father gets to cheat.

The movie arrives at the part where Dad ended it. The girl bangs on the metal and glass vertical barrier, trying to escape. Blood splatters on the wall and the demons arrive in fancy lightning.

Before class on Monday morning, Mrs. Foley glares at me as I enter the structure. Her eyes grow wide and her hands hold each other. I grab a piece of parchment from her and lift the corners of my lips.

“You can see, can’t you?”

Her mouth opens but quickly closes.

Interesting.

I glance at the bleached, green-dyed parchment as I stride away. The sins and virtues drawn on it both make me happy, so I drop it on the floor for someone else to find, and learn from.

A black cat streaks across the passageway, near the end, disappearing down the stairway to the boiling water container room.

Vivian bumps into me from behind, “Sorry, Teagan.”

“No harm.”

“Teagan, I need you.”

I turn to her bright white smile and she asks, “How was your weekend?”

“Very good.” I lie because I only remember Hellraiser’s pins.

Vivian licks her bottom lip as I turn away. She follows too close behind into the quiet room of learning.

Monday night, and I eat alone. Mom cleans while Brock plays on an electrical box. After finishing and cleaning up, I trudge upstairs to visit Brock.

I walk in on my brother masturbating to a teen girl sucking a massive penis in a moving picture beside him. She fists two other dicks and her unfocused eyes stare at me through the picture.

“Fuck, Teg, get out!”

I step closer, showing my teeth. “You need help and I can help.”

Brock’s eyes widen and he lets go of his softening dick. The guy grunts and erupts on the cute, fake-breasted girl’s face. Cum slithers down her cheek and pools on her eye, but Brock doesn’t notice because I close the door and walk in, removing my school-mandated shirt.

“Fuck Teg. What are you doing?” Brock tries to hide his growing dick.

I turn the light off. Only the dim light under the entrance and the electronic box highlights my pale, pink body. My bright red nipples capture Brock’s stare.

His red fabric sleeping slab appears black in the room of shadows. He stares at me, paralyzed in his chair, frowning with his head tilted, scratching his black, coarse, pubic hair.

“You need this, Brock,” I remove my breast holder, freeing them. The cool air stiffens my nipples like I stiffening Brock’s cock.

“Teg?” Brock, confused, uncovers his throbbing dick. He moves his hands to the chair’s sides and leans forward, almost gasping for breath. Sweat trickles from his forehead, down his cheek, and pools in his chin cleft. Drool joins the sweat as he repeatably licks his upper lip.

I move to the sleeping slab, drop my school-approved skirt, and command, “Take my white tubes off.”

Brock moves from the chair, to the floor, and crawls toward me like a hound. Even his tongue rests on his lower lip. I lift my left foot onto the sleeping slab, showing him the dark spot at my crotch. He fumbles, but manages to remove my left tube. I push out my other leg, causing Brock’s eyes to focus better, and he pulls my other tube off in one motion.

“Teg, Mom is downstairs,” Brock’s pupils constrict.

He sniffs my leaking slit, as liquid drips through my satin underpants, and his breath cools my skin, while it heats my cunt. I attempt to avoid scaring him, keeping my hands on my hips, only a few teeth showing, eyes half-lidded.

“She’s tomorrow, you’re right now.”

The cute, fake girl’s moans set the mood, as two, long, black dicks impale her tiny body. Brock’s one dick will have to do.

“Teg...”

“Remove them,” I command and, in a trance, Brock obeys. His fingers touch the satin covering before pausing. He leans closer, tongue almost touching. He blinks and jerks his head back.

“Now!” I command.

He slides the satin down my legs, while his tongue touches my sopping cunt, and I spread my lips for him. My fingers slip on the slime, but my lips stay spread around his lips. My juices mix with his sweat and drool, coating his chin, cheeks, and nose.

His tongue darts in and out. Faster, he licks up and down. My knees give out and I fall backward onto the sleeping slab. He moves to keep contact, but I have something else in mind.

“Up!” I command and he scrambles up, his larger body crushing mine. Our bodies lay off angle to the squared slab.

“Brock, fuck me,” I widen my legs, hide my teeth, and pull him closer, as he fumbles with his dick positioning. He misses, pressing first into my thigh, then too high and onto my lower stomach.

I grab his dick and jerk it a bit before guiding it in. My cherry pops with his painful shove.

“Teg...” He may have said something else, but my moans drown him out.

I reach around him and pull him in deep, using my hands on his back to teach him the tempo. He grunts as I sink my nails into his back and he screams as I drag them down. My fingertips become wet and rake up his back. He continues to scream, as his body thrashes, depositing his sperm deep inside me.

I push him off onto the floor.

“Good boy, Brock.”

I stand. Brock stares slack-jawed at my freshly fucked cunt, “Jesus, Teg?”

Brock turns away from me. Black blood drips from the four sets of scratches on his back. The blue light from the electronic box makes it more sinister. I like the pattern they make.

I open and leave his room. Mom stands in the passageway with her eyes wide and hands over her mouth. I glance at her massive chest, jutting from the silk blouse, “Teagen...”

“See you tomorrow.”

I slip into my room. White and red liquid runs down my right leg, but I leave it as I go to sleep.

Tuesday morning. A black cat stands beside the learning structure’s front door. It poses, licking its lips, and its paw. As I get closer, the white blob at its feet resolves into a dead, baby, white rabbit. The not-dead-after-all rabbit twitches and tries to run, but the cat calmly swats it back in front. The rabbit shakes so fast it appears still from a distance. It has a patch of ugly, red skin where the cat removed its back fur. The cat studies me but I ignore the beast.

A smell of rotten meat strikes me as I stride into the school. A fake light blinks above me, giving the floor some texture. I turn right into Principal Campbell’s box.

“May I speak with you?” I stand in the entranceway.

Her head appears over a large stack of paper wearing too much charcoal eyeshadow and smells strongly of daffodils and damp, rotting paper.