Author's note: I kept this story of mine hidden away for a long time, limiting its internet existence only to the Starpolar Wikia. Why? Because it isn't all that good compared to my other works, and frankly, I was embarrassed of it. This pasta, while it does pass the Quality Standards, completely misrepresents the church of Satan. I wrote this at a time when I was ignorant of what Satanism really is, and I foolishly thought it was would be good material for a horror story. Further than that, it's also pretty disgusting. However, I've decided to put it here anyways, against my better judgement. Try not to hate it too much, I was young and naive.



Grace and Andrew Bennet had been together six long and prosperous years, filled with the enjoyment of each other’s company. In this most glorious occasion of their anniversary, they had both decided upon a relaxing visit to the Great Smoky Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina. After arriving in their mountain house and unpacking their various belongings, Grace opted for a soothing canoe trip up the rivers that winded along the gorgeous hilly range.

At that very moment, as Andrew drove their beaten up Ford Focus, Grace was imaging the smooth way that the paddles would glide across the water as she and Andrew sat in the canoe, perhaps situated at opposite ends and staring at each other warmly in the eyes, perfectly romantic, and also a great way to feed her adventurous side.

Andrew was having quite the different fantasy. He was not exactly an audacious kind of person, and even the prospect of being in a small boat frightened him. He envisioned what it would be like to accidentally slip out, or far worse, tip the canoe over, and fall into the murky depths of the river below. A shudder passed through him, but then he remembered the beauty of nature that he was going to be seeing, and even photographing with his brand new Nikon camera in the backseat, and he detached himself of some of the fear that seeped into his body through his overactive creativity. He shook himself mentally, thinking of what a loser he really was, a stay at home wannabe father who couldn’t even manage to get his wife pregnant. After much arguing and held grudges against Grace’s parents, who had insisted that she stay away from him for his being a lazy shithead. He was beginning to think that they may just be right.

He had to prove them wrong. He was going to get a job as a photographer for the local newspaper, he just knew it. No longer would he be a pathetic unemployed asshole, as Grace’s father had frequently called him. He would have a job, a purpose. He had gone into the interview with such nervousness. He had worked for so long to get every aspect of his clothing, his thin wiry beard, and his figure as a whole to be presentable, as to impress his soon to be new boss. It was much to his relief when he was greeted by a calming atmosphere and a kind, smiling man who claimed to be the head of the company. He had been sent out the door with a pat on the back and the reassurance that he had some very real potential for the job.

The phone call would be there on the answering machine when they got back, announcing his acceptance into the Fayettville news and press. As for now, at least he was an asshole in love. He took his eyes off the road for a split-second to glance over at Grace, who was looking out the side window of the car, watching the trees tear by as he pushed the pedal up to sixty miles per hour.

Grace was never particularly beautiful. The first time he saw her, standing alone in the corner of a very wild college fraternity party, casually sipping a bottle of Scotch, he had dismissed her as one who did not belong. At the time he had made a false identity of himself as a hot-shot ladies man, when, in truth, he was one who enjoyed tranquility. He and his friends had teased her amongst themselves, talking about her short cropped dirty blonde hair and slightly crooked teeth, while completely ignoring all of her good features, such as her full body and gorgeous sea green eyes.

It was much later when they were actually introduced, but when they were, by a friend of a friend at yet another party, something extraordinary happened. They became friends and had spent the entire night on the roof of the dorm, getting to know each other better. They stayed that way for a year and a half, good friends. Even though he had not found her initially attractive, Andrew felt himself gradually falling in love with Grace. He was cool and confident asking her out, having known her so well for a moderately long period of time, and she had gratefully accepted his compassionate offer.

Everything had taken off from there. A year later he was planning to ask Grace to marry him. Then he was kicked out of college.

One phone call ruined his life. He picked up the receiver and was carelessly informed that his scholarship was gone. He had expected Grace to leave him after that, what with her parents pushing her to marry someone she thought would be successful. He knew that they would never like someone like him who had been dismissed from college.

To his surprise, Grace was incredibly supportive. The thought of leaving him had apparently not even crossed her mind. Even with her parent’s protests, she still continued to go out with him. She had restored his happiness, and, soon afterward on a fishing trip out on the outer banks, he had asked her to marry him.

Six years later they were living successfully. Grace, with her new doctorate, had opened up a veterinary clinic as soon as she was finished with school. And they had lived happily ever since.

“Andrew honey, look out there’s a detour ahead!”

Andrew started and pressed down on the brakes. He had been lost in his thoughts of the past and had not been paying attention to the road. He chastised himself before muttering a quick word of thanks to his wife. Sure enough, the big block words glared at him from the bright orange sign that was blocking the street ahead. “DETOUR” The letters seemed to yell at him, “PLEASE FOLLOW ARROWS.”

Andrew readily obliged by following the arrows to the left. The road they turned onto seemed to stretch on into the distance forever, and it was banked on both sides by rocks that appeared to be reaching for the clouds. These said rocks were spattered with the graffiti of unscrupulous teenagers who probably roamed the area during the hours of dusk to dawn. Beside Andrew, Grace entertained herself by reading the splotchy, red curving words that had been painted onto the stone.

“All hail Lucifer, our generous lord.”

Andrew, who was now making an honest effort to pay attention to the twisting terrain of the pavement, did a double take at his wife, saying “What was that, Grace?”

She let out a tinkling laugh that he had grown to know very well over the years.

“I’m just reading the words on the wall Andrew.”

He, being raised in a strictly catholic family, shook his head in disgust, saying “It really is sad what’s happening to our youth today Grace, even if I myself am not exactly old, it makes me scared to think what it’ll be like thirty or so years from now, don’t you agree?”

She nodded her head in unspoken concurrence, then, realizing that Andrew was not looking at her, piped up “Yes, I agree.” Then, having nothing more to say, turned back to the window and continued to read the things that had been illustrated on the granite.

“Let he who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast.”

“Blessed are the destroyers of false hope, for they are the true messiahs.”

“Prayers are to men as dolls are to children.”

Grace had heard of stories of Satanists making their home in this rural part of the Smoky Mountains, but she had dismissed them as rumors and nothing more. Now she grinned like a child to see that these rumors could very well be true.

Andrew hurriedly reached for the car radio. He flicked the switch, turning it on, and twisted the knob until he found the local classic rock station. He found, to his dismay that “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones was blasting through his speakers. Again he twisted the knob until he found “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin, and he relaxed slightly, leaning back in his seat.

Kashmir-Led Zeppelin

Kashmir-Led Zeppelin

Suddenly, the car skidded and swerved, as if some unseen thing had pushed it sideways just slightly, almost causing the car to topple off the road. Grace let out a gasp of terror as Andrew slammed down hard on the brakes. They sat there for a moment, hearts hammering fast.

“Are you okay?” Andrew asked Grace, concerned for her well being.

“Fine,” Grace replied, panting. “But what the hell was that, exactly?”

“I don’t know, give me a moment to go outside and check it out. Jesus fucking Christ I think we might’ve blown a tire.”

Upon investigation, Andrew found out that they had indeed somehow emaciated not one, but both of their front tires. He spent the next minute or so searching the pavement, feeling it with his hands for something, anything really, that could possibly have lacerated his tires like they were now.

Then he saw it from a few feet back, a gleam of silver in the sunlight. He rushed forward and squinted, looking down at what had so apparently been stretched across the road.

It was razor wire.

He got to his feet slowly before. He started to turn around, yelling to Grace, “Hey what…?”

But his question was cut off as he felt the hypodermic needle plunge into his side. He stumbled, tripping over the razor wire and cutting his ankle. He felt a warm rush of blood but did not register the pain as all parts of his body became numb. As his vision blurred he got one good look at his attacker before whoever it was rushed off to the car to incapacitate Grace.

It was a man, completely naked, with the head of a goat.

The last thing he knew was Grace’s scream of terror before he passed out.

Grace was the first to awaken. She lolled her head sluggishly against her bare shoulder, the full effects of the drugs had not yet completely worn off, and she was incapable of forming coherent thoughts. The one thing she could make out was the hurt. It was almost as if her legs and arms were being… stretched. Something harsh had been shoved into her mouth, almost choking her, and partially restricting her breathing through her nostrils. She gagged, even in her stupor, and shivered in the coldness.

Something was terribly wrong here. Then it all came back to her in a flood of memories. The man with the goat head, seeing Andrew’s lifeless body in the road, and the feeling of the syringe as it pierced her neck.

Her eyes shot open, and she screamed in horror when she became aware of her surroundings, screamed through the metal ball that was strapped firmly in her mouth, keeping her from making too much noise. The cold steel grated against her teeth. She shut her eyes tight; not wanting to see… but being too late. She thrashed desperately against her binds, but it was no use. Her hands were tied firmly and were being held above her head. Her legs were bound also and they were spread apart. She was completely naked, without a single stitch of clothing adorning her body.

Reality was here. There was no denying it. Grace could only face it. She opened her eyes once more.

She was undoubtedly in the caverns of the Great Smoky Mountains. That was clear to see by the various stalactites that hung from the craggy, arched ceiling which was no less than ten feet above her. The whole place was like an air pocket made of rock in the middle of a mountain. The location seemed to be eerily self illuminated, light was simply there, making the musty and damp cave visible. The men standing before Grace observed her, never saying a single word while she made her muffled attempts to scream.

Andrew was beside Grace, and like her, he was bound and gagged. More than that, he was hung upside down, with his feet pointing upwards towards those dangerously sharp stalactites and his head a mere two feet from the ground. He had not yet regained his consciousness.

The man with the goat’s head was standing there, although Grace could now see that he didn’t have the real head goat’s head at all, it was some sort of strange mask made from the decapitated head of a goat. She could tell it was real by the way the stench of fresh blood and barnyard animals constricted her nose.

The other man was dressed in a long black cloak with a hood that hid his face. His hands were gloved. He held in his arms a large jar that was filled with what looked like salt. He rocked back and forth slightly on his feet, as if waiting for something to happen. Andrew began to stir. His face was red from being upside down for a long period of time, and he shifted in discomfort. Then his eyes opened. He began to struggle violently against his restraints, yelling furiously through the metal ball strapped in his mouth.

The man in the hood began to unscrew the jar. The smell confirmed that the container was indeed full of salt. Then, the man with the goat mask reached deep into the jar and withdrew a long silver knife that flashed wickedly in the dim light that the cave was somehow providing.

The man in the hood extended his hands into the folds of his midnight robes and drew forth a very old book and what appeared to be a golden chalice. He handed the grail to his companion before opening the book. As he opened it, the spine seemed to protest. The pages were yellow and harbored many stains, as if it had been thumbed through often, maybe searching for one specific page. He seemed to find what he was looking for, and, with this completed, he sat down on the rock floor and swayed gently, back and forth, murmuring to himself contentedly while looking down at the book. Through her tear stained vision, Grace was able to make out the title that was printed clearly on the spine. It was a Satanic Bible.

The man with the goat mask approached Andrew slowly as the man in the cloak read on, his bare feet scraping against the rocks of the cave floor. He then knelt on the ground next to Andrew’s face, knife in one hand and chalice in the other. Andrew was still valiantly trying to free himself of his bonds, even if it was of no use.

The man with the goat head began to cut Andrew.

He started with a small incision along the lower abdomen, and worked his way up from there. With each new slice of the blade, Andrew flinched, and squeezed his eyes shut tight, as if he were in a nightmare that he was trying with all the power of his mind to awake from. Blood oozed out of his body thick and hot, and ran down his torso in maroon tendrils. At this point he had stopped struggling. Once the man with the goat mask got to the base of Andrew’s chest, he stopped, and set the knife down on the floor.

The chalice was held up to Andrew’s bleeding form, and his bodily fluids entered the golden cup, filling it to the brim. The man with the goat mask then stood and dipped his fingers in the chalice, bringing them out a dark red. Then, slowly but surely, he moved them towards his own chest before sliding his fingers across his skin in quick, decisive strokes, forming the shape of a pentagon.

Then, he picked the blade off the ground and moved towards Grace. She began her efforts to escape once again, and again, she was unable. It was almost like taking a shot in the doctor’s office, except here there was no possible chance of getting out, and she was most likely going to be tortured by a satanic twosome.

She got a very good look at the knife that was being carried by this strange man. It was at least thirteen inches long, large, and curved sharply near the end. It was this knife, she thought to herself, which would soon be piercing her flesh.

But the man in the mask had much more insidious intentions.

He stooped, looking down upon Grace’s genitalia. His head cocked to one side, as if fascinated by what he had found. He reached out and caressed it with his fingertips, tracing the vertical line between her legs. Grace began to writhe once more as she was now terrified to the very core of her being.

The man paid no notice to her feeble attempts to contest him and instead began to examine her closely, slipping his fingers inside of her through the space in her legs, slowly, as if he was almost scared something would bite him. It was almost like the first time she and Andrew had had sex. It had started gradually and teasingly.

He probed her until he found what he wanted, in her very center. Then, he slipped the tip of the knife within her. Grace had stopped fighting and now stayed as still as she possibly could for fear of cutting herself, trembling slightly, with her heart thudding.

Then the man started to saw with the sharp edge of the knife. The greatest and most personal pain Grace had ever felt now consumed her, and tears flowed openly down her cheeks. Her mouth was producing saliva at an alarming rate, and she was afraid that if she swallowed she would be sick. At the same time she was barely holding back a biting scream in her throat. She could do nothing but endure the torturous pain until there was a give on the inside as well as a torrent of blood. The man had what he wanted. From within her body he withdrew the fleshly and disgusting thing that was Grace’s clitoris.

He took it over to the man in the hood, who was still reading silently and rocking back and forth. The man in the mask tentatively offered the severed clitoris, as a small boy would offer his dog a piece of meat. The hooded figure stopped rocking and bent over slightly, before eating the bloody sex organ straight from the hand. There was a revolting squishing noise as he chewed loudly before swallowing. Grace could’ve sworn she heard it slide down his throat.

Grace couldn’t hold it in any longer. She vomited into her restraints. Some of the bile came out of her nose, but most of it simply glided right back down into her stomach. She almost choked on some of her own sick but managed to force it down.

Having completed his task, the man with the Goat head left the cavern, exiting through am opening in the stone wall that Grace was sure hadn’t been there before. The man in the hood remained on the floor. He had continued his gentle swaying.

Grace pulled at the ropes that bound her with a ferocity she had not known existed within her. Tears came to her eyes but eventually, after several minutes, she was able to work out one foot, shaking violently, onto the cave floor. She repeated this gesture with her second foot until it too was free, than she began to work on her hands.

She gasped with the pain but, with some perseverance, her left hand was freed. Her right hand came out of its restraints with a sudden jerk, and she cried out as she felt her thumb break. Paying no heed to the pain that was throbbing in her hand, Grace crawled over to Andrew on her hands and knees, not having the strength to get to her feet.

She looked furtively over to the man who was rocking back and forth on the ground, but he did nothing to stop her, or even look up for that matter, as Grace caressed Andrew’s face and pressed down on the bloody wounds his torso bore. Her hands came back wet and sticky.

She had to get out. Getting to civilization would be the first thing to do without a doubt. Grace stumbled to the entrance of the cave before breaking into a sort of limping run. It took her two hours to find the exit of the caverns, and when she did she was met by blinding rays of unforgiving sunlight.

She walked on for hours, stumbling through the woods in the hope that someone would run across her, a troop of boy scouts, perhaps, or a hiking family.

Finally, when her energy had run out she could do nothing but stare at the treetops above as her back hit the ground hard. All her vigor was depleted, and the trail of blood that had dripped on the dirt probably had a lot to do with that.

Then all the birds stopped singing, and a dreadful silence filled the air. Grace just knew something terrible was going to happen.

Sixty minutes later, a curious backpacking family of three was surprised to find traces of blood on the path that they had been following since that morning. The vital fluid ended very abruptly at one point, which the father of this trio found somewhat suspicious. Strange… he thought to himself. It’s almost as if the earth swallowed whatever it was right up.

The Rolling Stones Sympathy For The Devil A First 1968

The Rolling Stones Sympathy For The Devil A First 1968

Written by SnakeTongue237
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