He had waited there by the deteriorated stone wall, alone, for entirely way too long with the chilly nighttime air amplifying his decision to give-up and split. Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he then threw it down, and started on his departure off the cemetery grounds.

"That gutless, candy-assed, coward, I knew he wouldn't go through with it!" he said out loud, as he shoved his hands into the pockets of the black-leather jacket he was wearing. "Why was I foolish enough to trust him in the first place?" He continued to walk toward the iron-gated entrance that would lead him out of the burial surroundings, shaking his head from side to side, with his long straight blond hair swaying down over his back.

Far beyond the gates he could glimpse the faint light of a single street lamp. He came closer to it, feeling perturbed about having wasted time. The thing about it was that he really shouldn't have expected the kid to show up, because not many people could do what he had asked of him anyway. However, he had had high expectations that this kid would be the one to do it. Primarily because the kid just didn't have the right parts working upstairs, he was a mental case to put it politely. Now he would have to tell the others that they would have to find another. It was becoming hopeless, seemingly almost impossible, and he feared that they might never get to know—to know what sinister knowledge their God would teach them!

His ear's zeroed in on the sound of his footsteps— a dead dull thud with each step forward on the tiny dirt trail. At the same time his mind began to mull over his situation. It hadn't been as easy as he had envisioned, being the leader of a coven. There was a great responsibility that he had to the other members, one that he had not given before hand consideration to. They looked to him for answers and they judged him always. He shuddered at the thought of them betraying him, he knew what kind of a harmful-force they could send his way if they ever intended to go after him collectively. He wondered what they secretly felt about his performance as their Dark Priest. He had many doubts. This was going to be just another let down for them. Man, he wished the kid would have come through for him!

He moved past an exceptionally large grave marker that had on its top most portion a marble figurine—a grotesque statue of an angelic creature. He studied its bizarre features thinking to himself that it was a bit unnerving. There was a disturbance, movement, somewhere off into the darkness to his right.

He stopped and listened.

Without question he made it out to be the activity of someone—someone with incautious stealth. Slowly he reached inside his jacket with his right hand and nabbed his ritual-dagger. In the same slow manner he withdrew it. The commotion grew louder, and he readied himself for any kind of encounter.

He caught sight of the kid and began to quickly calm down.

"Hey man!" he shouted in the kid's direction. The teen-ager still unaware of his presence, jumped at the sound. Finally realizing who had called to him, he raised his hand up with a confirming wave and proceeded to move toward him.

The kid stood a few feet away, and exhibited outright immaturity—his actions and posture were naive and inexperienced. This was the kind of person he couldn't tolerate for very long, and the thought of the kid joining the group was inconceivable.

He had replaced the dagger within the fold of his jacket and patiently waited for the kid to say something. The kid was overtly scared, he didn't make direct eye-contact, and kept moving his head around like a retard. For the first time he noticed the kid's haircut—black hair, above both ears the hair had been shaved about 1 1/2 inches high and about 2 inches wide. His bangs were long, wavy, and persistently covered his left eye. Everything about the punk was stupid, even his bloody haircut.

"So what's up?" the kid asked, timidly, still avoiding eye-contact.

"What's up? What kind of a piss question is that?" His voice clearly made known how annoyed he was. "Did you do it, or didn't you?"

Holding his head down as if looking to see whether or not his shoe laces were tied, he squeaked out his words while fidgeting his hands inside his pant's pockets. "I found this great magazine that sells ceremonial bells-engraved with inverted-pentagrams, and real goat-skin altar cloths."

He stared at the top of the kid's head listening to the idiotic rambling and began to burn with volcanic fury. Unable to restrain himself he clutched both sides of the kid's black trench-coat, forcefully hoisted him up and brought him just a little bit closer. They made eye-contact.

"Dick-head, I want you to know that you're playing with fire!" he said, wanting to make himself sound as threatening as he possibly could.

It worked or seemed too, anyway.

The kid pulled his hands out of his pockets and grabbed the stern arms that held him. "I'm sorry, please, I understand. I really do!" Seeing the terror in the kid's eyes, made him decide to let go.

Returning again to his nervous demeanor the kid said, "I won't lie to you Joey, I didn't do it! I couldn't do it!" He sounded like he was on the edge of tears the more he tried to explain. "I thought I could murder someone, I mean I want to, but I got scared."

Joey shook his head in disgust and grinned at the kid. Then he smirked at him and muttered, "Boy . . . just a baby." He started walking away.

"Wait! You said that I would be a member of the circle. I am, and I won't let you stop me from becoming one!" he screamed at Joey, making a fist with each of his hands.

Joey stopped dead in his tracks, and stood there for almost a whole minute before turning around.

"What the hell did you just say to me? You pubescent little shit!" Joey's eyes were blood red from the rage that sweltered inside him.

The kid did his best to look in his direction and sound defiant. "Y-y-you heard me Joey, I want in." With one hand he flipped the hair away from his eye, and in a wink it fell back over it. "If you don't let me in . . . well . . . I'll just have to go to the police and tell them what you're trying to get me to do!"

They both faced each other like gunslingers waiting for the signal.

"And I will expose the whole group. I'll even tell Lita's parents about the orgy and what she did to their cat!"

Joey's skin crawled with anger. The kid didn't know that much about their coven, but he did know enough, and he could cause them some trouble. He thought about that as he glared at the kid. The worthless little brat that was trying to intimidate him! How could that possibly be? He didn't like it one bit.

There was no point in thinking about it any longer, so he rushed the kid! Screaming madly he laid into the boy, ramming him first with his shoulder onto the ground, and then belting him with a swarm of hard punches. The kid, being the weaker, could only attempt to use his arms to try and shield the blows. It was a useless tactic. Joey pounded him with a series of damaging hits, one of which shattered the kid's lower jaw-bone. After the rounds of fist-fire let up, the kid rolled over onto his right-side and lay there, groaning in great discomfort.

Joey stood up and began brushing the dirt off his clothes, he looked down at the kid and noticed his badly beaten face. Damn, the pussy looked worse than Sylvester Stallone at the end of the first 'Rocky' flick. His face was already beginning to swell up and change color.

"You think that was bad, bitch? Well that's just the beginning of what will happen to you if you tell anyone about us!" He tugged at his jacket to make sure it was straight, and looked at his hands. There was blood streaked across his knuckles, not his blood, however. Plasma was something he was use to looking at, he had even drank it before on a few occasions. His God was all about blood. Blood and Strength!

He observed the kid for a while longer, then spun around and walked away.

* * *

Gasping to breathe normally again the kid sat up. Through his watery vision he could just make out Joey's blond hair moving away from him. With a really raspy sounding voice he hollered out. "I'm still going to tell the police! They'll lock you up for a long time! You don't think I can work magic! I'm a witch, a more powerful witch than you could ever be, Joey!" He started to cough, blood running down his face and filling up his mouth. He was hurt bad.

Joey couldn't believe the 'set of balls' that the insignificant prick had! It was blinding him with insane rage, he lost all control. Joey immediately stormed back over to him. The kid was trying to kick at him and push away. He reached in under his jacket again and pulled out the ritual-blade. It was the dagger that he used in all of his magical workings. It was painted black, had a red-colored hilt, and a silver demon's head pommel. Dried blood coated the tip of the wavy blade. The kid didn't see the weapon, held in his attacker's hand, as he turned himself onto his stomach and began to make an effort to get up off the cemetery bed. Joey stretched his booted foot forward and slammed it down onto the kid's left-calf. He screamed. Joey took the dagger and stabbed it in a Herculian fashion into the back of the kid's neck, and he released it there. The kid frantically grabbed behind his head at the knife, only for a brief moment, then he lie still.

It was dark in the place where the dead eternally rested, but still he could see the widening pool of blood coming from the dead-kid.

Dead-Kid!

He had done it! He had actually murdered a person! This was not what was supposed to have happened. The plan had been to find a stooge, a pawn, someone who was desperate. They would show this despicable individual some of their God's power, some of their secrets, and then offer it to them at a price. The price was murder. It was the final stage needed in the 'conjuring' that would allow them to communicate directly, audibly, with their Dark Master! And oh, the many ancient mysteries that their God had promised to them . . . the unveiling of the ultimate infernal understanding! But this was a risky phase of the 'Black Commune Ritual', the ritual required the brains of a freshly murdered human! It's a fact that murder is a crime, punishable by prison-time or even death. That's where the pawn became the victim for good. They would have turned him in to the police themselves. Unfortunately, this was not going to happen.

Joey tottered over to a common looking grave stone and leaned up against it. His mouth had become wet and he wiped at it with his jacket sleeve. He had to do some serious thinking, now. The others would be arriving in less than an hour. To help his mind focus better, he reached into his pants and took out his pack of cigarettes, smoking made his nerves clam. After a few senseless ideas something fabulous came to his mind. A perfect idea. One that he should have thought of in the first place. His God would help him, and He would know just what to do. Joey got excited.

He put out his smoke and went to stand beside the kid who was now nothing more than worm food. Once he managed to remove his ritual-dagger and flip the body over, he could see the extreme amount that the kid had bled.

"What better a place to die," he whispered softly and jokingly.

Making sure he had a firm hold under the arms of the body, he started to drag it across the grass— looking for the perfect spot. The kid wasn't much bigger than his dick, but dead weight was just that. As he towed the dead body through the cemetery he could hear the kid's shoes knocking together.

The graveyard was a familiar hangout for him and his companions. But this particular 'bone yard' was one that he had never before been in at night. At one point the kid's trench-coat got caught on a piece of metal sticking out of the ground and he had to stop and un-snag it. At last he found an area that would best accommodate the ritual. It was almost completely on the opposite side of the main gates. And it was about five feet from the boundary wall that confined the entire necropolis. Slightly out-of-breathe he let the body flop down and placed his hands just above his knees, as he leaned forward. He looked up at the crumbling stone wall and took note of the crappy barbed wire that crowned it. Evidently it needed to be repaired. Rowdy teen-agers and Goth-punks had probably damaged it climbing in and out at night. It was wicked cool to party in a cemetery, everyone knew that, he thought. But none of them really knew—they didn't know what unseen powers existed beyond the physical world. He did, and he wanted to learn more.

He glanced over at the body and still couldn't accept what he had done. It had been rather easy. He would have to prepare now. The thought of delaying until the others had arrived crossed his mind, but his thirst for knowledge and the greed for power guided his course of action. He would call upon the exalted Evil One, unaccompanied. He would begin the 'Black Commune'!

After taking off his jacket, he removed, first, the dagger. Then he stretched open the jacket on the ground and began to hunt inside a hidden tear on its inner lining, he dropped down to his knees to do so. A short time later he took out a medium sized sack. It was designed from red cloth, and held closed by a thick rope. He sat it on the ground then removed its contents. Each of the items he placed on the ground in front of him. There was a small 5" diameter black and silver colored ceramic disk—upon which was a pentagram design. Also, there was a small 3" by 2" black colored pouch, and a tiny bleached monkey skull. Next, he stood and gathered up his jacket. He walked over to the closest grave stone and draped the jacket over top of it. The engraving on the head stone caught his eye, it read;

Martha Masterson 1979 DEC. — 2000 JAN.

"Our Little Girl, In God's Hands"

Shaking his head he said, "Hate to disappoint ya, Mom and Dad, but it's more like Your little girl, now God's slave!" He pondered the immense hatred he had for the right-hand path and all of its moronic followers.

Now it was time. He knew the whole ritual by heart.

Joey was starting to feel that unusual adrenaline surge that always accompanied magical workings. The kid's lifeless flesh and bones would serve as an appropriate altar. He would not have need for candles because the moon provided sufficient light, and that was good, because he didn't have any with him. The others would be bringing some with them, but he wasn't about to wait. The kid's trench coat lay open reveling the 'Third Eye Blind' band T-shirt and the 'Desert Storm' style Army pants that he wore.

"Third Eye Blind . . . damn, I really hate that kid!" he spoke aloud.

He placed the small disk on the kid's chest, trying to center it, and sat the ritual-dagger right beside it. The monkey skull, an item that had been given to him by his real father sometime when he was around eight years old, was placed in the grass about ten inches above the kid's head. His real father had been some kind of a Christian missionary, he had brought the skull back with him from one of his travels in a foreign country, and he had been dead for a long time now. In other words, even in life he had been a slave to God, and now he fared the same in death. He thought, That's pretty depressing if you dwelt on it too long.

The final preparative action was taking the small pouch and sprinkling its contents around the body and working area, in a circle. He did just that. The powder was the crushed up skeleton of Lita's family cat. Joey was really into Lita, he loved the way she fucked him. She was the strongest and most intelligent witch he knew. He thought she was absolutely sexy.

He stood at the feet of the flesh-altar and raised his hands high above his head. The glow of the moon back-lighted his outline—his front side engulfed in the darkness of night. He began the recitation of the 'Black Commune'. The 'Black Commune Ritual' was supposedly written sometime in the Dark Ages, by a Warlock named—Sumom. Joey had always been captivated by it, from the first time that he read it through. He had wanted badly to perform it for many years. Now he was getting his chance! He was going to use the English translation because that was most comfortable for him. He knew only a small amount of Latin.

"Awake, Awake, He who holds the keys to the universe!" he said, speaking each word clearly and bold. As soon as he uttered the first word he felt a ghostly tingling sensation cover his body, and he sensed the vibe of something unseen present. Also, a sharp-smelling stench assaulted his olfactory perception. It didn't take a rocket-scientist to figure out that the kid had pissed allover himself. He would just have to suffer through it, for now.

He continued.

"Master of the Earth, come forth unto your priest!" His mind made the transition to the intimate zone, the place where his routine-mundane thoughts were eclipsed. He closed his eyes. "I, your devoted servant . . . ." He loathed having to say it. ". . . come before you, ready to take part in your Unholy communion."

Joey lowered his arms and moved to where he knelt beside the body, on its left-side—both his knees pinning down the black trench-coat. He could see the wetness of the blood coating the dagger blade, reflected in the moon's light. Picking the ritual-dagger up with his right hand he said the words, "Hail, Lord of the Flies!"

He slammed the dagger into the dead-kid's forehead, he knew that he would have to use all of his strength. Cutting through the skull wouldn't be a piece of cake, but he only needed enough of a gap to be able to remove some of the brains. Joey seriously doubted that he'd find any brains in there, the kid had been an extreme airhead. Slicing into the head made a sickening noise, similar to the sound of his fat step-dad eating in his normal piggish fashion at the dinner table. That image alone was far greater disgusting than digging inside the kid's head. Eventually he was able to scoop out a small portion of the kid's cerebral cortex, the smell was indescribable—like nothing he had ever smelt before. The chunk of brain rested on the serpentine shaped blade, in the light of the moon it was just a dark color, and the cemetery wall blocked most of the light as well. Next, he tapped off the pieces of brain onto the small ceramic disk.

Still resting on bent knees, he stuck the knife into the ground, then reached forward with his right arm, saying, "The mind is what we are, perception, reason, intellect, wisdom, power and magic. I eat of another in your honor!" With his fingers he pinched up a portion of the brain and crammed it into his mouth. It had a repulsive taste, setting him on the edge of vomiting. He forced himself to swallow it without chewing.

"I wait on you now, my Dark Lord. Appear and share with me your 'Black Commune'!" he said, while fighting back an upchuck. The stomach acids burned his throat as he held it down.

He anxiously listened in the quiet dead air.

After what seemed an eternity of waiting, the first sign manifested. The rather pleasant nighttime breeze changed into sizzling hot whirlwinds . . . evidence of the Master's approach! Joey was 'sweating bullets', he was fearful, yet at the same time thrilled.

Suddenly, there was a murmur from out of nowhere, an indistinct grumble.

Although he wasn't able to make out words, he felt sure that it was his God trying to speak to him!

He was compelled to speak. "Yes Dark God, speak to me!" As he spoke he stood and looked all around, searching into the gloomy shadows. A mysterious disturbance occurred, a deep roaring—like rolling thunder.

There came a heavy silence.

Then one abrupt savage-sounding intelligible word.

"INSOLENT!"

The unearthly voice frightened him tremendously! It quickly registered in his mind what direction the emission had come from . . . it was the kid! In fact, he could almost swear that he had heard the kid's voice layered within the demonic guttural tones. Before he had time to consider the thought, and what it might mean, something latched hold of his right ankle! Alarmed, he looked down and saw something so very unbelievable . . . the dead-kid was grabbing him . . . a rigid hand clenching his jeans. Instinctively, he fought to break free, but the dead-kid's strength was powerful. So strong that his ankle began to 'throb in pain' from the unnatural force being applied! It hurt so bad that he knew it was being broken!

Joey cried out for help . . . terrorized, hoping that someone might hear him.

The dead-kid started laughing . . . multi-voiced.

In his tussle to breakaway, he dropped to the ground—both his mind and body scrambled. The closing rites of the 'Black Commune' were all but forgotten by the life-threatening turn of events. His fingers clawed into the cold earth, and his body squirmed in motion like a soldier on a battle-field laying low. The feeling in Joey's right-leg went numb. He couldn't get away! Too much strength. Then there was smacking force applied to his other leg! He pulled hard . . . giving it his all to escape. Turning to look back, he could see that the dead-kid had turned over and gotten hold of his left-leg . . . now restraining him with both hands. He could also see the dead-kid's creepy face, blackened by the 'shroud of night'. Blood covered it like a mask, and the eyes were solid-white orbs—no iris, no pupil . . . no features! For the first time in his life he was on the brink of going into shock. The living corpse hurled itself on top of him, its weight hitting him like a 'ton of bricks'—the kid hadn't weighed anything close to 145lbs before. Now he felt as though he weighed a definite 290lbs or more! Joey had a hard time breathing.

The ritual-dagger! He remembered sticking it into the ground.

Heaving for air, he frantically hunted for it. It was dark, and he couldn't find it. In his desperate search, he couldn't hold back an agonizing scream—his attacker had taken and buried three fingers into his right-shoulder . . . tearing through his jacket, shirt, flesh and muscle! The searing pain was crippling.

The living corpse began babbling in a strange language as Joey started to lose consciousness—his body's defense against the sheer 'horror' of its impending demise. It extended its left-arm outward with an opened hand, and turned its head in the same direction—wide-open white void-eyes, with mouth agape. Then, using some sinister-mystical-ability, it telekinetically whisked the ritual-dagger from the ground and into its hand.

The dead-kid carved open Joey's skull, removed the brain, and ravenously consumed it!

* * *

They were waiting outside in front of her parent's house, three cars, she would be riding in China's red-colored convertible. It was the car China had gotten two days following the 'sympathy-ritual' that the coven had performed, almost a month ago. She had coincidentally won it in a 'Radio-Contest Giveaway' that she had forgotten all about entering in, two-months before—she had filled out an 'entry-form' at a local shopping-mall. Lita grabbed her duffel bag off the stairs and went outside, closing the front door as softly as she could. She skipped down the steps, with her black stiletto heels tapping on the pavement, and then hurried to get inside the awaiting vehicle. She tossed her duffel bag into the backseat next to China's bag and another passenger—a coven member named Jessica. She closed the door and China drove the car, the other cars followed.

"Hey, hey, how's my favorite evil-bitch?" China said, giving a quick smiling glance over at Lita, then looked back at the road. China's mother was Chinese and her father was American, and that's why everyone called her 'China'.

Lita acted liked she was going to punch her in the head, made a fist, swung it (stopping a foot away from her), and created a clobbering-sound effect with her mouth. "I'll show you a bitch!" she said.

They all started laughing.

"I got that new robe, the one I was telling you about." Lita looked at China, then Jessica, and then back at China as she spoke. "It's the one that has the skull designs emblazoned on it."

"Fucking cool." China remarked. "You going to open it up during the ritual and let me see that hot little-ass you have ?" Lita grinned like a cat that had just cornered a mouse, and China grinned too. Jessica acted like she hadn't heard the question and looked out the window into the night sky.

The cemetery wasn't really a long drive, but the anxiety was so intense that it could be felt in the air. It was going to be a glorious night! A night when they would finally hear the 'Master' speaking to them! The 'Black Commune'.

Lita looked into the passenger side-view mirror and could see the other cars following. She began thinking about her High-Priest—Joey. He had been the best leader the coven had had yet. He was really smart and had a broad knowledge of the black-arts. She had some things in common with him—one, was that he also lived at his parents house, and he was twenty-six years old. Another thing was that they both could work magic effectively. He had made the coven the strongest it has ever been. She didn't have any doubts about tonight's planned ritual working.