Once they lit the den fire (Barbara had already cooked with the stove fire, which doubled as a heating unit for the second floor of the house), they sat beside it and ate. They did so without speaking, tearing apart the morsels in front of them with merciless abandon. It was only some Spam, Ritz crackers and canned bean dip but none of it ever stood a chance. They had worked very hard getting the areas of the house – those they needed in the immediate future – relatively hygienic and in serviceable order. There was also an ancient generator they could fire up that would run the North side of the house if they could find some gas. It would service a few eumenities, which meant hot water and an old radio. But other than that, there were no phones, no TV, and no cell phone service if they ran into an emergency. All they had were the matches, the wood, a few days worth of food, a dozen or so oil lamps, their demons, one incomplete deck of cards, and each other.

Barbara was determined to make it up to the attic, only, after considering her oath of keeping her family in the dark about it, she finally had to admit to herself that she didn't wanted to go alone. But before she could invite company, she felt the need to clear the air a bit. Again, it was an impulse born entirely of her new surroundings and possibly her studying of the needlepoint earlier. If that section of the house – the one that had been delineated with hair – held some volatile energies, she wanted to be sure she wasn't dragging any excess energy baggage in with her. Satanism had taught her to release violent and destructive energies through psychodramatic ritual, which basically meant throwing a fit of rage. In order to get her family to cooperate, she was going to have to explain where the hell she got such a crazy idea. If they reacted harshly, it could all go horribly wrong. On the other hand, it could be just what the situation required.

"Everyone...?" she chimed, sweetly. Amanda and the Kens looked up mid-chew, bits of food dropping from their chins and fingers. "Has anyone here ever heard of...well..." she tried to make it sound casual, "Satan?"

She reached under her chair and produced a bottle of wine. She had procured it earlier from the basement, and it had beckoned her by being the only bottle with a finger streak imprinted in the dust. She assumed it was her grandmother's. The idea that she was supposed to bring it to dinner and share it with her family was more than just an assumption; she had been directed by an instinct that was both maternal and, paradoxically, infernal. The concept of hell no longer scared her when she considered the world in which she tried to raise her family. More and more she felt like she was the subject of a cruel joke. Things were a trick. And as she poured some wine in each of their glasses, she felt like she was taking the first step towards breaking a false mirror.

The reaction was one she hadn't expected. There were nods mostly, as they returned to chewing. Amanda immediately lifted her glass and sipped. Ken Jr. was next, tasting the dark, red liquid tentatively before using it to wash down a forkful of Spam. Senior took it all down in a single gulp and slid his goblet over to Barbara as if to ask for more. She poured another half glass for him and placed the bottle in the middle of the table where the fire ignited its ruby hues. Bolstered by their passivity, she began to speak. She explained about some of what she had been up to for the last few months: the missing decorator soaps and the laptop sessions in the church parking lot with a poor, misunderstood artist. It had all started with her interest in the basic tenets put forth by one Alistair Crowley. She had found a page on the internet about it and it made sense to her – especially since she had been visited by God and he had gotten frisky without her permission (she would save the real salty stuff for her husband later). She started to sniff a little as she went on about the needlepoint and how it was making her feel. She was nervous to be speaking so honestly, but it also felt good in a way that scared her a little. She was certain her family would shun her, but she couldn't stop herself. Maybe it was in her blood to be wicked? All she knew for sure was that, the wicked she was seemed less wicked than those who she was trying to be like. And now, once the dishes were done, she planned on following her intuition about the needlepoint. Grandma, she said, seemed to be luring her into the attic. And since she was going, she thought she would invite any all to join her if they wished. If not, she would go alone.

The first one to speak up was Ken Jr. He was sorry about some of the stuff he broke around the house. He wasn't sure why he did it, but he hadn't meant to. Barbara said she knew he was having...difficulties...at school and in general, but it was probably normal. And he shouldn't think he needed to apologize for being different. Yes, some things were expensive – too much so to be fooling with – and it might not be good for his clothes to be receiving so much wear and tear, but she knew what it was like to feel alone. He said he had heard of Satan and that the idea of sacrificing animals was interesting to him, but Barbara didn't think that was appropriate. It was also off the mark, and she made it clear that they could go over what she meant by that if he was willing to listen. Ken Jr. said he was, and licked his plate.

The next to speak was Amanda. She coughed a little and laid her hands on top of the table. Then she said, "Kill them." After a few seconds of stone silence, she went on to explain that those two words were spelled on the tips of her fingers. She wasn't sure why she had done it, but it had made her feel better – like she had cast a spell into the world to harm those who had done her harm. Barbara asked who had done her harm, and Ken Jr. said the guys with the camera. Amanda shot him a look that seemed to say "I will feed your balls to the squirrels" and he shut up. Barbara grabbed one of Amanda's hands and said that it was alright and that whatever had happened to her could be fixed. She didn't know how, or so much that it was true, but something told her something could be done. None of them should feel the need to apologize about what they were or what had been done to them. It was all natural in a natural world, and they should look at it in that light.

That's when Ken Sr. made much work of digging into the front of his bark-stained trousers. Just when it looked as if he might pull something, he withdrew his gun and laid it on the table.

"Thank God or Satan or whoever. Damn thing was starting to give me a rash."

The fire popped a few knots and Barabara said with no small amount of desire, "I'd be happy to have a look at that later, dear." And then she stood politely and said, "Now...would anyone like dessert? There's an unopened box of Entenmann's glazed chocolate popems still in the car."