by Leo Romero
Then suddenly, they seemed to slow, and Troy realized it was because they were going uphill. The tires were crunching over some kind of gravel. Troy’s ears popped. They were going up and up and up. His head spun in the darkness. Where in the hell were they?
After a while, the car leveled out, went a bit further and then came to an abrupt stop. Everything went silent. Troy heard car doors close, then the trunk was popped, it creaked toward the sky.
“Hey, it’s about time,” he said with a sigh of relief to whoever it was standing over him. “Where are we?”
He was answered by rough hands grabbing hold of him.
“Hey!” he protested.
They dragged him out of the trunk. His sandals touched grit and he stood upright. The hood was then ripped from his head. He was met by a full moon, huge in the sky. Beneath it were small hills that rolled all around them in a neat circle. His eyes then fell on the people surrounding him. A couple of goons like the gorillas back at the villa were standing either side of him. Ahead of him were those freaks in the robes, except there were more of them now. A small army of them. Some were carrying torches like they were going on a witch-hunt. A couple of them were busy lighting the torches protruding from the ground around them, giving the area some light.
“Hey, where am—” He turned his head as he spoke; he was cut off mid-sentence by the massive stone pyramid standing to his left. “I...?” he finished with a gasp, his jaw dropping.
He ran his eyes up the steps leading from the ground to a small entrance at the midway point of the pyramid. Halfway up the steps was another freak in a robe, holding a torch. A mask was obscuring his face. Troy then recognized the mask; it was the face of that Unholy Mother woman they were on about back at Víbora’s villa. Swirls for eyes and big fangs.
“What is this place?” Troy asked, his eyes fixed on the pyramid.
He was answered by a monk throwing one of those black robes over his shoulders. “Vamos,” he then said, pointing toward the steps.
“Can you at least get rid of the cuffs?” Troy asked.
“Go!” the monk answered, pointing forcefully at the steps.
Troy turned to face the temple. He sighed. “All right,” he said. “But, remember, I’m doing this against my will.”
“You go!”
He was shoved forward and he went, his sandals crunching grit. His entourage of black-robed monks swiftly followed up. As he drew closer to the pyramid, they broke out into a chorus of chanting. “Oooh, ahhh...”
A shiver jolted up and down Troy’s spine. He felt like a death row inmate being led to the gas chamber. The moon bathed the area in harsh light, giving the whole thing a kind of pagan sacrificial ceremony vibe. They could’ve at least brought some fresh virgins along for the ride, Troy thought to himself in disappointment at his predicament.
Troy started up the steps. The monk in the mask turned and headed for the entrance to the temple. Troy gulped, then followed, taking one step at a time, the chanting going on around him unabated. His eyes darted left and right as he ascended the steps. The surrounding area was all forest, not a house or building in sight other than this stone pyramid constructed in the middle of nowhere. We’re all alone. The thought terrified him.
Behind him, the other monks followed, their torches held high, their chanting in perfect unison. They were like the choir at the Godwin Baptist Church Troy was forced to attend when he was a kid, except with deeper voices.
He reached the summit of the steps and now the entrance to the temple was ahead of him. There was a fiery glow emanating from inside, which flickered off all of the stone surrounding him. The chanting now took on an echo-like quality. There were more monks inside the temple, chanting, their voices reverberating inside the hollow stone confines.
He swallowed as he stepped through the entrance. The inner chamber came into view; a vast stone sanctum, stone steps leading down to a stone floor where more monks were on their knees, congregated in a semi-circle around the far wall. Painted on the wall was her again: the Unholy Mother. Magdalena. Clutched in each of her hands was a snake, her left foot raised up in that dance pose. She was standing on a mountain of snakes that formed a pyramid shape. The snakes sat in what appeared to be a river of blood. The monks were bowing and praying to the depiction in perfect synchrony, their chanting dominating the airwaves. Their combined voices bounced off the stone walls, creating a massive thrum that vibrated Troy’s eardrums. Torches dotted around the chamber illuminated everything orange-yellow, making it look like a scene right out of Hades.
Troy watched the spectacle in bemusement. He’d been to a couple of frat toga parties, but they were a joke compared to this. I mean, these guys had their own ancient pyramid for Chrissakes.
The monk just ahead of him on the steps then spun to face him, realizing Troy had stopped moving. He thrust a finger toward the ceremony.
“Down there?” Troy asked, although he already knew the answer.
The monk just gave him a stern nod of his head.
Troy puffed his cheeks. “Okay...” He started down the steps, sandwiched between all the monks, the gorillas taking up the rear, just to add a bit of security, just in case he did anything stupid like try and escape.
He had a tentative look around as he fully entered the pyramid. There were more paintings on the other walls. They showed weird faces of different colors. He then spotted a familiar one on the wall to the left; it was him. El Sanguinario. He was there in his flowery red top, white pants, and sandals, doing his strange jig. His hair was wild, his eyes two hypnotic whirlpools. Grasped in each of his hands were severed heads, one female, one male. Blood dripped from their stumps.
Troy stared at the painting with one eyebrow raised. Why do they think that guy’s me? Cause of the Hawaiian shirt? Man, these people are weird.
The chanting continued to reverberate as he made it further down the steps, his sandals scratching on stone. As he drew closer to the inner chamber, his nostrils twitched. A strange, sickly-sweet smell filled the air. He realized they were burning some kind of incense. They’re nothing but a bunch of hippies, Troy thought to himself. They probably just wanna sing Kumbaya.
He finally made it down the steps, his eyes rolling in nervous circles as he delved deeper into that cavernous catacomb. It was like entering the freakiest medieval church in the universe. And the entire congregation was stoned out of their minds.
The monks all continued to pray, oblivious to his presence. Troy stopped just behind them and watched. Down here, the smell of incense was now intermixed with an old, mossy musk that had no doubt lingered in the place for centuries. Hot smoke from the burning torches also made an appearance.
The masked monk then stepped up to him. Now up close, Troy realized that Mask was female. She pointed a slender finger over to the mural of the Unholy Mother, then at the ground near the semi-circle of praying monks.
“Go there?” Troy asked, nodding his head in that direction.
Mask nodded.
“Okay,” Troy said, taking a deep breath. He took tentative steps amongst the throng, watching the others left and right, careful not to step on one by mistake. They remained on their knees, bowing and chanting. Troy found a space, then glanced up at Mask.
Mask pointed a stern finger at the ground.
“On my knees?” Troy asked.
Mask gave him a firm nod.
“Oh boy...” Troy said to himself before he slumped to one knee with a groan. He then went down to his other. He glanced back at Mask, smiled, and gave her an eyebrow raise. “This good?”
Mask nodded, then clasped her hands together and bowed her head. She then pointed at Troy, indicating for him to copy.
Troy’s face pinched. “How can I pray with the cuffs on?” he asked.
Mask headbutted the air ahead of her in an angry demonstration of what she wanted Troy to do.
“Okay, okay. No need to get violent,” Troy responded. He licked his lips, and stared up at the depiction of t
he Unholy Mother. Her vicious, scary face gazed down upon him and the other monks from on high. Troy closed his eyes, bowed his head and began chanting in time with the others around him. “Uhm, ah, uhm, ah, uhm, ah...”
In no time, he found himself lost in the throes of worship, bowing his head up and down in a mechanical fashion, chanting alongside his fellow unholy brethren. “Uhm, ah, uhm, ah, uhm, ah...” The smells; the incense, the moss and vegetation, the old stone, became a miasma of intoxication, the sound of the chanting driving him on.
“Uhm, ah, uhm, ah, uhm, ah...”
He continued in the groove for what seemed like an hour, before, without warning, the monks around him ceased chanting. Troy, however, continued with his worship, chanting and bowing alone. His own sole voice bounced off all the stone walls and hit his eardrums. The sudden shock caused him to stop halfway through a bow. “Uhm—”
He flicked open an eye and looked around open-mouthed. The monks had all got up and left. He whipped his head back; they were now all standing around a stone slab over to the right of the chamber. Troy frowned. He had a final glance up at the Unholy Mother. “See ya, doll,” he said to her gnarly face, then heaved himself up to his feet. He turned to face the monks. “Hey, what’s going—”
He was cut short by Mask, who shot her hands up to the ceiling. “Traer el sacrificio!” she shrieked like an insane Roman Emperor.
The hairs on the back of Troy’s neck sprang to attention. He looked around him in confusion, wondering what the hell was going on.
A girl’s voice began echoing out from somewhere. There was another room. Troy followed the sound to a doorway cut into the wall behind him. The girl’s distressed voice grew louder by the second. In the next instant, a naked girl with deep-brown skin and long curly hair was dragged unceremoniously out through the opening. She was struggling, but was no match for the heavy set brutes who were grappling her.
She laid her frightened eyes on all the monks and began screaming. “Diablos!” she shouted before she spat at the nearest monk.
Mask pointed at Troy, then at the girl.
Troy grinned to himself. They did bring the virgins after all! Hey, this might actually get interesting.
Troy gave Mask an embarrassed smile. “For me?” He sent them all a friendly chuckle. “How nice. Thing is, I can’t really do anything with her while my hands are cuffed, see? Now, if you could just take them off, then I can get busy, if you catch my drift.” He gave them a double raise of his eyebrows just to truly hammer the point home.
The monks just stared back at him with neutral expressions; it was like they were cyborgs.
After a few moments, Troy frowned. What in the hell’s going on here?
Then, he got his answer. They dragged the feisty girl past Troy to the stone slab. They threw her down and held her there.
Troy shook his head. “Hey, you don’t have to be so rough with her! I get it; a sex ritual. It’s cool, homie. I mean I am el Sanguinario after all. And trust me when I say I’m a real love machine.”
Mask then began reciting incantations and the monks began uhming and aahing once more.
The girl shrieked and struggled, but it was futile.
“Okay. I think you can go easy on her now,” Troy suggested, showing them his palms. “You’ll bruise her and that’s not a great look. I’ll do what you want me to, and then I’ll be on my way. Okay? Just get the cuffs off and leave her to me. I’ll make sure to give the Unholy Mother a good show. Just go easy on her. Okay?”
But it was like they couldn’t hear him.
Instead, Mask raised her hands to the sky again and shrieked.
And then someone else entered the fray from the other chamber. Another gorilla with hairy shoulders and a black hood over his head. When Troy saw what was in his hands, he gasped. “Oh Jesus!” he exclaimed.
The huge ax in the gorilla’s hands glinted under the torchlight. Its head looked razor sharp; sharp enough to cut through granite. He approached the stone slab with purpose.
Troy’s eyes widened. “Hey! Seriously, you don’t have to do anything for me,” he told them, rapidly shaking his head. “Honestly, I don’t want to be prayed to, or worshipped, or anything like that.”
The monks continued chanting as the gorilla stopped at the head of the stone slab.
The girl shrieked in absolute terror.
The gorilla lifted the ax high above his head. The chanting intensified. The monks began doing a strange jig from one foot to the other that at any time would’ve been hilarious, but alarm bells were ringing like crazy in Troy’s mind.
His eyes bulged. “Hey! No, don’t!” he shouted. “You don’t have to! I don’t want you to!” He puffed out his chest. “I’m el Sanguinario, and I command you to stop!” He spoke in a deep and imposing voice. “I command you! You stop! Now!”
No one was listening.
Mask brought her fist down on the air.
The girl let out a final scream.
The head of the ax glinted as it came down like a guillotine.
Troy winced. “No!” he screeched.
The girl’s screams were severed in an instant.
There was the quick chop sound of a butcher dissecting a rack of ribs, followed by a dull thud like a melon falling off a display stand and hitting the floor.
Troy’s chest tightened; silence descended upon the chamber. The gorillas finally released the girl’s twitching body; it bled and spasmed of its own accord. Her detached head stared up at them all from the ground. The aroma of fresh blood began to taint the air with a coppery quality. The gorilla executioner turned and marched away in a robotic, mind-controlled manner, blood smeared all over the head of his ax. He vanished into the doorway to the adjacent room, and that was that.
Troy’s chest then collapsed; he began sucking in huge breaths, playing catch-up. He stared at that twitching, headless body on the slab in horror. “Man, you guys are insane,” he said to himself between breaths. He looked up at Mask, who was now staring straight at him. The other monks drew back from the stone slab, their chanting now muted and slowed; a low rumble.
Mask stepped over to the side of the stone slab. She bent down, grabbed the girl’s long, bloody hair, and raised her head high. Her death-face stared at them all, her tongue lolling from her mouth, her bloodshot eyes bulging. Troy winced on laying eyes on that face. He’d actually been ready to get it on with her on the stone slab, now she was in bloody pieces. What a comedown.
Mask pointed a rigid finger at Troy.
Troy gasped. Me next?
Mask approached him, that head held high like she was Perseus wielding Medusa’s severed dome. As she moved, blood dripped from the stump, leaving a trail behind. Eventually, she was face-to-face with Troy. Troy stared into those eyes beyond the mask; they were wild, but held an innate intelligence that made Troy’s balls curl up. He thought about icing her, but before he got the chance, Mask shoved the head into Troy’s face. Troy flinched back. He rolled his eyes to the side to be met with the girl’s bloodshot stare. He gulped.
“Take!” Mask screeched.
“What?”
“Take!”
“You want me... to take the head?”
Mask nodded affirmative.
Hands then began fiddling with the cuffs beneath Troy’s robes. Troy whipped his head back just as his hands were released from the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists in relief.
“Take!” Mask then repeated, pushing the head further in toward him.
Troy groaned. “Do I have to? Look, I appreciate your little... ceremony for me, but I’d like to leave now.”
The two gorillas then stomped up to Troy from behind; they towered over him. Troy looked up at them in fear. There was no way he could ice everyone in the room and then escape. He realized the only way to survive this was to (gulp) take the head.
He briefly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then reached a shaking hand out toward that head. His fingertips touched the hair and he winced. He curled his fing
ers around a handful of hair and grabbed it. It felt horribly real. He groaned and craned his neck away, the bile in his stomach suddenly on the move. Mask grabbed his forearm and thrust his arm into the sky, forcing him to hold the head aloft.
The monks all fell to their knees and began praising him, their chanting increasing in volume. “Uhm, ah, uhm, ah, uhm, ah...”
Troy stood there like some weird cult leader. He gazed over the throng of worshipping monks with a weird mix of power and revulsion coursing through him. He turned his head to lay eyes on the image of el Sanguinario painted on the wall. He stared back at him, his eyes whirling, those heads clutched in his hands, just like Troy right then. Bloodthirsty animals, that’s all these people are, Troy now understood, bloodthirsty animals.
Mask released his arm, making Troy recoil. Mask was now pointing over at a small metal fire pit in the corner. One of the nearby monks placed the head of his lit torch on the woodpile inside the pit. It burst into yellow flames that took greedy licks at all the dry wood within.
Mask pointed at the fire again.
“You want me to put this in there?” Troy asked, the girl’s head still held high, blood dribbling down his forearm.
Mask nodded.
Troy nodded back. If it meant getting rid of the damn head, then he didn’t care. He sucked in a breath and dashed over there as fast as he could while the monks continued to pray. He stopped just short of the bonfire and glanced up at the severed head. The girl’s distraught features stared back at him.
“Sorry, babe,” he said to it before throwing it into the bonfire, at the same time releasing an ‘eww’ sound. The head landed in the middle of the pyre; the hair immediately ignited. Troy hopped back, wiping the blood from his forearm, the acrid stench of frazzled hair now in his nostrils.
The monks all began cheering, their fists pumping on the air. It was like he just scored a winning touchdown for their team.
Troy turned from the burning head toward them all; the joy etched on their faces was palpable. He gave them a twitchy grin. He then glanced back; the head was melting in the fire, a hot stench of cooking meat emanating from it. He watched it in morbid fascination as the flesh twisted and distorted. The eyeballs then gave in under the pressure and popped, running out of her head in a white, sticky goo.