The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  They walked in silence for the next ten minutes, carefully picking their way down crude steps carved into the damp stone floor. The passageway curved dramatically several times, winding left, then right and left again. Annie found herself growing disoriented, the pressure of countless tons of rock and earth overhead becoming acute.

  "I hate to sound cliché but are we almost..?"

  She never did finish her question. Rounding a sharp corner, the group found themselves standing on a small natural ledge high in the air above the cavern floor. There was no railing.

  "Whoa!"

  Annie stepped backwards, then realized there was nowhere to go.

  Zak placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Just keep going. Don't look down."

  Taking a deep breath Annie looked away from the yawning chasm and followed the bobbing torchlight. Filing along the ledge, the seven walked single-file along the cavern wall, their breath now visible in the chill underground air. Ashton led them around a corner and through a narrow crevice, to a set of wide, rough steps gouged into the stone. The electric lights ended then, with small iron lanterns burning in their place. This light was considerably weaker, forcing the group to hurriedly descend after Ashton and the glow of his torch. Reaching the bottom of the long stair the seven found themselves standing in a wide, but low-ceilinged gallery which looked out into the great cavern. Ashton smiled.

  "Welcome, Brothers and Sisters. Welcome to His birthplace. Seven years ago we gathered together, to form a circle seven strong. Separate, we were less than nothing; together we cracked the shell of Reality itself, opening for the briefest of moments a window into His world. In that one moment we were free of reason's constraint, had escaped the bondage of UR the Jailer. In that moment we were transformed, made again to serve Paq'q; it was in this moment we failed."

  He looked at each of them in turn, his face a waxen mask in the torchlight.

  "Some of us refused His gift. And things went wrong. Horribly wrong. Because of this betrayal I endured years of agony and soul-flaying pain. But my pain was nothing compared to His. He had been trapped between the spaces, was left neither completely here or there."

  Ashton's shadow grew long and oppressive across the cavern wall.

  "Imagine you are dying of thirst. You come to a river but as your tongue touches the water you become caught up in the wild vines along the shore. There you dangle, able only to taste the water but not drink. You hang, slowly dying on the vine, what you need for sustenance just out of reach, unable to retreat to seek it elsewhere. This is what was done to Him when we closed the Gate. The tiniest bit of Him was left behind, as He withdrew to the Other Side. He remained connected to it, an eye to see, a tongue to taste. But He wants, needs more. We must free Paq'q and, in turn, He will free us, will liberate all of Humankind from the shackles of Reason. Do we not wish to be free? Is it not every sentient creatures greatest wish, to live where they will, make love to whom they will, to die as they will? No longer do we need be bound by the restrictions put upon us by others, or by that dog, Ur. We shall throw the gates open wide and His reign shall begin. The day of Paq'q is at last upon us !"

  He gave each of them a rolled scroll.

  "Read from these when I tell you, in the order so noted. Please do not deviate from the formula provided, or I will shoot you where you stand."

  With that Ashton led them into the cavern proper. Zak noted someone had already been there; a small fire burned in the great grotto's center, its light feeble compared to the crush of darkness all around it. The seven broke into a loose group as they walked, spreading out. The floor appeared to be smooth and clear of debris, as if it had been swept clean beforehand. It was also surprisingly flat, inclining only slightly towards the cavern's center. The sound of dripping water was all around them though their shoes remained dry; wind occasionally moaned through one of the countless openings above them, another voice in the ever-changing chorus of echo.

  As his eyes adjusted to the light Zak realized the fire was much further off than he'd first thought. A good bit larger, too, more a pyre than a simple contained blaze. What was burning he could not say but it made the leaping flames a queer and repellent color. Its smoke spiraled up into the murky shadow, into the complex network of natural tunnels and passageways that ran beneath the town.

  Annie was the first to recognize the smell. It was Paq'qa. The entire fire was one great pile of the stuff, stoked from a bed of red-orange coals.

  "My God, Ashton! All of that smoke - it's going into people's homes!"

  Ashton nodded.

  "And restaurants and government buildings and all of those wonderful new stores along the strip. Yes, of course, Sister. What else would He have to feed on? My family has done so much for the townspeople. It's time they gave something back."

  Annie turned but Metathias was right beside her. He took her arm between two vise-like fingers and dragged her forward towards the raging pyre. Ashton spoke without turning.

  "Do not worry, Sister. You are safe with us."

  "But Sandy…"

  "Sandy is fine, well protected in the manor. I gave you my word she would come to no harm."

  Annie struggled to no avail, the manservant's grip unbreakable.

  "Why did you have to bring her here? It's me you wanted, she has nothing to do with this. Please, just let me take her. I'll come back, I swear, just please…"

  But Ashton paid her no further mind. He stood before a small table and began his preparations. Annie twisted, felt something inside of her mind snap.

  "You son of a bitch! I'll see you dead for this, Ashton, I swear to..!"

  Metathias' other hand clamped over her mouth. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying Annie across the cavern. She bit down hard on the soft part of his palm but he did not react. Ashton turned to Erica, who was watching the scene from over her shoulder.

  "Sister Astra, please calm Sister Io. We wait only for the two of you."

  Erica looked at him, at the tiny woman struggling in Metathias' unyielding arms. "Calm her? What am I supposed to do, give her a shot? Doping people into submission seems to be your department."

  Ashton glared at Erica and she sighed, approaching the ill-matched pair. "Put her down."

  Metathias glanced down at her, over at Ashton, who nodded. He dropped Annie, who landed on her feet. She looked as if she was about to bolt.

  "Annie. Annie, it's alright. Sandy's safe, you're safe…"

  But Annie would hear none of it. "No, I'm not ! She's not safe, I'm not safe; none of us are safe! Can't you feel it? The Paq'qa, it's getting inside my mind. It's taking me, making me see…!"

  Annie's eyes rolled back into her head and she pitched forward, into Erica's arms. She began to mutter, her words breaking into jagged pieces.

  "Good catch, Sister," Chloe said, walking past with a little laugh. "Now I understand why we kept you around."

  Zak was there then, to help drag Annie's insensate form to the edge of the outer circle. It was far worse than he'd been willing to imagine. The Paq'qa would shatter the minds of the townspeople, leave them susceptible to His will and influence. With the entire town enthralled Paq'q would have both power and influence, a seat from which to operate unseen. From there it was only a matter of time until His word was spread across the face of the unsuspecting planet, transforming the once-verdant Earth into a charred, lifeless husk. And there wasn't a damn thing Zak could do about it.

  THEN

  "Hmm. I thought you said he was expecting us." Erica looked at Baxter with trepidation.

  The ramshackle house was dark, seemingly abandoned in the moonlight.

  "He is," Baxter said nervously. Something was wrong. He slipped out of the jeep, hurriedly making his way to Shea's house.

  "Hey, wait up."

  He paused, reaching out to take her hand. "Sorry."

  Together they made their way onto the small porch. The ancient wood creaked beneath their feet, announcing their presence. After waiting a moment Baxte
r reached out and knocked firmly three times upon the screen door. There was no response from within, though something stirred above them in the shadowed pines.

  "You know, I've seen a lot of creepy shit this summer but this…" Erica began. Baxter squeezed her hand.

  "Something's wrong. He's here; I know he is." He leaned forward, ear against the deteriorated metal screen. "Shea? Shea, it's Baxter Knowles! We've come like you asked…" He trailed off, waiting. Again there was no response from within. Baxter tried the door and found it unlatched. He gave it a push and it swung inward, opening into a cluttered darkness.

  "I don't think I want to go in there."

  Baxter swallowed. "I don't either. But he's in there, and he needs us."

  Wordlessly conceding, Erica followed Baxter into the house's interior. Running his hand along the wall, Baxter sought the switch Shea had found so effortlessly. The wallpaper was greasy, unpleasant to the touch but Baxter put it out of his mind: after a few moments of blind groping he found the switch and forty watts of ugly yellow light flooded the room, revealing all the darkness had concealed.

  "Holy crap" Erica said in wonder. "Think this guy has enough stuff?"

  Baxter remained grim. "He's a bit of a pack-rat." He hunkered down. "Nellie! Nellie, come here girl!"

  Nothing.

  "If his dog isn't here maybe he's not. He could be outside or…"

  Baxter was already moving, making his way through the dangerous maze of soda crates and newspaper bales. Erica had no choice but to follow, unwilling to be left alone in the ramshackle house.

  "Shea?"

  Baxter passed through the small hallway connecting the two rooms, stopping in the doorway. Flipping the switch upon the wall brought only a hollow click..

  "Do you have a pen-light? Some matches?"

  Erica searched the contents of her bag, coming up with an old disposable lighter. She passed it into his unseen hand and Baxter spun the metal wheel. The first few tries brought only a weak spark but then it lit, spreading a small halo of light around them.

  "Oh, no. Shea!" Baxter rushed forward, to the place on the floor where the old man lay. As he did Erica flicked on the small desk lamp she'd noticed by the firelight, making it possible for them to see. Shea's eyes were closed, his mouth open; a bit of dried blood had crusted in one corner.

  "Shea! Shea, can you hear me?"

  Shea's eyelids fluttered but fell closed again. He was barely breathing. Erica leaned in close.

  "We've got to call an ambulance, Bax. Get him to a hospital. He's almost dead."

  Shea's lids slowly opened "You'll do no such thing, Missy." He said this as if a weight were on his chest, crushing the breath out of him.

  "Boy."

  Baxter leaned forward. "I'm here, Shea."

  "My pills. You know the ones. Medicine cabinet…"

  Baxter stood up. "Stay with him?"

  Erica nodded. "Yeah. Go."

  Baxter set off in search of the medicine cabinet. All manner of bizarre tinctures lined its shelves, their labels illegible with age. Glass phials shared space with squat jars, dented tins and crinkled aluminum tubes; two dusty mojo bags and a box full of tiny bones sat beside the stump of an old black candle, its wick a blackened nub. Behind it was the plastic pill bottle, the only thing in the medicine cabinet that was actually available in a drug store. Baxter snatched it eagerly and hurried out of the bathroom. Erica, meanwhile, had located a pillow to place beneath Shea's sweaty head. How long had the old man been lying here, alone and in the dark?

  "Mr. Shea. It's Erica. Baxter went upstairs to get your pills. Can you tell me what happened?"

  He looked up at her. About to speak he instead began a violent coughing fit, which brought some badly needed color back to his face. As his spasm trailed off Erica noticed another sound, something low and sulking in the yard just outside. Her mind flashed back to the disturbance in the pines and an icy fear sank its nails into her. She listened as whatever it was made its way through the long grass, alongside the house and towards…

  The front door. She'd left it open when they'd first come in, afraid of closing it behind her in case they had to run. Cursing herself, Erica tried to rise but Shea grabbed her arm.

  "NO! Let me go, you old fool!" she hissed, trying to remain part of the quiet. Whatever was outside was around the front of the house now. Erica heard the porch creak tentatively, as it tested its weight on the ancient wood. Erica pried Shea's fingers from her arm, unable to remove her eyes from the doorway. It was coming in.

  Erica bumped into a rocking-chair. To her surprise, a double-barreled shotgun was resting against it. She reached for the weapon, but the thing was already in the living-room, slinking unseen between the maze of paper-bales and stacked cartons. Erica heard it breathing, its ragged wheeze filling the brooding silence. Erica raised the gun and took aim.

  "Erica, no!"

  Baxter was suddenly beside her, wrenching the weapon from her hands. "It's Nellie! It's Nellie!"

  Heedless of the danger, the old dog came limping in. She was cut in a dozen places, her short hair full of burrs and thorns. When she saw Shea she trotted over and began to lick the old man's face.

  "Baxter? How did you know?"

  Baxter shrugged. "I dunno. It was just a feeling."

  Erica nodded numbly; she'd nearly blown old Nellie to doggie Heaven. With that potential crisis averted Baxter was free to focus on the matter at hand.

  "Will you please go get a glass of water?" he asked, twisting the pill-bottle open. Erica nodded and got to her feet, still shaking.

  "Okay, here we go."

  Baxter helped the old man lift his head.

  "How many?"

  Shea grunted, swept the pill-bottle from his hand. Without waiting for the water the old man tossed a handful back and swallowed, a pained expression on his face.

  "Well, I guess that's one way of doing it."

  Shea leaned back, closing his eyes. "Just gimme a minute, boy. I'll be alright. Tend to my dog."

  Baxter tried, but Nellie refused to leave her master's side, barring her teeth with a low growl. He shook his head, stepping away. "Well, that's the last time I save your life."

  ~*~

  After a twenty-minute rest Shea seemed strong enough to talk. He sat in his chair, nursing a warm beer in spite Erica's misgivings.

  "Honey, one more beer ain't gonna hurt me. I've built up what ya might call a tolerance."

  Incorrigible. Erica let him have his way and she turned her attentions on Nellie. Now that Shea was awake and speaking, the old dog was happy to have the burrs cut and brushed from her fur. After a quick once-over Erica realized the wounds were mostly superficial and easily cleaned. Nellie was calm throughout the laborious process, putting on a brave face for her new friend. Baxter, meanwhile, questioned Shea on what had happened.

  "Something came for me. Something that knew my name. It came out of the trees, was too fast for me. I couldn't fight it so I ran. Made it into the house where I had tools for dealin' with such things. Nellie here held it off until I could get to my box. Didn't you, girl?"

  Nellie lifted her head and whined in Shea's direction, but stayed where she was.

  "What was it?" Baxter asked, pressing him.

  "Nothin' alive, that's for sure. People still know of forbidden ways and use them, despite the danger. There's methods of making sleeping things wake, things that never lived rise up and walk. One of these was sent for me, only I blew it back to hell."

  He pointed to an outline scorched into the paper of one wall. Roughly humanoid in appearance, the singe was perhaps six feet from top to bottom. Baxter ran his hand along the dark outline, plucked a charred and twisted scrap of fiber from the wall. Twine? "So you're saying someone sent this after you?"

  Shea nodded sagely, his eyes haunted.

  "Who would do that?"

  Shea gave him a sour look, leaning forward despite his pain. "Now who in the name of Mamie Van Doren do you think, boy? Is your head really so
thick?"

  Baxter shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, Mr. Shea. You don't really think that Ashton…"

  But it was clear from the expression on the prone man's face he was convinced.

  "But why?" Erica asked.

  Shea licked his dry lips. "'Cause he caught wind of you comin' to see me. He knows he's got trouble."

  "So how did you, uh… stop it?"

  Shea looked at Erica warily. "Something like that, it ain't truly alive. It's been… lent some energy, for lack of a better word. Charged up and made to go. They're easy enough to stop if ya know how, but I'm a bit out of practice." He touched the knot on his head tenderly. "You get her caught up to speed?" he asked Baxter, who shook his head in the affirmative. Opening another beer, Shea picked up where he'd left off at the end of Baxter's last visit.

  "It was the summer of Nineteen-forty-seven, hottest one in nearly seventy years. Caused a lot of drought and hardship for the folk around these parts. Wrecked a lot of crops, emptied up stream-beds; must've been a dozen fires that June alone, on account of everything being so dry. Few folks had air conditioners in those days so people just had to tough it out, staying cool any way they could. The movie house was packed every night no matter what the show, everyone just wanting to get out of that heat."

  "Well, June dragged into July with no rain, just bakin' up everything in sight. Things started to go downhill right around that time. Old Sally Mae Cresker went mad in church, attacking Father Barlow and shriekin' the most blasphemous things at the congregation; took five men to drag her out of there. Wade Goodwin went fishing one morning: came back that night soaked in blood that wasn't his own. Spent the rest of his life a vegetable: whatever bled was never found. There's other stories, too: the insect swarms, the incident at P.S. 233, the thing they discovered up in the town's old water-tower… All this in the space of two months."

  Shea went to drink his beer but he'd already finished it. He looked at Baxter, who sighed and retrieved the remainder of a six-pack from the kitchen sink.

  "Thank you, boy." The old miner opened the new can and drank half before beginning again; when he did his voice was low, almost fearful.