2 A.M.

Word Count: 1000

James found the paper pushed under his door. It read: “Mills and Milles Mortuary and Funeral Home, 2 am the 22nd of October, Come pay your respects. Dress casual.” No name on who had passed, but he assumed it was the old woman down the hall. James put on his dark blue jeans and a green polo button up. He slicked back his hair, took one last look into the mirror, and left.

James parked his 1982 Harley- Davidson motorcycle in the parking lot and walked towards the building. In the dim glow of moonlight, the sloping roof and pointed archway reminded him of a gothic chapel. James pushed the doors, creaking as they opened; he stepped through, letting them slam behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the soft light, he saw a large poster sized picture of himself smiling back. The ribbon framing the picture read “James Howard Phillip Norris, Son, Friend, Chosen, October 22, 2010.”

“What the fuck?”

“Welcome,” a tall man said as he walked around the corner. “We have been expecting you.” He gestured to an open door and lead James into the room.

The walls were lined with red velvet chairs, floral smelling bouquets, candles dripping with hot wax, and a thick carved wood table. At one end of the table was the same picture of James, minus the ribbon. At the other end a rack covered by cloth.

“Please have a seat while we wait for the others to join us.” The man went back into the hall.

James looked around and took the seat closest to him. As he let his weight fall into the chair, he felt a sharp pain in his hip. A syringe was sticking into his jeans; pulling it out he heard voices in the hallway, and started to feel lightheaded. The room grew black and a buzzing amplified in his ears. He fell to the floor unconscious.

As he woke up, James looked into the face of his mother, her eyes gleaming with calm reassurance. “Everything will be all right son, just relax and let it happen. I am proud of how you will help us.”

He tried to move, there was a burning pain on his chest, the smell of charred flesh filled his nostrils. He could not lift his head. Blinking hard, he was brought to attention by a pair of screws in his head tearing the tissue from his skull. A hooded man in robes was pressing a hot branding iron into his skin. As the pole was lifted, James could see the shapes of ancient runes. He felt cold metal scrapping at his groin, nicking the skin and opening small trails of blood as it crossed James’ scrotum. His father lifted the blood tinted straight razor, and wiped small curly pubic hairs off, while repeating "This is what he was born for; he is now fulfilling his position in life." The words faded into the droning of the surrounding ritual. A calm chanting of “Sa sured nii me elame” filled the room. He wanted to scream out, but found that his tongue had been cut out and there was nothing but congealed clotted blood left in its place.

He once again looked up at his mother The hooded man handed her a small silver scoop and said "It is time." She kissed James’ head and told him she loved him, and then thrust the scoop into his eye socket.

An immediate force of pressure gave way to searing pain, as it sliced through countless nerve endings like a dull push-mower blade through wet grass. Through his other eye James watched as she put his eyeball into her mouth. He heard the pop and saw the vitreous fluid seep from between her pursed lips, dripping onto his forehead as she chewed. Despite the haze of shock, a pair of metal edges made James immediately aware of his hands. They pressed down against either side of his thumb, slicing into skin and flaying the muscle to bone. Light tremors rumbled across his hand as the blades shook and crushed calcium and marrow alike. Again, James opened his mouth in silent agony. The blades moved to his index finger, making quick work of it before completing the rest of his phalanges. He heard the chanting grow louder. After a moments pause the burning pain of the blades erupted in his feet, as his toes were cut off.

The vision in his remaining eye blurred against the pain, and James heard his father ask for a scalpel. A line of sharp pain followed the thin knife as it sliced open the middle of his scrotum. His testicles throbbed as his father squeezed, removing them from their protective sack. A flood of warmth settled against James’ bare buttocks, and a towel James only vaguely guessed at being the same one used to clean his shaved groin was placed against the open flesh. His father slurped as he swallowed both testicles down, chomping through the vas deferens connecting them to his shaft. The surgical blade returned to skin, now slicing the tip of James’ penis off. Rough hands milked blood into a goblet. The hooded man took the goblet and rose it above his head and spoke in solemn monotone.

“Ach mocných bohů,
Požehnej nám s touto nabídkou,
takže můžeme pokračovat vaše skvělé práce.”

The hooded man lifted the cup to his lips and drank from it. He then invited the rest of the guests to come and drink from the cup. As each individual came forth they touched one of the runes burned onto James’ chest and drank.

The hooded man then plunged a dagger into James’ belly and cut open his bowel. His intestines were pulled out and passed to the people. Chanting ceased, and the hooded man spoke again, repeating the words “Sa sured nii me elame.” On cue everyone took a bite from the innards. The last words James heard were “To se provádí”.

It is Done.