Rob Zombie - Lords of Salem

“We have it, Mistress Morgan,” she said in a loud whisper. “Still slick and bloody from its birth from death into life. Shall we make it bloody with its own blood and let the life ooze back out of it and make our summoning?”

“All in good time, Clovis,” said Margaret Morgan, not looking away from the figure she had arranged. She had steady, brown eyes so dark that in the low light they seemed nearly black. They were set in an austere face with high, almost aristocratic cheekbones. Her mouth was cruel, her lips bloodless, and her face, too, was pale, as if drained of blood. She blew steadily before speaking again, the gray embers beginning to glow red. “All in good time.”

Clovis bowed and stepped back, the baby still wailing. Morgan blew steadily again and the embers grew redder and in a sudden rush the legs of the wooden man came aflame.

Once she was satisfied the fire had caught, she stood and stepped back. She inscribed an unholy figure in the air with the bloody tip of her knife, her dark eyes steady but shining with zeal.

“In the name of Satan, Ruler of the Earth, the King of the World, the Lord of the Oppressed,” she intoned, gesturing to the motley collection of witches gathered around her, dressed in cloaks of skins and rags, “I command the forces of darkness to bestow their infernal power upon the wretched vessels I have set before you.”

Behind her, Clovis held the baby like a chicken, dangling it now head down by its feet, both ankles gripped in her fist. It continued to squeal, its face deep red, its body tensed and its arms spread. Slowly, Clovis stepped forward, moving nearer to the fire. She bowed slightly and swung the child out before her, presenting it to Margaret Morgan, the leader of the coven.

“I beg of thee,” Clovis said, her head still bowed as she recited the memorized words, “take this gift and heal me of these mortal wounds inflicted by the Christian faith.”

Morgan slid the knife into her belt and accepted the child. She held it coldly in front of her, frowning slightly, her gaze hard and stony. When she began to speak, her voice had a deep crooning quality, almost hypnotic.

“O Lord Satan, Spirit of the Earth,” she said, “open wide the gates of Hell and issue forth from your blessed abyss.”

She raised the child high above her head, her eyes glittering. Before her the flames surged up and seemed to become a living thing. The flaming effigy within the fire seemed to give utterance to moans and wails, as if the wall between this world and Hell had begun to collapse, allowing Hell to ooze its sickly way through.

“Sisters!” said Morgan, casting her gaze on the coven gathered around her. “Reveal yourself to the master of our Lords! I am but your humble servant in this land of misery.”

The coven answered her in one voice, the fire casting their distorted shadows in a dark dance along the walls of the hut. “All hail!” they proclaimed. “Unholy Father, make your presence known this night!”

Morgan turned back to the flames and tilted the now-screaming baby toward the fire. “Help me breed this new world with your blessed spawn of glory,” she said.

A pale-faced woman with long and tangled dark hair stepped forward, swooning as if in a trance. “I am ready!” she said.

“And for what is it that you are ready?” asked Morgan of her. “Shall you commend yourself to our Dark Lord and Master, Mary?”

Mary nodded, her eyes sliding back and forth independently in the sockets, unfocused. “I am ready to abandon this mortal existence and deny Christ Jesus, the deceiver of all mankind!”

The fire climbed higher, the burning figure seemingly larger than before. Morgan nodded at Mary in approval. “What others among us are ready?” she asked. “Who among you shall abandon the deceiver of all mankind and embrace the one true Lord of Darkness?”

A plump woman, her face spread with large, seeping boils, stepped forward, swaying. “I, too, am ready,” she said.

“Speak, Abigail,” said Morgan. “He presses his ear against the wall of Hell and listens to you.”

Abigail took a deep breath. When she spoke, it was all in a single burst, the words tripping over one another. “I hold in contempt all of the symbols of the Creator. I swear on this day to be a faithful servant to the prince Lucifer.”

The fire rose again with a deep hissing sound. Impossibly, the flaming figure made of wood seemed to move as if it were coming to life. Again Morgan nodded. She began to reiterate the invitation to join, but one of the other women had already stepped forward. She was a hunched woman who looked closer to a beast than a human. Her dirty mane of hair was twisted with leaves and ribbons and seemed as if it had never been washed. She threw her arms upward.

“Speak, Sarah,” said Morgan. “The Dark Lord has thrust his head through the breach we have created in the walls of Hell and waits for you to beckon him forth and birth him into this world of pain.”

Sarah let out a burst of raucous laughter. “I pledge myself mind, body, and soul to fulfill the designs of our Lord Satan and his disciples!”

The fire rose again, and the figure, wreathed in flames, now seemed to writhe. “He comes,” hissed Morgan. “He comes!”

Two others stepped forward, hand in hand. At first, in the flickering flames, they looked like a mother and her child, but when they entered fully into the light it was apparent that one was a crusty old hag and the other a tiny dwarven woman. “Speak, Martha. Speak, Elizabeth,” Morgan said.

The dwarf spoke in a high, quavering voice. “We trample on the cross!” she screeched.

The crone’s voice was deeper but broken, as if half her vocal cords had been torn out. “We spit upon the book of lies!” she said.

For a moment the fire guttered. And then it rose higher than before, the whole hovel in danger of igniting. The wooden figure was suddenly, as if instantly, consumed and the flames took on a ruddy hue. And though the wooden figure was gone, the flames now seemed to flex and turn like limbs, a strange, flitting humanlike shape flashing here and there over coals that were long expired and yet continued to burn.

Morgan slowly lowered the baby until it rode in her hands just beside the flames. The flames themselves seemed to sense it there, the fire bending toward the child, licking out at it, as if preparing to consume it.

Morgan had to shout now to be heard over the roaring of the flames. “In our allegiance to our Master Satan we promise contempt to the faiths of all others. Stand ready to desecrate these false bodies! Show yourselves!”

Around her the coven began to cast aside their filthy clothing and rags and furs, stripping rapidly and quickly down until they stood stark naked before the roaring flames. Their bodies had been daubed with blood and painted with uncanny symbols. They had the appearance of letters, but not of any human alphabet, and they seemed almost alive, winding and wriggling on the skin as the coven swayed and moved. They were runes, but again of no recognizable system, and when one of the women came too close to the fire the flames licked out and imbued them for a moment with an unearthly glow. They were all varied except that they all had the same symbol between their breasts: a circle holding an inverted cross, mounted by an upturned semicircle with a downturned semicircle. The mark of their coven.

Morgan gave a curt nod and abruptly they began to speak in unison, the flames leaping and dancing as if in time to the words.

“Together we desecrate the virgin whore! Together we blaspheme the Holy Spirit. Together we laugh at the false redeemer’s suffering!”

“Sisters!” yelled Morgan. “Gather your tools and release the master!”