"...Jesus, it's fucking cold out here, I heard myself thinking. I'm in the middle of what looks to be a cornfield. I'm pulling a sled, weighted down by the corpse over about 3 foot of snow. I can see three rows of corn in the distance that was left unpicked; probably for fall hunting, it's too far from a road to be a natural windbreak. The only saving grace out here is that there is no wind, but Jesus it's still bitterly freezing. My mother woke me up at 3:30 this morning for the trip up to this godforsaken place. I'm in North Dakota in what appears to be the middle of nowhere; no farms or homes in sight except for the lone farmhouse that's straight ahead about 300 yards. It's 10:00 a.m. and we've been trudging across this snow-infested tundra for going on 50 minutes. A trip made more difficult since I was elected to drag the corpse. The corpse I refer to is actually not a dead body but a living being who will soon become a sacrifice at the Black Mass tonight. Today is Friday, by the way, the day after Thanksgiving. I'm 14 years old and am a freshman at LSHS. Ironically, this is supposed to be a momentous occasion in my life but you wouldn't know it by looking at me. My fucking mother practically beat me senseless this morning so that I would be ready to go when Tess came by to pick me up at 4:00 a.m. Tess is a senior and kind of in charge of this little "mission". I shouldn't complain, being I'm the only male member of this platoon. Carol is here too, she's a junior and probably the person I know the most. She boards her horse at my parent's barn and she's been like an older sister to me for as long as I can remember. During the summers, Carol would practically spend weeks on end at the farm. Her mom and mine are like best friends and Carol loves to spend as much time with the horses as possible. It also doesn't hurt that she is a member of the Order. Carol gave us a lot of shit all last summer, getting me really freaked out about starting high school in the fall. To tell you the truth, the notion of beginning the 9th grade didn't scare me at all, but I let her think it did because I liked the attention she gave me. When I finally started school in September, Carol was like my best 'older' friend. She took it upon herself to get me noticed by the cool guys in the upper grades which wasn't too shabby since she was one of the more popular students on campus.

There were five of us altogether and as well as being the only boy I was also the youngest. I have no idea why I was chosen to go along to North Dakota although I think my mother persuaded Tess' mother and the High Priest to let me go. Before and since she always pushed me to press forward no matter what the activity or cause. I remember she commanded that I leap to the fourth grade after finishing second grade in elementary. Even I knew that was a bad idea and after two weeks it was apparent it was way over my head. I know she sometimes made bad decisions in forcing me further but I learned later that I could reach so called unrealistic goals if I just pressed myself. It was her firm encouragement that inspired me to make the first string varsity football team as a sophomore. To my mother, finishing second was never an option and that motivational philosophy is why I find myself in this North Dakota cornfield.

Our job is to prepare the "sacrifice" for the ceremony this evening, which will occur at this "abandoned" farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It was Gennifer who first named the sacrifice "Otis". You remember Otis from the Andy Griffith TV show. Everyone laughed when she first said it but it made me wonder why the name hadn't been used before since what few people we snagged for sacrifices tended to be drunks or prostitutes anyway. Yesterday afternoon, as the story goes, Otis had been stuffing his face at a free Thanksgiving dinner put on by the St. Mark's Sisters of Milwaukee. After being given a spiked bottle of Mad Dog and a worn out cot in the rear storeroom of Madalyn's Used and Rare Books in downtown Milwaukee, a sleeping Otis was bound and transported in an all-night run across the border to Tess' house where the exchange was made. They told us he had enough juice in his gut to keep him under until at least tomorrow afternoon. Of course, that wasn't necessary since Otis would be roused from his peaceful slumber at just before midnight tonight. A sort of unwritten rule, the elders like the sacrifices to be wide awake during the rite.

Now our job was primarily one of preparation: setting up the chapel, disinfecting the body and generally making sure everything was ready before the brood arrived later that night. I guess you could say getting chosen to partake in this task was pretty significant, especially considering my age. As huge a deal it was for me, it was an even bigger deal for Tess who was taking on the responsibility of overseeing the preparation of a sacrifice for the first time. If you ask me, I think she volunteered to do this because she was trying to get into the good graces of our high priest, Pastor Dale Bauer. Pastor Bauer performed double duty as our local Circle High Priest as well as the minister for Zion Lutheran. Pastor Bauer, we didn't dare call him Dale, had some pull with the regional High Priestess who also happened to be the most prosperous regent at Barton College, the best private liberal arts college in the five state area. Tess still hadn't been accepted to the school, even though she had the grades and status. She had been accepted at three other public universities including the University of Minnesota but she was holding out for Barton. Barton was considered the university for Circle initiates in the upper Midwest mainly due to a long history of alumni who later became prominent in the higher echelons of the Order.

I being the youngest, I was chosen to lug Otis on his sled to the house. As things were going, I was also afraid I was going to be pegged to wash the bastard. Shit, man. That was the worst job of all. Nothing sucks more than having to clean the slime off a greasy, foul smelling wino. The elders are such sticklers for cleanliness. Funny thing however, they never seem to get delegated to perform clean up duty. Otis already had a blood test back in Milwaukee and we were expecting to get those results in by noon. We needed time to call off the "festivities" if the tests revealed that he was carrying around any infectious diseases.

I stopped pulling the sled for a second to give my arms a rest. Gennifer was behind me.

"Hey, rookie is getting lazy!" she hollered to the others who were by now at least 25 yards ahead of us.

I turned back toward Gennifer, a look of exasperation on my face that told her to pipe down.

"Rookie looks like he wants to turn back, is that right rookie?"

I ignored her.

"What's wrong?" shouted Tess from the front of the pack, "are you okay Tommy?"

I gave her a half-hearted wave to say I was all right.

"Hurry up!" she returned, "we got a lot of work to do."

I wasn't the only one pulling a sled, Carol and Tiara, who was crowned the senior homecoming queen just last month and in my opinion the hottest girl in school, together pulled a toboggan of provisions. Gennifer, along with Carol had packs on their backs. Just so you know, Gennifer and Carol also had 44 magnums with silencers strapped underneath their down jackets for 'just in case'. Just in case Otis miraculously wakes up and makes a run for it or just in case a nosy farmer confronts us on his snowmobile or just in case one of us loses it. Although it is rather rare amongst our clan for someone to suddenly start hearing voices or see images that are not visible to the majority of the stable people and to decide to literally obliterate his or her demons, it is not out of the realm of possibilty. I remember my uncle relating the story about an initiate who, during the Spring Equinox celebration, stabbed his brother with the Circle sacrificial dagger after he refused to participate in the subsequent orgy. Although encouraged, partaking in a Circle orgy is far from mandatory and it is fairly unusual to have every member engaged in the activity every single time. I mean, I don't care how big a sexual appetite you got, sometimes you're just not in the mood. Numbers and dates are important in the Sect, so the rite has to be performed no matter how shitty you feel that day. But unless you are required to engage in a sex act for the sake of the ritual, nobody is going to force you into it. Be that as it may, the brother had a screw loose and was subsequently punished. Contrary to what you might believe, the Circle judicial system is equal and probably more strict (especially in Minnesota) in punishment than most state laws. The brother who gutted his sibling was subsequently exterminated at the Solstice Black Mass in June. Which must have been an extraordinary year for our clan because I can't recall more than one human sacrifice a year before. The most difficult part of the whole tragedy was convincing the bureaucrats at the state that two brothers had disappeared inside a four-month period without raising suspicion. Apparently, the local authorities (who of course were full-fledged initiates of the brood themselves) had convinced the pencil pushers in St. Paul that the two brothers had simply "up and left" the state. I don't recall a major investigation into the matter. Most people don't much care about "disappearances" unless it gets a prolonged amount of media attention. And even then the victim has to be an attractive white female. If you don't want any light shone on a sacrifice, the best specimens are both minority and male.

"Tommy, over here!" Carol stepped out from the west side of a row of trees and waved me over.

The abandoned farmhouse was peculiar in that it had no discernible driveway, which shouldn't seem odd since I'd seen scores of abandoned farmsteads back home where the latter owners of the property simply plowed under the driveway to squeeze out an acre or more of arable land. Usually farm homes on acreage like that were dilapidated, devoid of a coat of paint for least 50 years, and unsafe because the structure was usually caving in on itself. This house was different. From its outside appearance it was an eyesore and then some. White flakes of paint hanging by a thread were the only visual form of covering that protected the siding from the elements. Every window was now boarded up and if you tried to find a front door you were out of luck because there was none. At least not anymore. The main entrance to the run-down house on the prairie was through an earthen door that led to the basement. That was one of two entrances to the house. Another egress, which was installed just in case the basement door was barricaded, was located inside the similarly run down chicken coop about 40 yards away just under the rusted windmill. A tunnel linked the chicken coop to the inside of the house. Since all other doors were long since erased, it was best thought that two exits were needed for the hideaway.

The door to the basement was unlike any you've ever seen leading to an abandoned farmhouse let me tell you. Steel reinforced, it could only be engaged by two separate key locks, which Tess opened. Behind that door, lie a second door, which bore an electronic lock and could only be penetrated if one knew the numerical code. For security reasons, Tiara was the only one entrusted in our group who knew the code.

I stood at the top of the stairs, rope in hand and Otis on my sled, my pants were now wet up past my knees from the 3 foot high snow I had been working through that stuck to my legs then melted from the heat of my body. I would surely get a cold from this little adventure, I thought to myself.

"Move it!" ordered Gennifer giving me a push from behind as Tiara opened the inner doorway. I never before had the pleasure to hang with Gennifer but in the few short hours I had spent with her, I had sized her up as the Queen Bitch. I clasped the front of the sled and slid the corpse down into the basement. Tess had been here before so she immediately, with the aid of a flashlight, found the electrical box and turned on the lights.

I was at first surprised to see how big the inside of the house was and second how, in direct opposition to the outside of the decaying farmhouse, the inside was so "new" looking. It obviously had been renovated quite recently. In the center of the structure was a sanctuary, at least 30 feet in height, created by the dismantling of both the first and second floors. Pews lined the basement in front of a surprisingly elaborate altar of black satin drapes, a gold plated Cross, a sterling silver pentagram that hovered over the altar mantel from the ceiling and the Circle crest imbedded into the terrazzo floor. Rooms lined the sides of all three floors with balconies overlooking the nave from both the second and third floors.

Carol climbed a spiral staircase to the upper balcony as Tess went to a side room to find the furnace.

"Rookie, quit slacking off! We got shit to do!" hollered Gennifer as she grabbed the rope out of my hand and pulled the sled across the chamber. She turned a knob to a door that opened into a nondescript room, which bare an old-fashioned hand water pump.

"Undress him," she said.

"Otis?" I replied.

"Who the fuck do you think? I gotta get some water."

She left and I began taking off the straps to Otis' sled. I could now hear him snoring; I didn't hear him when we were outside and he hadn't made a ne'er a peep on the trip up here. I caught a whiff of Otis' body odor as I unbuttoned his dirty weathered wool coat. He reeked of alcohol, urine and the scent of rotten fish. He must have spent time on Lake Michigan, I remember thinking to myself. I conspired to leave Otis' shoes still on his fungus-laden feet until Gennifer came back with the hope that she would get too impatient and unsuspectingly take off his shoes. Otis wore three shirts under his wool jacket. I was managing the second flannel shirt when Gennifer returned.

"Get with it, rookie!" chided Gennifer as she unscrewed a 1 gallon jug of water to prime the hand pump.

"Don't be so gentle with his clothing," she observed, "you look like Grandma saving wrapping paper, just rip it off, it's not like he's going to need it again!"

She did make sense, I reasoned and then tore off each layer of clothing. I was half-thankful that Gennifer was now coaxing water from that pump since I would very much like to wash my hands. After pumping out a few gushes of a red tinged liquid, Gennifer's efforts finally yielded a clear rush of water. She unhooked a coil of garden hose that was attached to a hook on the cement block wall and fastened one end to the pump. I felt a swoosh of warm air blow down on me from a vent on the ceiling, Tess must have found the furnace, I noted. I pulled out my pocketknife and started ripping open Otis' trousers. It was a good size knife and I was thankful I kept it sharp as the denim tore away like a chain saw to ice.

"That's using your noggin rookie," proclaimed Gennifer, it was the most positive remark she gave me all day.

She began taking off his boots. I got out of that one, I chuckled to myself. He wore two pairs of socks that were glued to his ankles like bark to a tree. Gennifer asked for my knife, which made quick work of the task. Tess popped her head in to see how we were doing; I could hear the others out in the chamber getting the altar ready. Although technically we were just kids, we took our job seriously. There were times to screw around in our lives, but preparing for rituals was not one of them; too much was at stake and any slip up could spell disaster for not just us but for the entire brood. There were those who would behave differently in public and at school. Even to the point of having disciplinary problems. But generally all of us treated Circle activities with the utmost reverence. A fuck up in the outside world was one thing, but in the Circle it was a whole different realm. I don't know why we knew to take things seriously in this aspect of our lives but I like to think we knew the consequences of our actions.

Gennifer ripped open his underwear. While cutting away at the elastic with the knife, she accidentally pricked Otis' skin.

"Shit! Why did I do that?"

We didn't dare touch the wound, thankfully it ceased bleeding after a few seconds. We never spoke it, though we both made mental notes to avoid contact with the blood. All of us, from one time or another had been given strict orders about the shedding of blood and bodily fluids in general. The Sect was deathly scared of an infection into the clan. We still didn't know if Otis was devoid of disease or not, so we were extra careful lifting the body out of the sled.

Gennifer went to retrieve some soap; she returned with some dishwashing liquid. I know it sounds tacky but at least the solvent was anti-bacterial. She also had a large hand brush with stiff bristles that looked identical to the ones we used to wash the horses back home.

She reached in her pocket and handed me a pair of latex gloves. "Put these on rookie--You don't want what he has."

"What does he have?" I was feeling a little bit like an asshole.

"The same affliction you have: Stupidity!"

She took hold of one leg and directed me to grab the other. We pulled Otis over next to the drain on the other side of the small room. Otis lay awkwardly on his side, his left arm squeezed underneath his body, his hand jutting behind his backside. Nearly half his face was flushed down against the cement floor. Gennifer took the bottle of antibacterial soap and liberally squirted most of the contents all along the side of his body. She also gave a healthy squeeze of the liquid onto his greasy hair. When she was finished she closed the cap and threw the bottle carelessly to the floor. Gennifer next scanned the room, found the brush and pushed it into my hand, "here, this is your job!"

I was afraid she was going to make me do this. It was then when I realized why they didn't protest when my mother arranged for me to come on this trip. I gave Gennifer a pointed look that said, 'Why must I wash the slimy bum?' Ignoring me, she held the end of the hose in one hand while she sprayed Otis down, some of the droplets flew back onto me--the water was near freezing. "Jesus!" I said out loud.

"Don't like hard work Rookie?" Shit, I thought to myself, this was going to be a long day.

"Scrub him down!!" Gennifer intoned.

I washed down his entire body, then rinsed. When that was done Gennifer squirted the rest of the bottle of soap on him and I scrubbed him down again. Looking back, it surprises me that the cold rush of water didn't wake him up. I know that he had been sufficiently drugged but I imagined he had a high tolerance for chemicals in his system. Otis did give us a jolt when he let out a loud grunt when we turned him over during the second scrub down. I looked at Gennifer with what I know was a worried look; she likewise appeared just as concerned until he fell back into a deep sleep. When Otis was all rinsed we patted him down with a couple of thin old blankets before wrapping him in a pair of quilts and strapped him into a stretcher that was kept at the house for just such occasions. We hoisted him into an old root cellar that was behind the altar. Tess referred to the earthen room as "the Jug". Lord knows what kind of shit had gone on in that place.

It wasn't until 1:00 p.m. that Tiara's father called her to say the blood tests on Otis were all negative. He wasn't in the best of health of course, but was well enough to be cut. Tiara, the petite homecoming queen, was to have the honors that night. Every person within the Sect has to perform one last feat; something usually on a grand scale. It's not always as out there as human sacrifice but for the ones who have the means it definitely is preferred. More for bragging than anything, Tiara's father was adamant that she have this exalted rite on her Circle resume. Tiara was bred for greatness and let's just say her family didn't want to leave anything to chance. I had known her somewhat. I mean to say from a distance. She would go out of her way to say hi to me at school, mostly a courtesy I guess because my family had a pretty respected standing within the Sect. Be that as it may, the gesture was always appreciated. Mostly though I knew her from seeing her at Circle functions. At school she was a respected member of the social class. Made vice president of her class as a junior and then was named student body treasurer of the entire student body early this year as a senior. She wasn't much of a social butterfly as near as I could tell so it surprised me that she did as well as she did in school politics. She tended to carry herself among the general student population with an air of entitlement. You know, the world was hers for the taking. Which, as you might know, that's what we all believe (we being those of us in the Sect) but we at least put on a good "regular Joe" face when we're amongst the simpletons. Nevertheless, Tiara's success in school politics endured to the point where she even made homecoming queen. During rituals, she was a completely different person. Not one to shy away from some of the more "stomach churning" acts we are bound by duty to perform, she took on the performance with outright enthusiasm. One time she led a ceremony whereby she slaughtered a cat in front of the 7 year-old daughter of the principal of our high school. The child's parents were prominent in the Sect and were in attendance of course. The girl had the cat for a number of years and obviously had become attached to it. Tiara, to her credit, didn't make the ordeal any easier for the girl. She tore..."