Heretics by Greg F. Gifune

the joint for the bottle with Harry, took a swig and completed the circle by handing it back to Madeline.  “Deal.”
          “Harry?”
        He wondered if he’d have the courage to ask her about the creatures and their parallel world.  He wondered if they actually could  be real.  He wondered if they were there at that moment, huddled in the darkness at the corner of his eye.  Watching.  Waiting.  
          “Sure,” he said.  “I’m in.”

    ***

    They sat on her bedroom floor in a small circle, the bottle of wine and an ashtray cradling the roaches and two pristine joints in the center.  From the nightstand the candle flickered, bathing them in occasional illumination and painting their faces in alternating swaths of light and dark.  It reminded Harry of a séance scene he’d once seen in a horror movie, teenagers sitting in darkness, summoning spirits and exploring darkened corridors better left undiscovered.  Fear was still with him, his sense of it was familiar, but due to the pot and wine his inhibitions were gradually disappearing, and a warm glow enveloped him like a blanket.  He assured himself again and again that no matter what lay behind the doors they intended to open this night, he was ready for it, ready to face whatever came through, regardless of its true nature, regardless of its intention.
          It was time.
          “I told the first truth even before we agreed to the game,” Madeline said.  “I admitted that I love you both.”
          Rip waved at the smoky air between them.  “Yeah, yeah, we’re all in love with each other, fine, we got one big love-fest going.”
          “You say it as if it weren’t true.”
        “I just think if we’re gonna do this we need to do  it, you know what I mean?  Let’s cut through all the bullshit and get to what we all really want to say and ask and know.”
          Madeline seemed amused.  “Mmm, let’s.”
          “Well,” Harry said, wondering if his speech was slurred, “I love you guys, too.  I’ll admit that.  You guys are my best friends.”
        “We’re your only friends, ya fucking loser,” Rip laughed.  “We’re the dregs, remember?  Nobody likes us…except us.  And shit, most days we  don’t even like us!”
        They both laughed but Madeline remained silent, watching them like a mother hen.  “Even heretics have power.  In some ways, more power than anyone.”
        “ Heretics ,” Rip said through a giggle.  “You’re always using that word.”
          “It’s a good word.”  She took the bottle of wine, drank from it then returned it to the center of the circle.  “I have now ingested the truth serum.  Ask away.”
          Rip opened his mouth as if to say something, and Harry knew that from his expression it was going to be a joke, so he quickly said, “The creatures you always talk about—are they real—do they really exist?”
          “Yes.”
          “Can you prove it?”
          “Should I have to?”
        “No, but can  you?  Is it something you’re capable of proving?”
          “Yes.”  
        Rip chuckled.  “ This  ought to be good.”
          “Tonight?”    
          “Yes, tonight.”
          “Okay, go ahead.”
          “The night’s not over yet, Harry.”
          He felt a shiver crawl along the back of his neck.
          “Okay, my turn to ask,” Rip said.  “What’s the deal with all the Peruvian stuff all over the house?  I know you lived there for a while and all, but how come all there is are those freaky sculptures of monsters and shit?”
          “They’re gods…goddesses…spirits.”
          “Good or evil?”
          “Well, that depends on your perspective, doesn’t it?”  Madeline smiled.  “Good and Evil are subjective.”
          “No,” Harry said.  “No, some things are just bad.”
          “Like what?”
          “I don’t know,