Moon River

by Nicholas Knight

  The steel door to the underground prison opens up, and a steroid-pumped goon drags in a rabid wolf that had been hunted, butchered, and imported especially for her. It was easy for the traffickers to have access to exotic animals, as their ring was socially linked to unpardonable groups that shamelessly made their money from poaching, trophy hunting, and other moral turpitude against wildlife. This, sadly, was a common denominator for many corporations and organizations, both religious and secular.

  “You, son of a bitch!” Dawn screams, from seeing the mangled corpse of the innocent animal, and filled with seething fury towards her sadistic captors whom she knew were getting off on tormenting her; which they were succeeding in ways they weren’t even consciously mindful of.

  The brutish thug runs up and kicks the alpha female upside the face with his steel-toe boots, knocking out a few of Dawn’s teeth and nearly taking her pretty head off. The Muslim ruffian laughs at her, as the livid but frightened squaw fearfully cringes in the corner of the stone-walled cell. The hired bully closes and bolts the door behind him, leaving Dawn to stare at the decomposing, maggot laced, and fly infested wolf. Dawn briefly slips into a daydream state, where she imagines herself pouncing on the Islamic goon, gouging his eyes out and then eating them. This amusing hallucination was short-lived, as the mere thought of tasting his detestable flesh sickened her to the very core.

  She didn’t want to feast off the contaminated beast, as it immediately reminded her of her dear friend that she had regretfully deserted. Then again, it had already been slaughtered by other hands, and her insatiable hunger was quickly overpowering her conscience and values. It chilled Dawn to know that after all the horror she had been through in her past, nothing had been more morbid or macabre than this damned situation. These people rejoiced in the exquisite suffering of others, and she found nothing to be more terrifying. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if shivering, and rubbed her injured arms. She wished that Cheri would come looking for her, not knowing that she already was and had been.

  “It’s just an animal,” Claire said, showing her insensitive and inconsiderate nature. “It’s not like they have souls.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Dawn said, remembering her father’s sermons and listening to her heart. “Animals aren’t put on this planet for our sadistic amusement. Animals are sacred, and should be treated with respect. Jesus Christ is often referred to as the Lamb of God and the Lion of Judah. These symbols meant something. Jesus is called the final sacrifice for several reasons, not just one. Animals matter too, and aren’t we the real animals by not valuing or respecting them?”

  “So, I take it you don’t approve of hunting as a sport?” Stacey asked, already safely assuming Dawn’s answer.

  “It’s not a sport, unless the animals are armed too. Hunting is as cowardly an act as abortion. Both are crimes against the helpless,” Dawn said, as she worried about Wolf and hated herself for not being there to protect him. “The dove is a symbol of peace and purity, which signifies the personality of the Holy Ghost. Any preacher or minister who advocates hunting is not only no man of God, but is a bloodthirsty sociopath. Jesus was a pacifist, not a sadist. When Daniel was placed into the lion’s den, he was unharmed. If he had been placed in a den of conservative Christians, I guarantee you that the outcome would have had a far different result.”

  “God says, do not kill,” Julie added.

  “That’s right, Julie. Matthew 5:21 and 19:18 tell us to not murder. The Bible doesn’t say, do not murder people. It says, do not murder. Very good, Julie,” Dawn complimented her, impressed with Julie’s heart. “Genesis 9:5 says that every beast (including humankind) has the same lifeblood. It’s all precious. Exodus 20:13 says, do not kill, period. God also wouldn’t have made such an effort to have Noah rescue two of each animal, if the Lord didn’t care about them. God postponed the Flood so that the animals could be saved.”

  Julie cowered in a ball, sitting with her knees up and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her head was down, hiding her face from the other girls. She was proud of Dawn’s words, but had an uneasy time around any kind of conflict or confrontation. She was in her teens, but still had the mind and maturity of a preschooler. Her voice was somewhat muffled because of how she sat, but she wanted to voice her support for Dawn’s stance against animal cruelty, and Dawn deeply respected her for that.

  “Who was that?” Dawn asked the other girls, referring to the hostile bully who had just relieved her of some of her teeth.

  “That’s, Boner,” Claire answered. “We hear he moonlights as an owner of a Christian bookstore and the band leader for his Baptist church.”

  “He’s an uber-prick, disguised as a Christian,” Karen added, while inadvertently describing the vast majority of the so-called Christian community.

  Mathias and Joy had stopped at a convenience store, after filling their tank. Mathias had outgrown his appeal, but she was afraid to take his life. As an Arae, she was bound by certain rules that she couldn’t change or control. Initially conjured to wreak havoc on those who tormented the late Aleister Crowley, she needed to remain connected to his worshippers if she wanted to endure on Earth and in human form. Joy picked up a straw broom and was playing with it inappropriately between her legs. The ELO song, Evil Woman, plays in the background. Before she knew it, Joy was pretend-riding the broom handle, as if she were competing in a witch’s rodeo. A few men stared at her in lust, while others were afraid to make eye contact, but nobody approached her, as she gave off a clear and present vibe of danger. One man, however, had the balls to speak his mind and tell her what he thought of her.

  “You’re a freak,” he rudely muttered, with neither courtesy or compliment behind his words.

  “If only you knew,” Joy said back. “If you only knew.”

  MAY 6, 1979

  HARE MOON

  The Islamic thug, who was jacking off to making Dawn suffer, was unfortunately not the only oppressor behind this real-life nightmare. Boner was just one of many perpetrators that were employed in this barbarous syndicate, and the only one who wasn’t fair-skinned. These were human fleas who thrived off the misery of others, while enjoying being the cause of it. These were human predators who were the scum and scourge of the Earth, somewhere between identity thieves and terrorists. There was power and wealth funding this underground operation, which was how they were able to get away with murder. These sordid monsters solicited girls for much worse than simple prostitution. These bloodsucking ticks were prominent members of society and pillars of their communities.

  Clients would take these girls to parties, for those who had just gotten elected into office, as arm candy. These clients included cops, evangelists, politicians, shrinks, ministers, judges, and sports team owners. The girls were taught how to hold prestigious conversations and were trained how to be ladies in public. Later, when they were alone with the clients, heinous horrors would happen behind the closed doors. They were sat upon and smothered, as a form of torture. Sometimes they were forced to have sex with boys as young as 5, while the voyeurs pleasured themselves. Each client had different expectations, and if any of the girls dared put up a struggle or disobey in any way, the whole lot of them would be severely disciplined for the misbehavior of one. Punishment would often range from forcing the girls to eat dog feces, to tying them up and electrocuting them.

  Jonah T. Clark and Brandon Morgans are watching Howard Cosell host, Battle of the Network Stars. They both had impeccable backgrounds, just like the spotless Boner, who had no criminal record. Jonah is wearing a Hawaiian shirt with huge collars, and Brandon is donning a Polo shirt with sweater sleeves tied around his neck. These two preppy bullies lounged back with their feet propped up, watching the boob tube, while five young women starved in lockup only five yards away. The girls could hear the television, and listened to their jailers laugh and enjoy the celebrity competition, when all they had to watch was each other’s tears.

  “Wasn’t Pat Boone on this last year?�
� Jonah asked.

  “No, I think that was Debby Boone.” Brandon responded.

  “Who cares? Those religious types are all the same. Uptight, upscale, outrageously overpaid assholes,” Jeff said, just coming back from picking up some supplies at Rev. Eli’s church.

  “Why are you always so damned negative?” Jonah asked. “Stop being so negative! This is why we don’t talk to you, because you’re so damned negative.”

  “Yeah, Jeff Shh-Liar,” Brandon added, purposely poking fun at Jeff’s last name, which he felt had an appropriate pronunciation.

  “Umm, I think you have the words negative and honest mixed up,” Jeff Schleyer replied, as he reached up to adjust the sweatband on his forehead.

  Jeff suddenly froze, standing behind his two co-workers, while joining them in drooling over the luscious Hollywood babes on the televised athletic event. Donna Pescow (from Saturday Night Fever), Susan Richardson (from Eight is Enough), Toni Tennille (from The Captain & Tennille variety show), Brianne Leary (from CHiPs), Mary Crosby (from Dallas), and Valerie Bertinelli (from One Day at a Time) were some of the sitcom queens who were causing them to shove their hands down their pants.

  Stacey was the same age as Dawn and had spent her entire life there, as a sex slave. Her parents had actually sold her to the ring, while she was still an infant. So, she had been bred for this, and had known nothing different or better from life. Stacey wasn’t all there, mentally. She never actually spoke like a regular person or engaged in normal conversation. She could talk, and knew the English language, but all she ever did was ask questions…literally.

  Karen had just turned 16. She had been abducted from her family while she was just a baby. Someone had lifted her out of a shopping cart, at a Wal-Mart, while her mother was flirting with one of the store managers. As she threw herself at him, he saw her baby be stolen from the basket, but never said a word to the promiscuous mother or to the police. Karen, much like William had been, prided herself on her exceptional knowledge of the Gospel. One of her jailers had taken pity on her and given her a Bible, so that book became her escape. She would lose herself in the Word and read it until it was committed to memory. Yet, even still, she didn’t really know as much as she thought. She, like the broad majority of Christians, tainted the Bible with her own opinions and interpretations, rather than simply believing and accepting what was written there in front of her.

  Claire was 19. She had a nasty and angry demeanor, but not without good reason. She was one of the clients who was bought repeatedly, and exclusively, for a very specific purpose. Rich snobs would rent her from the syndicate and she would be whisked away to some remote property or island. She would be set free, temporarily, while being hunted as game. She would often be returned hours, days, or even weeks later, with broken fingers or ribs, or brain damage from having been kicked in the head. The underground facility had a high-profile surgeon on staff, so there was always a medical doctor on premises to tend to these girls when they came back busted. They’d be patched up and given time to heal, just so they could be broken again.

  “I’m going to kill myself,” Teri said, who was a habitual and pathological liar. Claire and Karen both rolled their eyes, knowing better than to believe anything Teri had to say.

  Julie just sat there quietly with her legs crossed, petting an invisible kitty in her lap, which she had named, Pee Pee. Her imaginary feline-friend apparently had yellow fur, hence the name she chose to give it. This was also appropriate, considering that Julie often wet herself while she slept. Julie had been kidnapped at age 12, which was 5 years ago. When she was first brought in, she wouldn’t stop crying for days, so they stripped her down, handcuffed her wrists behind her back, bound her ankles with restraints, and whipped her back and ass with a switch, until blood rushed from her young flesh. The traffickers then took turns pissing on her open cuts, wounds, and orifices. She was then thrown into a cage that was hung from the ceiling, where they left her isolated for weeks, in solid darkness, with nothing but her own urine to drink. Girls who weren’t born into sex slavery tended to have a harder time adjusting, and Julie was no exception. It took them months to break her, but once they did, she cracked and fell backwards into permanent childhood.

  Speaking of childhood, Teri was the way she was because of the Hell she went through as a little girl. She didn’t have to be abducted or sold into slavery, because her father worked for the trafficking ring and her mother was one of the young women in captivity. Teri’s father used to sit her on his lap while his trousers were down, at dinner parties and formal galas, with his stiff dick inside of her. He did this in the open, from her infancy period until she was 9-years-old. He told her that he had to do this, so that she wouldn’t fall off his lap and hurt herself. She didn’t know any better then, so she believed him and accepted it as normal, even though it hurt every time he poked her. When her age entered into the double digits, she began to wise up to her father’s con. When he noticed that she wasn’t buying the safety story anymore, his excuse changed from balance to philosophy. He justified it by telling her that she was born to serve a higher purpose, which was to succumb to his every need and desire. When she quit believing that load of bullshit, he began to violently rape her, while either smothering her face with a pillow or having her head in a plastic bag. She was 18 now, and treated like the rest of the girls. Teri’s post-traumatic stress had led to her taking after her father, in the sense that she had become what she hated the most…a liar, who felt nothing.

  As twisted as the male perpetrators were, it was a two-faced bitch by the name of, Wendy Ledford, who secretly ran the entire operation. She led a double life as the Co-Director for a twelve-step ministry, while her husband, Harry, was the Youth Pastor at the same local, evangelical church. These two frauds were very active with the children’s and student ministries, and guilty of far more than fondling or defiling babies. Because the people in this reprehensible syndicate were influential and respected members of their community, nobody thought twice or had any reason to suspect them of being the Devil’s champions. The sick reality was that this was how it was all over the planet. Human traffickers were often powerful, successful, rich, or charismatic and counterfeit Christians, which was precisely why they always got away with everything they did. They were always people who were in undeserved positions of authority, who sat in Ivory Towers and suppressed those they considered to be beneath them. Even on the rare occasion when charges were brought and scandals were exposed, nothing ever changed and no penalties were ever paid.

  When Richard had abducted Dawn and taken her from Mathias and the Golden Veil family, he put a crick in their plan. Mathias and Joy mutually wanted Dawn for their own selfish and secret agendas. Neither of them cared for her, but that didn’t keep them from wanting her. They were equally and separately obsessed with the scrumptious Native, and had no intention of taking ‘no’ for an answer. They both knew that they would inevitably end up subjecting her to one of their human sacrifice rituals, especially if her attitude failed to change and she continued to reject their persistent sexual advances. But, even if Dawn’s fate was to ultimately be the recipient of such a brutal and spiteful demise, it didn’t change the fact that they weren’t ready to lose her. She was taken far too soon, and they were determined to track her down and use her to live out their darkest and most depraved fantasies. Mathias couldn’t deal with his failed love spell, which had obviously backfired. His mind was set on retaliating against her and making her pay for her blatant disrespect and disinterest.

  They had been travelling West, since leaving Midland, not counting all the times Cheri turned around. Magus Mathias and Joy Zanetti had been following them the whole time, through an electronic toy that Cheri had in the back of her Van. Joy could sense that the Speak & Spell was sitting there, and had the supernatural ability to spy on them through this childlike technology. Mathias certainly hadn’t forgotten about his vendetta against Dawn for not reciprocating his carnal desires, and attacking he
r lesbian lover was second best to killing the tribal taco.

  While pulled over at a rest area, off I-19 Southbound, in Green Valley, AZ, Joy quietly opens the back doors of the Van. Cheri is out like a light, dead asleep. Wolf is laying down with her in the back, and perks up when he sees the evil priestess. While Joy uses her pseudo-kindness to try and lure Wolf out, Mathias creeps around to enter the vehicle from the front. His intent is to take Cheri by surprise and sedate her with chloroform. Joy has something hidden behind her back as well, but it’s not a rag saturated with a volatile solvent.

  Joy had a special skill, where she would use her soft fingers to fondle the head and hair of her chosen victim, effectively lulling them to sleep. Then, with a razor-tipped iron sheath on her middle finger, she would pierce their side and painlessly remove their lung and liver to either eat or use later in rituals. The wound would always heal immediately, without leaving any mark or scar. She planned on doing the same to the already-sleeping Cheri, and could already taste her internal organs on her vile tongue.

  Joy and Mathias spray painted a black pentagram on the outside of the Van, which was their way of marking Cheri as their victim and asking that her soul be lost after they snuffed her life. Little did they know that Cheri, like Joy, was part demon and had no chance of redemption or hope of salvation. The moon was beaming down on Cheri’s van, as if God himself was watching over it. Joy chuckled softly, amused by the beacon of light, as it reminded her of a little-known fact she had learned through the Craft.

  “The circle around the five-star pentacle actually represents the moon,” Joy whispered to Mathias, as she cautiously climbed into the back of the Van. “It was originally called, The First Pentacle of Mercury,” she added, struggling not to laugh out loud.