The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  "You don't know the half of it." Baxter was faceless in the dark, his voice low and worn. Erica had to strain to hear his words. "Well, the day he came by wasn't the first time I'd met him. Zak and I, we drove into town one night. We stopped into this little dive bar, had a beer with the locals. Mister Shea accosted us at our booth. He said he knew what we were up to here at the manor, that we were messing with forces we didn't understand. We just assumed he was the town crazy; imagine how surprised we were when he showed up here."

  Erica hit the joint and offered it to Baxter, who declined.

  "Why didn't you say something then?" she asked after a moment.

  "I don't know. Like I said, I thought he was just a nut-case, but there was something about him. He seemed like, I don't know... concerned. The night he came to dinner he seemed to be checking the place out, kind of unobtrusively snooping."

  Erica nodded. "Yeah, I got a little that, as well, but I just figured he was a harmless old geezer."

  Baxter leaned forward. "Yeah, he's crafty, and happy enough to go along with people's idea of him being the local loony. I guess it keeps him from being seen as a real menace, you know? Crazy but innocent, just part of the 'local color.' Point is, he stirred things up just enough, then split. He was checking us out to see who might be the most sympathetic to his cause."

  "And that would be you."

  Baxter let the conversation lapse, the forest-sounds rushing in to fill the silence. Things scampered through the brush above them, chirped and clicked and buzzed in the growing darkness. An owl cried out from somewhere high above, fading into a distant trill.

  "So Mr. Shea…" Erica prompted. Baxter blinked, his mind having already wandered far from their conversation.

  "Yes. Shea. I went to see him. After we learned about the Ashton family's relationship with Clautney Iris I had a lot of questions, and James wasn't answering. I had nowhere else to go but Shea. After all, he'd been around at the time. I figured he had to know something. I was right."

  Baxter told her all he'd learned from Shea, his voice low. When he was finished Erica looked grim. Baxter pressed on.

  "There's something to this. Shea wants to talk to you. You and Zak and anyone else willing to listen. But I don't know who else to trust. At this point I'm sure if I tell Zak he'll tell Annie, and then the next time she turns into an eyeball monster she'll spill the beans."

  Erica had to laugh at Baxter's flippant description of Annie's hideous physical transformation, understanding the need to put something so unreal in a more benign context. Still, the thought of the young woman in that way brought goose-bumps to her skin.

  "Well, let's keep it to ourselves for now" Erica said evenly. "We'll go see the old man. But please keep in mind; I am committed to this. I do feel we're part of something special here, something remarkable. There's a lot about what we've seen here that I don't understand, but I do know there's a lot to be gained by these experiences, too. I can only speak for myself, but spending the summer here has taught me a lot about myself, and not all of it pretty. I don't think I can leave until I'm done; I don't think any of us can."

  Unable to respond, Baxter simply put an arm around his friend and

  watched the sun set.

  SEVENTEEN

  NOW

  Baxter followed the dry stream-bed, running as fast as his slipper-shod feet could carry him. He was perhaps two miles from the manor, at last far enough to stop and catch his breath. He leaned against a nearby tree and tried to find the strength which had so recently been with him, but his reserves were tapped; all had been spent on his desperate get-away. Now he could only itch. Inspecting himself, Baxter found he could no longer touch his pelvic area; it was too sensitive, swollen into a series of angry red ridges. He looked at his penis and reeled; it had shriveled as old fruit might, grown dry and reed-thin. Beneath it his testicles bulged, having taken on a hard, marble-like sheen. They ached as if the skin were no longer big enough to contain them. He lifted one gingerly and felt it weigh heavily in his hand, more stone than flesh. Baxter cursed Chloe again, wishing she were here that he might bash her head in. Not that he had the energy.

  Digging at his exposed chest absentmindedly he looked to the moon. While waning, it was still bright enough to show the way. But to where? There was nothing around for miles, the town of Tull still far off. Even if he were to walk all the way there, what then? Tell the police he and his friends had been kidnapped, dragged up to Ashton Manor to perform an ancient occult ritual against their will? Baxter doubted that would fly, considering he carried no identification and all he wore was a thin robe and slippers. People would assume he was some escaped nutcase (which he was) out of his mind with fear and paranoia (which was true) covered with what appeared to be a highly contagious skin disease (which was entirely possible.) No. Baxter would get no help there. He wished he'd bothered to make a friend or two in the last decade, someone he might call for aid. But his only friends were behind him, trapped and no doubt hoping for a miracle. How he wished he could give them one.

  Baxter's spell of self-pity was broken by an oddly-familiar sound. He struggled to try and place it, listening as it drew steadily closer. It was a rushing sort of noise, air being swept along by something big, heavy. The wind… no, not wind; wings.

  "Oh, no. Please, no."

  The massive shadow swooped overhead, losing itself in the greater darkness. Baxter fought the urge to run blindly, refusing to be led. If he was to die he'd do it standing his ground. No more running. He stooped, ran his hands through the litter of debris that had built up through the years. There was little of use to him there; no big branches, no large rocks. Nothing he might use as a weapon. He crab-walked along the inside of the gully wall, keeping his attention above him but still searching the ground with his hands. He saw a flash of black against the darker sky, returning the direction it had first come. Perhaps it hadn't seen him?

  Wishing he'd brought his cannon, Baxter worked a good-sized piece of slate free from the gully wall. It was long, perhaps three feet in length, one end coming to an ugly point. The stone was brittle, but if he held it just right it might serve as a weapon. Momentarily distracted, Baxter stumbled over an exposed tree-root, the slate flying from his hands. He went down hard, losing a slipper in the process.

  "Damn it," he cursed himself, struggling to rise. The murderous shriek came then, a stinking wind at his back. The slipper. He needed his slipper. As he reached into the shadows the massive crow collided into his prone form, toppling him forward. Baxter didn't bother groping for a weapon. Spinning to one side he grabbed the feathered monstrosity's beak and bent it back, slamming the beast into the dust. Claws shredded his neck and chest but Baxter forced his weight down upon the thing, grinding it into the earth. Blood splattered everywhere as the wicked talons tore him open; Baxter twisted its razor-like beak up and to one side, felt something in the bird's neck stretch and slowly begin to give.

  Suddenly the crow was free, flexing its massive wings to pop out from beneath Baxter's body. It scrabbled forward, attempting to gain the air and its advantage. Baxter dove, just missing its greasy tail-feathers. With a small lead the crow managed to stay out of reach, hopping faster than Baxter could crawl. Realizing he'd never beat it this way, Baxter struggled to rise. He limped forward, attempting to close the gap between himself and the evil bird. It was too late. At last having gathered enough momentum, the crow jumped into the air and began to pound its powerful wings. In moments it was up and gone, though Baxter knew it would return at any moment.

  He crouched, found a short but stout branch just at his feet. Standing up he positioned himself like a major-league batter, resting the length of wood on his shoulder. While the branch could not have weighed more than two pounds he felt as if he were hefting a Sequoia. Gritting his teeth Baxter readied himself for the crow's next attack. He did not have to wait long. The massive bird came surging out of the darkness, glossy feathers flashing in the blue-black November night. Baxter waited until
he could smell its hot stench, then swung for all he was worth.

  Missing by a mile, the swing's momentum carried Baxter forward, down again into the dusty stream-bed. The crow gave him no quarter, already on his back and pecking viciously with its wicked beak. Baxter screamed, as the bestial thing tore at his ragged flesh.

  "Help me!"

  Though he was alone Baxter cried out, his voice desperate. He felt the bird strike him again and again, tearing the fight from his flesh.

  "…help…"

  The thing appeared beside them then, slowly coiling up out of the ground. Half formed, half-phantom, it struck instantaneously, catching the crow up in its wide jaws and carrying it high into the air. Roiling, turning, unwilling to let go of the furiously struggling bird, the thing snapped its jaws shut. Baxter heard an agonized shriek, felt a rain of wet sticky feathers fall over him. Turning, he wiped the gory scraps from his eyes and tried to make sense of what it was he was seeing in the air above him.

  It was one of the spirit-animals. Luminous in the dim forest, the thing was perhaps twelve feet long, serpentine but with thin, impractical wings. A pale, purplish-gray in color, it remained only partly there, stubbornly-intangible compared to the solidity of its prey. Streaking a trail of steam as it dove and weaved, it shook its prey viciously. The hardest part of the beast to reconcile was it's head: the thing seemed to be all mouth, with no sensory apparatus in evidence. It chewed the vile carcass in its vast, toothless maw, crushing the dark form with an audible squawk. Baxter saw the flash of one red eye and the bird was gone, vanishing from sight. The phantom-form lazily banked, then zipped off quickly through the woods. For a moment Baxter could follow its glow but this abruptly winked out, leaving him once again alone in the darkness.

  "Uh… thanks."

  ~*~

  Ashton opened his eyes. "Damn him!" He rose from his lotus position, quickly re-buttoning his tuxedo jacket. Extinguishing the foul-smelling incense he turned to Chloe. "He lives still."

  Chloe shrugged. "He's all but dead now that we have this."

  She gestured to the crystalline pendant, which continued to pulse with its weird light.

  "We can perform the Great Ritual without him. Once that is done nothing can stop us."

  Ashton sighed. "That's not exactly true."

  Chloe's left eyebrow arched. "What do you mean? I thought you said once we…?"

  Ashton spoke over her rising voice. "The Great Ritual is designed to Open the Way, yes. But there is what you might call an… incubation period. While Paq'q will manifest, His physical form will take a short while to truly coalesce. In that time He will be in stasis, as if in an egg. A little less than a week, according to the ritual. We will have to protect Him until then, keep the new form safe until He rises."

  Chloe was clearly thrown by this. "But you never said anything about this before. Where will He be? How will we...?"

  Ashton sighed, straightening his tie. "The mine, Sister. He will be born in the womb of Earth herself, protected until the time is right to rise. We will perform certain ceremonies which will aid and strengthen Him, acting as sentries until He wakes. Then it will be glorious."

  Fondling the amulet she pressed him further. "So why didn't you tell me until now?"

  "I didn't wish to burden you with detail. Don't worry, Sister; all is as it should be." He leaned forward and kissed her, then hurried back to the dining-room, Chloe trailing behind. "Hello, everyone. How is the food?"

  A quick glance at the table showed no one eating save Adam, who was packing it in as fast as he could. Ashton sat and Metathias quickly placed a covered platter before him.

  "Please eat. We will be performing the ritual shortly, in a little more than an hour. You'll need to get your strength up."

  "So how can we do this ritual with only six people?" Zak asked cautiously. "Even if we have Baxter's… uh, juice?"

  Ashton sipped his wine. "Yes, well. Although we have Baxter's essence, we'll still need a warm body. Metathias should suffice."

  Zak looked skeptical. "I dunno know, man. When was the last time you checked his pulse?"

  Ashton smiled thinly.

  "I see your sense of humor is slowly returning as well, Brother. I'm so glad to have you back with us; the manor just hasn't been the same without you."

  Dinner went by without further conversation, ending with Ashton rising.

  "We will meet in the drawing-room in twenty minutes. If you go to your rooms you will find your old robes and equipment laid out for you. Please purify yourselves and join me at your earliest possible convenience." He left them then, going to his own room. Zephyr and Adam quickly followed but Erica and Zak hung back slightly.

  "I'm going to check on Sandy, see if she's still sleeping," Annie said, limping off. Old Estelle would keep an eye on her daughter during the ritual. Annie had no choice in the matter.

  "So what do we do now?" Erica whispered, as she and Zak lingered over their drinks.

  Zak shook his head resignedly."What do you mean? We go and perform the ritual."

  Erica looked at him unbelieving. "You can't be serious!"

  "Me? You're the one who swore to him…"

  She waved dismissively. "Oh, come on; that doesn't count, he's crazy. He's…"

  Just then Metathias returned to the room. He stood behind them wordlessly, his meaning all too clear. Eric and Zak stepped forward and the old man followed, passively forcing them out of the dining room. They were escorted to the staircase, then left to rise on their own. Wordlessly they walked up the steps and went their separate ways.

  Back in her room Erica removed the ill-fitting cocktail dress and shuddered with disgust. Letting it drop to the floor she considered the bruises which bloomed upon her skin, the small, circular wounds that only now began to ache. She understood now how it was possible for Ashton to do what he did. He had not simply been restored in their absence; James Ashton had been remade in his God's image. She hurried to the shower, washing her body with the hottest water she could stand. Her sense of violation was overwhelming; she fought not to shut down, to withdraw into herself and nurse her wounds. She did not have that luxury.

  ~*~

  The group made their way through the narrow passage by torchlight, with Ashton leading the way. He no longer attempted to make small talk or put the others at ease, now all business in his silken robe and bone-crown. Just behind him walked Chloe, followed by Adam, Erica, Annie, Zak and, taking up the rear, Metathias. The old manservant looked even stranger than usual, the ill-fitting robe he wore having been cut for someone shorter. Bare wrists and legs jutted more than a foot below the hem-line, their flesh colorless and dull. It would have been comical under other circumstances.

  "There is a bit of a slope ahead so go slowly. Follow my lead." Ashton's voice echoed down the narrow stone corridor, racing ahead and doubling back on them.

  The lights that hung every thirty feet or so effectively illuminated the way, making their leader's torch irrelevant, though Zak had to admit it was a nice touch. A standard gothic trapping, it gave their little affair just the right hint of theater. Zak watched it slowly vanish below his line of sight, as Ashton descended into the gloom. He wasn't kidding. The grade was steep, uneven beneath their feet and Zak had to rush to catch up to Ashton. "You never mentioned you had a basement."

  Ashton chuckled low, but did not speak. Zak felt the need to get his host talking, if only to glean scraps of information. "So what was this tunnel used for?"

  Ashton looked at him warily: after a moment he began to speak.

  "According to what I've been told it was discovered when the manor was being built. A naturally-occurring series of caves and fissures run beneath the town and up into the hills. It's said the Dadan Indians used them to worship their Gods; artifacts found within and images painted on the walls verify this. The tunnels have carried a bit of a stigma ever since, though that did not stop some of the more…industrious members of the community from taking advantage of a valued natural r
esource. The underground passages were later used for smuggling, slave trafficking, all manner of dubious purposes. Some were blocked off or dynamited in the early twentieth century, in a bid to reduce such criminal activities, but there were so many it proved to be a difficult undertaking."

  As if to underscore this, the group passed a large vent in the stone. In the dim light it seemed to stretch on forever.

  "A good many of the houses in the area have root cellars or basements with openings that connected up, though most people closed them off to keep out rats or burglars. This particular tunnel remained hidden, thanks to the efforts of the manor's original builder, Fredric Blake. He had discovered that this particular tunnel not only connected to the others, but to something much more interesting. A cavern lies just below us; “as big and black as Hell itself” Blake wrote in his personal journal. The description is a tad on the melodramatic side, but still apt. The cavern is remarkably large, extending back nearly quarter-mile; while no exhaustive measurements of its height have ever been undertaken, its ceiling is quite high, extending perhaps as much as 150 feet above the floor. It is truly a remarkable sight to behold."

  Zak nodded, struggling to keep pace with his host. "So why didn't you just become Batman and leave all of us out of it?"

  Ashton laughed again, this time without malefic intent. "A wonderful question, Brother! There are some rather startling parallels, now that we consider it. But as for leaving you out, I'm sure I would have needed an underwear-clad sidekick."

  Zak said nothing, the conversation taking far too weird a turn for his liking.

  "So why are performing the ritual down here?" Erica asked. "We never have before."

  Ashton stopped, turning. "We would have, in time. Sadly, all of you betrayed me before we had the chance."

  There was the sound of a throat being cleared at the back of the line.

  "All save you, of course, Metathias. Sorry to lump you in with the rest of them."