Widow
Original Sinister Fiction inspired by the Rite of Acausal Existence, as found in the Grimoire of Baphomet...
Written by Sirius al-Ghûl, an associate of this Temple…
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Caira observed the back door of the cabin from the cover of the forest. It was nighttime, and the full moon was illuminating the cabin and the clearing it was in like a spotlight, the branches of the trees casting vein-like shadows.
The cabin was surrounded by thick woods on all sides, a trail barely wide enough for a vehicle being the only way through the thick ancient flora. Moss grew on the trunks of the trees and dangled from their gnarled branches, providing adequate cover for Caira to remain undetected as she watched.
Caira knew Morgan would now also be watching from the woods, waiting and unseen among the trees towards the front of the cabin, watching the front door and guarding the exit trail.
No one can be allowed to leave.
***
Morgan watched them through the large front dining room windows. The inside of the cabin was brightly lit by a few lightbulbs and some candles on the dining room table. Men and women of varying ages were seated around the table, laughing and eating a roast.
Morgan parted the dangling moss in front of her slightly as she counted the people sitting around the table. 1... 2... 3... 4...
Perfect, there were nine of them! Just as predicted.
Morgan kneeled down in the foliage and opened her bag, double checking the contents: Athame, hemp twine, two small vials of liquid, and wrapped in brown packing paper, a double Quartz tetrahedron, the size of a football.
As she gently unwrapped the packing paper and laid her hand on the Quartz, she felt an electric sensation pulsate through her hand into her body, momentarily losing focus as her mind filled with indistinct bestial noises akin to wild dogs fighting, snarling cries and gnashing teeth pulling her focus from her surroundings-
She shook her head and refocused, grinning as she felt the woods around her come to life. It felt as if every living being within a mile's radius stopped what they were doing and were now looking at her; every tree and wolf and owl and rat understanding what was about to happen, hungry and eager.
She also felt the presence of things that were... darker, invisible to most people, yet ever present when blood is about to be spilled. She had come to know these dark things very well over the last 15 years, suffusing her as they did with an alien thirst she couldn't distinguish from her own.
"Soon," she whispered.
***
Gwendolyn Goldstein put the last bite of roast into her mouth and chewed, savoring the flavor as the meat burst in her mouth like a grape. Her Law Firm had purchased this top shelf beef roast to celebrate their latest victory in Court, the last one they needed this quarter to meet their quota.
She belched openly and laced her fingers behind her head as she leaned back in her chair, allowing herself to relax. Their Law Firm, Goldstein & Maxwell Recovery, specialized in suing lower class debtors on behalf of collections agencies. As part of this niche legal market, they made a point to familiarize themselves with the many legal loop-holes the poor used to escape liability, as well as the many Relief Programs they would run to to escape their responsibility.
She chuckled to herself as she reminisced on the last defendant they skewered. This young widow was pregnant and single, the father of her child having passed away in a car accident prior to their lawsuit. She made all the usual excuses, how she's just having a "hard time" and that she "can't afford to pay the debt because she needs the money for her child." When the judgement against her was handed down, she cried and pleaded in Court with the Judge, asking him how he could let such predatory financial institutions scalp the poor and helpless like this.
Such is America, bitch. Survival of the fittest is the name of the game in this country. Even though Gwen was born to an upper-class lawyer family, she never asked for help through her "hard times." Some people just don't know how to distinguish needs from wants, a defining characteristic of the lower-class, according to her father. They dig their own graves.
Mark Maxwell, her business partner, handed her a homemade jug of wine to open. This remote cabin they were celebrating in belonged to his family, the wine having been left to age in the usually unoccupied cabin's cellar for 20 years. The cabin didn't have an alarm system, but Mark wasn't worried about people stealing his wine; this place was so remote, it'd be damn near impossible to find if you didn't already know of it's existence.
And that was what made it so attractive for a party: a get-away from the slums and noise of the city their office was in. Even if they were to scream as loud as they could, no one could hear them. Why not bring along their entire office staff and get wasted in the woods?
She popped the cork out of the jug and poured herself a glass, passing the jug to her left before taking a hearty gulp. It was deep and woody, with hints of dark chocolate and cherry. Perfect.
Everyone around the table lifted their glasses in cheers, Mark beaming at her from across the table as he drank his entire glass in one go.
Life was good.
***
Morgan watched in excitement as everyone downed their glass of wine.
Her and Caira had broken into the cabin a month earlier and tainted the barrel of wine with a potent sedative, enough to take down an elephant if they had wanted to. They made sure to cover their tracks and leave everything as it was when they left, paying attention to detail and not exploring the building unnecessarily.
But most importantly, while they were there, they had placed nine smooth and large elliptical stones of pre-Cambrian rock in an ellipse around the perimeter of the cabin, the semi major axis of the stone ellipse aligned East-West.
Soon enough, the purpose of these stones would be fulfilled, and her and Caira would finally accomplish what they had set out to accomplish all those years ago.
Morgan watched as the people seated around the table started to slow down in their movements.
It was almost time.
***
Gwen yawned as she struggled to hold her eyes open. She was feeling unusually tired for just a couple of glasses of wine. Figures, she thought; Mark was known for making his wines extra strong.
She was about to turn to talk to her secretary when she realized she was struggling to focus her vision.
She became alarmed and tried to open her mouth to ask Mark what he put in this wine, but found she couldn't even do that. Indeed, she was struggling to even hold her head up. She wanted nothing more than to let the sleep take her.
With all the energy she had left, she glanced to her right and saw her secretary's head on the table, fast asleep.
And in a second, so was she.
***
Gwen woke up to the sound of muffled screaming.
She blinked her eyes and tried to get her vision to focus; she was on the floor, lying on her belly. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but quickly found she was gagged by a cloth of some sort.
She tried to move, but found that her hands were bound behind her back, her feet bound together as well.
Suddenly, she was wide awake with terror. Her heart was racing and she felt like she was going to be sick.
She looked up and saw two women standing around the table, both with black hair in black dresses. Mark was on the table, bound the same way she was, muffled screaming coming from behind his cloth gag. Suspended from the ceiling above him with some kind of rope was a large geometrically shaped crystal. One of the women had both her hands on the crystal, her eyes closed as she muttered something she couldn't discern.
Then, without warning, the other woman lifted a large bloody knife and slit Mark's throat, the cloth gag failing to stifle his wet gurgles as he thrashed on the table.
The knife-wielding woman held him in place with surprising strength. After a minute, his thrashing started to slow, until he was completely still. Without hesitation, she got to work cutting through the rest of his neck, severing his head as the other woman remained concentrating with her hands on the crystal.
Both were smiling the whole time.
Gwen tried to fight back vomit, crying and screaming behind her gag as she tried to make sense of the situation.
Then, her horror changed to shock as she realized she recognized the woman holding the knife: it was the young widow they had defeated in court the month prior. Except... she wasn't pregnant anymore!
She looked around frantically and saw that the rest of her office staff were already dead and decapitated. What is going on here!?
Before she could contemplate anything, the widow kneeled down in front of her, smiling as she held the knife in front of her.
"And now, it's your turn to beg me."
Gwen thrashed around and cried behind her gag as the widow easily lifted her up and placed her on the table beneath the crystal, shutting her eyes as tight as she could as she felt the cold steel make contact with her skin.
***
Caira placed the last head on the stone at the end of the ellipse. She looked up at the moon and at the woods around her, reminiscing on her life up to this point.
She felt fulfilled, at the end of the day. She had experienced everything life has to offer: love and hate, light and dark, abundance and lacking, life, and now death.
A month ago, she had finally given birth to the child. As Tradition prescribes, her Temple had adopted it, the Guardians giving her their word they would look after her son as if he were their own. He had been named Cesar, and was the child born of a Ceremony they performed every 17 years. As the Ceremony Traditionally called for, his father voluntarily gave his life as a sacrifice the night he was conceived, joining their Dark Gods in the Other World.
And soon, she would be with him again, with Them.
"Caira, it's time." Morgan was standing in the doorway of the cabin, admiring her work.
Caira walked into the dining room where the Quartz was suspended from the ceiling. She touched it, feeling an electric energy travel from her hand into her body. Outside, she heard the howling and snarling of what sounded like beasts of prey coming from the woods, as well as the blood curdling moans and wails of what sounded like dying animals.
Caira looked around the room, smelling blood. She wondered if she would miss this world at all, and wondered what her son would go on to accomplish in this life as a chosen child of their Temple.
She was told that once he was of age, a Rite would be performed on him in order to turn him into something that would go on to change the world as we know it, and usher in the new Satanic Aeon. Vindex, as their Mistress had said.
Before she could dwell on it for too long, Morgan walked over to her with an open vial in each hand. The cabin now smelled of blood and gasoline, a welcome combination they were already too familiar with.
She handed her one of the vials and lit a match, tossing it into the next room. The fire caught immediately with a whoomp, and started spreading quickly.
Caira and Morgan locked eyes for the last time, smiling as they downed their vials. They didn't feel any regret as their consciousness slipped from them, knowing the darkness that was quickly overtaking their vision was a new beginning.
They gasped as they felt it take them, hearing an unearthly laughter that was slowly becoming louder and louder…