The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  There was a long pause. When Baxter began to speak it was in a different voice, one smaller and far away. “I died and came back to life."

  Annie would have laughed if not for the change in Baxter's demeanor. It was obvious he was not joking.

  "I was born on May 21, 1987 at 11:58 p.m.. It was a quick labor; my mother had me just twenty minutes after her contractions began. Everything seemed fine at first… but then my heart stopped."

  The woods were growing deeper around them now. It was cooler here, closer. Annie found herself holding her breath.

  "They did what they could to revive me, but at that stage there's only so much they can do; my heart had simply stopped. And then, two and a half minutes later, it started again. So I was re-born, May 22, 1987 at 12:01 a.m.. The doctors couldn't understand it, but still took credit. The story got published in the local paper, then went out on the wire and was printed all over the world. "The Baby Who Was Born Twice.” My mom had a copy of it framed for her office."

  "Wow. That's fantastic."

  Baxter shrugged. "I guess. It's not like it's something I can really take credit for or anything. It's hardly an accomplishment. Kind of sad, really, to think I peaked at birth." He smiled to show her he was kidding and she laughed.

  "That's one hell of an anecdote."

  He looked down. "Well, it was either that or my story about the time I rode in an elevator with Bruce Campbell."

  "Who?"

  "Exactly. So what about you?"

  She shook her head. "Well, anything I say is going to sound pretty anti-climactic after that."

  "Not necessarily; your pretzel story was pretty good."

  Annie shot him a sour look and they both laughed. "No, seriously. My story is pretty boring, as far as it goes. I've lived around here all of my life; like I said, my dad works for the company. I come from a small family, two brothers and one sister. Strictly middle-class. Big house on the shady side of the street, a dog, a pool, the usual two-car garage… God, let's stop talking about me, I'm getting depressed." Annie laughed but Baxter didn't, creating an awkward moment. He struggled to think of something to say but his mind was suddenly blank. The ease of their conversation had evaporated; suddenly they were two strangers again, walking together into the snowy woods.

  "Wow, I had no idea it was like this up here," Annie said, marveling.

  "Yeah, the woods thin out a bit; they lead back into the cemetery, maybe a half a mile on."

  Baxter led the way. Soon they stood within a small circle of weathered headstones. Time and the elements had wiped them clean, washed the words into the earth to be forgotten. Annie crouched, ran her hand along the worn marble, tracing ghost-lines shot through with moss. The woods were bright with song: the metallic trill of the blue-jay, the rusty cry of the woodpecker, the watery call of the sparrow joined by others unidentifiable, in a medley both unique and as old as time itself. The birds could be seen in the trees, flitting from branch to branch, bright contrast to the mellow green of the first pale buds.

  "Baxter… it's beautiful!"

  Baxter smiled, as a cardinal flashed through the sky. "Yes. Yes, it is."

  NOW

  Baxter woke, head clouded by drink and dream. The room was unfamiliar and for one horrible moment he could not remember where he was. Memories of Bel Orqa Sanitarium came unbidden, swam in the dry, dusty air. He slipped out of bed and to his feet, head spinning, hands balled into fists. But his arms were free, his room was empty; it was quiet here. No screaming patients, no incomprehensible doctors, no metal wheels scraping beaten concrete. He was…

  "…in Pittsburgh." Baxter shakily made his way to the window. It was late afternoon, and getting on in the day. He had to get to the post office. He removed the chair he'd used to barricade the door and stepped out into the hallway. It was empty and he quickly made his way through the lobby and down the six blocks to the post office. Hands shaking, Baxter rushed over to the P.O. box and opened it.

  "Gersh, you beautiful bastard!"

  His profane exclamation drew the stares of the room's few patrons, but Baxter paid them no mind. He eagerly made his way to the small table in the corner and opened the parcel he had wrapped three years before. Within were copies of his passport and social security card, an envelope containing one thousand dollars cash and a small cloth pouch. He quickly pocketed these items and exited the building.

  With purpose Baxter strode down the street. He purchased new clothing and shoes, then made his way to the most upscale hotel he could find, booking a room for the night. He spent forty-five minutes in a scalding hot shower, drank half a bottle of scotch and watched some TV.

  Baxter allowed himself a brief nap, then woke and journeyed to the bar. Luck was with him and the bartender sold him some exceptionally good cocaine, which he gleefully consumed over the course of the evening. There were horrors, sure; the icy ratcheting which cracked down his spine, paralyzing him with dread; the incapacitating tremors which caused him to drop more than one delicious beverage; the boiling fear-sweat which soaked his clothing and left him damp and shivering in the climate-controlled room. It proved a welcome diversion to worry, driving thoughts of the day to come from his weary mind. Baxter blacked out as the sun rose, forgetting for a few blissful moments the

  course that had been laid for him seven years before.

  SEVEN

  THEN

  Baxter could only watch as the scene unfolded.

  "Refreshments, anyone?"

  Zak cheered, raising his empty glass. He rose and stepped forward but stumbled over his own feet. Instead of falling onto his face, Zak tucked and rolled, effortlessly regaining his footing. Without missing a beat he placed his glass beneath the flow of icy liquid.

  Ashton laughed and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Pan, our friend!" he roared. "Lusty without guile, Kingly but ever the fool. Zachary, I salute you!" Ashton raised the bottle to his own mouth in a grand display. Gladly he passed it on, his lips barely wet.

  The young Japanese woman beside him drank deeply, her drunkenness apparent to all. She smiled, then dropped heavily into the satin cushions. "James. Why are you so good to us?"

  Ashton smiled. "You are my friends," he said. It was just the six of them now, Baxter, Ashton, Annie and Zak along with the young woman and her morose poet boyfriend. The group had finally winnowed down to something approaching comfortable, and Baxter felt himself relaxing for the first time all night. He opened his mouth to speak...

  KNOCK! KNOCK!

  And it all went out of the room, the group's enthusiasm sucked away in a flush. A knock? Who would -- who could possibly knock, now of all times?

  "Hello." And she was. Spring bowed before her, Winter unexpectedly returning.

  "Ah, Chloe. We're so glad you could come." Ashton spoke for all, even if some among them might disagree. Chloe Sullivan was as requisitely achromatic as ever, a luminous vision in the hazy darkness of the room. Zak came bounding over to her, speaking into an imaginary microphone.

  "Miss Sullivan, the studio audience has to know: how do you keep your whites so white?"

  Chloe didn't bat an eye. "I discard things before they grow soiled… or tiresome."

  At this Zak howled with laughter. Annie looked on uncomfortably, while Chloe smiled tightly and sat down next to Ashton. Their host chuckled and offered a stem of the hookah to Chloe, who took it wordlessly. It was a strange scene: Zak rapping the counter top in time with the music, Annie rocking in her seat uncomfortably. The strange young woman (surely she had a name) shifted in the pile of cushions, her skirt rising up along her thigh, while her boyfriend attempted to shake her back into sobriety. To Baxter the whole thing was just so…

  "Boring."

  No, he thought sourly. That's not what I was going to say at all.

  "And why do you find it boring, Chloe?" Ashton asked, turning. "You sit here in good company, with wine and smoke aplenty. The door is barred, the wolves are at bay. What more could you wish for?" His voice rema
ined cool, polished, but Baxter noticed a note of challenge in his words.

  "It's just not my idea of a good time, that's all," she sniffed defensively.

  "So why come here?" Zak asked, genuinely curious.

  "Why, indeed?" she said, casting a glance at Ashton. But she didn't answer the question. Instead, she poured herself a drink and sat back. Her silence allowed the music to take the forefront. iFFF played, the slow, deep bow of a bass braced by a curious melody of interlocking strings. It flowed through the speakers, bridges of sound twisting into bizarre, almost physical structures. They seemed to light the mind, bright webs knit into knots that fell forever into the abyss. Suddenly the music leapt forward, leaving behind a drifting latticework of sound; as if hitting a wall the melody unwound stunned, evaporating into the haze. All listened rapt at the long echo of sonic decay.

  "Every note obscures another," Zak volunteered as it finally faded out. At this Chloe looked up.

  "I believe I've heard that before. Is it Rumi?"

  "Roomy? I could fit a whole 'nother pair of legs in here!" Zak jumped up to illustrate his humor, puffing out his trousers and moving his knees in exaggerated 360s. Chloe shook her head but the faintest trace of a smile might have graced her lips.

  “Score one for Zak," Baxter noted, nodding to himself. He found Annie quiet beside him. She looked less than pleased. "What's up?" he wordlessly mouthed. She shrugged slightly. He nodded towards the door and she briefly shook her head in the negative. Baxter turned, hoping their intimate language went unnoticed. Discreetly he squeezed her knee.

  "So what was that?" the dour-looking poet asked, motioning toward the record player.

  "iFFF" Zak replied.

  "If what?"

  "Oh, god…" Baxter groaned. He hated this game.

  "The band is called iFFF, dear. They were all the rage… fifty years ago," Chloe replied. She finished her drink and walked over to the couch.

  "Any chance we might listen to something from the last quarter-century?"

  "But of course!" Zak said, bouncing to his feet. He scooped up a large, sticker-covered CD book and began flipping through the pages, rapidly spouting off band names and album titles.

  "I've got Crud, the Blisters, Spiny Norman. Sticky Witches, this is a good one! Wall of Shame, The Taint, Math Japanese. Here's Coltrane Live in Japan. I brought all of these. Uh, I got the Fuxx, dirtbirds, the Riverdale Teens…what about John Zorn's Torture Garden?"

  Chloe made a face.

  "Well… how about this?" He slipped a disc from its plastic sleeve and into the CD player. Almost immediately their ears were assaulted with a shrieking wall of noise. "This is Scul. They're from Stuttgart."

  Even Ashton seemed to blanche at this, which only fed Zak's fire. He cranked the volume. The Japanese girl buried her head in the pillows while her boyfriend simply left the room. "Aren't they great?" he yelled. Chloe just stared.

  "I'm going to get some air," Annie said, slipping from her seat. She made her way into the dim hallway beyond. Baxter wondered if he should follow, then decided to wait for a few minutes. While the two of them weren't anywhere near being serious about each other, he still had no wish to let anyone else know about their time spent together. He was sure Ashton would encourage him, which, oddly enough, kept Baxter from mentioning it. Zak was enthusiastic. As far as he was concerned, Annie was "fresh, clean and ripe for pickin'." Down-home farm analogies aside, he was probably right. Hopefully she wouldn't roll too far from the tree.

  "Zak… Zak. ZAK!"

  Zak turned, looked at Baxter. "Huh?"

  "Come on, man. Put something else on."

  "But these guys are great!" he protested. Baxter shook his head.

  "Yes, I have to agree with Baxter on this one, Zak," Ashton conceded. "How about something a little less… well, a little less like this."

  Zak looked pained but acquiesced, eventually choosing some Vietnamese flute music. The soothing tones helped to clear the air.

  "Ah, now this is music to freshen the pipe to," Ashton said, smiling broadly.

  "Oh, no. No more for me." Baxter rose, drifting like pollen over to where the host sat.

  "James. Thank you. I must bumble off now. Time to tap the ol' cranium, if ya know what I mean."

  Ashton nodded. "Of course. Don't be a stranger."

  The two men shook hands. Baxter turned to Chloe. "Good night, Chloe."

  "Sleep well, Baxter," she said coolly. He looked at her curiously, but she only smiled and raised her glass. Disconcerted, Baxter stepped away. He nodded to Zak, then slipped out the door. The room grew quiet save the singular piping of the flute.

  "Anyone?" Ashton offered through a lungful of smoke. And the room grew ever smaller…

  ~*~

  "Hey, Bax. What happened to your hot date?"

  Baxter dropped heavily to his bed, drinking deeply from a brown paper bag. Receiving no answer, Zak returned his gaze to the computer screen. He tried to focus on what he'd been reading, but his roommate's brooding presence made it difficult. Baxter had only left an hour before; if he was back already and drinking his date-night wine straight from the bottle…

  "You wanna talk about it, pumpkin?" Zak asked with mock sweetness.

  Baxter glared at him but said nothing, instead returning his attention to the wine. There was another uncomfortable lull until Baxter volunteered: "She's a virgin."

  Zak spun in his chair, laughing. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "I wouldn't have a problem with that. If she would, y'know..."

  "If I'm actually having this conversation with you, I'm gonna need some of that," Zak said, gesturing towards the bottle.

  "Fine. Here. Look, I'm really into her. But there's this wall, y'know? I can't get past it."

  Zak looked at Baxter squarely. "Well, the way I see it, you don't have much choice. You gotta move on if it ain't happenin'. Otherwise you're just wasting your time. Cast out the chaste woman and all that."

  Baxter shook his head in amazement. "Come on, Zak. It's not that black and white."

  "Isn't it, Bax? What is she holding out for? If not for you, who? What's so special about what she's got between her legs?"

  Baxter resisted the urge to punch out his roommate. He knew Zak was only trying to get his goat, but there was a germ of truth to what his roommate said so callously. Baxter found himself thinking again of Erica, of the ease with which he'd bedded her. Why was it so difficult with someone he actually cared about?

  "Hey, man. Forget it. Let's have a taste." Zak produced a fat, tightly-rolled joint and lit it without ceremony. Baxter looked at it and took it with a sigh. "You should check this out," Zak said, bringing a page of text up on his monitor.

  Baxter leaned in, squinting through the smoke to read the tiny words. "Clautney Iris? Now why does that sound familiar?"

  Zak hit the joint, spoke through a lungful of smoke. "He's the guy who inspired iFFF. The Magician."

  "That's the picture from the album cover," Baxter said nervously. The image had come to mind too readily, as if it had been waiting for him.

  "Yeah, it's his mug shot. Not the most ideal circumstances for a portrait, but who are we to argue with the results?"

  Baxter shifted, but found he was unable to look away. The tiny picture did possess an undeniable power, as if its subject were staring not into a lens but through it into the dorm room.

  "Here." Zak offered his seat and Baxter cautiously slid into it. He began to read.

  ABOUT CLAUTNEY IRIS

  From a Who's Who of the Occult by Milton Pierce, Mantic Press

  While dozens of 'esoteric' books were issued in the spring of 1925, only one remains the source of any lasting relevance. First published in a limited edition of five hundred copies, Clautney Iris's The Other Way remains in print today, its impact and wisdom having grown only more profound in the decades since its publication.

  Known to its devotees as The First Book of Paq'q, the slim volume is divided into three sections. The first is a decree
, declaring humankind free from the bondage of morality and the prison of reason. It demands tossing aside the yolk of civilization and returning to a simpler way, in which Men and Women are free to worship strange and remarkable gods and find love again under the stars. The narrator speaks of the coming change and how humankind must ready itself if it wishes to survive:

  "Like the tree you must shed your leaves, to grow again in new ways. You must learn to fly farther, to swim deeper, to strengthen the natural connection between yourself and the World. It is only through embracing this change in its entirety, in accepting the scope and span of its diversity, that humankind will be free to step into the sky."

  The process is explained in the book's second section. Within its thirty-three pages are rudimentary formula, ritual, and illustration of sexual technique designed to stimulate the "sleeping" section of the human brain, that mankind might wake and, in turn, wake Paq'q, who sleeps in death. The third section of the book is a brief overview of the life of the author, which we will speak of shortly.

  The Other Way was released by Tannis House, a small press devoted to the weird and mystic. Unfortunately, the book's minuscule print run and simple cover ensured it was lost in the tide of mock-occult flotsam that was the tabloid entertainment of the day. Little attention was paid to it until the following December, when Parisian police broke up an alleged sex cult said to be abusing children.

  Though no children were discovered within the cult's compound, a handful of famous people were, including silent film starlet Wilma Randolph. The incident quickly became a international scandal thanks to Miss Randolph coming forward to talk to the press. She explained that she and her fellow cultists followed the teachings of Clautney Iris, earth magician and author of The Other Way. Iris preached enlightenment through human union or more specifically, sex magic. His followers were taught that sexual energy re-attuned the body, allowing it to evolve faster and prepare it for the coming vibrational shift; through sex, she patiently explained, she and her brothers and sisters would usher in a new age of peace and transformation.