Psycho #12 – A Gift For Satan
© S.B. “LullaDIEs”
A Tale of Religious Fanaticism:
Refers to individuals exerting an extreme zeal or enthusiasm for religious beliefs. Often placing their ideas above people, condemning all who don’t agree, and performing extreme rituals not accepted by society.
It was a special evening, a sacred night. The sky was clear and the stars shined bright in the darkness above. The moon was full and shown down with it’s soft illuminating red light, submerging everything within the desert in a pale crimson glow. That’s why the night was so special. The blood moon rarely showed itself and we had to take advantage while we could.
Our Order was old, founded over twenty generations before this night’s event. No families ever left the group, out of a mixture of fear of extermination and a desire to gain more worldly power. There were six founding families and two more joined later, roughly one hundred years and four hundred after the founding. The later weren’t considered new to the Order; they were one of us.
We’d all grown up together and watched each others children grow as well. We buried each others loved ones, and helped each other when someone fell sick. We knew each members most sinister secrets and guarded them as our own. Yes, we were all very close.
Satan blessed us, his favorite sinners, abundantly throughout the years. He kept our secrets hidden and helped us destroy even our most powerful foes. He kept us well funded and gave us opportunities to indulge in our darkest desires. This rare night was the night we gave something back to him. We would give him the gift of an innocent.
We stood outside, deep within the desert surrounding the small town where no one would find us. The sand was still warm from the long exposure to the suns heat, but the air was brisk and became colder as the night went on. The families stood in six circles, all flowing around the altar in the middle with me, their High Priest, standing patiently behind it. The circles of worshippers spun around, one went clockwise, the next counterclockwise, and so on. Their dance kicked up a hazy wall of sand, their motions hypnotizing. Aside from the scratchy sound of their feet shifting the desert terrain below, there was no noise.
Suddenly the circles stopped and parted in a swift motion. A young girl, no more than twelve, appeared in view and walked down the path made just for her. She wore a white dress as a symbol of her purity and a noose around her neck as a symbol of acceptance in her role. She did not appear nervous of what was to come, which made my heart burst with pride.
My beautiful daughter volunteered for this role. She claimed just weeks before the blood moon that Satan spoke to her in a dream, saying only she would do as his gift. To be his sacrifice was a great honor, and I wouldn’t refuse my daughter her chance to be with our unholy master. Especially if it was only her he wanted. None of us would. We were strong in our beliefs.
As she approached the altar she beamed up at me with a reassuring smile, letting me know her soul was truly at peace with the decision. I returned with one of my own. My emotions were not unlike that of a father giving his daughter away at her wedding, in fact this was exactly like that. Only she was becoming one of Satan’s many mistresses, a better fate than I could have ever fathomed for her.
She sat on the altar cautiously, careful not to knock the candles along the edge over. A couple of the men from the inner circle stepped forward to help her up, and she laid down gracefully. There was never any sign in her features of doubt or worry, only joy.
“I’m ready now daddy.” she whispered up as she held my hand, squeezing it gently.
I nodded my head and began to chant the old Latin words with the voice of a lion. The audience around began humming a tune, giving my chant a mystical rhythm. As I became louder, the hum became faster. Soon, spiritual energy built up within the group, filling the air around with excitement and anticipation.
When the circle reached its climax, I took the sacred knife I’d been holding and plunged it into my daughter’s heart. She gasped at the sudden pain and her lip quivered but never did she cry out. She kept her eyes locked with mine and smiled through the pain and fear of death as her life faded.
Gently, I pulled the blade free from her flesh and a river of red stained her white dress as it trickled down the altar side as a steady stream. The liquid pooled in the sand below, painting it the same crimson as the moons glow. The Order came alive at the sight, roaring with celebration. They praised Satan and his newest mistress.
We shared drinks and danced for the remainder of the night in lighthearted playfulness. Many approached the altar to give my sweet baby girl their best wishes, believing that both her and Satan were there sharing in the celebration. Not once did we morn her. Some envied her blessing, but most were overjoyed that she could be so lucky. A few even boasted that they’d known Satan’s youngest mistress before she became a queen of hell.
I never went far from the alter, I couldn’t bring myself to stop guarding her. I knew the master would take good care of my baby girl. I knew she was happy in her sacrifice. Still, I brushed her hair away from her face and felt a tinge of remorse. I was honored to have my daughter chosen as a gift for Satan, but I just wanted to see her smile again.