My mother resumed her satanic masses again after a long period of inactivity. She performed the ritual in the living room of the apartment, which seemed oddly fitting because the house had an almost Gothic feel to it. The large living room and long narrow hallway created an echo chamber effect—an ideal setup for performing the black mass.
She performed these masses almost once a week for most of the year. As with my prior experience, we all sat in the center of the circle while she summoned the demons. She described to me the danger of these demons. They liked to hurt people, even torture or possess them. At some point during one of these little “lessons,” she tossed in the notion that demons especially like boys.
I occasionally glanced at some of her books when I was home alone. I found it interesting that demons always seemed to be male, interesting indeed. Her library ranged from numerology, dream interpretation, to Satanism and occult practices.
I’d stick my head into the hallway to make sure I heard no footsteps, and then rushed back and gently open the little box filled with her “magical” items. I carefully picked them up and examined them, trying to understand. I never could work up the courage to try performing the mass myself, though I would picture it in my mind. Touching the objects felt empowering; I wondered if the demons watched me as I nervously rang the bell.
Sometimes the hair on the back of my neck stood on end, almost as if these male spirits were right there, reaching out to me. I found myself wanting to feel their touch.
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