The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  Baxter nodded. Without another word he returned the way he came.

  ~*~

  He opened his eyes.

  "I know how to do it." Baxter rose from his chair, hurried over to the bookshelf. Finding Ashton's trunk Baxter flipped it open and hunted through it, in the end pulling out an unfamiliar gray scroll-case. Popping the cork from the end he slid the tube of parchment out and carefully unfurled it. The language was like none he'd ever seen before, the "words" sets of seemingly-random intersecting slashes and curves. Unsure how to interpret this, Baxter simply stared at the parchment, too embarrassed to look up.

  "What is it? What does it say?"

  Zak leaned over and glanced at the page.

  "Oh."

  Erica stepped forward, flattening the scroll with her hand. She narrowed her eyes, doing his best to shut out any external influences. And while she was quite sure she'd never seen the language before, there was something damnably familiar about it. She found the abstract symbols suggestive of certain vocal expressions, though she hesitated to call them words. It was a more primitive degree of communication, perhaps more direct than complex speech.

  "You know, I think I can read it…"

  Zak stared at her incredulously.

  "You're kidding."

  "No - just look."

  Skeptical, they did as Erica asked.

  "It's like one of those magic eye pictures," she said, amazed. "But instead of your eyes, you have to let your mind go out of focus."

  For long moments no one spoke, then there was a sudden shift in the group perception.

  "Whoa!" Zak exclaimed, taken aback. "I think see it... But it hurts to understand."

  Baxter nodded, unwilling to take his eyes from the page.

  "We all see it now. You know what to do."

  He stood up, walked over to the glimmering rift. Zak looked up uneasily from his flute.

  "I don't think this is going to work."

  Erica ignored him.

  "Everyone, please. Gather your equipment. Take your places around the circle."

  Adam was still in shock and seemed barely aware of his surroundings but did as he was asked. A great sadness had come over Chloe, a chill that spread to all in the room. They stood to the east and the west of the rift, respectively. Zak positioned himself between Annie and Baxter and the three joined hands. A buzz more felt than heard filled the air, and Baxter took his place directly before the flickering portal.

  Erica spoke then, her voice pure and clear. "We gather together, a circle seven strong, that we may bind this rift before us."

  For a moment Zak wondered who the seventh member of the circle was, then looked down. Ashton's remains had once again begun to bubble and stir; for a second Zak could have sworn he saw his friend's eyes shining out of the shifting morass, but then they were gone, lost beneath the seething gore.

  Erica spoke, a word that was a key. Reverently each member of the circle passed this key to the next, until it returned to her. The word blazed in Erica's mouth and she spoke it anew, this time with certainty. As it was passed through the circle again Erica uttered a series of strangely-descending syllables, the word returning to her at their end.

  There was a change in the air around them, the atmosphere becoming terse, static. Adam seemed ready to faint but he hung on, as Erica spoke the second key word. This was repeated as the first, rounding the circle once and again, its second time interlocking with Erica's utterance of a more complex phrase. There was an undeniable sonic shift then, a hum that splintered the air around them. That it was painful was clear, but no one spoke out, intent on the third key word. Erica spoke it as if underwater, forcing the sound into a growing vacuum. It was passed among them quickly, its meaning all too clear. Upon its second pass it overlapped with her words, creating angry feedback that threatened to burst their ears. Heedless, she shouted out the final word.

  It was the sound of light screaming, torn apart by forces far beyond comprehension. There was no possibility of the others repeating it; it was all they could do to hold on, keeping the formula burning in their mind's eye. After a moment the three other echoes fell into place and the four key words interlocked, opening out as an impossibility before them. It folded over and through the now-coruscating rift, closing from points both within and without three-dimensional space. For a moment the formula stood etched in fire before them, illustrating a phenomena far beyond their understanding. It pulled itself taut, very much like a knot, then vanished without a sound.

  The circle collapsed then. Together or apart they fell to the floor, a tangle of arms, legs and heads sprawled around a fading halo of greenish light. Erica lay on the cool floor and wept.

  NOW

  Erica reached the top of the steps before she realized there was nowhere to go. Falling rock had blocked the passageway which led to the surface; a sudden eruption shattered the steps below, trapping her and plunging the tiny passageway into darkness. Now she had a moment, maybe two before the entire cavern came down around her head. She caught a faint glimmer in the shifting shadow; an emerald glow was weakly emanating from a fissure in the wall directly opposite of her. Driven by her last scrap of instinct she threw herself forward, forced her bare bleeding feet down the dirty, debris-laden floor of the fissure as the tunnel behind her collapsed.

  She nearly ran into them. Surprised to find other people in the tunnel, Erica leapt backwards, striking her head hard against the wall. Through a field of stars she watched them struggle, unsure where one ended and the other began. It was Baxter and Ashton, wrestling in a small pocket at the center of the fissure. The two men had their feet dug in like Grecian wrestlers, arms wrapped around one another, neither willing to give an inch. They struggled directly above a growing opening which looked down into the center of the cavern. From below came a hideous bursting sound, as Paq'q at last pushed free of His shell. In the hellish green light of His birth she watched Baxter's knees bend under the assault. Ashton's upper body was a mass of writhing psuedopods, some of which held Baxter in place while others battered him about the face and chest. Still others flayed the skin from his back in layers, lashing him faster than Erica's eye could follow. Still Baxter fought, teeth barred, unwilling to submit in the face of defeat.

  Ashton bore down and Baxter went to one knee. Blood poured freely from the gashes on his chest, his neck and face, sprayed in clouds about him as flashing tendrils shredded his unprotected flesh.

  "Give in, fool!" Ashton cried. "You'll never get out of here alive!"

  Baxter grinned then, a more frightening thing than all of the horrors swarming below.

  "I know."

  He suddenly twisted, shifting his weight to one side. Catching Ashton off-guard, Baxter shoved forward, sending the two of them toppling into the chasm. Desperately Erica dove to the opening's edge, catching one last glimpse as they fell.

  Baxter was still grinning as he wrenched Ashton's head downward, so that the man might see for himself the plague he had set upon the earth. With a fluidic expulsion Paq'q swarmed up out of the now-spent husk. A pitiless conjunction of all forms, He filled the entirety of the world before them, a surging trackless nightmare pouring forth from the collapsing cavern. She heard Him gloat blackly from below, a bubbly unctuous sound that threatened to drown her. It was then Baxter hit Paq'q's surface, twisting as he did, driving the two men deep into His glutinous eye. Oily laughter turned into a sky-cracking cry, as they vanished into the newly-born God. Paq'q blinked once and…

  EPILOGUE

  THEN

  Dawn found them gathered in the drive outside of the manor.

  Ashton had not yet cooled and they were already running, eager to get as far away from the place as possible. Zak and Annie had hastily loaded her truck with their belongings and were ready to go; Erica, whose bags were already packed, waited impatiently beside her idling Jeep, desperate to put distance between herself and the events of the night before. Chloe had commandeered Ashton's SAAB. After leading the shattered
Adam to the car she joined the others. Baxter appeared then, empty-handed.

  "So what now?"

  Zak shrugged. "We go, right? It's over."

  Chloe looked at him bitterly but said nothing. Erica shifted uneasily.

  "But what do we say? About Ashton? About what happened here?"

  "Say nothing," said Annie grimly. "We tell no one. Ever."

  One by one they all nodded.

  "Who's going back? To school, I mean?" Erica asked. No one raised a hand. "No one is going back?"

  Zak lit a cigarette. "There's no way. I need time. Lots of time."

  "I couldn't possibly go back," Annie said. She was trembling, barely holding herself together. "All of this. I need to, to..." She trailed off, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. "I'll be lucky if I can drive myself to the nuthouse."

  Zak put a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. "After today I never want to see any of you again."

  This was hard to hear, especially for Zak, but Annie had clearly made up her mind. All conceded save Chloe.

  "I'm staying."

  Baxter blinked in surprise.

  "I'll drive Adam home, but I'm coming back. Ashton… he needs someone."

  "Fine with me," Annie said, turning. Erica opened her mouth to speak but everyone had already walked away. It ended then, the circle once again separated into its seven parts. And September wept.

  NOW

  The beautiful woman in black did not sign in. She slipped past the hospital desk without attracting notice, silently making her way through the empty corridor. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator she stepped out onto the fifth floor and walked to the room at the end of the hall. Without a backward glance she let herself in, closing the door quietly behind her.

  The room was dim, still save for the low hum of the machinery. She drew close to the figure laying on the bed and gazed down at him. His face was much the same as she remembered it; older, yes, scarred and battered, but still the same. Barely perceptible, his eyes moved behind their lids, tracing the shape of unfolding dream. She nodded to herself, touching his shoulder. All was as it should be.

  "Excuse me?"

  She turned, discovered a petite nurse standing in the open doorway.

  "Do you know this man?" the nurse asked. The beautiful woman nodded wordlessly.

  "Could you wait here for a moment, please?" The nurse stepped back into the hallway, quickly returning to the room with a doctor. Of course, the stranger was already gone. "I don't understand it. She was just here."

  And so the identity of the man in room 511 would remain unknown, despite his having received a visitor late that November afternoon. No one learned that his name was Baxter Knowles or that his strange gift had saved humankind from a fate beyond belief. No one knew how he'd taken a world shattered by madness, folded up the ends neatly, topped it off with a bow and called it fiction, accepting it as reality only for himself. No one would understand how the universal balance had been restored by his sacrifice - no one save the restless, beautiful woman who left him in that hospital bed nameless and alone. But that was the way it had to be.

  As she slipped out of the building and into the lengthening dusk Erica smiled, confident in the knowledge that, as long as Baxter Knowles kept dreaming, the world would remain safe. And although the others had been returned to the world along with everything else, out of the seven of them only she would know what had actually happened at Ashton Manor. After years of wondering, Erica at last understood that this was her gift: to remember.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to everyone who offered encouragement and advice during the course of writing this book. Thank you to Robert for sharing your experience and insight. Thanks to Geoff McNulty, for catching the beast. And most importantly, thank you to my remarkable wife Kat, who makes it all possible.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For as long as I can remember, I have dreamt of a library. Up worn stone steps, through banded metal doors, past the vacant desks and into the stacks I wander. Instinct guides me down the dusty rows, along the unnumbered shelves and moldering piles to the high case in which the books are stored. Twin volumes open wide as windows, TERROR and her brother HORROR, names etched deep into the dark leather of their flesh. Of fact and fiction, history and heresy, a chronicle of Man's greatest fears writ in lambent black and nitid green upon its ageless pages. And although I may only read these books in sleep, I seek to carry what I find there back, to share this rare and terrible gift. Perhaps then I will find my own name within those pages, and bring something of dream into the waking world.