The hour of midnight was quickly approaching on the eve of the day set aside in the liturgical calendar of Western Christendom for the remembrance of all the saints. On the gloomy peak of a craggy mountain a bonfire crackled and blazed, awaiting the arrival of a congregation that would shortly be gathering around it with somewhat less holy intentions than those who on the morrow would flock to their parishes to partake in the sacrament on that high feast day. The black draped altar, visible in the light of the flames, bore testimony to the fact that a mass of a very different nature would be taking place there that night.
One by one, flying on broomsticks through the dark skies, propelled by the power for which they had long ago traded their souls, they arrived – the sisters of the night. When all were present and accounted for, the high priestess addressed the coven:
“Dear sisters I bid you welcome, on this, the most sacred of our sabbat nights. As I am sure you are all aware, this year’s Samhain is a particularly important one. That for which we have long dreamed and planned is about to take place. Four hundred years ago, the settlers of New England hanged and burned our predecessors. Now, in a week’s time, one of our own is set to be elected to the highest position in the country that grew out of New England, the most powerful position in all the world.”
The eyes of all present turned from the speaker to look upon the crone in question, who stood there rubbing her hands and cackling with sinister glee.
“The master himself will explain more about the significance of this event. The witching hour has arrived and the time is now come to summon him.”
The hags stepped into a large circle containing a chalked inverted pentagram and joining hands chanted the incantation that would call their diabolical overlord into their midst. Behind the black altar, the air split and sulfurous flames burst forth from a portal to Tartarus that had opened up. Out of this door stepped a sinister, horned, fiend. The sisters of the night began to applaud and to chant his name.
“Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!”
“Thank you, thank you everyone,” Lucy (1) said.
“Ladies, our moment has finally arrived. Two thousand years ago the Son of our enemy entered this world and altered history. Now it is our turn. This year will witness the rise of my daughter who will usher in a thousand years of darkness. Step forward daughter.”
The presidential candidate stepped forward and knelt before the devil.
“You have been the most faithful of all my servants. I made Mick and Keith famous, but they forgot all about me. Even Ozzie has not always been there for me when I needed him. But you, my dear, you have never let me down.”
“Millennia ago, such ancient peoples as the Ammonites, Hittites, and Carthaginians worshipped me under various names – Moloch, Kronos, Baal – and sacrificed their children to me. Your sisterhood, driven underground during the era named after the Son of our enemy, has kept this sacred practice alive all these years, practicing it in secret. Now, with the help of my friends in the judiciary it is openly, freely and publicly practiced again. No more need for gingerbread houses and other such ruses. It is legally protected now, in the name of women’s health and rights. Hah hah. As if the women who sacrifice their children to me in this way had not sold their womanhood to me along with their souls. Hah hah.”
The sisterhood cackled with mirth at this.
“You, my dear, are the avowed champion of this, our sacred rite, and for this you will be greatly rewarded. With the help of the corporate media, which has long done my bidding, you will soon be ruler of the new empire that has arisen to take the place of my Babylon of old. With the help of your military-industrial complex cronies you will lead this empire into the battle with Gog and Magog that was prophesied in the book of our enemy so long ago. We, however, will emerge triumphant from that conflict and you will rule the world in my name.”
The assembly of witches cheered and the meeting moved on from being a political rally to an orgy of wild revelry in which they were joined by demons, monsters, ghouls, and all the foul creatures of darkness that haunt the nightmares of men and roam the earth on the eve of All Hallows.
These proceedings had not gone by unobserved. From a hiding place behind a cloud above the mountain, two visitors from the celestial sphere had seen and heard everything without being detected themselves.
With a troubled look on his visage, St. Gabriel asked St. Michael what he thought of all of this.
“It is the same old Lucy”, St. Michael answered. “He has made these promises to many other ambitious would-be world conquerors in the past.”
“He seems confident that he will be able to put that horrible witch into office and win the battle of Armageddon.”
“His pride has always been his undoing. He was confident that he would be able to win that insurrection he stirred up in heaven too.”
“What is going to happen?”
“I don’t know any more than you do. If Lucy manages to get his daughter into power and if she starts the battle of Armageddon, the outcome will not be what Lucy has promised his followers, for the Lord has said that when that conflict finally does come, He will return to earth and defeat the forces of Lucy’s champion personally. He has not confided in me – or anyone else for that matter – whether this is that time or not.”
“Do you think Lucy will succeed in giving her the power she craves?”
“It is difficult to say. The path that he has set her on to power is that of popular election and so the outcome depends upon the free will of a large number of people. Those people have been given a trump card to play against Lucy if they so choose.”
“Mortal free will has often seemed to serve Lucy’s purposes more than ours.”
“It seems that way, yes, but don’t forget that it was a gift of divine grace given to them just as it was to us. Without the assistance of further grace it has served Lucy’s purposes in the past but only so far as the Lord allows. The Lord is merciful and frequently extends that further grace.”
“Will He do so this time? I hope for the sake of the mortals that He does.”
“I don’t know. As with the day and hour of His Second Coming He is not revealing anything until the time arrives. He has assigned to us, as He has to the mortals, the role of having faith.”
“I know. Things are looking pretty dark though.”
“I agree,” said St. Michael “but there is an old saying of the mortals which, slightly modified, may provide a little bit of comfort and hope.”
“What is that?”
St. Michael smiled and said:
“The night is always darkest before the Donald”.
(1) Lucy, short for Lucifer, has previously appeared in Lucy’s Day in Court and Justice for Minnie.
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