Oh Cult

Jaime sneezed. She ignored the believers' stares. Worshipping the devil seemed fun at 15. Now she was 16. In 1 year she'd discovered sex, drugs, and rock n'roll--her favorites--had NOTHING to do with the devil! And watching wrinkly seniors raping goats was only funny the first time.

Worse, she was allergic to the homemade candles perpetually burning at the basement altar.

"YOU!"

The asthmatic voice of the head priest echoed across the gaping chasm of time. Or something. Knowing he was her old soccer coach killed the mystery. Jaime rolled her eyes under her cowl and shuffled forward.

Another violent sneeze knocked Coach Anderson back. Mrs. Baker the crossing guard doddered over to help, knocking down more candles.

Robes caught fire. Then people. There were screams (theirs) and giggles (hers). This was their best meeting yet. Even better than sacrificing the twins!

Jaime ran to the stairs and turned for a final goodbye. Flames filled the subterranean room. Believers clawed at burning flesh as blood turned to pudding. The smell was fantastic.

She started to open the door when a monstrous beast claw slammed it back shut. Jaime’s eyes followed the veiny arm to the beautiful man it belonged to. A muscled, oiled man with a ram's head. She stared, frozen, into its beady unending eyes.

And smiled.

Satan suddenly got a lot more interesting.