The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  At this Zak grew indignant.

  "Listen, man. This is the Purps and it's thirty bucks a gram…"

  "Gentlemen, please," Ashton said, leaning between them. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of mutual understanding. Bear in mind we have a veranda."

  "Fine" Erica said, tilting her nose up with a finger."We'll go out on the veranda." She and Zak rose, making their way across the room and through a high set of doors facing the forest.

  "Join us?" Baxter asked Annie.

  She shook her head. "No thanks. I'm pretty worn out; I'll probably go to bed soon."

  "Ah," Baxter replied, more than a bit disappointed. He'd hoped that… "All right. Good night." He nodded to her, noticed Adam watching their quiet exchange. Baxter walked on and joined the beclouded silhouettes flowing across the moonlit veranda.

  "Baxter," said Zak, not exactly enthused to see him.

  "Hey, Zak... Erica." Baxter saw her smile flash through the indigo smoke.

  "Hi, Baxter. It's good to see you again."

  "Ditto."

  Baxter took a hit off the joint; the smoke was pungent, almost peppery-tasting on his tongue. He snorted trying to hold his breath and exhaled two perfect rings of smoke from his nose. Erica laughed in delight at this and called him Ferdinand. Baxter exhaled with a laugh, felt the beginnings of a buzz already. He hit the joint again, deeper this time, then passed it on.

  "So how have you been?" Erica asked.

  Baxter shrugged. "Eh, all right, I guess. Glad to be done with classes."

  She nodded. "Same here. If I tried to cram one more fact into my head it would come back out of my nose." She sipped in a cloud of smoke, passed the smoldering joint to Zak.

  "So how long have you known James?" he asked her through a haze.

  "Only since this past semester. He invited me to a few parties… you know, I just kind of saw him around. I was surprised when he asked me along for the summer. I figured: what the hell? I'd come up and check it out for awhile. If it sucked I could just get in the jeep and leave."

  "Huh," Zak said, more than a little puzzled. "I've never seen you at any of his parties."

  "Yeah, it's weird. Actually, the only people here I've met before today are Adam and James."

  "That is weird."

  "Guess I was in the 'B' group."

  Baxter wondered at this, but not overlong. The pot had unmoored him and he was drifting out, off into a more blissful place. He watched the stars shine down, making crowns of light across his eyes. He thought oddly, let his companion's words roll off of him into the inky spill of ivy below.

  Baxter.

  Grew.

  Stoned.

  He watched the back yard, puzzle pieces of blue-black scrap that went in and out of focus before his eyes. They clotted, soaked up the welling night to grow bloated before him, sodden knots that swayed in the windless dark.

  "Baxter?"

  Zak was offering Baxter the joint. Its cherry bobbed before him, one coal-bright eye floating in the murk.

  "Uhhh, I'm good, thanks." Leaning back against the wall he admired Erica's profile, remembered his hands upon her body. Her flesh had been warm that early spring morning, had grown flushed beneath his caress. The beauty of her form spoke to him again; her wide, rounded hips, her high, firm breasts… As Baxter shifted to hide his growing discomfort he noticed she was watching him watch her.

  "I read your story in The Charioteer," Erica said, moving closer to him. "That's some pretty wild stuff. So, are you a sicko or do you just have a really good imagination?"

  "Is there any real difference?" Ashton asked, stepping out onto the veranda. He took the joint and hit it deeply, then continued to speak. "Imagination has always been the most misunderstood trait of mankind. Even the Gods feared it… and look at them now. Diminished, no longer of consequence, they loiter at the edges of history, eager for any crumbs we might throw their way. It was imagination that drove our evolution, the conception of something more than we are driving us onward."

  "Yeah, absolutely," Zak agreed enthusiastically. "Clautney Iris wrote about that in Book One. He talks about how Adam dreamt himself into being, of how the Garden of Eden was the fecund remains of his exploded Mother."

  "Ewww," said Erica regretfully.

  "Amm," Ashton replied, nodding. "She Who Gives All To Gain All." There was a not entirely-unexpected lull.

  "So what up with that?" Erica asked, her voice even.

  "All right, there was this guy," Zak began. "His name was Clautney Iris. He was a magician in the early twentieth century. He was considered a prophet of the new age. Have you ever heard of The Books of Paq'q?"

  Erica, looking dubious, shook her head in the negative.

  "Well, he wrote them under a kind of… oh, I don't know, like in a state, you know? They were channeled to him by Paq'q, an primal ancient being who chose him to be its avatar. Iris was to bring Paq'q's wisdom to the world, to prepare it for the coming change."

  "So what is this?" Erica asked curiously. "Are you guys trying to recruit me into some sort of cult?"

  Ashton laughed grandly. "We just like to keep our minds open, that's all. It's important to be receptive to the truth, in whatever form it arrives in. We hope you'll join us in this. And we hope that Baxter here will keep us entertained this summer with his stories."

  Baxter listened as if from another room; it seemed impossible he was part of this conversation, but everyone was looking at him. "Yeah," he croaked weakly, wondering just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

  "Wonderful," Ashton said through a lungful of smoke. And the night grew a little darker.

  NOW

  The study was dim, silent. Annie peered into the shadows, tried to put a face to the voice that spoke in the shadow.

  "Seven years ago we gathered here, innocents before the Abyss. We did things no one could have expected, discovered things no one ever should. We opened the gate and then slammed it closed, horrified by what we saw on the Other Side. But in seeing we created a window through which we could be seen… and He has been watching." The voice was Ashton's, but different somehow, changed. The warmth had gone out of his tone, left his words sounding worn, distant. "By looking Him in the eye we accepted Him, acknowledged the existence of something which cannot exist. This acknowledgment was His seed, has been growing within us now for the past seven years. We have been pawns, inadvertently drawing the points together that He may at last come again."

  "That's just great, James. So what do we do about it?" Erica asked, leaning against the wall. She had changed as well; in her seven years away she had grown through the supple beauty of her youth, her frame now lean and efficient. Her long bare arms showed curious tattoos, intricate spiral designs that told of hours beneath the needle. She sported multiple piercings in each ear, as well as two in her right nostril. Her hair had been cropped to within an inch of her scalp, making her face seem hard-set and angular. She looked ready for a fight.

  "We must re-form the circle," Ashton said from the darkness. "In my possession are formula with which we can undo what we have done."

  "That's what you said the last time," Erica replied flatly. "So why didn't it work then?"

  The dim figure moved across the back of he room, shoulders hunched, head cocked away from them.

  "That music…" he said, amazement in his voice. Zak raised his hand.

  "Yeah, that would be me. The human karaoke machine." Surprisingly. there was no bitterness in his voice; Zak seemed surprisingly reconciled to the situation. "It's been with me since… since then. I've gotten used to it."

  But the same could not be said for the others. Adam seemed maddened by the ghostly notes. Sweat beaded his brow, trickled down his bristly face. Chloe paced, leaving a trail of icy air in her wake. Annie found she was grinding her teeth; the music…it seemed to burrow under her skin, sought the marrow of her. She shivered in the shadowy den, watched the silhouette that was Ashton pace back and forth as the music grew louder. "We mustn't think
about it: the more we do, the more energy is taken from us."

  But it was impossible to ignore. The music doubled upon itself, coming from all sides at once, filling the room with its unseen presence. Long starved, it grew note by hideous note, swelling in the filmy air. Zak looked on helplessly as the others covered their ears.

  "Stop, make it STOP, GOD DAMN IT!" Adam roared, slamming his fist down on a sturdy oak table. It collapsed, falling away from itself and into a heap of splintered gray shards. As it did the music abruptly ceased.

  "There. You've just fed Him," Ashton said in a beaten voice. "We can't get caught up like that. The more we pay attention to His phenomena the more strength He steals from us." And the room felt empty, gave truth to Ashton's words. "Look around you. He has been… eating this. All that this place ever was, all that we were… " He trailed off. The room seemed did seem used up. The wallpaper was stained and peeling, now more like shedding skin than expensive French silk. Beneath their feet the carpet felt like stubble, the scrub of spent summer coarse against the soles of their shoes. Even the light seemed to be diminished, wicked away by some unseen presence. “We cannot complete the circle without Baxter. It is with him all of our hopes rest."

  Attention fell upon Zak, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I wish I knew what to tell you," he said feebly.

  "Very well," Ashton said quietly. "You know where your rooms are." He faded back into the gloom, as yet unseen by his unwilling visitors. Annie rubbed her knuckles anxiously, watched the others gathered themselves. Chloe rose and followed Ashton, the door drifting slowly closed behind her. On the other side of the room Adam shook visibly, a shade of his former self. Only Zak seemed at ease, a troubling thought considering. Erica shook off imagined dust. Her face was resolute but unreadable, another enigma in action. She left the room without a word.

  ~*~

  Baxter slowed, taking a deep breath to calm himself. The road had seen better days, the asphalt cracked and broken beneath his wheels. Forcing himself onward he cut the wheel and guided the rental car along the remembered path. It wound up a blighted slope, past stands of strangely-colorless evergreens, along the brush and ruin to a barren plateau of earth and stone. And there it stood, as it had in his dreams forever, an irreconcilable mass of lambent darkness slowly swelling towards the dusk.

  As if the ground beneath were rejecting it, Ashton Manor was thrust up in a jumble of intractable peaks and angles, a jagged silhouette against the static gray sky. Baxter remembered how it once had been and mourned, a moment he was willing to waste. The house had fallen into an astonishing state of disarray, decay catching up to its hundred plus years too damn fast to be natural. It was sour here, had gone quickly and irrevocably wrong. Even the sun shunned this place, leaving only an empty space in the clouds above him.

  Baxter parked the car a considerable distance from the manor. Gathering what he needed, he cautiously slipped out of the driver-side door. To his surprise there was no one around. He'd half-expected Ashton to employ some sort of security service but the grounds were desolate, without so much as another car in sight. Still, something was watching him. Baxter was familiar with the sensation, but he was alone, save for a single crow circling high above.

  Baxter quickly made his way up the drive and along the side of the house, looking carefully in every direction. All was blight; the acrimonious ruin of a withered rosebush, the razor-stubble of shattered grass, a run of desiccated ivy clinging in death to the manor's black walls. Baxter found he was sweating in spite of the cool weather, the total lack of life around him unnerving. For all that had happened here in the past, it had never been like this. He did his best to shut it out, to focus on the task at hand.

  Arriving at the building's western corner he carefully made his way towards the gardens. It was worse there, the once lush space now unrecognizable. Shaken, Baxter walked to the Wall of Faces, kneeling down before its craggy surface. At one time a wild and verdant thing, its hoary mane and beard had since died away, the dense red moss that had adorned it now the barest of scrub. Eyes obscured by mad tangles of root watched blindly as Baxter tucked his plastic-wrapped parcel into the recesses of its toothless mouth. When satisfied, Baxter stepped back.

  "Thanks, pal," he said, touching the rock-face. He moved on without further sentiment. All was silent as he returned to the front of the building; even the sound of his footfalls were swallowed up in the dead grass, leaving him feeling more like a wraith than a living soul. Soon he stood before the immense oak doors of Ashton Manor.

  "It's not too late," he thought. "You can still run, still be free of here. It doesn't have to end this way." But these thoughts were mere formalities. He hadn't come all this way to turn back now; besides, if the expanding halo of blight were any indication, there would soon be nowhere to run to. Baxter grasped the gold ring and pounded out 'Shave and a Haircut.' It had proved to be a powerful incantatory formula in the past, essentially becoming his rhythmic signature. How better to to announce his presence? After a moment the heavy doors swung open. Of course it was Metathias who stood before him, his jaw set, his ancient face expressionless. Baxter grinned.

  "I believe I'm expected."

  NINE

  THEN

  The first week passed quickly. Life at the manor proved remarkably sedate, nearly dream-like in its ease. The group were left to their own devices, and wasted no time in settling in. Annie remained enamored of the gardens and lingered there, the only constant amidst the summer's manic growth. Zachary took to the library, losing himself in its priceless collection of first editions, extant volumes and infamous out-of-print books. Erica spent her time at the stable, having fallen under the spell of the manor's brood of graceful horses. Adam was oblivious to all, fishing or bow-hunting on the land around the manor. Apparently this was his main motivation for joining them. Ashton didn't seem to mind; he and Chloe were absent more often than not, gone for days at a time only to return at just the right moment with lavish gifts and good tidings. It was bizarre, but Baxter was getting used to the bizarre.

  Baxter spent his time writing. There was something about the manor that inspired him, motivating him in a way he could not explain. His previous misconceptions were quickly forgotten as he embraced the freedom to work unhindered. Ashton had surpassed any assumptions Baxter had once had about him; the man genuinely seemed to be without guile, giving simply because he could. It engendered a sense of obligation in Baxter, a desire to justify the grand outlay that had been so generously made. Gone were the thoughts of suspicion and mistrust; now Baxter only wished to thank his friend. He'd begun work on something special, a kind of tribute to this singular experience. It was only just forming, of course, but Baxter felt sure it would prove to be his best work yet. How could it not? They had just arrived and the season's potential seemed limitless.

  Baxter stepped from the dim hallway into the library's mellow light. Annie was there, as well as Zak and Erica. The two women stood before the window, mesmerized.

  Zak looked up from the book he was reading. "Hey, Baxter. What brings you through these here parts?"

  Baxter shrugged. "I just figured I'd check in. What's going on?"

  Zak nodded towards the window and Baxter wandered over, curious. High on the hillside, silhouetted before the storm, a muscular shirtless figure raised a heavy wood-handled axe. At its arc it seemed to hang, a crescent of silver flashing in the mid-day gloom. Then the blade came down, splitting the dead tree clean through the middle, striking it just as lightning cleaved the sky. Thunder rolled down the slope, rattling the windowpanes, filling the house with its roar.

  "Hey, Baxter," Erica said, briefly looking his way. Annie paid him no notice, her attention held by the spectacle before her. Outside the storm was building in intensity, as if in a battle of wills with the axe-weilding man. Winds battered him, heavy rain lashing his bare chest. Heedless, he swung again. The remains of the stump shattered, in a spray of bark and black earth. Baxter could see him smiling from here.


  "What does that lunatic think he's doing?"

  Annie looked at him. "He said the tree was dead, that it would draw lightning. He decided to go cut it down."

  Baxter laughed, but the joke was on him; Annie had already returned her gaze to the window. She seemed quite taken with Adam's display and Baxter found himself suppressing a flash of jealousy. Adam obviously knew they were watching and Baxter had no desire to feed into his ego. That said, he was a charismatic son of a bitch. And that was what really stuck in Baxter's craw. Why did the guy have to be such an ass when he already seemed to have it all?

  "What a cheeseball," Zak said, as if mirroring his thoughts.

  "Yeah." Baxter walked from the window to the room's small bar. A cleverly-converted pot dresser, it opened out to reveal its twin row of expensive tenents. After a moment's reflection Baxter removed a dusty bottle. "Dom Lligori?"

  "Don't mind if I do," Zak said, fingering an imaginary tie. Baxter smiled, opening the wine.

  Zak had two glasses at the ready and filled in short order. "You know," he said, sipping the forty-five year old red, "I feel as though we should be doing something more than just hanging around every day drinking Ashton's grand-dad's wine."

  "I agree," Ashton said, manifesting wraith-like beside them. "And that's why were going to have a party."

  ~*~

  It was a stroke of madness. "An equinox masquerade!" Ashton proclaimed. "It will be fantastic!" And it was. They came from everywhere, that mad tide of revelers. Clad in every color, countless false-faces paraded past the entranceway dancing, laughing, and shouting for more of everything. And it was provided; Ashton's endless larder turned out for the tide of fevered consumption. Locust-like, the partygoers fell over it all. Wine flowed in rivers, food filled table after table; beautiful women shot-gunned hits of opium to willing participants…and there were many willing participants. All were strangers, remaining disguised the entire night being the single requirement for attendance. And while a few people seemed to know each other, most remained ignorant, allowing some of Ashton's infamous family friends to prowl amongst the crowd. Most of the first and second floors were open and wired for sound, with Zak spinning from his control room in the library. Already things had built to a fever pitch, the dining-room full of frenzied dancing, the couches and floor covered in couples, trios and quads in various stages of debauchery…and it was only ten p.m..