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With shaky hands, I snatch it, desperate to quench this unbearable thirst. There’s not an ounce of my mind that wants to give in to him, but my body and my will to survive is shaking me into submission.

I glare, mustering up as much hatred as I possibly can, but it doesn’t rattle him in the slightest.

“You must be starving, child. I have a nice juicy sirloin upstairs for you. Steaming, hot mashed potatoes. You could be up there right now eating with your new family.” He croons, painting a picture I could die for.

If I had any moisture left in my mouth, I would salivate at the thought of food. My stomach grumbles loudly, giving me away.

He smirks, “Listen to your body, boy. It’s not healthy to starve yourself.”

My lips quiver, the words sitting at the edge of my tongue. He tilts his head up waiting for me to relent, but... I can’t. He sighs even though my lack of response affects him like stars shining in the daylight.

“Suit yourself.” He places his hands on his knees before pushing himself to his feet.

He spins, walking back towards the stairs, my brain lagging, but finally catching up.

“Wait!” I croak.

He pauses before turning back to me, allowing me to speak.

I swallow, the air burning my throat. “Yes, I accept Satan as my master.”

A sickening smile slices across his wrinkled face revealing long, grey teeth.

“Good boy. Bordeaux will be down with some food.”

“Don’t I get to come upstairs?” I panic.

“Yes, soon.” He promises. “Your words mean very little to our Master, it’s your actions that prove your worth accepting.”

“I don’t understand.” My words wobble on a wave of tears .

“You will.”

With that, he leaves me. Hours go by before food is brought to me as promised – cold and dry, but food nonetheless.

I swallow without even tasting, risking the chance of rejecting the substance, but how can I not.

I’m an animal tearing through the meat, juice dribbling down my hands and forearms. Thin strands of fiber catch between my teeth as I sink them in with each bite.

I barely swallow before scooping the potatoes with my fingers and shoving them into my mouth.

I gag a few times, forcing myself to slow down, but after minutes my plate is clean and my stomach aches.

I have to lay down, exhaustion consuming me and with a full belly, I finally sleep.

Hours pass before I’m woken up, a cramping in my lower stomach, uncomfortable enough to rouse me from a restless slumber. My eyes dart to the metal bucket in the corner, dread filling me at the thought of what I know is unavoidable, especially now that I’ve had food.

Groaning, I haul myself up and shuffle over to the piss-filled bucket, staring inside as if it will magically turn into a toilet.

When it doesn’t and the pressure in my bowels intensifies, I give in.

Slowly, I unbutton my shorts, letting them fall to my ankles along with my boxers.

A small tear escapes my lower lash, down here the act of crying happens all on its own without me noticing anymore.

I squat, resting my elbows on my knees for balance and relieve myself.

Of course, there’s no toilet paper because that would be too civilized.

I’m left with no water or anyway to clean myself.

I’m mortified, the only solution sits draped around my ankles.

I stare at my boxers until my thighs burn, finally accepting what I have to do before my legs give out.

I feel humiliated, degraded, dirty, and weak, but at least I’m not starving anymore .

By the time I crawl back to the mattress and curl up into myself, the door at the top of the stairs flings open, Father and Bordeaux traipsing down.

“Get up – Ugh! You reek worse than a rotting animal.” Father sneers, his face pinched.

Embarrassment lashes itself along my skin, heat trailing from my face down my neck. I don’t meet his eyes, mortification keeping me weighed down.

“Get him up. Meet me outside.” He orders to Bordeaux, the idea of him being down here repulsing him.

In Bordeaux fashion, he tugs me to my feet, man handling me like I’m just a flimsy toy.

Without warning, his hand squeezes my cheeks forcing my lips to pop open enough for him to shove a finger inside.

I choke, gagging at the taste of dirt and salt on his grimy hands.

I feel something dissolve against my tongue before I have the chance to spit it out.

He smirks, “Enjoy that while it lasts. You’re going to need it.”

I don’t know what it is he’s referring to, but assume he’s given me drugs.

I’m hauled up the stairs and down the hall to an exit. I can’t imagine they’re letting me go, so it’s not excitement that consumes me, but fear.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

I’m shoved into the backseat of a car, Bordeaux behind the wheel. His eyes find mine in the rearview mirror, his gaze threatening.

“Try anything funny and you’re dead.”

I believe him.

The car coasts towards an opening in the forest just beyond the church. When we come to a dead end we’re swallowed by trees, parking before a narrow pathway .

“We walk from here.” He tells me, ripping me out of the seat.

My heart threatens to jump out of my throat as an eerie humming sounds in the distance.

I’m walking into my own execution; I can feel it.

The end of my life just yards away. Naturally, my feet stall, unable to keep going.

With a rough shove from behind, I stumble forward.

I’m met with death everywhere I turn. Now it’s a matter of when and how.

My gut suddenly turns to stone as we approach flickering lights in a small clearing. There’s this fluttering inside my stomach that doesn’t feel right, the flames that light the torches too bright, too colorful, too beautiful for the sight before me.

I don’t fully grasp what’s happening, my brain trying to put the pieces together.

There’s a pentagram drawn in the dirt, a torch at each of the points illuminating the scene.

Red cloaks the color of candied apples stationed between the flames, that haunting hum now a loud warning in my ears.

I can feel the notes tickle the hairs as they skitter into my canals, thrumming around in my brain.

Father faces them, ignoring us as I’m forced closer. That’s when I notice in the middle of the circle lies a girl probably only a few years older than me. She doesn’t move, but her eyes are open, the light from the fire glittering off her brown irises.

I come to a stop at the edge of the circle next to Father . As if conducting a symphony, he holds up his fist and in a swift movement pulls down, his elbow jutting out at a right angle signaling the end of the humming. The silence so abrupt, it’s almost startling.

“My children, you are gathered here today to welcome our newest member into the family. The first recruit at his age.” He announces to twelve others. “Some may wonder, what has he done to earn his spot in Satan’s home, well that’s why we’re all here. Soon enough he too will be worthy. ”

I try to grasp some understanding of what he means, but my eyes catch on the leaves above their heads, rustling in the summer breeze. The cool air licks my skin, goose bumps puckering, but not from being cold.

Bordeaux grips my shoulders and maneuvers me in front of Father , facing him.

I’d much rather lose my attention to the vine-like branches that sway high in the sky, but instead I’m forced to meet black eyes resembling a rat.

Now that I think about it, everything about this man is like a skinny rat.

His coarse, grey hair, his long, pointy noise, those whiskers. ..

“Son, you are brought here tonight to prove your worth to Satan. You’ve accepted his way, now it’s time to prove to him that you will be a devout follower.” He explains.

“And what if I don’t?” The question slips before I can stop it.

His lips twist in disdain, but he answers. “Then you will be just another gift to our Master.”

“I don’t-”

“You’ll be sacrificed.” He clarifies.

I swallow the information like a pill turned sideways.

“What do I have to do?”

Father’s hand reaches inside his robe, pulling something out. A glint catches my eyes, silver shining with the reflection of the surrounding flames. My gaze travels up the six-inch blade to a golden handle carved with stacked skulls.

A knife.

I trip over my own feet, retreating as if being repelled by the item itself.

“See that girl there?” He nudges his head behind me, and I twist, looking at the girl clad in a white dress. I nod. “She’s offering herself to you. She’s allowing you to take her life in exchange for your own. A life lead by Satan. ”

My mind comes to a screeching halt, the words leaving his mouth unfathomable.

“No.” Is all I can think to say.

Bordeaux’s fingers wrap around the back of my neck, turning me to face Father again.

“Your choice, son. Will it be your life or hers?” He asks, smiling as if he already knows the answer.