He awoke with a start as children clambered onto the bed. The fog of sleep lay over his mind. All he could see was her face and her breasts. He hadn’t seen her in more than 20 years, since school, and he certainly had never seen her breasts. It continued to linger on as he showered. Lost still even as his wife spoke to him and his kids bludgeoned for his attention.
Sarah Gage. At one time a close friend. His feelings for her were quickly dashed at 14. From there they became close friends, confiding in one another about their loves, fears and dreams.
Like many people after school they had lost contact upon entering new circles in college before falling in love and settling down.
Brian couldn’t tell if it was her appearance in his subconscious that rocked him or the nature of it. Having had no thought of her romantically since puberty it was disorientating.
The morning continued with children being washed, clothed and fed and eventually sent off to their respective centres of education. Awash in some peace and quiet, Brian couldn’t dispel the images of the night’s slumber. He slipped his phone from his pocket, opened his social media app of choice.
They were ‘friends’ here. Brian had never really taken in much of Sarah’s content instead focused mainly on making poop jokes on a fantasy football podcast fan page. He scrolled through the perfect picture books of his ‘friends’ lives routinely feeling little to no connection with these people, making cursory ’likes’ and “reactions” to photos of friends’ children and family members landmark occasions, nobody getting any younger.
He found Sarah after a minute. Her surname now being Agnew-Gage. The double barrel thing made him stick his fingers down his throat. He opened her profile and went straight to the photos.
Mr. Agnew-Gage was tall and handsome with most of their photos appearing to have been taken outside a church. No denomination clear to see. They didn’t have children, but Sarah had a niece and a nephew. She also had some photos in modest swimwear that sent Brian’s thoughts back to his dream.
His curiosity sated, he returned to the profile screen. His finger drifted to the private message button. The thought of what he was doing barely registered and he typed up a message:
“Hey, Sarah!! Been a while since we spoke. You look to be doing well and your husband seems like a strapping fella. You popped up in my thoughts last night and I just wanted to say hello. Brian.”
Send. He stared at the screen for a second, surprised by himself. He typically didn’t get in touch with people out of the blue. Felt his life was busy enough without adding more distractions to it.
He continued to stare at the message and the status, willing it to change. He noticed the time and pulled away waving to some fellow parents in the parking lot.
At work, he couldn’t go five minutes without picking up his phone to check for a reply. Even when there wasn’t he would scroll through some other social media to “like” countless memes and poop jokes on the podcast fan page.
It affected his concentration so much he slammed his phone into the desk drawer. His co-workers looked to each other in bewilderment, it being unlike Brian to cause a stir.
After half an episode of the great show everybody had been talking about six months ago during his lunch break, Brian returned to his desk and more importantly his phone. He retrieved it from his drawer and amongst the many notifications he found a reply:
“Brian!!! OMG! I was just talking to Lynsey about you a couple of days ago. You live on the same street now!? Jon certainly is a hunk of stuff, if I do say so myself. We need to catch up really soon. Your kids look adorable. (Soz. I scoped you out before replying.)”
Brian smiled to himself at the enthusiasm of the reply remembering the morning he’d met Lynsey in the neighbourhood. It had been a distracted encounter with Brian ensuring his kids didn’t injure or kill themselves on their bikes.
He’d reply later, he thought, not wanting to go through the afternoon in the same daze as he’d fell into in the morning.
The workday ended, he sat in the car doom scrolling his way through the latest presidential indignations and rock-star-that-he-liked cancellation. The phone vibrated in his hand.
“Hey, Bri. Lynsey says she’s having a get together at hers on Saturday and you and your wife are more than welcome to come. She says you know the house.”
Brian couldn’t help feeling some excitement rise within him and in the moment his dream vision of Sarah cropped up, breasts and all. His heart twanged with guilt. Better get home, he thought.
Saturday. They couldn’t get a sitter, but Brian’s wife insisted he go to the soirée. She gave him a bottle of wine and flowers to take with him, abhorring the thought of arriving anywhere without something to hand over.
Lynsey lived twelve doors down around a slight left bend. Brian came around the bend and spotted heat lamps around the side with people sitting out front, spilling from the back beyond the garden gate. It looked like a high school party gotten out of hand. There was, however, not the trademark thump of dance tunes going off and for all bustle it seemed more sedate the closer he got.
Those on the porch were smoking and drinking wine while discussing some Congressional bill Brian had no strong feeling on either way. He gave a friendly nod as he approached the front door. He rang the bell with the door flying open almost instantaneously. Sarah jumped in shock as she saw him.
“Fuck, Brian. I was just coming out for a smoke. The bell totally scared me.”
“Sarah. It’s been way too long.”
“Come on in. Let’s get something to drink.”
They grabbed wine and a perch. Chatted about old times. About who was doing what nowadays. Lynsey joined them at one point. Jon was introduced at another.
The wine went down fast and easy. Brian didn’t recognise anybody else there. When Sarah slipped away for a minute, he felt lost at sea. The disorientation deepened. He stood to get some air or to leave furtively. It would be easy to send Sarah a message tomorrow from the safety of his bed. He couldn’t stand the thought of a premature hangover.
He rose from his seat and just as quickly went down again, collapsing across the coffee table, which was thankfully, for him, solid oak rather than glass.
Brian groggily came to. He attempted to put his hand to his brow. He couldn’t. It was tied down. He tilted his head back seeing a crowd behind him headed by Sarah and Jon. They all donned dark cloaks with hoods sitting on their shoulders.
“What the fuck is this?” Brian said trying to remain calm.
His calm did not last.
“What the FUCK IS THIS!?” The latter half coming out increasing high pitched and incredulous.
“This is a sacrifice, Brian. A sacrifice to, Our Lord, Izrath,” said Sarah approaching Brian’s upside down view.
“Don’t you need virgins for this kind of thing?” Brian said. The ridiculousness of the situation overtook him and he stifled a nervous laugh.
“Mm. That’s an antiquated view and virgins tend to be used as a treat for the likes of Izrath. We love and worship Him, but we don’t want Him to tear down our plane of existence. I guess in a way, we keep Him as our powerful pet knowing He could help us on the other side. Knowing He exists is enough without turning Earth into a hellscape.
“You see, Brian, schlubby near middle aged white men are the most inconspicuous sacrifices. Just past your best, still as horny as teenagers. Plus, much less publicity when you go missing and your death will almost certainly be chalked up to misadventure or suicide.”
“What the fuck?” Said Brian, having been reduced to speaking purely in questions.
“We’re going to kill you to keep a demon on our side,” Sarah succinctly boiled things down to end this game of 20 questions.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait. What if I could get you way more schlubs like me? Would you let me go?”
“We don’t have the time to wait for that, Brian,” chimed in Jon to mix things up.
“Look, tomorrow night, me and a group of guys will be having our fantasy football draft. Schlub city. You can keep this Izrath well kept through them and let me live,” said Brian, pleadingly.
“You’d really let your friends die to save yourself?” Sarah asked, almost as if this wasn’t the person she remembered.
“Look, I’m not close with all of them. My kids,” Brian teared up at the mention of them.
“Okay. We’ll be keeping tabs to make sure you don’t tip anybody off in the meantime,” Jon said.
Draft night. Usually, a highlight of the year despite Brian’s awkwardness around the auction draft essentially seeing them bidding on the services of in excess of 100 African-Americans, like y’know. Brian enjoyed the strategy of the game, but his strategy for tonight was simply survival.
The Church of Izrath had members watching him closely with a car parked across the street since he got home last night. He was freaking out inside, but the threats to his family kept him going. Stopped him from calling the cops.
The draft was being held at Jack’s house this year and it seemed the most suitable given he was a recent divorcee. There would be ten so called schlubs in attendance. Brian didn’t like them all. They made up the numbers for the league and it was more trouble to find a replacement than it was to put up with ill-advised comments and team neglect.
Brian arrived early, too anxious to sit at home any longer. He’d meant to get a case of beer to keep up some pretence of normality, but he was too aware this was far from a normal night.
Jack answered the door, welcoming Brian. Cooper, the league commissioner, was the only other person there. He was setting up the draft board and cards in the living room. He gave a small wave and remained locked into his task. Cooper would relax once everybody was here. Brian felt like he might have a panic attack once that happened.
Jack was busy too, setting up a laptop for JJ to beam into since he now lived across the country. Brian grabbed a beer and a seat realising getting here didn’t make him feel any better and was in fact probably worse as the reality of the situation dawned on him.
The others arrived in dribs and drabs as time crept to start of the draft or as Brian thought, the start of the slaughter. Cooper had a timer ticking down the minutes and seconds that made Brian’s eyes itch. Holding back tears he bolted for the bathroom.
He vomited before he reached the bowl. Hot, viscous liquid everywhere. The tears poured as he teared hunks of toilet paper from the roll. It slopped the spew around with hunks of paper sticking to the floor. His tears muddied it all more. A loud bang stopped all motion and emotion.
He exited the bathroom to palpable silence. The jocularity of minutes ago dissipated to an unquiet hush. He turned the corner of the hallway with around 15 hooded figures coming into view standing over pure bloody carnage. He’d heard no screams and their killings must have been expertly performed.
In the centre of the room stood the coffee table from the party. Ornate symbols Brian hadn’t paid mind to at the time were now at the forefront of his vision. Blood journeyed along the carvings, almost in the shape of a figure and dripped off the far end.
The hooded worshippers got down on their knees before it.
Suddenly, pain in his right shoulder. He half turned and saw Sarah behind him.
“I’m sorry, but you know too much. Things could’ve happened with us. That’s why I let you see some of the goods in your dream,” she said coming fully into Brian’s sightline.
“We circled through my ex-boyfriends and you were the next best male I knew. Thankfully, you’ve given us a new avenue for seemingly endless sacrifices in the name of Izrath. Again, I’m sorry it had to be this way,” she paused for a second and then tore the dagger down to Brian’s ass. She left him bleeding in the hallway.
As Cooper’s laptop counted down to zero, Brian witnessed in his dying moments, JJ connect via video chat, only to let loose a scream as blood poured from his eyeballs. Heavy footsteps became massive hooves with matted bloody hair above. They raced to the front door as Denny entered typically late. Huge claws fanned out and took him apart as Brian winked out of existence.
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