“And nay, Brothers and Sisters, shall we deny that the time is soon,” the man at the altar roared as he wiped blood from his hands. “For we know the truth. We know what the future holds and we shall be the ones who inherit, for we have seen that truth with our own eyes.”
The floor of the makeshift temple, a run down barn on the corner of one of the follower’s property, was covered with garishly colored hand-sewn quilts. The temple was filled with followers kneeling upon the kaleidoscopic padding, some with their arms raised in praise while others bowed their heads and kissed the psychedelic cotton; each form facing towards the figure at the front.
“When death falls from the sky and the cyanide pours like rain upon us, we shall be clean. For we, having walked the path of blood and redemption, shall have cleansed our filthy bodies.”
As he spoke, the man carefully raised the head of a calf above him to avoid any blood splashing against his suit. When he saw that all eyes were upon him, he threw it into the crowd. They surged at once towards it. Ripping and tearing it to pieces, shoving the pieces into their mouths, swallowing the still-warm flesh. Only the man in the suit and a man in standing in shadows at the back of the congregation, watching over the procession, seemed unaffected by the fervor of the gathering.
The autumn air was a refreshing change from the noxious ‘temple.’ Erik breathed a sigh of relief, partly for the change of environment but also because he made it through another of those godforsaken meetings. It wasn’t like The People’s Church of Cleansing was his first experience covering a cult – he had been the first Canadian on scene when the Waco Siege developed six years ago, after all – but it was one of the strangest he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter.
Only known by his first name, Bill, the leader of the church was a special kind of crazy that Erik didn’t think they made anymore. He preached that the flesh and blood of the calf held cleansing power. Bill saw “so we will render the calves of our lips” as a literal command and not as biblical metaphor for prayer. It was a gruesome belief but it didn’t violate the law, necessarily; he wasn’t preaching death like Aum Shinrikyo and ordering his followers to commit murder like Charlie Manson.
Children, kept out of the barn at all times, came running into the crowd emerging from the wooden structure. They attacked parents with hugs and kisses and asked them about the ceremony before running to plaster Bill – Brother Bill who was always the last to exit – with the same.
It sent a chill down Erik’s spine.
He was undercover to weed out the truth about the molestation accusations that were leveled against Brother Bill. A former member had spoken out to the media about his family’s experience with the church but little attention was given his way. Brother Bill was charismatic and friendly and just so holy, too, and, besides, if the accusations were true then why didn’t the wife and children leave as well? No, it made more sense to the public to assume that the man was a scorned lover and so his story was relegated to page four. That’s the way the major publications were covering it but Erik didn’t buy it. What did anyone know about Brother Bill? Where was he from? What was his last name? Why hide it?
He turned his back to the barn and the pedophile embracing children by its doors. The accusations were just that, accusations, but in his mind Erik had already given them credence. His wife, Stacy, would chide him for that if she knew: “Erik, honey, you know you don’t know and until you know you know you know nothing.” But she was a hundred kilometers away and had no idea where he was right now.
Now that’s something that would piss her off, he chuckled to himself.
Members of the congregation began to reform around the picnic tables and barbecue that held lunch, pop and several pound-cakes for dessert. Craving nicotine Erik headed away from the festivities, seeking shelter in the shade of the lone red oak tree that lent color to the otherwise barren field the barn occupied. With his back turned away from the others he produced a silver cigarette case, opened it, took out a Canadian Classic and put it to his lips. He was fumbling with his lighter – an expensive Zippo with his name engraved on it that Stacy had gotten him for their third anniversary – when from behind him a deep voice with a queer southern twang cut through his moment of peace.
“Not thinking of desecrating one of our lord’s temples now, are you Brother?”
Erik turned around, his hand frozen in the act of lighting his cigarette.
It was Brother Bill. He stood on the border of the red oak’s shade, one arm against his side to hold his ribs as he huffed air in deep gulps. His blue eyes bored holes through Erik’s skull.
“I wasn’t…what do you mean?”
“Corinthians 6:19 Brother: Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? ‘Fore you are not your own.”
Erik looked at the pudgy cult leader as if he was an alien from another planet. Then he remembered the cigarette in his hand.
“Oh, you mean this?” Erik held the Canadian Classic up. “Sorry Brother Bill, didn’t know it was against the rules.”
Brother Bill grinned and pressed his tongue into the gap between his top teeth.
“It’s not. That is, it’s not unless you don’t have an extra one for your Brother.”
Erik reached into his pocket, produced the cigarette case and pulled out a second. He handed it to Bill, then handed over his lighter once he got his lit. Brother Bill lit his smoke, dragging heavily off it, watching the flame as it danced along the paper before he handed back the lighter. Bill turned his back to the young journalist and watched over his procession on the other side of the lawn with all the love and nurturing nature of a vulture watching it’s prey.
“Don’t you just love their innocence?” Brother Bill asked.
“The followers?”
“The children. They run and play, hug and kiss indiscriminately. They have no idea of what it is we’re doing here. What we’re trying to protect them from.”
“Yeah,” Erik clenched his fist and barely fought down the urge to break open the back of Brother Bill’s skull and see what kind of evil leaked out. Just get your proof and get the fuck out of here, he thought before saying, “I guess they are.”
The cult leader took a drag off his cigarette and turned to look Erik in the eyes.
“Say, brother, I didn’t see you at the trough to clean off.”
The trough in question was filled with ‘holy’ water that followers used to clean the blood and gore from their hands. Erik had avoided it, so far. He told others he just happened to be first since he was always in the back of the temple. He’d been telling them lies since he got there. No reason for them to find ‘Brother Dan’ lacking in piety.
“Well,” Erik fingered the lighter in his pocket. The day after Stacy had given it to him, he had gotten the promotion they needed so they could afford to start a family. Since then he’d always joked with her that it was his good luck charm. “I wasn’t feeling too well. Just needed to get some fresh air.”
“You’ve been here for, what, three days now? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the trough, Brother.” Bill stated, crushing the cherry of his butt between his fingers. “And we have to be careful, you understand. We don’t want another Waco.”
Erik’s mind took off like a formula 1 car getting a green light. They know, oh fuck. Fuck. He knew he had to escape right now, his heart already beginning to pump adrenaline through his system as his flight reflex hammered fear through every inch of his body. He started to turn, prepared to run into the woods surrounding the complex when a set of hands grabbed him from behind and forced a wet object over his mouth.
The last thing he heard before he blacked out was:
“It’s him alright, his real names on the lighter.”
When Erik opened his eyes he saw that he was in the temple again. Only this time he was looking out over the congregation from the front by the altar.
“Brothers and Sisters, I have spoken to you of the Unbelievers in their many forms.”
Bodies were pressed close together, a sea of flesh-colored blobs in stark contrast to the colorful displays beneath them.
“We have spoken about our true mission.”
They were looking at him.
“The mission that has brought us all together.”
No.
“That mission that was handed down to us from upon high.”
They were looking past him to where Brother Bill was preaching.
“It is our job to convert the Unbelievers.”
He tried to scream for help.
“Not to bring them to harm.”
But the muscles in his jaw wouldn’t move.
“Nor bestow upon them any suffering.”
Neither would his legs.
“Not any anguish, misery, or torment.”
The smell of stagnant sweat and piss assaulted his nostrils.
“But among those out there, are the servants of Evil.”
He wanted to turn his face away from the smell.
“Servants who want nothing more than to tear us apart.”
Knew that it was his own.
“To destroy everything that we have built here.”
Every fiber of his being railed against his entrapment.
“Built with our blood and sweat. Our tears.”
Now their eyes took hold of him.
“Built with our own honest hands.”
They cast judgment over his vessel.
“But we shall not allow Evil to have it’s way. ; the chosen.”
Sudden pain tore at his legs. He tried again to scream, to desperately flee, to leave this little plot of hell on Earth and return to society.
“For we are the strong.”
Back into Stacy’s arms.
“The clean.”
But the control over his body that he vehemently needed was not granted to him.
“The chosen.”
He whimpered, the closest he could get to a scream.
“We shall purify the Evil body.”
Two hands grabbed his face and pried open his jaw with such force that the ligaments tore, creating a sickening symphony that echoed throughout the barn. A chunk of warm, slippery something that tasted like meat was shoved into his gaping mouth.
“We shall devour Evil.”
Even as bile was working its way to exit his body, the pain in his leg erupted again and he almost blacked out.
“We shall show that it has no hold on us.”
Something was thrown out into the crowd and they surged on it. Their eyes glowed red in reflection of the candles that lit the room. They were ripping and tearing at each other to get at the object. He couldn’t make out what it was.
“For when judgment comes… “
Didn’t want to make out what it was.
“For when the skies rain blood and death…”
But someone held it up.
“We will have shown that Evil has no hand in our fates.”
A foot. His foot.
“Open the doors.”
A figure in the back of the room pushed open the double doors of the barn.
Oh, Jesus Christ heavenly fucking father, Stacy, no, oh god oh no.
The children came running into the temple out of the red rain that was pouring like cats and dogs and staining their flesh crimson.
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