Free In the House of Mirrors by Tim Meyer Page A

were a dozen people in the room, maybe more. Some of them were already seated in the pews, reading out of a small black book. The black books were randomly placed throughout the church, most of them resting on the pews. I saw people dressed in robes, and a few who weren't. I was the only one who looked like I didn't belong in a Marilyn Manson music video. I caught a few unwelcoming glances, wary eyes that almost made me run back to where I came. 
    But I had to find Olberstad.
    I had to find out what he was doing here.
    I sat down in the last pew, and sunk in my seat. I wanted this to be over. I wanted to be back in my sister's basement, working on the Tribune's website. I certainly didn't put “devil worship” on my Saturday night to-do list.
    A woman sat down in the last pew, on the other side of the small chapel. She wore a black sweatshirt with the hood over head, long black hair flowing out from it. She placed her book bag on the empty space next to her. She reached for the little black book, which rest on a little shelf that had been built onto the back of the pew. I noticed there was a little black book in front of me as well. I reached for it, noticing the same inverted pentagram scrawled above the altar, etched on the front cover. I opened it to the first page. It read:
     
    PROPERTY OF THE ORDER
    OF THE BLACK BOOK
     
    I flipped through it, reading small passages as I went. There were stories about Heaven and Hell. Most of them through the perspective of Lucifer, the first fallen angel. The book was only a few hundred pages. Before I was done skimming it, the man who once asked me for the word , took the stage.
    “ Ladies and gentlemen of the Order. We will be starting tonight's ceremony momentarily. Please be seated.” He exited the podium and left the altar, disappearing through a small door next to the stage.
    That's when I realized Marty Olberstad had joined the party. If he had been dressed like the rest of the group, he might have gone unnoticed. But he was in the same gray suit he was in when he left his apartment, over an hour ago. He didn't get the same introductory treatment I had received. Instead, he was greeted with amiable smiles and handshakes. I knew why. He had been here before. I had not. I was a stranger. An intruder. They knew it. I was stupid to have come. I never felt more alone in my entire life than I had right there, watching Marty Olberstad exchange smiles with the very same girl who had writhed her face at me in the hallway. The only other person in the whole church who wasn't exchanging pleasantries with someone was the girl to my right. The girl in the black sweatshirt, who continued reading from Lucifer's Bible and said nothing.
    I actually got up from my seat, fully prepared to leave this place with no intention of ever returning when I spotted someone else. It was my Aunt Danica. I didn't notice her earlier because she was fully concealed in a black robe. She was probably sitting there the whole time. I only spotted her because she faced me when she got up to greet Marty Olberstad. She pecked him on the cheek and quietly whispered, “so glad you could make it.”
     
     
    5
     
    The Black Mass began shortly after I spotted Aunt Danica. Someone had dimmed the lights, and only a faint glow came from the altar via a dozen candles. A figure appeared in the orange luminescence, a man I would be formally introduced to as Carter Boone, the ring leader of this hellish circus. He was the high priest, the maestro of this demonic orchestra. He also owned the house, and the property surrounding it.
    “Welcome my children. Glory be to Lucifer, ruler of Earth, King of our world.”
    “ Glory be to God,” the group replied.
    “ Let us pray,” Carter Boone commanded.
    I slumped in my seat. Fear set in. My brain conjured up every image, every stereotypical scenario regarding devil worship; animal sacrifices, orgies, the slaying of virgins, and yes, even the consumption of human flesh. I