by Allen Lyne
The end for the club came suddenly on one summer's Sunday, when the boys were all under the spell of the longest trance of all. On that fateful Sunday afternoon, they were unconscious for so long none of them returned to the school in time for prayers before dinner. They were discovered missing at four forty-five p.m. when the roll was called at church parade. A wimpy little boy named Slattery gave the game away by having a quiet word in the sports master's ear straight after the parade. Slattery knew the whereabouts of the cave, because he had been there once to be initiated into the secret society. He had fled rather than face the bestial initiation rites.
Slattery had been bullied unmercifully from then on and threatened with death if he ever divulged the location of the cave. Although he lacked courage, Slattery overcame his fear in the belief that the circumstances were so serious that all members of the Black Circle Club would be expelled. After all, he reasoned, a church school would want to get a bunch of practicing Satanists from its midst as quickly as possible.
The sports master led a raid on the cave and took with him several of the house masters and three of the senior prefects. What they found in the cave both disgusted and frightened them, and after the finish of the inquiry, none of them ever spoke of it again.
All members of the society were expelled, and the school managed to hush the matter up. In Australia, all boys coming from the best private schools are destined to be leaders of commerce, industry and politics. The preparatory and junior school tie is still far more important than the democratised university tie. What one wears around one's neck can determine one's future.
None of the parents of the boys wanted adverse publicity for their sons.
His parents sent Jones P. to another private school—a non-boarding school this time, as they had decided they needed to keep an eye on him after his brush with the forces of darkness. Not that they took the matter seriously, considering it to have been mere schoolboy pranks. It would have shattered their complacency if they had seen what the sports master and the rest of his raiding party saw. As they did not, they couldn't bear too much blame for how Jones P. turned out. “Boys will be boys, and they will get into scrapes,” they reasoned. “And so will girls."
Jones P. and his expelled friends still kept in contact because they lived in the same city. They managed to form a new Black Circle Club—unknown to their parents or friends. This they kept as a very exclusive organisation. New members were thoroughly vetted before being allowed to join. As many of them were now at different schools, they met chiefly on weekends and during the school holidays. They refined and perfected their craft, and many were the weird and wonderful experiences they shared as a coven.
Jones P.'s most significant satanic experience came about on his own, and not with any member of the Black Circle Club. He was alone in the house, his parents being overseas on a brief holiday, and the housekeeper having been given the night off. Jones P. went to bed early on this particular night after consuming three quarters of a flagon of his father's best wine. He awoke in the early hours of the morning with an incredibly bright apparition sitting on his bed—shrieking at him.
Far from being frightened by the apparition, Jones P. was interested. He had seen much worse, and now he wanted to know what this thing was. “Please, keep your voice down. They'll hear you next door, and I'll be dropped right in it when my parents come home. They'll think I've been listening to heavy metal again.... What exactly are you?"
The perplexed apparition lowered its volume, although it continued to shriek, hoping for the usual response that it got when it made such visitations. After a short while, it subsided into a sulky silence.
"What's the matter, lost your voice?"
The apparition glared back at him. “You're supposed to be so frightened you either poo in your bed or get up and run away screaming, which allows me to follow you and hopefully frighten you to death."
"I have no intention of dying just yet, and anyway I'm a Satanist. I've seen much worse than you my fine fellow."
"Satanist? I must have got the wrong address. Is this forty-seven Wright Street?"
"You really stuffed up. It's forty-five Pridham."
"Bugger, the Devil will have my guts for garters if he hears about this. Don't tell him, will you?"
Before Jones P. could answer, a much brighter and larger light appeared in the corner. “He already knows you dundering dickhead,” bellowed Satan. “That's the third time this month you've appeared at the wrong address. Get yourself a road directory if you can't find your way about.... Now get out of here."
The apparition quickly vanished.
Even Jones P. was impressed. He had seen many glorious and spooky sights in his time as a Satanist, but never before had Old Nick himself appeared. Now the spirit that he worshipped had taken on material form and stood at the end of his bed, surveying him. Jones P. threw back the blankets and scrambled hurriedly into a kneeling position. He bowed to his spirit master.
"There's no need for that crap. When I want you in a kneeling position, it won't be for genuflection.... Now pay attention. I haven't got long."
"Yes, sir. I'm paying attention, sir.” Jones P. was back under the bedcovers.
"I've been watching you for quite a while, and I like what I see."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. I am not in the habit of saying things I don't mean. You have tremendous potential. It's a pity you got expelled from the church school. It would have been good to undermine those smarmy bastards. Two-thirds of the staff have no particular religious beliefs, and some of them are mine without their knowledge ... but that's another story."
Jones P. was amazed by the revelation. All of the staff at his former and at his present school appeared—to his young eyes—like the ultimate in pious devotion.
The Devil's eyes glowed red. “I want you to do a number of things for me."
"Anything. Anything at all, sir ... master. What should I call you?"
"You can call me anything, provided you don't call me late for the orgy.” The Devil burst into a roar of laughter, and Jones P. considered it politic to do the same.
The Devil wiped his eyes with a furry hand. “I want you to head up an organisation here on Earth for me, an organisation that will be instrumental in my final victory. If what I envisage comes off, you shall sit on my left hand for eternity.... How does that sound?"
"Pretty good, depending on what you expect me to do."
"You sound as though you believe you have a choice. You don't. You lost the power to choose some time ago. You are now a disciple of darkness. Henceforth, you will become my creation. I shall mould you into the shape I desire.” He snorted a little bit of fire from his nose, slightly singing Jones P.'s hair and eyebrows. “The first thing you must do is get good results at school. Study hard and get into law school. I have people in strategic places in all law faculties, and they will assist in your quest to graduate with top marks.” He watched as Jones P. raised his hands to ward off yet another blast of fire. “Once you have achieved this, we shall have a meeting, and I will explain your next move."
"How will you know when to visit me again?"
"I won't have to. I shall show you a method to enable you to visit me. It is known to but a very few chosen and trusted people, and you will keep it an absolute secret. Failure to do so will result in instant annihilation.... Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Right, mount one of these.... Skitsmoorb!” Two broomsticks—which glowed much as the Devil and his apparition before him glowed—suddenly materialised from nowhere.
"Broomsticks? I thought that was a mediaeval myth."
"Many things that were revealed centuries ago—and which are considered silly in these modern times—are true. This is one of them."
"So those witches who were burnt at the stake and drowned in witch's chairs all those years ago really were witches?"
The Devil roared with laughter. “Good Lor ... errr ... good Satan, no. Most of them w
ere innocent. The people who condemned the non-witches were in fact the witches. Beautiful irony, eh? That was one of my favourite times.” The Devil paused for a moment, reflecting on past glories. Then he continued, speaking a little more slowly. “I had so many things going for me then. Pogroms on witches meant thousands of innocent people being burnt, drowned, pressed, impaled or hanged. Plagues. The Black Death. Cities burning to the ground. Floods, famines, crusades, wars. Oh, that was such a rich period in my history."
Satan shook his head. “The problem is that the world has lost far too much of its superstition. These days it's just boring, old, ethnic cleansing and large bombs on the innocents ... and stuff like that. There's a lot more of it, and it's very effective, but it lacks the drama and the irony of past ages. Ah, those glorious days when I had masses of supposed religious zealots rushing hither and yon creating such really black evil. How about the inquisitions, hey? Masterstrokes! ... Enough of the history lesson. I shall teach you much more as time goes on. Right, now mount up and off we go."
"Where to?"
"Questions, questions, you're always so full of questions. Let yourself go in the moment, and all will be revealed."
"If we're going out, shouldn't I be dressed? My PJ's aren't all that warm."
The Devil kept his temper and his patience—both of which were rare things—as Jones P. came to recognise later on. As he looked at Jones P. from under his heavy eyebrows, his red eyes bored into him. “Trust, absolute trust and obedience are what I demand from you. You will not be cold. You will not be seen by anyone, for we will be invisible to all but the dark spirits—which hover everywhere on Earth. If you place your absolute trust in me, I will take you to a place where you will experience wonders you couldn't begin to dream about.... Now, mount that broomstick and let us be off."
There was an edge to the Devil's voice that bode ill if he encountered further delays. Jones P. mounted his broomstick, and he and the Devil passed instantly through the walls and flew up into the dark early morning air. The brooms circled a couple of times and then, as they found their bearings, flew westward. Jones P. was surprised to find he was not cold, even though the broomstick sped along at an amazing speed. The wind rushing past appeared to hit an invisible barrier that shielded him from its effects.
"This will be your personal broomstick from now on. I shall teach you the one-word command to shout out whenever you want it to come. You must never summon the broom unless you are alone and sure that you will not be interrupted. From the time you mount until the time you dismount, you will be invisible to all mortal eyes."
They sped on into the blackness. Jones P. could see the entire city spread out beneath him. The lights twinkled and the black snakes of roads had vehicle headlights moving along them. The course of the river was dark and sinister in the moonlight. He had seen it from aeroplanes before, but this was special. Being outside as you flew over made you feel a part of the landscape. Once again, he marvelled at the symmetrical layout of this perfectly planned city. “What is the word?"
"What word?” The Devil appeared to have gone into a sort of reverie.
"The word to summon the broomstick."
"Oh, that. The word is skitsmoorb. Practice with me a few times.” They did so as they whizzed on to the west. “Now, don't forget it and don't write it down anywhere. Clear?"
"Clear."
The city and suburbs were no longer beneath them, and now they were flying over the countryside. In the distance, Jones P. could see the sweep of the coastline, with the glinting phosphorous of the breaking waves evident as they creamed onto the shore. He could also see the lights of country towns—large and small—in the distance and the dark shapes of solitary farmhouses as they swept over them. Out to sea, the lights of a ship were bright spots in the blackness.
"Don't you ever worry about getting shot down?"
The Devil laughed his booming, hollow-sounding laugh, which rolled through the night air like thunder. “Not even radar can detect us. Nothing can except God, and he's not around any more."
Jones P. did not take that up with Satan, although there were many times in later life where he looked back and recalled what had been said.
The brooms heeled over and turned towards the north. They were now flying towards a low, inky black mountain range in the near distance. They arrived over the mountains and began to lose altitude, circling, as if the brooms were trying to make up their minds where to land.
Finally, they swooped low and went racing across the stony ground straight towards a cliff. The cliff loomed larger and larger, and the brooms showed no sign of slowing.
Jones P. thought for a second or two about getting off, but the speed at which they were travelling precluded such a move. “Grab some height,” he screamed, in imitation of a movie he had once seen about aerial warfare. “For God's ... s.... Grab some height.” The cliff face rushed towards him at an incredible rate of knots.
"Absolute trust. Absolute trust.” The Devil was roaring with laughter.
Then they were inside a cave, still travelling at the same breakneck speed. They flew down twisting and winding passageways, out into caverns miles wide and back into tunnels so narrow that Jones P. could feel his pyjama trouser legs scraping the walls. Miraculously, he was not hurt. Finally, deep underground, the tunnel opened out into the largest cavern yet. A modern escalator stood at the end of it. The brooms slowed to a halt and hovered just off the ground, allowing the Devil and the very shaken and stirred Jones P. to dismount.
"Whoof!” Jones P. was unsteady on his feet. “What a buzz."
"Didn't mess yourself then?” The Devil grinned and pointed to the escalator. “What do you think of that, eh? Installed only thirty years ago. Great way to travel down to hell. You get to look at all the pretty lights on the way down. Beats the elevator any time, I say."
"You have elevators to hell as well?"
"We try to keep up with the times. Years ago, before modern technology made things easier, you had to go down a series of ladders. Took forever to get there, and it was difficult to have visitors come down to report to me.... Unless they wanted to use several months of their lives doing so."
"You mean I can come down to see you without being dead?"
"You and a few other chosen people can. Don't make a habit of it, though. I only want to see you when you have something important to tell me."
"Like what?"
The Devil grinned his ugly, menacing grin once more. “That little Satanist clique you have going is set to grow and expand into something different. All of the people in it are to study law, and you will be the crux of the unearthly government I shall form when final victory is mine."
"You want me to report on progress from time to time?"
"That, yes, and I shall also send for you when I want to give you instructions. Whenever you need to see me, call for your broomstick.... What was the word you use to summons it again?"
"Err."
"You fool.” The Devil kneed Jones P. viciously in the groin. He then inserted two fingers into Jones P.'s nostrils, forcing the cringing boy onto tiptoes. “I told you to memorise it. I will tell you once more, and you will not forget it—on pain of being vaporised. You got that?"
Jones P. collapsed into a ball as the Devil released him. He tried desperately to breathe. The Devil's wrath was hot indeed—once invoked—he quickly learned the lesson that you did what you were told and didn't mess up.
"Skitsmoorb. Say it with me.... Skitsmoorb.... Now by yourself.” Satan mouthed the word as Jones P. painfully articulated it.
Jones P. gagged as the Devil pressed his face right against his. The smell of Satan's breath was like that from an open sewer.
The Devil smiled one of those smiles that turned atheists into Christians. “There's an easy way to remember it, and I'm sure it will come to you if you try hard."
The Devil's sarcasm was lost on Jones P., and he never did work out the easy way to remember the word. It was painfully imprinted
on his memory in any case, and he never forgot it again.
"Now go back to your spermy bed. I have other fish to fry down below. Remember, don't come to see me unless you have something important to communicate, or unless I send for you."
"Couldn't I come down now and have a look around?"
"You'll see quite enough of it in the future, don't worry.... And now adieu, I am going to hell."
The Devil stepped on the escalator and disappeared downwards at a great rate.
Jones P. put one foot on the moving steps. A painful electric shock coursed through his body, throwing him high into the air and several yards away from the escalator. He could hear the Devil's hollow booming laugh from somewhere deep down below, and his faint voice reached up. “That'll teach you. Do as you're told."
Jones P. mounted his broomstick and flew painfully home. He did not enjoy the trip back nearly as much as the trip there, as various parts of him ached too much for him to appreciate the scenery.
He was not disheartened, however. The Devil might play rough, but Jones P. was destined to sit on his left hand for eternity.
What could be better than that?
Chapter 5
The Lawyers Convention
The underground convention centre was capable of holding up to thirty thousand people at any time. It was rarely used. No one except for certain members of the legal fraternity knew of its existence. It was not well maintained, but none of the members particularly cared—apart from one or two of the older and more conservative members.
Paint peeled from the walls. The original dun colour had become much darker, both from the smoke that spewed from flaming torches placed in holders around the walls and from the cheap cigars many of the members favoured. Further increasing the eye-stinging smoke, each of the people present held a candle, and the smell of hot wax hung in the air. Shadows swept across the assemblage whenever the great doors opened to admit more of the fraternity, as the breeze made the torches and candles flicker.