The People of the Black Circle

         I met the sender of my invitation in a pub that was nestled in the choking fogs deep in the belly of London. He was hunched over in the corner, a cloth hood pulled over his face and a wooden mug between his hands.
         "You have been making inquiries." His voice was low and hushed.
         "Yes." I was sat across from him and I leaned in close. The shadow of his hood concealed his face but I could see the faint shine of two black eyes staring back at me. "I am doing research. It has led me here."
         "Not all journeys are worth taking," said the hooded man. "But you may attend a ceremony, to observe only. We, too, are interested in where your research takes you. Perhaps we may learn from each other."
         We exited the pub and walked down the quiet streets of London. We slipped through back-ways and dark alleys until we found ourselves in a corner of the city in front of a large wooden door. There was no handle or knob, only three bands of metal in a pattern of a circle in the middle of the door.
         My guide knocked on the door three times, then tapped each metal band with a ring on his finger. The sound carried far in our empty corner. The door opened and another hooded figure appeared. He bowed and moved away as we entered the building and followed us past closed doors and down winding hallways. The carpet underneath our feet was thick and blood-red. We reached the end of the hallway and came upon another wooden door. My guide pushed the door open and stood next to it.
         "Please," he said, gesturing for me to descend the stone steps.
         I hesitated for merely a moment before complying. Not many of those in London had heard of the People of the Black Circle, and those who had did not speak of them. My research had only scratched the surface of the demonic and depraved acts that those in the Black were accused of performing, but even then what I had discovered gave me chills. What little I knew of them, I suspected that they were on the edge of great supernatural discoveries that I, too, was close to breaking through. It is only now as I write this that I realize how foolish we were to assume the supernatural could be controlled. I fear my hopes that the supernatural could be used to advance medicinal sciences was foolish and misplaced.
         He followed closely behind me as I descended the winding stone steps into darkness. Occasionally we came upon a lit torch on the wall but its light was swallowed by the hungry darkness that hung heavy in the air.
         The stairs delivered us directly into a large, circular room. In the middle, there was an altar and more than a dozen candles around it. There were eight figures around the altar, and I could not discern what was on it.
         My guide leaned in behind me, his breath hot on my neck. "They are about to begin the ritual. Please follow me." He pulled me into the corner, his hand heavy on my arm. "Do not leave this corner until I come back to you. Do not pass the white line. Do not speak." And then he and the other hooded member joined the others at the altar.
         There was a white line several inches wide at my feet in front of me. It may have been salt, but it was difficult to be sure in the darkness. The air in the room was chilled and thin. Already a black unease was creeping into my bones, causing me to shiver.
         One at a time, each hooded figure moved up to the altar, raised a knife into the air, and then plunged it down on whatever was on the stone slab. They would murmur a prayer or chant and then move back into the circle and then another would move forward.
         Blood dripped from the stone slab onto the floor, which was sloped inwards so that it pooled at the bottom. As the hooded figures continued, each man in the circle stabbing at the altar, I began to sense something stirring in the darkness above me. I could not see the ceiling. It was not an audible sound, nor anything I could see, but whatever sense it is that warns you that you are the prey and a predator is near--that is the sensation that overcame me in the corner as I watched the ritual quietly.
         The last hooded figure plunged his knife down, murmured quietly, and then stepped back into the circle. All ten men took a step back and bowed on one knee, their heads bowed and their arms at the side. I could see in the candlelight the bulky shape of a body on the altar. That it was human I could not discern.
         Something stirred in the darkness above me. This time I heard it; a rustling sound, like a snake over dry grass. I stared at the ceiling, my eyes burning as I struggled to keep them open. I began to feel that it was directly above me, and I stared up into the darkness, certain that at any moment a beast would descend upon me and devour me.
         The only way I can describe this feeling of dread is to tell you to reach your hand into a dark room and see where your mind takes you. This is where my mind went, only it was all too real and a rising sense of dread was filling me up within and I very nearly broke into a mad dash for the stairs.
         And then an arm descended from the ceiling directly over the altar. It was incredibly long and thick. From the dim light of the flickering flames I could see shadows of cuts or scabs on its flesh. It touched the body on the altar and slowly felt it, exploring the features. It grabbed it with long fingers and pulled it up, turning it over, and then dropped it back onto the altar. The arm disappeared into the darkness.
         Dozens of arms dropped then from the blackness above and grabbed each hooded figure at the neck or shoulders. The room filled with screams and frenzied motion as the members of the Black struggled to break free. The sickening sound of bones crunching and blood spurting echoed in the room.
         I covered my mouth with a shaking hand to prevent from screaming. The room was spinning and I felt lightheaded. The shock of what was happening was nearly too much and the flickering flame of the candles dimmed as my world faded to black, but I did not fully slip into unconsciousness then.
         The screaming died quickly one-by-one until there was silence again. The arms hung from above, grasping the still, hooded men. The ten men seemed to be standing on their own for several long moments as the arms remained still. I heard rustling directly above me. The bodies jerked and the arms pulled them violently into the darkness above and men and arms disappeared.
         I felt ill, but much worse, the feeling of something foreign and unknown planted in my soul and bloomed quickly, and I knew I was not meant to see what I had just seen. As if some unspeakable sin had just been committed by observing what had occurred.
         I do not know how long I stood frozen in fear, stuck in the corner like a wild animal, the eyes of a predator pinning it down. I seemed incredibly small in the dark room and I feel I danced on the edges of madness as I stood hunched in the corner. It may have been hours, or days, but it was when the candle flames began to flicker weakly, their wax having melted nearly completely, that I knew I would never leave that room if I waited until the flame died. In a fit of courage driven by panic and fear, I stepped past the white line on the floor and fled towards the stairs. I heard something heavy hit the stone floor behind me and my mind went wild with panic.
         I ascended the steps two at a time, a deep moan of terror escaping my lips as I heard the sounds of pursuit grow louder behind me. I reached the top of the stairs and slammed through the door. I ran through the hallways, not looking back, until I reached the entrance and slammed through that door, too.
         Several minutes later I was five blocks away from the building and emerging from the foggy streets and entering the well-lit district where I am currently boarding. I walked quickly to my room and, once inside, I locked the door and shoved a dresser in front of it.
         I sat on my bed, my legs weak, my hands trembling. I sat thinking for several hours, the sense of dread never leaving me. And then I moved to the desk and began to write, and here I am now.
         Even as I write this, I hear scratching at the door, and at the window, though I dare not look towards it. I keep catching glimpses of something moving in the corner of my eyes. I sit hunched over the desk, the lantern illuminating these words, but the darkness seems to grow stronger around me. Occasionally I can feel someone or some thing behind me. But when I turn there is nothing. No-one.
         This was a journey I fear I should not have taken. A thing I should not have seen. May the Lord in Heaven cast His eyes upon me and have mercy.