Content warnings: Ritual sacrifice.
“Stay after the show,” she had said. “I’ll show you the pieces I’m working on now,” she said.
Annette had been honoured. She knew how hard it was to be vulnerable as an artist, to show someone pieces not yet ready for the public.
Now, as she sat gagged and tied to a chair at the centre of a pentagram drawn in something that looked too much like blood, surrounded by people in hooded crimson robes, she wished she had never come to the art show at all.
Two robed figures stepped forward. One held a large knife. The other held a golden chalice with symbols Annette didn’t recognize carved into its edges. She didn’t want to know what they were going to do with either thing, but she had a feeling she was about to find out.
The people at the circle’s edge started chanting. She couldn’t place the language, though some of the words sounded familiar. Latin, maybe? Satanic cults in horror movies always used Latin. She wasn’t certain these people worshiped Satan, but they were definitely a cult, and they definitely seemed like they had stepped out of a horror movie.
The knife wielder raised their blade, silencing the chanters.
“Tonight, we call on our lord Mammon.”
She recognized the knife wielder’s voice immediately. Raquel, the artist who had invited her into this cursed basement. Annette’s hands curled into fists, but that was all they could do. The ropes were too tight to escape.
“Mammon,” Raquel repeated, “the much-maligned bringer of wealth. We were taught to fear him, to see him as a creature of greed, so that we might never seek to snatch riches from our so-called betters. Tonight, we reject that fear. We embrace Mammon, and through him, claim the wealth we deserve.”
I know times are hard for artists, Annette wanted to say, but ritual sacrifice? There has to be a better way!
“We give this sacrifice to Mammon,” Raquel pivoted as she spoke, looking at each of the robed figures in turn, “in exchange for that wealth.”
Raquel moved to Annette’s side, followed by the chalice holder. The chant started again, faster now.
Annette should have been terrified, but all she felt was rage. She stared at Raquel, mentally daring her to look Annette in the eyes, to have the strength to face the truth of committing human sacrifice. Coward, Annette wanted to yell, you can’t even look me in the eyes as you kill me! The thought was irrational, but so was this whole situation.
Raquel slit Annette’s throat in one quick, practiced motion. The chalice carrier lifted his vessel to her throat in a similarly practiced motion, as if the duo had been doing human sacrifices together for years. The thought pissed Annette off even more—if they had already committed human sacrifice and not gotten rich, what did they think more deaths would accomplish?
I hope they never earn another dollar, she thought, their art is shit anyway.