Chapter Ten: Opposite Day

Listen, if you’re ever in the mood to do something exciting that pushes the limits of social constraints, and somebody offers to take you to a Satanic ritual — go see a Disney movie or something.

Satanists try so hard to be titillating and outrageous, but generally succeed only in being rather silly and juvenile. I’m sure it was all very risqué back in the Middle Ages, but these days — not so much. Even having a naked woman as an altar is no big deal. It might be all right if she were someone like Kim Basinger, but generally they’re more like Mrs. Robinson — nice enough, but not someone who’s going to stop traffic without the aid of a crossing guard outfit.

Let’s face it, when we have music videos featuring Miley Cyrus riding naked on a wrecking ball, a woman laying on a table with candles balanced precariously on her body is outright tame.

The ceremony itself was pleasantly sombre and confusing. One person drew a complicated pattern within a circle all around the altar while others chanted stuff in Latin. At least I think it was Latin. More puzzling, however, were the calls and responses, which were in English.

Robed Official: “What does our Satanic Master require?”
Congregation: “Honour and justice to all.”
Robed Official: “What does our Satanic Master require?”
Congregation: “Love for all humanity.”

And so on.

After the ceremony we retired to the basement where light snacks and refreshments had been laid out. It was shortly after eight, so I made a quick call to the garage where I caught the mechanic as he was about to leave. After explaining that I’d been caught up in a case I was working on, I convinced him to put the keys in the glove box so I could pick up the van later in the evening. With that out of the way, I began mingling in order to get a handle on the beliefs of the church.

“Everyone has the wrong idea about Satan,” explained one young man wearing what would undoubtedly be a full beard in another five years, but was presently more of an uneven stain. “Satan is the champion of justice and equality. He loved what Jehovah created, but Jehovah was jealous of mankind and set about trying to destroy us in any way possible.”

“It’s only through Satan’s advocacy that we’ve survived at all,” interjected a nice elderly lady with bluing in her permed, white hair.

After a while I started to get a clearer picture. Essentially this group had taken the Christian church and inverted the heroes and villains, while maintaining the basic message. Jesus was the bad guy, out to trap us into a cycle of contempt for each other, while Satan was the good guy trying to bring us together in peace and love.

Considering the way many churches presented Jesus, I could kind of see their point.

I was prepared to report back to Ignatius that while his sister was involved in a cult, and (at least on occasion) acted as its nude altar, there appeared to be nothing sinister or dangerous going on.

But then their “leader” dropped in: Horace J. Witherspoon, founder of The Church of Satanic Love.

He had a pompadour tall enough to intimidate Edmund Hillary and a smile so bright I suspected he carried his own portable nuclear power supply.

I didn’t like him.

He worked the room, glad-handing and  patting backs, kissing the younger girls on their cheeks and the older women on their hands. It made my skin crawl, but his flock seemed to eat it up.

It was at that point I decided to dig further into this little group.

I’d noticed that when people said they were going outside for a cigarette they headed to the stairway at the back of the basement reception hall. Hatching a plan, I waited until the the gathering was breaking up and then asked if I could join the the smokers for their final cigarette in order to ask a few last-minute questions. The stairs led to a back door at the end of one of the hallways running beside the large room in which we’d had the ceremony.

As I’d hoped, the door was one that opens from the inside by pushing on a “panic bar,” but can’t be opened from outside without a key. I let the other two smokers precede me through the door, and then took hold of the door jamb and reached down for the fist-sized rock that was obviously used to prop it open. As I did so, I slipped a finger into the striking plate where the latch would go, and pressed against the side so I could feel the depth.

Once I’d propped the door with the rock I grabbed a small broken branch lying nearby, pulled out my knife, and began whittling away at it while asking questions about the church. When the smoke break was over, I arranged to be the last one in, took a small section of branch that I’d cut off and slipped it into the plate so the latch would no longer catch.

Mrs. Robinson had left earlier, but since I knew she’d just be going home, I was no longer concerned with following her. My curiosity was now focussed on the offices lining the entrance hallway.

To kill time while the building emptied, I walked over to Dufferin and picked up my van which, I was happy to note, now purred like a kitten with bronchial problems. This was a distinct improvement. I then drove the short distance to the Gladstone Cafe, just east of Dufferin on Queen where I killed some time with a coffee and a snack.

I waited until night had, like the traditional Satan, completely fallen, then drove back to Noble Street where I saw the building was now completely dark. I parked a ways down the street and walked back, going around the side to the rear. I tested the door and it opened without a hitch. My plan had actually worked!

So did the burglar alarm.

————————

There are notes to this chapter, which can be found by hovering over the “Story Notes: No spoilers” tab at the top of the page. 

Warning — Read the chapter first, otherwise the notes may be an inadvertent spoiler.

This is my 11th entry in the February writing challenge, “30 Minus 2 Days of Writing: III” (or 30M2DoW) issued by We Work for Cheese, the rules for which, such as they are, I am completely ignoring — except the attempt to post each day during the month.

Advertisements

19 thoughts on “Chapter Ten: Opposite Day

  1. This is really interesting. As a “non-believer”, I sort of think a lot of things about religion are pretty silly. We have some “wikka” people who have a church near us and they don’t threaten me in the slightest since they are mainly just kiind of funny people, as in peculiar not necessarily amusing. What is a “nack”? Or is it supposed to be a “snack”? Just wondering. Also, put this together as a book and I would buy it and read it. Yeah, you have a way of hooking a reader and I love that!

    • I’ve hung around with Wikkans. Nice enough, but of course there is no actual “tradition.” In times past witches have always been evil, and the nice, loving Wikkans of today started with Gerald Gardner back in the early 20th century. And thanks — who knows, when it’s finished I may just try shopping it around to see if I can publish it.

      • No, no, no, Frank! Not all witches are evil! In fact, many in ancient times were healers. They got a bad rap because people didn’t understand the science of what they were doing. There are good and bad apples in every profession, though!

        • Well, there were certainly healers, such as Biddy Early in Ireland back in the 19th century, and many before, but “witches” were a different matter — although it’s true many of these healers were called witches out of superstitious fear and such. The link between a real theology based on the mother goddess and horned goat is extremely modern, essentially established by Gerald Gardener in the mid-20th century, and has taken hold ever since. Most covens admit to the modern nature of their traditions, but still link back to an earlier mythological tradition, much the same way that Masons, although only being a few hundred years old, link their tradition back to the building of Solomon’s temple.

  2. So did the burglar alarm… AWESOME!!!! This line rung so true to me: “Considering the way many churches presented Jesus, I could kind of see their point.” God is a loving God, yes? Then why does he banish people to hell, turn people in to salt and drown people and animals? There is such a dark side to the Bible.

    • The Bible is a fascinating book, with such a remarkably consistent story over such a long period of time and by so many writers — and such a weird and incongruous God. But here’s a real puzzle — we all know that Lot’s wife turned to salt for looking back when they were fleeing Sodom and Gomorrah, but if Lot had also looked back, would he have turned to pepper so they could form a matching set?

  3. You know, I was just thinking to myself “Self, you need to do something exciting that pushes the limits of social constraints.” Good thing I read this. Next up, Google local listings for Disney movies.

  4. I’d probably go to church way more often if they used naked women, even Mrs. Robinson, as altars.

    My favorite line: I waited until night had, like Satan, completely fallen… This is a nice bit of work, Frank.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s