The words escaped my lips faster than Lucifer’s fall,
and this arcane utterance underscored the cacophony of chaos.
A procession of wayward souls screamed like wailing babes in a church play,
and the book binder of cards became a black sun in the flickering kitchen.
It was only meant to be a joke,
a jester’s play fueled by disbelief in the devil.
But then we dabbled in devilry, and deserted our devotion.
Seconds turned to hours, and minutes became days.
Not a one of us touched this binder, though our eyes were stuck to it like dead flies on flypaper.
No one breathed or shivered.
Then, a lustful hand stretched through the tension to hazard a touch,
her faith in the Almighty wavered like a dream lost in the darkness.
The hand touched the binder without bursting into flame. Instead, it slowly opened the cover.
Our minds were at ease after the initial few pages of plastic.
The cards glowed like proud noble kings,
unfazed by our misguided temptations.
A few pages in, we saw it.
A gaping pit lined with sharp, rotted swirls of teeth.
We stared too long, and felt it stare back it us.
We discerned no eyes, but we beheld the gaze of the abyss.
The flickering kitchen lights sprayed our backs with glass,
and our life’s liquid stained the tile floor.
A wayward drop dedicated itself to the darkness,
and the pit became a black whirlpool.
It could speak, it could see, it could hear.
One of us sheltered her bloody eyes,
another covered their spoiled ears,
and I held my mouth shut to stop whatever screamed inside of me.
And then we all screamed together, like the spoiled children we were.