Twisted Circles (Secret Society 2)

It looked like a regular Mass, with the priest up front and the nuns all standing as they listened to him speak.

“You will give us your silence,” he said. “That will be your sacrifice. Silence.”

“Silence,” some chanted.

“The ceremony will take place in two days. Until then, silence.”

“Silence,” they said in unison.

Adam, Will, and I looked at each other. The Mass continued. We signaled each other to leave, and we did just as quietly as we’d arrived. Back at The Manor, we followed Adam to the library, where he pulled out book after book from the shelves and dumped them on the large desk.

“I’ve never looked at these,” Will said.

“I’ve only looked through a couple.”

I walked over and opened the one closest to me. They were photo albums and judging by the fashion and discoloration on the prints I could tell they were old.

“The dates are on the spines.”

I closed it and looked at the date. 1935. Damn. I opened it again and looked through. There were only men, not surprising, in each of the photographs. Posing with hunting rifles, dead deer. I paused at that and looked up at the stuffed deer head displayed over the fireplace. I’d never understood the reason for those until this moment. It was a remnant of what survived from their time here. Maybe a way to not be forgotten. I pictured a bunch of old white men drinking scotch surrounding this very fireplace, talking about how their great-grandfather hunted the animal.

“What are we looking for?” I set the book down with a thump.

“Help me get the black books down.” Adam reached for the rolling ladder and set it in front of where the black books were, high up on the last shelf.

Will shut the book in his hand and walked over. I followed, heart in my throat as I watched Adam climb.

“How old is this ladder?”

“Old,” Will said, and the ladder, as if it could speak, creaked in agreement.

“Be careful.” I grabbed the edge of the ladder as if it would make a difference if it dismantled.

“Worried about me?” Adam looked down, the edge of his mouth tugging into a smile.

“Shut up.” I gripped the edge harder. He chuckled as he reached for the first book, then another.

“You’re not going to be able to hand those to us.” Will stepped back and reached for me to follow suit. “Just let them fall.”

“I don’t think these will survive a fall.” Adam inspected the dusty books.

When both of his feet were on the ground, Will and I moved forward as Adam turned around and set the books down on the desk, a cloud of dust rising as they thumped. The three of us stood over the books. Adam picked one up and tilted it so we could see the year on the spine. 1915. The pages were intact but looked brown; unlike the deer on the wall, these pages were barely withstanding the test of time. The photographs of the monks were black and white. All posed. The next book, 1920, was more of the same. Adam brought down four more books. It wasn’t until we got to 1930 that we saw a difference. There were nuns in these photographs. Nuns laughing, playing soccer, posing with rifles. As the photos went on and the monks joined the pictures, their smiles diminished.

“This is so weird,” I whispered, reaching to turn the page. I gasped at the next photograph and looked up at Adam. “This is what we saw.”

“What? When?” The question came from Will.

“The night of the party. I saw this.” I pointed. “Monks surrounding a naked woman.”

“What were they doing?” Will turned the book toward him. “Chanting?”

“At first.” I flipped the page and braced myself. There was a naked man standing on the rock the naked woman lay on. The photograph was grainy at best, but that much was easy to make out, his penis was erect as he stood there.

“Dude, is that the priest?” Will leaned closer to the picture. Adam and I did as well. My eyes swung to the next image, which showed the naked woman a little better.

“Doesn’t that look like Marie?” I said, my voice a whisper.

“Must be her mom or something,” Will said distractedly.

Adam and I looked at each other. “I think we need to get the album for 1960.”

Adam walked back up the ladder and brought down the 1960 album, placing it on the table.

“Why this one?” Will asked.

“One of the nuns said every thirty years there’s a sacrifice.”

“And you think this is it?”

I looked through the album quickly. Unlike the first album where the nuns made an appearance and looked happy, they seemed despondent in all of these. When I finally reached the picture we were looking for, it was like a carbon copy of the first, but the naked woman wasn’t Marie. I’d never seen her before, yet something about her was eerily familiar. Feeling the blood drain from my head, I grabbed onto the side of the desk.