The Descent

He just lay as still as he could, and tried not to smell  them.  One  held  him  around  the chest  from  behind  while  the  others  took  turns  working  at  him.  She  kept  whispering something  in  his  ear.  It  was  mumbo-jumbo,  in  circles.  He  thought  of  old  Miss  Sands, with her rosary  beads. But this one had breath  that smelled like roadkill.

Evan  locked  his  eyes  on  the  stars  spread  above  the  cornfield.  Fireflies  meandered between  constellations.  With  all  his  might,  he  fastened  on  the  North  Star.  Whenever they  let him loose, that would  be  his  beacon  home  again.  In  his  mind  he  saw  the  back door,  the  stairs,  the  door  to  his  room,  the  quilt  upon  his  bed.  He  would  wake  in  the morning. This would be nothing but a bad dream.

The  night  lay  as  black  as  engine  oil.  There  was  no  moon,  and  the  yard  lights  lay  a mile away,  barely  a twinkle between  the stalks. The  first half  hour  his  kidnappers  had been mere  silhouettes, dark cutouts against the stars.  They  were  naked.  He  could  feel their  flesh.  Smell  it.  Their  titties  were  long  and  tubular,  like  in  the  old  National Geographics  lying  boxed  in  the  cellar.  Their  ratty  hair  moved  like  black   snakes against the stars.

Evan was pretty  sure they  weren't  American.  Or  Mexican.  He  knew  a  little  Spanish from the seasonal workers,  and the old lady's chant wasn't that. He  decided  they  were witches. A cult. You heard about such things.

It  was a comfort of sorts. He'd never  given much  thought  to  witches.  Vampires,  yes. And  the  winged  monkeys  in  The  Wizard  of  Oz,  and  werewolves,  and  flesh-eating zombies.  And  hadals,  of  course,  though  this  was  Nebraska,  so  safe  the  militias  had disbanded. But witches? Since when did witches hurt you?

And yet  they  scared  him.  He  scared  himself.  In  his  whole  eleven  years  of  life,  Evan had  never  imagined  such  feelings  down  there.  What  they  were  doing  felt  good.  But  it was forbidden. If his mom and dad ever  found out, they'd  bust.

Part  of him felt this  wasn't  fair.  He  shouldn't  have  been  so  late  bicycling  home.  Still, it  wasn't  his  fault  the  witches  had  jumped  up  along  the  county  road.  He'd  pedaled away  as  fast  as  a  fox,  but  even  afoot  they'd  run  him  down.  It  wasn't  his  fault  they'd brought him to the middle of this field to do things to him.

The  problem was, he'd been raised to be accountable. It  was his pleasure. And it was dirty.  Sniggering  about  boobies  and  panties  after  school  was  one  thing.  This  was different. Staying late after  baseball was his fault. And taking pleasure, that  was  really his fault. They  were  gonna bust.

In  the  initial  moments  of  stripping  him  bare,  the  witches  had  ripped  his  shirt, shredded  it.  Evan  couldn't  reconcile  that.  It  was  a  new  shirt,  and  the  destruction scared  him  more  than  their  animal  strength  or  the  hunger  they'd  gone  at  him  with. His  mom  and  sisters  were  forever  mending  clothes  and  ironing  them.  They  would never  have  ripped  a  shirt  to  tatters  and  tossed  it  in  the  dirt.  Or  done  these  other things. Never.

He  didn't  know  exactly  what  was  happening  to  him.  It  was  the  dirty  thing  you weren't  supposed to talk about, that was  plain  enough.  Copulation.  But  what  precisely the  act  consisted  of,  that  was  the  mystery.  In  daylight,  he  could  have  seen  what  was involved.   This   was   more   like  wrestling   with  a  blindfold  on.  So  far,   most   of  his information had come through touch and smell and sounds. The  newness and power of

the  sensation  confused  him.  He  was  ashamed  to  have  cried  out  in  front  of  women, mortified that it involved his unit.

They'd  done it twice now, like milking a cow. The  first time, Evan had  been  alarmed. There  was  no  fighting  off  the  bodily  release.  It  felt  like  heat  shooting  out  of  his  spine. Afterward,  the mess lay as hot and thick as blood on his belly and chest.

Afraid they'd  be disgusted with him, Evan started  to  apologize.  But  the  whole  bunch of  them  had  thronged  around  him,  dipping  their  fingers  into  his  wet  spots.  It  was almost like church. But instead of crossing  themselves,  they  smeared  it  between  their legs. So that's how it's done, he thought.

It  went beyond his whole world of knowledge. For some reason,  Evan  was  reminded of a science video  he'd  seen,  in  which  a  praying  mantis  female  ate  her  mate  when  the act  was  over.  That  was  reproduction.  Until  now  he'd  been  mystified  by  the  terrible consequences of doing it. Now the notion of punishment following the sin  made  perfect sense. No wonder people did it in the darkness.