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That was the thing about these damned country roads, if they weren’t mud, they were dust. The black car you were riding in took a left turn down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and kicked up a cloud that covered the lovely view; you sighed. You had been enjoying watching the full moon hang fat and lazy in the sky surrounded by the distant twinkle of stars. Out here, away from the city lights, you could finally experience the night that so inspired the artists of yesteryear. Now you couldn’t distract yourself from the yawning silence that filled the car.
“So you've been here before?” you asked the masked sibling behind the wheel.
“Yes.” was the reply. The voice was androgynous in a way that only Ghouls seemed to master. There were many that let their sex be known, but then there were ones like Wheels; unbothered with that at all. They always seemed to become scarce when the clothes began coming off during rituals.
“Did you ever play an instrument?” you inquired, trying once again to get the figure to engage.
“I still play.” Wheels responded. That was something, you’d never seen the Ghoul with anything remotely resembling an instrument. You’d always thought they were just a driver. They were usually the one behind the wheel of the cars the Clergy were being chauffeured in.
“I’ve never seen you with an instrument,” you stated, somewhat to yourself.
“Modern music seldom has usage for the Hurdy Gurdy,” they sighed wistfully, a bit of a laugh in their voice.
That threw the various Ghouls known for doing chores around the Ministry into a new light. Were the Ghouls that you saw running papers, manning desks, and shelving books actually talented musicians? All of them retired, or otherwise no longer needed but still serving the Clergy even now? You hadn’t thought much further than being a big rockstar on behalf of Lucifer. You thought that maybe when you finally finished with a Papa and retired you’d leave the Ministry, maybe to worship on your own elsewhere. You’d never asked.
“Why did you stick around after they stopped needing you for music?” you asked, apprehension in your voice. Wheels caught your eyes in the rearview mirror.
“That’s the contract friend,” was all that was said before their eyes turned back to the road.
You felt cold all over. What the hell did that mean? Was he going to turn his body over to a demon at the crossroads to just serve the Clergy until the end of days? But then . . .
“What happened to the others? The ones that left when Papa III retired,” you asked, your voice sounding far away to you.
“To the pit. That’s the choice; the Ministry or the Pit,” Wheels didn’t look at you, their eyes focused on the road.
The whole weight of your coming trial hit you right then. Your soul already belonged to Lucifer; you couldn’t be a Sibling without pledging yourself to the Devil himself. But tonight, tonight you would summon a demon and make a deal to be a truly epic guitarist. If you were granted your boon your body would host a demon until your death and you could be called upon to serve the Ghost project as long as you lived. You didn’t think that meant remaining at the Ministry when you weren’t playing. Your breath was coming in quick pants now, your heart pounding.
You were jolted from your racing thoughts by the car coming to a stop. Wheels popped the trunk, stepped out of the car, and opened your door. You paused for a moment.
“Cold feet?” Wheels snickered, leaning over to look at your horrified face.
“I just didn’t realize I’d never leave the Ministry,” you said, sliding to the edge of the seat and climbing from the car. The dust the car had kicked up on the way here was slow in settling around you so you could barely make out the path you had come down.
“This is the last chance to leave my friend,” Wheels said, moving to the popped trunk; they pulled out your guitar case and handed it to you. “I’ve got your train ticket to New York in my back pocket, here is your final choice before it’s the Pit or the Ministry. You can go back to your old life, the one you had before you joined us or you can go just up that road and test your luck,”
Your eyes fell on the ratty suitcase in the trunk. You’d come to the Ministry to escape the pressures and the pain that that old life had caused. You’d run away from all that and had found knowledge and power; you’d found acceptance and love; you’d been prepared to go to literal hell tonight if you failed but you couldn’t imagine willingly going back to hell on Earth.
“I made my choice,” you said, adjusting your shoulder bag so it wouldn’t bump into the guitar case too much.
Wheels shut the trunk smiling in that horrible toothy grin that all ghouls seemed to have. Maybe it was the nature of their black masks that made it look so threatening but it always made you flinch.
“Alright. It’s just up the road about a mile,” they said gesturing up a small hill in front of you. “Once you get up there you can draw out your circle and perform the rite,”
“And if I succeed?” you inquired.
“You come back here, I take you back to the Ministry, and we get you settled in the den,”
“And if I fail?” you asked, almost in a whisper.
“I go up to the crossroads at sunrise, collect whatever is left of you and your belongings, and carve your name into the stone,” they answered with a shrug.
“I think the cafeteria is gonna have pancakes this morning, hopefully I won’t make it back too late to get them while they’re warm and fluffy.” Wheels added conversationally. A wish to get back early enough to have pancakes was probably the closest you’d get to a ‘good luck’ from the Ghoul. They shut the back door that you had left hanging open and climbed back behind the wheel of the car. They fished a book out from under the passenger seat and adjusted themselves to read. You turned to look up the hill at the crossroad. Taking a deep breath you began walking.
You had barely gotten 100 meters from the car before you realized the night around you was silent. While you were still close to the car you could hear the idle purring of the engine but the further away you got the more you realized that it was the only sound around for miles. No crickets were chirping; no night birds were calling to each other. Hell, there weren’t even peepers in the trees. Just dead silence in the still night. No wind blew, nothing moved, there was no sound but those that came from you.
You were suddenly hyper aware of the brush of your jeans between your legs and your feet hitting the packed dirt of the road. The beautiful night you’d enjoyed watching back out on the highway in the climate controlled cabin of the Clergy car now felt like a suffocating quilt wrapped around your head. You wanted to run; to get to the crossroads faster or in the opposite direction you couldn’t decide. But instead you kept your head down and kept plodding forward. To distract yourself you did finger presses with your free hand and ran through your favorite riffs in your head.
A short time later you came back to yourself as you crested the hill. You had come to a flat place where two dirt roads crossed. The shine of the moon was almost as bright as the sun here, throwing everything into a pale cold light. At one corner of the crossroad there stood an ancient wooden pole. The top had another beam coming off from it at a right angle and another beam creating a triangle between the two. Almost like a street lamp. You stared at it for a moment and with a jolt realized it was a gibbet. Your arms broke out in gooseflesh as you tore your eyes away from the sun bleached wood.
Your eyes caught sight of something else. A large flat area that clearly wasn’t dirt. You approached it for a closer look.
It was a huge flat stone; not the kind that would occur naturally. Someone put this here. Upon closer inspection you realized it had names and dates carved into it. Some of the names were those of siblings you once knew. Ones who had “left the Ministry”. Now you realized that some of those people who “returned to their former life” did no such thing. They came out here to gain the fame they so craved and never left. You shuddered, examining the dates. There were some that went all the way back to when the pioneers settled the area. The Ministry had been near here even then.
You gritted your teeth and turned away from the enormous cenotaph. Where they failed, you would succeed. You knew it. You were the best. You could do this. You set down your guitar and pulled the cane you’d brought with you for just this purpose out of your pack and began drawing out the summoning circle.
As each minute passed you grew more and more unsure of your decision. Maybe you should run back to Wheels, demand your ticket and your beat up suitcase and run as far from this whole experience as you could. When you walked out of your parent’s house years ago, your guitar case in one hand and suitcase in the other, your dad said one final thing.
“You’re on the road to hell kid but know this, Jesus forgives. Remember Luke 15:11-32. We’ll embrace you when you come back,”
Not if, when. It had pissed you off then and made your blood boil now. That goddamned arrogant prick, citing Luke with the same mouth that told you you’d amount to nothing. The same mouth that cursed your name and called your sister a whore for wearing a skirt above her knee. That same mouth that whispered to your mother that he’d wished he’d never married her when he thought no one could hear. The same mouth that damned everyone unlike him and demanded that everyone bow and let themselves be trod upon because he was the anointed. That fucking hypocrite, preaching forgiveness but performing nothing but cruelty.
You threw the cane outside of the circle, pulling a container of salt from your pack. You glanced at it; those fucking cheap bastards in the Clergy grabbed the store brand. You scoffed pulling the spout open. For one of the most holy rites they couldn’t even spring for the brand name shit. You hoped to yourself that the summoned entity wouldn’t be offended. You poured a circle of salt out just beyond where you’d drawn the outer edge of the summoning sigil. You tossed the container out next to where the cane now lay.
You knelt in the center of a pentagram you’d carved into the Earth. You recalled what you were told when you asked Cardinal Montgomery where you would find the words to the rite. She smiled at you and chuckled.
“My dear sibling,” she began “Much like our great adversary, Lucifer can hear you wherever and however you call his name. All ritual language is simply theater to set a mood. When you are alone, simply call out to him and his court; they’ll find you.”
You bowed your head and whispered into the aether a simple wish; that Lucifer or one of his court grant you an audience; you needed their help to better serve the fallen one himself.
At first you thought it hadn’t worked. But after a moment you heard the merry crackling of flame and felt a gentle heat pulsing around you. You raised your eyes and saw that the narrow space between your drawn circle and the salt was now a wall of flame about three feet high. You stared at it and began to make out figures walking toward the flames. All of them were dressed as acolytes. You began to pick out faces you’d seen before. The other siblings who “left”. They had all come to your summoning to watch.
You heard a cough from the area in front of where you had knelt. Just beyond the top of the pentagram stood a humanoid creature. If you’d taken a guess by the chiseled physique alone you’d assume it was a male. His skin was the color of coal with veins of silver running up and down his toned limbs. You looked up to his face and while you had been warned that demons were sometimes offended by direct eye contact you couldn’t help it, they were captivating. His eyes were the color of flames burning in distant windows; of lights in the darkness beckoning to the lost. His hair drifted down his shoulders, fine as spiderwebs and the color of fresh snow. The last thing you noticed, the crowning glory of the creature before you were his horns. Massive and curled like a ram’s, the color of aged bone. He spoke, his voice light and airy. You’d have expected a deep rumbling that shook the Earth beneath you, but instead it was the tinkle of chimes on the wind.
“What would you ask of me?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked on yours. It felt like he was sinking into you with his gaze.
“Oh creature of hell, representative of the great serpent, I come as a lowly worm to beg a boon to allow me to serve Him with my whole soul,”
The demon did not turn away, nor did his expression change. He kept staring you down, waiting for you to continue.
“I. . .” Suddenly you found yourself at a loss for words. Your hand flailed on its own and landed on the acoustic guitar case that sat beside you. You grunted and pointed at it, shaking in the demon’s sight. You felt as if he was tying your tongue. He smiled.
“A guitar player, hmm?” he murmured, still not releasing you from his infernal stare. “And what makes you think you’re worthy? You are not the first that’s come here, you saw the souls that linger in this place, those that failed. Why should you be allowed to serve on Earth and not join them in the pit?”
Your whole body felt numb but you stood, lifting the case still not looking away from the burning eyes before you. You fumbled on the latches as you pulled the instrument from its case, letting the soft leather fall away.
It was a cheap thing, one you’d picked up for $100 bucks in a pawn shop. You’d been told to leave your beautiful axe at the ministry. There wasn’t anywhere to plug in an amp out here. You’d need to be able to show your skill without it. You ran your hand across the ancient guitar’s strings, letting it ring out. As cheap as the old guitar was, it was playable; and in this moment it rang out as if it were the finest instrument you’d ever held. The voice it carried was one that sang for the night, so similar to the voice that you had heard call you to join the Clergy.
Without thinking you launched into the first solo you’d ever learned. “Eruption” by Van Halen. You’d learned it on this guitar. Night after night, fingers stumbling between the frets. Sour note followed by sour note; falling in and out of time like a drunkard. Your fingers splitting as your calluses formed. It had never sounded great on an acoustic guitar but it was the first thing you’d heard that made you fall in love with music. The first thing that you heard from rock and roll. It had no lyrics so it flew under the radar of your parent’s strangle hold on the media you consumed. You’d become obsessed with the voice of the instrument from the first lick and you knew it was your destiny to play.
You finally broke eye contact with the demon before you, letting your eyes close and head fall back as your hand swooped across the neck of the guitar, triplets pouring out, the strings bending at your will. You were building the guitar to an orgasm as you would a lover. You hit the harmonics at the end and felt your legs shake under you. You’d remembered the first time you’d finished this without fucking up. You’d fallen to your knees and sobbed uncontrollably. The music had done something to you then; it had wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed until you couldn’t comprehend staying on the path you were being pushed down. You’d heard Ghost for the first time a few days later and you knew that’s where you belonged. On the stage with representatives of the Clergy. Spreading the word of Satan far and wide.
Somehow you managed to stay upright and let your head fall forward again to look at the demon. He was now directly in front of you, fingers wrapping gently around your throat. His palm pressed against your Adam’s apple was freezing cold but the fingertips pressing into the side of your neck were molten hot. You let out a little gasp of surprise but didn’t pull away. You’d fucked up, you were sure, but the demon’s smile was not one of triumph, nor was it a grimace of displeasure. It was the gentle smile you’d expect on a pleased mentor.
“Very good,” he purred, his voice dropping several octaves and becoming a growl. “If you will be my host I will give you all you wish. I will bring you to greater heights in His service. You and I will become one and will walk this cursed land together until we return to the pit. And when we do, you will remain with me in the twilight garden for eternity. These are my terms,” he went silent, staring you down again.
“I agree to your terms,” you whispered, your voice shaking. Your heart was pounding in your ears. Fear and elation blending into one feeling within you. You couldn’t believe what you’d heard; your wish was coming true.
“Then let me fill that hole inside you,” the demon said, letting your throat go and moving it to cup your cheek. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss; it was one that friends of years would share with no expectation behind it. A gentle meeting of two hearts, inseperable.
Suddenly you felt cold liquid flowing down your throat and the creature was gone from sight. Your whole body was ice for a moment, your grip on the guitar tightening almost to pain and then loosening again. You felt him seep into every vein, into every crevice, every void that had ever opened in you when the world wounded you. Gently he mended the pieces together like golden lacquer in kintsugi. He became part of you. You sighed as you heard “Comfortably Numb” pour out of your hands rather than felt yourself play it. Your whole body was cold and without feeling but damn did you feel good.
The wall of flame flickered around you and died. The spirits of the dead slowly faded away. You felt the demon settle into you, warming to your body temperature. Suddenly he was there standing next to you.
“Well,” he began, flaming eyes meeting yours, “I guess it’s time to serve.”
He smiled again, the same gentle smile of a mentor; someone so proud of you it almost cracked his face.
On the distant horizon you could see the first indications of sunrise. A light glow rising, the sun’s true face still far off yet.