A Small Town
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I slowly sat on my bike. I had been riding for hours, and it was getting late in the day. The sun was already starting to sink behind the mountains as I approached a small town with a dirt road that led into the woods. It would lead me straight into New Salem.
As I neared, I noticed the abandoned gas station. The pumps were dry; there wasn’t any fuel left to sell at all. It looked like someone took everything out of here months ago when they heard about what went on inside these walls. “Shit,” I said under my breath, remembering why this place seemed so familiar…because back before being attacked by a few mongrels, I passed right through this area headed toward New Salem.
As I neared the building, something caught my eye immediately – a sign that hung high up over the door, where another one used to be. A smile crept across my face seeing those two words.
“Welcome home!” That’s what it said: Welcome Home! These people are not your enemy! There is no need for aggression or retaliation; everyone has just come back from hell and will be adjusting to life on the outside again. What better way to show that than to welcome them into their own community?
Every once in a while, we’d receive news from outsiders, but nothing ever really happened because those who knew anything were either dead, too traumatized themselves, or have spent years trying to forget what they saw. My mind wandered back further to the time when I first found out there was an entire city living within those woods, and even before that when I felt the sense of magic around the whole valley.
No wonder I never made it to New Salem earlier in the year; I must’ve known then deep down inside that I wouldn’t make it past those trees without facing more mongrels.
When I pulled my bike onto the property, I locked it up in front of the office before going in. The dusty old foyer smelled of stale dust and burnt wood chips. After noticing several other closed doors leading off into different rooms, I came upon a large wooden table and chairs beside it.
A rickety-looking staircase led to the second-story loft. Stacked neatly near the doorway were old copies of papers detailing tax information and reports from different townships across Pennsylvania, which obviously hadn’t been touched since some time in the mid-’80s judging by how much faded ink-stained each page. This is where they kept records? Like seriously? “What do you do with all those books?”
A voice answered quietly. “We use them.”
I turned around and froze. “Who’s there?” I didn’t move a muscle until the sound of heels clicking against the linoleum floor echoed throughout the room. Then she entered view. “Wendell,” she whispered. “This is always your favorite part.”
It’s funny – I usually hate coming home after being gone for a long period of time. However, now, it was strange returning back here to find her standing tall and proud wearing nothing but that yellow robe and what little hair still remained beneath its hood.
Her skin was pale, and I couldn’t help imagining the way it would feel pressed up against mine once she got naked. She stood frozen in silence at the edge of the table staring me down, probably waiting for a reaction from me.
It only took seconds for a grin to spread across my face and for my cheeks to flush redder than that of a tomato ready to explode. Oh god, she’s beautiful… I thought quickly then tried to play it off as if I had been talking to myself. “Sorry…”
“That’s okay, Toby. Sometimes things get lost in translation with other cultures. We don’t talk often. You know…” She motioned over her shoulder to the staircase. “Your father decided he wanted to take a look upstairs. Do you want to join him? I think he may finally get to see the reason why the town needed such large buildings in the first place.”
“Uh, sure.”
“He’ll be up soon,” Wendell added, trailing off into the dark hallway.
Once downstairs again, I watched Wendell open a drawer full of small, sharp objects.
“How about that key chain for you? Any preferences?”
“No thanks.”
She shrugged. “Figured you might ask, so I brought these along too.”
With shaky hands, I accepted one of the small knives in return for the ones I originally held in my hand.
Wendell started placing objects down on the kitchen counter. A plastic bag was dropped beside a small metal tin filled with coins. Next to the cash sat a knife handle attached to a piece of rusty leather, complete with a hole pierced through the blade end. My curiosity was piqued and I stopped watching the woman gather items in order to turn sideways and lean closer to the table.
The dagger lay flat on the surface with a wickedly sharp point and an uneven length towards its base, probably due to the fact that the man in question lost a lot of blood during the incident. With her free hand, Wendell retrieved a pair of tweezers and bent down to examine the weapon under the light.
One tiny drop fell down on my lap and rolled down the side of the bench. With a frown, she picked it up and tucked it away in a nearby bag, whispering something else under her breath as she did so.
After clearing everything away except for a white cloth draped over another steel box in the far corner of the basement, she stood up slowly. “You’re more sensitive than most, aren’t ya? Never seen anything like this before. Must make for a terrible sight when you have visions, huh?”
My mouth went dry. How could she possibly know that? Had she felt it somehow? Did she notice… no. Of course not, because she was only human just like everyone else. There must’ve been someone who saw what happened here. Someone talked to the police or – Shit, wait. Wait!
Wasn’t there a hunter by the name of Barry DeLeon that hunted out here in the ’70s?! Could she really know what he’d experienced while he stalked their prey? I realized I’m taking advantage of her kindness and generosity by showing interest in all of this stuff, yet I couldn’t stop myself.
At the same time, I wondered whether or not telling her would do any good. Probably wouldn’t. That was just my luck. Not that it mattered either way anyway; even if I found the answer, it wouldn’t change the outcome. My parents were dead, and we’d left all that behind long ago…
“There’s some sugar cubes up top in the cabinet, dear. Feel free to grab a few.”
My fingers shook, barely reaching for a glass jar containing two sweet treats covered in whitish powder. They looked vaguely familiar. “Oh right!” Wendell continued. “Let us go ahead and start tonight’s ceremony. Your father should already be upstairs. Remember only five minutes between each step. Good night, Toby.”
***
I went over the procedure step by step with Mom, and she explained how every person present would participate in this ritual as well. Dad would remain silent throughout until it came to lighting his candles and holding them high above our heads.
Since both he and I carried wooden boxes with us everywhere, we would only need a small pouch for all the ingredients. I carried several small brown paper bags tied together with string, which I knew contained salt, baking soda mixed with water, flour, black pepper, and various herbs.
As far as I remembered, they all originated from the New World and didn’t smell very nice, but were highly effective nonetheless. Each little packet had instructions printed upon a worn yellow sheet inside, where we also got to read passages from different holy books ranging anywhere from Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, and the list went on.
We scrawled notes onto parchment paper and placed them beneath our respective bowls along with pieces of cotton wool dipped in ink, so that when it came to writing the words out, we wouldn’t forget what to say to the spirits below.
There was much discussion over the rules, especially around the use of tobacco and alcohol. Some were adamant against either one, while others wanted nothing short of the real deal, and in large quantities. I pushed my sleeves back and slipped my left wrist into a small loop at my waist using my belt, leaving my other arm bare so I could write.
This was one of those times when a pen and a notebook were necessary since we weren’t allowed to speak aloud once the moment arrived.
Five minutes later, we stood on either side of a thick wooden beam that had been pulled across the small chamber floor. On it rested the round iron table with its odd-looking silver bowl and assorted items arranged atop it.
The candles burning bright were positioned throughout the room, and we stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to picture ourselves floating near the center of a stormy sky filled with dark clouds, lightning bolts striking all about, and rain coming down fast, and hard.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps thumped overhead, and the door opened to reveal a tall figure carrying two smaller boxes. I wasn’t surprised that it was Dad who brought the books, having witnessed him stacking new volumes in place wherever space allowed, sometimes moving entire shelves whenever something caught his eye.
He strode forward and set one box down next to ours, then sat opposite me. Our eyes met briefly, and a curious silence settled between us. We did nothing but wait, watching the clock tick over slowly in the far corner of the room.
Mom remained seated, only turning her head slightly to look towards us.
His hands trembling slightly, Dad lifted his lighter and struck it against his candle holder, making flames shoot upwards while smoke poured forth. We waited patiently. Then I watched as he took a piece of white cloth from the larger crate and draped it over his lap like a hood before setting fire to his first cigarette of the evening.
After inhaling deeply, he crushed the butt against the table, leaving an oily stain thereon, and began fumbling for a pouch resting in plain sight under the table, pulling out matches and placing them carefully into his pocket. We made certain everything was ready to begin the second stage before extinguishing all the lamps, except for the ones located within the circle itself.
Although the cave felt cold, neither of us moved toward any source of warmth. When everyone gathered on their knees, waiting expectantly for further instruction, Dad lit three additional candles in the corners. From the side, I spotted Wendell standing just outside our line of vision, still looking curiously away.
A sense of déjà vu washed over me; he must have seen Dad light a flame earlier today too. In a flash, the old man hurried off somewhere unseen, vanishing as if by magic. Finally, Dad spoke aloud, his tone monotone:
“Lord Lucifer, please forgive us for taking part in these activities. Let this offering, which is prepared for your benefit, not bring you dishonor, but instead grant you power. Allow us to cooperate with your intentions for this world, and accept these gifts for use elsewhere as well. Only a human sacrifice may be used to pay homage properly to the Prince of Darkness.”
As he uttered those last words, Dad held out the open box containing a pair of steel scissors resting alongside other tools, including a small hammer and nails. Seeing the blades glinting brightly among the darkness, I suddenly realized how ominous such a thing had become, but knew better than to hesitate now.
Wearing an expression of absolute calmness, Mom laid her hand flat on the table next to the iron bowl and inched closer. I followed suit without hesitation, squeezing gently on the wooden plank beneath me. Next, Dad motioned towards me, gesturing urgently for me to stand up so I climbed unsteadily out of my chair and stood behind Mom, holding a knife in each hand.
As the others continued chanting, I glanced sideways at her, feeling terribly vulnerable standing naked and exposed under the dim light. Her gaze was fixed resolutely ahead as she gazed across the room, then smiled weakly when I saw her lips move silently – prayers for guidance?
After all that we’d done together, I felt a pang of guilt as I thought about what would happen once the ritual ended and we were alone again, even though it could never go past friendship. Still, I resolved to try and comfort her somehow. Perhaps that’s why we’ve been spared so much hardship thus far. But fate might not be kind forever after…
Dad raised the blade high over his head, pausing halfway to turn it outward and point downwards directly above Mom’s chest. She looked back towards me momentarily as he slashed downward with the tip. The sharp metal cut through flesh easily, penetrating skin effortlessly and causing blood to spill freely onto the table below.
It struck hard enough to leave an indentation in the wood, and I heard a loud squelch as if the handle of the knife was submerged inside the body cavity. Mom let out a guttural cry, unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, filling the cave with the sound of agony.
We all knelt lower, staring at the ghastly scene in utter disbelief, the whites of Mom’s eyes glowing bright red amidst a thick pool of crimson. She cried out yet again, louder than I expected, reaching desperately towards the blood dripping from the edge of the table to splash against the floor, spilling in sticky ribbons where none existed moments before.
Dropping the knife, she collapsed forwards as dark fluid seeped out around the gaping hole in her throat, then fell heavily backward across the planks beneath, landing right near where I crouched. For some reason, Dad stopped cutting when the entire length of meat and bone disappeared into the depths of her torso; presumably, he wanted her head intact in case they needed it later.
I didn’t dare think about what was happening; the nausea I had felt previously returned tenfold now, but I forced myself to keep watching. There was something rather striking to observe; although Dad hadn’t paid attention to the fact that Mom wore her wedding ring, he nevertheless kept it from touching the surface of the table as if to avoid any contamination or ritual impurity.
A similar effect occurred on the outside walls, covered with neatly arranged skulls as if to suggest the entire space was being cleansed in preparation for whatever lay beyond. The smell was already overpowering but soon became so unbearable it made me want to vomit, turning the air hazy with the stench of decomposing tissue and pooled blood.
No matter how much time passed, no one moved to save Dad, who spent several minutes studying the still form sprawled beside him and muttering softly in prayer, occasionally exhaling smoke. The police came just as the first faint hint of dawn began to creep across the horizon.
***
My mind couldn’t absorb everything we went through following the bizarre ritual. When they finally led me away after questioning the authorities, I tried to tell them about the cultists’ insistence that we participate fully, but they said “that doesn’t seem to have happened” and ended the investigation.
Instead, I was eventually transported to a mental hospital, and there I learned many unpleasant things about Mom – most notably that I had a half-sister named Yukiko.
The End