This last weekend a buddy of mine called and said there was a garage sale that we couldn’t pass up.  I’m not your average garage sale junkie that wakes up at 4:00 am on a Saturday to find the holy grail of Tupperware, but I have found $30 jazz albums for a buck.  I asked my friend what was so special about this sale to warrant it as Sunday’s top priority, “Church of Satan” was all that had to say.

The crimson Victorian style house sat on the corner of a very normal old neighborhood.  Nothing out of the ordinary except for the lack of chirping birds and grass on the lawn.  There was an abundance of cats though.  My buddy said he could have swore he saw a neon green Siamese with a price tag stapled to its ear run past.  I was too busy looking at the noose rope swing set going for ten bucks.  An overly happy midget wearing sunglasses and a gold tooth said he could make a good deal on anything.

A tall skinny woman stroked his head like a dog and smiled, “Aren’t you a cute little boy.”

“Bitch don’t make bring up the flames of hell on your ass,” he said scampering away.

After searching through the dusty yard for headless sculptures and yard gnomes, my friend and I found out there was more stuff inside.  We made our way into the darkened sanctuary.  Large tapestries hung from every wall with price tags saying $5 OBO.  We tried to find the little guy to offer him a buck a piece for them.  We found him hiding in crawl space under the stairs whistling Eagle’s tunes.

“Hey man will you take a buck a piece for the tapestries?”
“Sorry night sleepers I need at least $3.50,” he hissed.
“I’m a day sleeper asshole, how ‘bout $2.75?” I asked getting a little angry at his temperament.
“Come on, help a brother out.  $3.50 a piece, nothing less.”
“What do y’all need the money for anyway?” my friend asked, sizing the midget up.
“We have to pay off our Hot Topic credit card before the interest rate gets too high.,” he said looking down at the KISS Army rug in shame.

I almost bit my lip off trying not to laugh…this guy might know some black magic, so we left him there to think about our offer.  I walked through the dining room adorned with plaster demon skulls and Franklin Mint Collector’s Plates of 1950’s movie monsters.  Music was coming from somewhere…it sounded like Black Sabbath on a calliope.

There was a crusty old pedophile playing with his organ in the kitchen.  He quit ticking the keys we he saw our faces full of disbelief.

“See something you like?” he asked turning on his stool to face us.  “That’s the biggest 18 incher I’ve ever seen.,” I said staring between his legs.
“Yeah this subwoofer is evil…pure evil,” he said laughing with a crooked grin.
He turned back and let a low E rumble from the keyboard to the woofer.  The whole house shook in appreciation.
“How much?” I asked when my teeth quit vibrating.
“What do you do?” he asked looking between the two of us.
“I sell wine,” my friend said.
“Evil wine made from the blood of the first born?” he asked scratching his crotch.
“No just grapes,” my friend quickly replied.
“I write,” I said.
“Evil writing?” he asked grinning.
“Sometimes I write about eating my neighbor’s pets,” I said hoping that was evil enough.
“Have you ever done it?” His smile got larger.
“Just once.  This guy had a wild hog that he let run loose.  He looked like good eating, so we BBQed him one Sunday morning.”

“That’s really sick kid,” he said losing his smile, “Take the damn thing and don’t come back. You’re fucked up.  You know that the eating of swine is prohibited in most all ancient religions.  You should really think about going vegan.  The modern life span is shrinking due to our diets….”
He was still rambling about crazy shit as we made our way to the van with the one hundred pound behemoth.

“Those Satanists sure are pussies,” my friend said as we sped off.
“Yeah pussies,” I laughed scratching the spot were my pecker used to be.