by Samie Sands
“Okay. Heart rates?”
“Good and steady.”
“Eye flutter?”
“Number 8 is still a little erratic but is settling quickly. Good to go.”
“Okay.”
After reviewing a few of the other conditions, Joseph tapped his micro ear bud. “Simon. Kiemann. We’re ready.”
“Understood.”
Joseph looked over at the other technician, “Start the suggestive dialog and record all responses.”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“There can be no false disciples.”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“Bare your soul, your wealth, your identity.”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“What is your full name?”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“What is your social security number?”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“When is your birthday?”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“What bank do you use?’
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“What is your bank account login name?”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“What is your bank account password?”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
Joseph turned to one of the technicians, “Check Number 4’s bank information. What kind of money does she have?”
With a flutter of keyboard clicks, the technician responded, “Four hundred seventy thousand pounds in a savings account, and roughly fifty-five thousand in a checking. Jackpot, man.”
They continued retrieving information until the responses became inconsistent or unintelligible. Sometimes that happened with certain people, with prolonged exposure. Despite the technology, the overall collection process was still a fine art.
“Okay, let’s wrap it up.”
“Simon. Kiemann.Be ready. We’ve flushed the transdermal sites and we’ll soon be bringing them out with the closing salutations.”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“You remember no questions.”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“The meditation was wonderful!”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“You may wake refreshed and happy!”
Bump-pah...bump-pah...bump-pah...
“You may wake refreshed and happy!”
The heartbeat sound slowly diminished until silent as the light in the room gradually increased back to normal.
Awakened, the people stirred and removed their masks as they focused on the lone figure standing in the center of the stage. Father Soone exclaimed to them, with outreached arms.
“Wasn’t that a glorious meditation? I must commend you all for your wonderful participation!”
Nods and murmurs of approval filled the room. A sense of happiness was present amongst the group.
“Let us proceed with our first lesson. Brother Simon, please help these fine people prepare for the classrooms.”
They slowly rose from their seats and made their way to the side aisles. As they followed Simon back to the corridor, all were smiling and exchanging pleasantries, anxious to begin their journey with Father Soone.
Hovering behind the technicians, Joseph marveled at the data collected; the critical personal information, the banking accounts, and their balances. He could easily envision the creation of false accounts, the subtle transfers and missed funds.
Kiemann entered the room and turned to Joseph. “Well?”
Joseph smiled.
The contributions to Father Soone’s sanctuary would be significant. Significant indeed.
End
Greg Bennett
Greg Bennett is a Regulatory Compliance manager who lives with his wife in western Missouri, USA. When he isn’t slaving away at his engineering day job, he enjoys playing golf, cycling and being an aspiring writer, influenced by his longtime love of ‘B-movie’ science fiction and horror.
He brings an ‘Average Joe’ style to his writing; one that places ordinary people in extraordinary situations.
Focusing on drabble, flash and short-story work; several of his efforts have been published in various well-received anthologies, some of which have been for notable charitable causes such as the Wounded Warrior Project.
The Cult of Kayako
Kevin S. Hall
Detective Hiro looked mournfully at the young woman’s twisted body. The way her legs were broken and arms behind her body, which itself was broken and bloody, and the long, black hair covering her face, was a sorry sight in the alleyway, on this dark and rain-sodden night.
Most of the police and forensics had dusted for prints, cornered off the area and interviewed witnesses, and there were only a handful left now—the blinking lights of the police cars distracting, unlike Hiro’s almost KITT-like red beam on the front of his dark grey Mercedes.
“Okay, brush the hair aside—carefully. Let’s see this poor girl’s face.”
Lieutenant Baskin gingerly took a white-gloved hand and pulled back the girl’s hair—and gasped in terror, staggering back. He was sweating and shivering, even though it was cold, and he had a brown jacket over his blue suit and tie. He clutched his short brown hair and rubbed at his brown stubble.
“I... It can’t be...” he murmured.
Hiro had never known Baskin to be afraid of anything up until now, so, as well as being annoyed and curious, he peered over the body. The girl’s mouth was open wide—o wide it was unnatural, and the bloody jaw was hanging off. But it was the eyes—one stared wide-eyed in terror, while the other hung from the socket, its terrible gaze fixed upon Hiro. Hiro quickly covered the girl up in a blanket and ushered for the paramedics to take her away.
It was a friend of his sons—Yua. She used to go to college with him. Hiro sighed. It looked like he was going to have to have a word with Tadashi when he got home. Hiro watched the stretcher enter the van, and as it bumped against the wall, a long bloody hand fell out, and he shivered as he saw the message on the arm. It was a symbol he knew all too well—it meant a Grudge was upon that girl, and possibly him too.
Was this a connection to all those Japanese horror films? Hiro had heard of cults being set up—harmless enough—girls would dress as their favorite J-Horror girl, complete with long dark hair, and act out the scenes. But this was different—a murder happening in his neighborhood, and he had to find the killer—before they struck again.
Hiro finished off for the night and stepped into his Mercedes and drove home. The rain was relentless, so he made sure he took his time. The streets were mostly deserted—it was after 3am—but he still had his wits about him. It was then he glanced into the mirror and saw the girl with the long black hair covering her face, sitting in the back of his car. Her head was down but she slowly started to raise her head.
He screeched the car to a stop and turned around. The girl had gone. But as he turned to the front, he noticed two words appear on the rain-soaked window:
Help me.
Hiro got into the house, shaken and unnerved. Maybe it was his tired mind playing tricks with him? He felt uneasy as he hung up his jacket and made his way upstairs. Even though his house was empty after his wife had died, he had the awful feeling he was being watched.
He got changed and went into bed, but he couldn’t sleep. Hiro needed to find out more about this cult. Going online, it didn’t take him long to find the group. There were already five more members living in this neighborhood alone, all run by a woman called Kayako. Not THAT Kayako, surely? Those Japanese horror films had even given Hiro nightmares, and he wasn’t one for scaring easily.
Hiro decided he should visit this Kayako at the address nearby. If Yua had been a part of this group, Kayako would know who she was. He shivered when he saw her photo—Kayako’s face was covered with black hair and she gripped the bannister with her white hands, wearing a muddy blue dress and no shoes. Hiro had to give her credit—the ma
ke-up and the effects were very realistic and creepy.
It was 11.30 but felt a lot later, when Hiro emerged from his house, wearing dark clothes, a jacket and carrying a flashlight, knife and gun... just to be on the safe side. He didn’t want to call back up just yet—not until he found some evidence or any sign of danger. Yet this whole thing was spooking him and unnerving him.
As he pulled up outside 113 Spilling Drive, thunder rumbled in the distance. Hiro got out and shivered—he could sense darkness coming from within that house, seeping through ever orifice and trying to pull him closer to his demise. Maybe he should check one of the other girl’s houses first—before going headlong into something he didn’t yet fully understand?
Hiro turned to go... and that’s when he heard a giggle. It was like a child’s, coming from the back of the house, and it sent a shockwave of shivers up his spine. The giggle happened again, coming from inside the house. Hiro gingerly opened the black dusty gate with a loud creak and stepped into the unkempt garden. The smell filled his nostrils first—like rotting meat and something much worse—he tried not to gag on the stench. Most of the windows had been broken, and the house suddenly took on a much more sinister feel. Hiro walked as slowly as he could—for if he did that he could run at any moment—and tried the front door. To his surprise, it was open.
Hiro flicked on his torch and scanned the hallway. There were shoes lined neatly not too far in, all dark and stained. Cobwebs hung low and ominously in the stairwell and from the ceiling. There were several pictures, crooked, lining the walls, all with shots of long-haired girls. Hiro wanted to run but seemed frozen, and the house was luring him in even further.
That’s when he heard a low creaky moan like a thousand deadly rattlesnakes, which seemed to go on forever. Hiro shivered uncontrollably and gripped his torch tighter, as if it were his only safety net. That’s when he saw her—Kayako—at the top of the stairs. Her back was arched and she started to crawl like a spider up the wall and then so fast, so suddenly, scrambled on all fours down the stairs. She had her face hidden under that long, black hair, and she wore the white, mud-stained dressed and white skin, famous from those J-Horror films. She approached him, moaning more and arms outstretched—then...
The light switch came on and she was on the stairs, laughing away. Five other girls appeared from the hall, all with long hair and same dress, clapping away and laughing, their faces covered. Hiro shook his head, not believing what he was seeing. This had to be some kind of prank. He was about to shout out, when the lights went off again and the girls had vanished.
Hiro finally found his feet and turned to run—looking back one final time. Kayako’s face was in his, her mouth open so long and unnatural, jaw stretched to breaking point, her wide eyes staring hellishly into his. She gripped his head and dragged him back into the house, the door slamming shut behind him.
Yua had meant a lot to Tadashi—and he had heard about these so-called cults being set up—worshipping J-Horror spirits and some even trying to conjure one up. Yet he had no idea until now, that one was not too far from him... and Yua had been involved. Tadashi knew the films of course—he preferred those kind of slow burn, under-the-skin horrors, as opposed to blood and guts, and loved a good jump scare. But this was all too real.
As he stood in the white starkness of the morgue, head down solemnly, explaining to the morgue assistant that it was indeed his father’s twisted body, he shivered. It wasn’t the fact that his dad’s broken bones and lopped head were the most unsettling—it was the jaw open wide and the eyes staring in abject terror. This was not a typical murder—the fact there had been no witnesses and no fingerprints or no murder weapon, made Tadashi even more determined to solve the case.
Tadashi left the morgue as quickly as possible—he didn’t like those places at all. He would mourn the death of Hiro after and follow in his father’s footsteps to make him proud. He straightened his dark blue tie, sorted his blue suit and brushed a hand through his dyed blonde hair. He sniffed, trying to hold back the tears. His phone suddenly vibrated in his trouser pocket, making him jump. Tadashi looked at the caller ID, not believing what he was seeing. It was his dad’s name.
It took him several moments to compose himself before Tadashi answered. “Hello?”
No answer, but he was aware of heavy breathing on the other end. Then a low, creaky moan that seemed to get louder and louder, before the line went dead. Tadashi did not like this one bit—and decided to visit one of the girls who was Yua’s friend—Sakura—who did not live too far away from him.
Tadashi took his dad’s car and flicked on the headlights. It was just after six but the sky was dark and it felt a lot later. He got a bite to eat from the local takeaway, sipped his coke and felt a bit better. He gripped the steering wheel, trying to shake the image of his dead father out of his mind. Sure, they had had their differences, but they always stood by one another, even more so since his mother had died several years before.
The house came up quicker than he would have liked. Tadashi got out, gun ready for any trouble, torch and knife, just in case. He noticed the house seemed dark—but he rang the doorbell and knocked on the door anyway. He was surprised when it opened by itself onto a dark hallway. Tadashi entered, noticing the evil presence straight away. It was not going to stop him. He had to find out who was behind all these deaths and put a stop for it once and for all.
Tadashi turned into the living room, and noticed the TV was on static, illuminating the room in an eerie light. There were newspaper cuttings strewn around the coffee table, and DVDs of J-Horror films scattered across the carpet. This was definitely one of the houses. He noticed a shadow in the corner of the room—tall, hair black and covering the face. The white dress was mud stained. The person just stood there, not making a sound, making it even more scary.
Tadashi tried to show his bravery. “Come out of the shadows. Show yourself!”
The figure moved so quickly towards him; Tadashi staggered back. He fell onto the sofa, too rigid to move. He turned away and the light flicked on. He turned back and the spirit had gone. Sakura was standing there—not looking very happy. “Tadashi? What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“I... I...” Tadashi stammered, trying to compose himself. “Yua... my father... they are dead. I believe something evil is here and I need to put a stop to it.”
Tadashi half-expected Sakura to laugh, but she looked dead serious. “I believe you. We... There were five of us. We thought it would be a laugh to dress up as these spirits and watch the movies. Then Yua decided to get out a Ouija board and try to contact one of them. Nothing happened for a while. Then the girls all saw the same image of Kayako. Those horrible eyes and that horrible sound... It made us all afraid. There are only three of us left now. Can you help us?”
Tadashi nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
Sakura lowered her head. “The cellar. It started down there.” Tadashi understood. “Okay. Stay here. Stay safe.”
Sakura watched Tadashi go and an evil smile spread across her face. This was the time. This was the time to conjure Kayako.
Tadashi watched his footing as he ascended the wooden stairs to the cellar. He knew what they were like—having put his foot through one in his old house and had to be off school for weeks. He got to the bottom... and that’s when he saw the other two girls. They smiled, and raised a finger to their dry lips.
“What is going...?” but Tadashi never finished his sentence. Something large and club-like smashed into his head and he blacked out.
Tadashi woke to Japanese chanting—the kind he did not know. It sounded old and ancient. The three girls surrounded him, holding hands and moving in a dizzying, disorientating circle. He was tied to a table, naked apart from a pair of shorts. He saw a symbol on the ceiling—had it been carved in blood? The only light was coming from the half dozen candles scattered around.
Not too far from the table, Tadashi could make out a trapdoor, dusty and covered in rust. Small
handprints dotted the floor and walls. This was not normal. He tried to break free but the knots were too tight. Sakura approached him and placed a cold finger on his lips.
“Hush now. Don’t struggle. Kayako doesn’t like it when they struggle.”
It was then that the trapdoor slammed open and he saw the scaly white hands first, with sharp, black nails that scraped along the floor. Then the shot of long dark hair, rising from the depths of darkness. Tadashi heard the low moan next—creaky, old, a lot older than the others he had heard. The body came next; thin, pale, and a white dress. Then the white legs and knees as it contortioned its way out of the cellar.
Sakura smiled, seemingly unafraid. “Great Kayako. We offer another soul for you, so your presence can continue to live on. Feast. Feast on Tadashi Miko.”
Then, in a strange set of circumstances, the spirit stopped dead, breathing heavily. A voice—so low and old, croaky like the groan, escaped its foul lips. “Tadashi? Tadashi my son? What have these wicked girls done to you?”
Sakura was as much confused as Tadashi. “Kayako... what do you mean? He is the final one to break you free so you can wander this world.”
“No... Not my son!”
The figure suddenly arched back and rose into the air, spin slowly then faster and faster, as everyone looked on, helpless. Then there was a loud roar as a blue and white light shot out of the mouth and engulfed the room, before darkness.
A while later, Tadashi’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom. The three girls were all sobbing, as obviously the evil presence that had overtook them, had been lifted. The other woman lay on the ground, her long black hair still covering her face. Tadashi had managed to break free of the ropes and walked over to wear the woman lay. Gingerly, Tadashi wiped away the hair. He stumbled back, in shock at what he saw. It was the face of his mother.
Sakura and the other girls helped Yumi onto the sofa, making her as comfy as possible. Sakura shook her head. “I... I don’t get this. We were in the grip of a powerful curse... a grudge... and she was telling us to recruit more girls—to get them to bring us the men who had done them wrong and sacrifice them. Why would your mum do that?”