The Ritual

From the P.O.V. of Evie

                  

                  

I walk into the disco room, and scan for the Cindy.

"Where the hell is she?" I murmur under my breath.

A group of people (all over 60) catch my eye, with "golden oldies" printed on the back of their navy blue shirts

"Well that's embarrassing," I assert.

Behind the leg of a table, I spot a stray piece of paper. I approach cautiously, trying not to bump into dancers and pick it up out of curiosity.

It reads

"G.O. occult, aim: sacrifice all members on death pool

Jacob -dead

Marian -dead 

John -dead

Cindy -dead

Evie"

"What kind of sick joke is this? And why is my name on there?"  I ask myself.

I push it back underneath the table and venture toward the centre of the room in the hopes of finding Cindy.

I find myself trapped in a cluster of slow dancers as silent night plays on twin pianos. I say to a man next to me

"Excuse me, can I please just get around?"

The man instead of nodding with a soft smile on his face, stares at me, with cold hard eyes.

Then, the woman next to him catches on to his stare, and so a chain reaction starts, until I'm at the centre of a sea of eyes, all focused on me.

Then I hear a voice,

"Move out," it commands, and the group of dancers does so.

A trail of people in navy blue shirts files through the crowd and creates a circle around me, while I stand there clueless.

"Has this got something to do with Cindy? Where is she?"

"Aw sweetie," One man says condescendingly, "Cindy's dead."

That's not the answer I wanted, and I don't believe him either. I was about to tell him that he was an idiot if he thought I believed him but a new song cut in before I could say anything else; it sounded satanic and sinister, and as I looked over to the rise where the pianists played the music, to my horror, their feet were lit with fire. The flames licking at the soles of their shoes. Reassuring myself that it's all staged, I look back to the man.

"You know, I bet this was all Cindy's idea. Come on, tell me, how much did she pay you?" I ask confidently.

The man replies with a blank expression.

I sigh and continue

"Okay then, well if you're all going to stand around like a bunch of blumbering idiots, I would like to go home and finish off my English essay".

He takes a deep breath in, then out and says

"Times up."

"What?" I demand.

Him and the rest of the members of the circle link hands and move around clock-wise, their black shoes clanking in time with the beat of the song being played on the pianos.

I've had enough. I don't want to hear another note on the piano, I don't want to hear another footstep or another vocalisation, I've had enough. So I block my ears and try to drown out the sound of ritualistic speech with raspy screams.

A sharp pain radiates from my stomach, my eyes flutter open and look straight to my middle, where a sleek polished blade protrudes, blood dripping around the edges.

My vision starts to blur, each breath I take becomes heavier and my heart beat slows right down.

I try, try to take another breath but, I can't quite take it.