He did it, he gave me a zero. As soon as I got my test handed back to me, I saw the big red "0 / 35" at the top of the page. I didn't care though, I was expecting it. And besides, I was more concerned about whether Soph-
"What the fuck is this?" Sophia loudly declared. "What the hell is this zero doing on my paper. I'm not that bad at math."
"I saw you giving Caleb the answers. I was going to talk to you about it in the hallway, but class ended before I got the chance," he said coolly.
"You fucking cocksucker," she continued, "I didn't give him the answers, he just copied off me!"
"Uh, Sophia," I was going to say she wasn't helping her point by yelling and embarrassing me in the process.
"It doesn't matter, you were both party to it," said Bledbaum.
"So you're going to blame me for something I didn't do. I don't think so, bitch."
"Sophia, remember rule number 3, no sw-"
"Aw, fuck your fuckin' rule number 3."
And with that she walked out of class.
"She didn't do anything," I exclaimed.
"I can't have cheating in my classroom, Caleb. I had to fail both of you. I told you I would."
"And I told you that if you did, you'd regret it." I swept all the stuff on my desk into my bag. "Don't be surprised if you never see either of us again."
"Good, I don't want people who don't want to learn in my class."
Ironically, all the other students heard this, picked up their bags, and started leaving. And Bledbaum, with his over-the-top morality, had to stand by his statement and stupidly watched as they filed out one by one. I laughed heartily from the irony. His new-age, enlightened ways had blown up in his face. I was the last to go, leaving Bledbaum standing alone without a student to his name.
Sophia had already left for the church when I got out into the parking lot and I figured I might as well follow her there. She was already in the middle of a tirade when I entered. I expected that.
"...And he failed me too. He gave me a zero cause he thought I was giving Caleb the answers." She paused then looked straight into Josiah's eyes. "Jo, I don't care who you had. Tonight, we're doing Bledbaum."
"All right," Jo didn't have any complaints, because if he did Sophia would have ripped his face off. "Certainly sounds more deserving than who I had."
"Who-" I started to ask what they meant by doing Bledbaum, but Quentin interrupted me.
"We should start setting up," Quentin said, getting up and walking to the front of the cathedral.
"Wha-" I started again.
"Do you have a bonding icon?"
"HEY!" I yelled. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!"
Josiah just sort of looked at me confused for a second and then angrily looked at Sophia.
"You mean you didn't tell him?!" Josiah yelled.
Sophia returned his look. "I was going to tell him about it today, but with Bledbaum and everything..."
"You didn't tell him about the ritual or the book or the Chosen or anything? Jesus H. Christ!"
"Well, sorry!"
"If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm gonna..." I said.
"Caleb," Josiah sighed as he rubbed his forehead and looked down. "Christ, OK, here's the deal. This is long and complicated... so Quentin's going to tell you."
"What?" Quentin piped up from the back. "Why me?"
"Cause you're the smart one."
"When the hell did I get that honorary title bestowed on me?" he replied sarcastically.
"See, you just said two words I wouldn't be caught dead saying."
"Fine." Quentin stood up. "But you finish setting up."
"Fine."
Quentin and Jo switched places and QT came up to me.
"All right, let's see... where can I start. About two years ago I saw this movie, The Craft, and it was about these four, totally fine women practicing witchcraft to get back at everybody who hurt them. I liked the idea, so I went to the library and checked out some books, stole them really, about Satanism and rituals and cults and a whole bunch of other stuff. I tried a few of them and they didn't... exactly work."
"Broccoli," Sophia muttered.
"Shut up, I heard that!" Quentin shouted.
"What?" I said.
"Never mind. Anyway, there was one book called Cruento Pestis Mektaba that looked interesting. It was used in rituals by a cult that existed like a hundred years ago. They were dedicated to this dark god named Tchernobog who waits in the Hall of Epiphany to be reborn into the flesh. He's supposed to encompass the dimensions of Earth to stop them from combining and destroying everything. The cult is supposed to supply Tchernobog with the power he needs to control the dimensions so that-"
"The point, please," I requested.
"Sorry, after you've read the book six or seven times it kinda gets to you. So anyway, after I read through the book I found this one vengeance ritual that looked worth a try so I got Sophia and Jo to try it out with me. We've tried it a couple of times and so far, all we've been able to do is hospitalize the people, you know, bring them near death, not totally. So we knew it worked, but the ritual calls for four people, the 'Chosen', so we figured we needed one more person before we could get it to work completely."
"And that's where I come in," I stated.
"Yep, pretty much." He paused so I could absorb the slew of information he had just pummeled me with.
"So are you in or out?" he finally asked.
I looked behind him to Sophia. She was helping to pull the last few items out of a box, and was arranging them on the floor. Gazing at her, I knew there was only one thing I could say.
"In."
"Great. You're going to like being one of the Chosen," he laughed.
We started walking back to the front of the church where Josiah and Sophia were sitting on the floor around some sort of a thick pan that looked heavy and metallic. At its bottom was some kind of knife or dagger. Four candlesticks were placed around us.
"All right, what do I need to do?"
"Just follow us and you'll understand," Quentin said.
"Come on, Caleb, sit down," Sophia said. Jo, Quentin, and Sophia were now sitting around the cauldron on the floor, cross-legged, leaving a space for me to sit. She looked at me affectionately. "Just relax and do what we do."
I was still confused and in the dark about a lot, but I sat down between Quentin and Sophia. What was going on? What was I getting myself into?
"All right, let's get started," Sophia said.
What were we doing? Why was I doing this? What was going to happen?
"Oh, wait," Quentin said, "The candles aren't lit." He started patting his clothes. "Jo, do you have your lighter? I think I left mine at home."
Jo pulled out his little bic lighter, stood up, and tried flicking it six or seven times against the candle's wick.
"Goddammit, light, you stupid piece of shit," he said in frustration as he cupped his hand around the candle. "Damn, I think it's out of fluid."
"Here," I said as I stood up. I pulled out my flip-top lighter from my pocket, cracked its top, flicked it, and the candle lit instantly.
"Hey, wait a minute," Jo exclaimed before I did anything else, "Let me see that." I handed him the lighter. "How old is this thing?" he said as he examined it.
"I dunno. I just found it on the coffee table one day. "
"It just seems like it's from a hundred years ago." I just shrugged. He handed it back to me and I finished lighting the other candles, and then returned to my seat.
"I've really got to get a better tape deck than this," Quentin said as he turned around and pressed play on a small tape player behind him. An eerie, heavy metal music sound came out. "All right, here we go."
"Awa ansila dedero kan cruento pestis ton shatruex mena ouacra domus," Jo said. He took the dagger from the pan, held it up to his head, and sliced off a lock of his hair. He handed the dagger to Quentin who did the same. Quentin handed it to me and I looked at it before I did anything. The long, thin, stiletto blade gleamed in the candlelight, the handle carved with grooves to provide traction. It looked like it was specially intended for the ritual and I wondered where they got it. Anyway, I didn't want to be accused of stalling, so I quickly clipped a small chunk of hair from the top of my head and tossed it in. I could see there was some sort of design in the bottom of the pan, kind of like a round triangle with horns coming out.
I handed the knife to Sophia who took a part of her dark locks and contributed to the plate. She handed it back to Jo who held it against his finger over the pan.
"Ton cruo infuscomus marana da caecux."
With a quick movement he sliced his fingertip and let four drops of blood fall into the pan. The dagger rotated to Quentin who followed in suit and then to me. Reluctantly, I wrapped my fingers around its shaft. I've grown out of making a big deal over little flesh wounds, but self-mutilation is something different. Sophia prodded me, telling me to hurry up. I looked at her, and told myself I was doing this for her. So I closed my eyes and flicked the edge of the blade against my finger. It didn't hurt really. I held my finger over the pan and counted as four drops of my life fluid dropped down. Sophia took the blade from me and did the same.
"Paktah da ton invisuu ractama cruento pestis da domus lokemundux."
Now Sophia reached behind her and pulled out the test with the large, red "0" on it. With a cold, cunning glare she placed it in the pot.
"Caleb," she whispered, "light it."
I took out my lighter again and held it to the piece of paper, igniting it. The intensely burning flames spread over the white sheet, leaving brown crumbling ash in its wake.
"Cruento pestis kessetoun, odiosux o rudscleratus, marana o caecux. In pache requiesce fortunado."
"Odiosux o rudscleratus, marana o caecux. In pache requiesce fortunado," Quentin repeated.
"Odiosux o rudscleratus, marana o caecux. In pache requiesce fortunado," Sophia repeated.
The others looked at me, saying without words that I had to repeat that long phrase.
"Odiosux o rudscleratus, marana o caecux. In pache requiesce fortunado," I managed as best I could. Maybe I didn't say every single, little, tiny syllable, but basically I said them. The fire continued to burn deep. Sophia's test, our hair, and blood were now mixed into a fine, powdery ash, still burning. As I watched the flames whip and wave I wondered what was going to happen now and what would the result of our little ritual be.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dan Bledbaum leaned back in his swivel chair and looked over his desk. His lesson plan was completed for a month in advance, his worksheets were all ready for printing, and all the day's assignments had been corrected.
Well, I'm very pleased with yourself, Dan, he thought. You're well on your way to becoming the popular college professor you've always wanted to be. That'll show my parents not to stomp on my dreams.
He stood and walked into the den's adjoining bathroom a few steps down the hallway. A twist of the faucet and a refreshing current of cold water streamed down the drain. He cupped his hands and splashed some on his face. Drying off with a fluffy towel, he looked at himself in the mirror.
"You are an important person, Dan. You are well-liked," he recited his affirmation.
Dan started to feel a hot flash. The beginning of a thousand tiny sweat droplets protruded through his face. He wiped his sticky brow, the surge of heat flared and became accompanied by a peculiar itch, like tingling spiders crawling up and down his body. It grew in intensity until it felt like his skin was grating off his bones. His eyes throbbed and pounded with agony, the tiled bathroom swayed back and forth, turning blurry and fuzzy. "Wha-... what's happening to me?" he said with alarm as he stumbled into the bathtub, grasping at air for balance. Darkness surrounded him and the fervent heat blasted up on all sides. The floor fell away and the pain of falling through fire swallowed him whole. A scorching blackness enveloped him, the wind screaming past like a haunting death cry.
He screamed as he plummeted through the void down into the abysmal chasm that awaited him. The fall finally ceased on a cold, metal table. He opened his eyes, which were watering from the blistering heat. He was in a small contorted room that felt like being in a glowing red kiln. Walls stretched to infinity, stocked with shelves filled with green bottles. He could hear the voices of a thousand maniacs screaming, tortured to insanity, and the most horrid, vomit-inducing smell flowed through the room.
Dan tried to lift himself up, but the pain and intense smoldering heat limited his movements.
"Aaaaah, help!" he screamed. He strained to get up, but to no avail, his body was chained down tightly. His fingers touched something thick and slimy under his hand. He lifted his head and saw a red liquid covering his fingers.
"Apippulai, pallex exim'ha."
Dan's head darted back and forth trying to find the source of the foreign tongue. An upside-down, hooded head appeared over him.
"Mococha domus-bhaava."
"Who are you?"
The man with the brown robe circled to the side of the table. As he did, Dan could see a crowd of bodies behind him, just standing there, staring blankly ahead. Their individual arms and legs were stitched together with different shades of skin, blood-dried on their faces, eyes glazed over.
"Oh my god!"
The man in the robe ducked down out of view for a moment and then resurfaced.
"Where am I? What are those things?"
The robed man lifted his arm from under the table. It was holding a red, rusty handsaw.
"Crudux cruo."