Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Disturbing REAL Cult Encounters | Scary True Stories From Reddit, Cult Horror Stories In The Rain

Episode Date: August 4, 2023

These are 2 Disturbing REAL Cult Encounters | Scary True Stories From Reddit, Cult Horror Stories In The Rain Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Anonymous ►https://www.reddit.com/user/BoyWithALoafOfBread/ Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #cult #horrorstories #truescarystories 💀As always thanks for watching! 💀

to your family, you're lucky to make it out alive. Streaming on Peacock. These men are going to come after me. Taking them out. It's my only chance. Put a bullet in her head. From the co-creator of Ozark. Looks like a family was running drugs.

Execution style killing it. It's rare for the keys. And it leads on who they might have been running for. The cartel killed my family. I'm going to kill them. All of them. MIA. Streaming now.

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providing the only soundtrack to my solitary existence. I was exhausted, tired of the gray buildings, the bustle, and the monotony that my life had become. I craved solitude, the call of the wild, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the song of a distant bird. The Appalachian Mountains, with their untouched beauty and serene silence, beckoned me. I spent my final night planning, laying out my hiking gear methodically on the floor. The crisp map spread out before me, the trails and roots criss-crossing like a complex web. The thought of stepping off the beaten path, away from my well-trodden routines, thrilled me. I felt a sense of freedom, of escape.

It was the calm before a journey that I believed would be my salvation. The next morning, the dawn's first rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange. heralding the start of my adventure. With my backpack packed to the brim with essentials, I locked my apartment for the last time in days and headed to my old, reliable truck. As I sat behind the wheel, I felt a sense of calm washing over me. It was as if I was leaving behind a version of myself, worn down by the grind of city life. The open road welcomed me like an old friend. The drive was a joy, watching the concrete jungle recede in my rearview mirror, replaced by rolling hills, open fields, and finally, the towering majesty of the Appalachian Mountains.

The sight of the rugged peaks rising high against the clear blue sky sparked a sense of adventure within me. It was like seeing an old friend after a long time. The familiarity mingled with a sense of anticipation. Finally, at the foot of the mountains, I parked my truck at the designated trailhead. Looking up at the forested slopes, I was taken aback by the sheer sea. scale and the imposing beauty that lay before me. There was an unspoken promise in the wind that rustled through the ancient trees, an adventure waiting to unfold. A chill of excitement tingled up my spine as I hoisted my backpack and took my first step on the dirt path, leading into the heart of the wilderness. As I ventured deeper into the woods, I left the

signs of civilization behind. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves beneath my boots and the calls of unseen birds, hidden in the green canopy above. The serenity was overwhelming, intoxicating, and I found myself whispering a silent prayer of thanks for this solitary communion with nature. The first day of hiking was blissful. My senses filled with the sights, sounds, and smells of the forest. As the sun started to set, painting the sky with warm hues, I set up my first camp.

As I gazed up at the stars peeking through the forest canopy, I felt a sense of peace envelop me. The worries and frustrations of my city life seemed a world away. Little did I know then that the peace I reveled in was merely the calm before the storm. As I drifted off to sleep in the heart of the Appalachian wilderness, I was oblivious to the terrors that lay ahead, hidden in the depths of the forest. Little did I know that my longing for solitude would soon turn into a nightmare, making me question my sanity, my courage, and my will to survive. The morning broke with the bird's chorus, their melodious songs marking the start of a new day.

The air was thick with the dewy freshness that only a forest morning can bring. I unzipped my tent and was met with a breathtaking sight, the morning sun filtering through the trees, casting long shadows and dancing lights on the forest floor. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the pure, untouched air, a luxury in my urban existence. After a quick breakfast of granola bars and a few swigs of water, I packed up my camp. With my backpack snug against my shoulders, I resumed my journey deeper into the heart of the Appalachian wilderness. The trails were challenging but invigorating, and with every step, I felt a growing sense of freedom. There was something therapeutic about treading a path where few have walked,

the solitude feeding my spirit. I relished in the calmness and the surreal beauty around me. My ears tuned into the forest soundtrack, the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the sound of my own heartbeat in the overwhelming quiet. The whispers of the forest spoke volumes, drowning the noise of my past life. Lunch was a simple affair, a sandwich I'd prepared before setting off, now squashed but still appetizing. I found a spot near a small stream, the babbling water providing a calming backdrop. As I ate, I watched a family of deer cautiously approach the stream, their alert eyes scanning

the surroundings before they lowered their heads to drink. The sight was humbling, reminding me of the simple, raw beauty of life in the wild. As the day wore on, I found myself falling into a rhythm with the forest. I felt like a small piece of a giant puzzle, my presence insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The realization, instead of daunting me, comforted me. It was the escape from ego and self-importance that I'd been yearning for. I pressed on until the evening when the setting sun set the sky ablaze with colors.

I found a perfect spot to set up my night's camp, a small clearing by a giant oak tree. As I set up my tent, a sense of accomplishment washed over me. I'd survived my first full day in the wild, alone but not lonely. Once the camp was ready, I built a small fire, its warmth warding off the evening chill. As darkness descended, the forest transformed. The once familiar trees became silhouettes, their shadows stretching and warping in the firelight. The sounds too changed,

the day's melodies replaced with the hoots, howls, and rustles of the forest's nocturnal life. Despite the change I felt at peace, the wilderness was a balm to my tired soul. As I climbed into my tent, the last rays of the dying fire flickering, I reflected on my journey, the solitude, the beauty,

of the forest, the thrill of the unknown, it was everything I'd imagined. The city and its worries felt like a distant memory, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face. I had no inkling that the calm I was basking in was but a facade, that the real face of the forest was far more terrifying than I could have ever imagined. As I surrendered to sleep, I was oblivious to the fact that my life was about to take a turn into the realm of the unimaginable. The sun was high in the sky when I awoke on my second day in the Appalachian wilderness. I began my day with a quick breakfast, the soothing sounds of the forest lulling me into a false sense of peace and tranquility.

As I repacked my gear and doused the remnants of the campfire, I looked forward to another day of solitary exploration in the wilderness. I had barely been on the trail for an hour when I stumbled upon an unexpected sight, a campsite. But it was not a current one. It was old, deserted, a haunting ghost. ghost of human presence in the otherwise untouched wilderness. A tattered tent, its once vibrant color faded by the sun and the elements, stood at the center, flanked by the remnants of a fire pit.

I approached the sight cautiously, a sense of unease crawling up my spine. There was something about the abandoned campsite that filled me with a sense of dread, a stark contrast to the serenity I had experienced since my arrival. I glanced around, half expecting to see someone, but all I found was silence. The campsite had been deserted for quite some time, that much was evident. But who had been here and why they left in such a rush was a mystery that hung heavy in the air. With a knot in my stomach, I decided to move on, leaving behind the eerie remnants of someone else's wilderness adventure.

But as I delve deeper into the forest, another strange occurrence halted me in my tracks. I came across a tree marked with odd symbols, carved deep into its bark. They were unlike any trail markers or signs I'd ever seen before. There was a primitive tribal quality about them that sent a shiver down my spine. My mind started weaving stories, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Were these symbols left by the same people who abandoned the campsite? Was I trespassing into some forbidden territory, marked by these strange signs? I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was being watched,

that I was not alone in these woods. Despite my apprehensions, I pressed on. the eerie silence of the forest only intensifying my fears. The cheerful songs of the birds and the rustling of the leaves and the breeze that once sounded harmonious now took on a haunting quality. The whispering wind carried with it a warning, a suggestion to turn back. But my curiosity outweighed my fears, and I decided to delve deeper into the heart of the Appalachian wilderness. I convinced myself that I was just being paranoid, letting my imagination run wild.

the abandoned campsite and the strange symbols were just isolated incidents, probably harmless. I had come to escape my urban life, to find solitude in the heart of the wilderness, and I was not about to let these unsettling discoveries deter me from my goal. Little did I know as I walked further into the forest that these were not just isolated incidents, but signs of the horrifying ordeal that lay ahead. I was oblivious to the fact that the eerie silence, the strange symbols, and the abandoned campsite were just the tip of the iceberg. The Appalachian wilderness had many more secrets, each more terrifying than the last, waiting to be discovered. As day turned to dusk, an orange hue

painted the forest. My legs ached from the long day of hiking, and I felt a chill creeping into the air. I began to search for a spot to camp for the night, hoping to find a quiet place to rest. But as I rounded a bend in the trail, a glow caught my eye in the distance. The light flickered. dancing through the forest trees. Curiosity peaked. I quietly approached the source, veering off the marked path for the first time since my journey began. As I got closer, the soft hum of voices reached my ears. It was a strange melodic chanting, echoing through the woods. The glow I had noticed turned out to be a large bonfire, its flames reaching up to the darkening sky. Around it, shadowy figures swayed, their silhouettes warped and elongated in the firelight.

I ducked behind a large tree, careful not to make a sound, and watched the bizarre scene unfold before me. The figures wore dark cloaks, their faces hidden in the shadows. They moved in unison, their chanting growing louder and more intense, their bodies swaying in a rhythmic dance. The spectacle was both fascinating and terrifying, a scene straight out of a horror movie. In the center of the circle, a large wooden figure loomed ominously. The flames from the fire licked its base, casting a terrifying glow on its face. The carving was grotesque, an embodiment of evil.

The sight sent a shudder down my spine. The rituals of the robed figures intensified, their chance rising to a fever pitch. The whole scene was surreal, a shocking contrast to the calm of the Appalachian wilderness I had enjoyed so far. I was petrified, unable to tear my gaze away from the chilling spectacle. Suddenly, everything went still. The chanting stopped. replaced by a silence that was deafening in its intensity.

Then a robed figure stepped forward, raising a staff above his head. His voice echoed through the clearing, a harsh command that made the very air vibrate with its intensity. My heart pounded in my chest as the figure slowly turned, his gaze scanning the surrounding woods. His eyes, glowing in the firelight, seemed to bore right into me. I held my breath, praying he hadn't seen me. But it was too late, with a swift motion. motion, the figure pointed directly at my hiding place. A collective gasp echoed through the clearing,

followed by silence. Then all hell broke loose. The cultists erupted into motion, several breaking away from the circle and dashing towards me. I could see their faces now, illuminated by the firelight, twisted in anger and determination. The terror that surged through me was primal. I turned and ran, the cult's shouts echoing behind me. The tranquil wilderness had turned into a nightmare, and as I sprinted into the dense forest, I knew my solitary retreat had turned into a terrifying game of survival. My heart pounded in my chest like a war drum as I ran blindly through the dark forest. The comforting sounds of the wilderness had been replaced with the haunting echoes of the cultist shouts and the harsh crunch of foliage under their feet. The peaceful paradise I had

sought was now a terrifying labyrinth, a backdrop to the nightmarish chase. I stumbled, tripped and tumbled. my hands flailing in the darkness to grasp at anything that could help me stay upright. My lungs burned for air, and every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but fear was a powerful motivator, and I pushed myself harder. Behind me the sounds of pursuit were growing louder. The cultists were getting closer. I could hear their ragged breaths, the rustling of their cloaks, their ominous murmurs. The thought of being caught sent a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through my veins,

spurring me to run faster. Suddenly my foot caught on a route, and I was thrown forward, tumbling into a dense undergrowth. Pain shot through my ankle, and I gritted my teeth to stifle a scream. I had to keep moving, keep running. Dragging myself up, I forced myself to limp onwards. Each step was a challenge, but the echoes of my pursuers were my motivation. The forest had turned into a threatening entity. Its once familiar trees now grotesque silhouettes against the starlit sky, its trails twisted and disorienting. But then I saw it, the silhouette of a large tree, its branches reaching out towards the sky. An idea took root in my mind.

Without a second thought, I dashed towards it dragging my injured foot. With the last ounce of my strength I started to climb. The rough bark scraped my hands, the branches digging into my flesh. But the pain was insignificant compared to the fear of being caught. I hauled myself higher and higher till I was nestled amongst the thick. branches. Exhausted, I lay there, hidden from view, my breath ragged and my body aching. I waited, holding my breath as the sounds of my pursuers grew closer. Then, they were there, their shadowy forms illuminated by the pale moonlight. They stopped, their breaths heavy,

their heads swiveling as they searched the surroundings. After what seemed like an eternity, they moved on, their footsteps growing fainter until they were swallowed by the silence of the night. Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. I was lost, injured, and being hunted in the middle of the Appalachian wilderness. The stars twinkled above me, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding beneath them. I clung to the tree, my sanctuary in the face of terror, my mind racing. I had sought solitude in these woods, but what I had found was a terrifying reality I was ill-equipped to face. The grim truth settled in. I was in a fight. for survival, my peaceful retreat turned into a game of cat and mouse. The serenity of the Appalachian

wilderness was a far cry from the terror that now gripped me. As I looked out into the darkness, I realized that I had stepped into a realm of the unknown, a world that I never imagined could exist within the heart of this wilderness. Pinned high in my treetop perch, the chill of the night seeped into my bones, my heart still pounded in my chest from the adrenaline rush, the echoes of the pursuit still ringing in my ears. The branches around me swayed gently, lulling me into a trance. Below me, the dark forest stretched out, a haunting canvas of shadows and mystery. I tried to process the night's events, but my mind was a whirl of fear and confusion. The reality of my situation seemed like a horrifying nightmare, something I'd wake up from to find myself safe in my tent.

But the throbbing pain in my ankle, the chill in my bones, and the eerie silence of the forest were grim reminders of my terrifying reality. I strained my ears, listening for any sound that could hint at the cultist's return, but all I could hear was the occasional hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves, and my own erratic heartbeat. The forest was still again, a stark contrast to the terror I had just experienced. Despite the adrenaline and fear, exhaustion soon took over. My body, beaten and battered from the chase, demanded rest.

I wedged myself between two sturdy branches, praying they'd hold my weight through the night. As I stared up at the star-studded sky, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal contrast of my situation, a beautiful, serene night sky overhead, while beneath it, a terrifying ordeal unfolded. As the hours slipped by, the night's events replayed in my mind, each detail etching itself deeper into my memory. the chilling rituals, the strange symbols, the abandoned campsite, they all painted a horrific picture that sent shivers down my spine. The once welcoming wilderness had revealed a sinister underbelly, yet, amidst the fear and dread, a flicker of resolve began to take root.

I was far from helpless. I was a man who had sought solace in nature, who had wanted to test his limits against the raw power of the wilderness. I would not let this horrifying ordeal defeat me. As the moon journeyed across the sky, casting long twisted shadows onto the forest floor, I clung to my tree, a lone figure in the dark wilderness. The chilling events of the night seemed almost unreal now, the forest around me returning to its normal state.

The silence was broken occasionally by the far-off cry of a night bird, or the rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth. By the time the first hints of dawn began to creep into the sky, I had formulated a basic plan. I would continue moving at first light, aiming to put as much distance as possible between me and the nightmare I had encountered. I was lost, and I was being hunted, but I was far from defeated. The taste of fear was still fresh, but as I looked at the first rays of the sun breaking through the forest canopy, I knew I would fight. I would face whatever came my way and fight to

reclaim my journey, to escape the terrifying grip of the Appalachian wilderness. As I waited for dawn, I was filled with a grim determination. I would survive. I had to. As dawn painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, I descended from my treetop sanctuary. Every muscle in my body protested, and my ankle throbbed with renewed intensity. But the promise of daylight, the chance to escape, spurred me on. I was not safe yet, far from it. The wilderness was vast, the cultists persistent. I needed to move, to get as far away as possible. I set a state. steady pace, my eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of the cult. But the forest was serene again, a picture of tranquility. The melodious calls of birds filled the air, a stark contrast to the

terrifying silence of the previous night. But underneath this familiar symphony, I sensed the forest's darker secrets. A shiver ran down my spine. I was walking on a thin line between beauty and terror, never knowing when the balance would shift. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig sent my heart racing. Paranoia gnawed at my mind, transforming benign shadows into lurking figures, harmless sounds into ominous footsteps. I felt like a prey in the heart of this wilderness. My senses heightened, my nerves on edge. The forest was dense, its canopy a labyrinth of twisted branches and leaves. The paths were barely visible, a confusing tangle of trails that seemed to lead nowhere. I was deep in the heart of the Appalachian wilderness, far from the usual

hiking trails. There was no sign of human presence, just the untouched beauty of nature, and lurking beneath it all was a terror that could shatter the calm at any moment. I continued moving, pushing through the undergrowth, hoping to reach the clearer trails. I drew on my limited knowledge of wilderness survival, trying to orient myself, to find my way out. But with every step, the forest seemed to grow denser, its secrets darker. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, exhaustion crept in. My ankle was swollen now, each step sending sharp jolts of pain shooting up my leg, but I couldn't afford to stop, to rest. Fear was my constant companion, pushing me forward, keeping me alert. Despite the dread, there was a part of me that marveled at the wilderness,

the towering trees, the chirping birds, the sunbeams filtering through the foliage, they were all breathtaking. I had come here to find solace in this beauty, to escape from the monotony of urban life. But my journey had taken a horrifying turn. I was caught in a twisted game of survival, my peaceful retreat replaced by a deadly pursuit. The irony was not lost on me.

The same wilderness that I had sought for peace was now the setting of my worst nightmare. I was a lone figure in this vast expanse, hunted, lost, yet determined to survive. As the day wore on, I could only hope that I was getting closer to escape, that I was putting enough distance between myself and the terror that haunted me. The sun was a steady companion in the sky, casting long shadows that danced with the rustling leaves. The forest was alive with sounds, a symphony that masked the undercurrent of dread.

As I limped through the wilderness, a grim determination took hold. I would survive this. I had to, because giving up was not an option, not here in the heart of the Appalachian wilderness. As the sun began to sink below the horizon, I stumbled upon an opening in the dense woodland. The sudden expanse of the clearing caught me by surprise, but what lay at the center froze me in my tracks. My heart pounded against my ribs as I took in the scene before me.

It was another circle, just like the one I had witnessed the terrifying ritual at, only this time it was deserted, The faint outlines of symbols, similar to the ones I had seen the previous night, were etched into the ground. I could still smell the remnants of a fire, its ashes cold and gray, a grim reminder of the horror that had taken place here. The memory of the chanting, the ominous figure pointing towards me, the ensuing chase. It all came rushing back. My skin prickled with goosebumps, my breath hitched in my throat.

I had stumbled upon another of the cult sanctuaries. their unholy grounds. I was back at the heart of the nightmare. A shiver of fear ran down my spine as I looked around. The clearing was ominously silent, the trees standing as silent spectators to the horrors that had unfolded here. The thought of being at the heart of the cult's territory, possibly surrounded by them, sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through me. My first instinct was to run, to get as far away from this place as possible. But something held me back. There was something eerily familiar about the clearing. I had seen it before, before the horrors of the cult had unfolded, in a different light. It was the same clearing I had planned to camp at, the one that had first

lured me off the beaten path. A sense of dread washed over me. I had walked in a circle. Despite my best efforts to move away, to escape the nightmare, I was back where it all started. The realization was a punch to my gut. I was not only lost, but moving in circles, right at the heart of the cult's territory. The sinking sun cast long shadows, the coming darkness a grim reminder of the horrors the night could bring. The forest had taken on a sinister tone, every rustle of leaves, every creaking branch sending my heart racing. I was trapped in a horrifying game of cat and mouse, my every step possibly leading me closer to danger. As the twilight gave way to the darkness, my situation became clear. I was not just lost, I was the prey, hunted in a forest,

that hit a deadly secret. The reality of my situation hit me hard. I was a man alone in the wilderness, caught up in a deadly chase that could cost me my life. The chill of the night settled in, the once comforting wilderness now a haunting labyrinth. As the stars began to twinkle in the sky, I knew I had to keep moving, to try and break free from this terrifying circle. Fear was my constant companion, pushing me on, reminding me of the horrifying stakes. As I put it, I put in, as I plunged back into the darkness, the cold truth settled in. I was lost in a terrifying nightmare, far from the peaceful retreat I had sought. The Appalachian wilderness was not just a haven. It was a terrifying battleground for my survival. Moving deeper into the forest, a soft murmur broke through

the night's silence, a welcome interruption to the forest's eerie quietude. The sound grew louder, turning into a recognizable rush of water. It was a river, its steady flow a source of soothing balm to my frayed nerves. Stepping through the underbrush, I found myself at the edge of a fast-flowing river, its waters shimmering under the moonlight. Relief washed over me. Rivers often led to human habitation, or at least to clearer trails. It was a glimmer of hope, a chance to find my way out of this nightmare.

But the sight of the river also brought back a wave of thirst that hit me like a punch. I had been moving for hours, my water bottle long emptied. I fell to my knees at the riverbank. cupping my hands to drink the cold, refreshing water. As I quenched my thirst, a plan started forming in my mind. I could follow the river. It might lead me to civilization, or at least out of the deep wilderness where I was currently trapped. If the cultists were indeed tracking me, moving along the river could potentially throw them off.

The prospect of a plan, a direction, revived my spirits. I wasn't just aimlessly running anymore. I had a course to follow, a goal to achieve. The terror of the chase, the grim reality of my situation, it all seemed a little less overwhelming with a plan in place. I took a moment to breathe, to take in the serene beauty of the river. The moonlight danced on its surface, the gentle rush of water, a soothing symphony. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to forget the terror, to appreciate the beauty that I had initially sought in the Appalachian wilderness. But the peace was short-lived.

The grim reality of my situation reared its head again. With a final look at the moonlit river, I pushed off from the bank, starting my trek along the waterway. The forest was dark, its shadows dancing ominously under the faint moonlight, but the river's rush was my constant guide. As I moved, the trees seemed to whisper. Their rustling leaves a haunting chorus to the river's symphony. Every crack of a twig, every rustle of underbrush, set my nerves on edge.

The wilderness was alive with sounds, the dark forest a horrifying maze hiding unseen dangers. But amidst the fear and uncertainty, there was a flicker of hope. The river was my path out, my guide through the treacherous wilderness. I held on to that sliver of hope, my resolve strengthening with each passing moment. As I limped along the riverbank, the terrifying reality of the night slowly receded to the back of my mind. I was still lost, still hunted, but I was not defeated. The wilderness had tested me, pushed me to my limits. But I would endure. I had to.

As the river whispered its soothing lullaby, I moved forward, driven by the grim determination to survive. Because survival was no longer just a desire, it was a necessity, a necessity to escape the horrifying grasp of the Appalachian wilderness and the terrifying secret it hid. A sudden rustling sound in the underbrush snapped me out of my exhaustion-induced days, days. My heart pounded in my chest as I scanned the darkness. The sound was distant,

but it was unmistakable. Footsteps. The cultists had found me again. Terror gripped me, the river's soothing presence suddenly turning ominous. My brief respite was over. I was being hunted again, chased in the heart of the wilderness, the soothing rush of the river, now a chilling soundtrack to my nightmarish reality. I ran. The sharp pain in my ankle was now a dull throb, my body running on adrenaline. The forest around me blurred, the darkness closing in, the river a steady presence at my side. I didn't dare to look back, the echoes of the pursuing footsteps, a horrifying reminder of the danger lurking in the shadows. Branches and underbrush whipped at me as I sprinted through the dark forest. I stumbled and fell, picking myself up and forcing my body to keep moving.

Every gasp for air was a battle, every step of victory against the mounting pain. The forest was a maze of shadows, the moonlight barely penetrating the thick canopy. The familiar sounds of the wilderness were now muffled, drowned by the rush of the river and the pounding of my heartbeat. I was a lone figure, running through a haunted forest, chased by unseen horrors. Despite the terror, a part of me refused to succumb. I had been hunted, cornered, and lost, but I was not defeated. The wilderness had tested me, pushed me to my limits, revealed horrifying secrets I was never meant to witness, but I would not go down without a fight. I veered away from the river, pushing through the dense underbrush, the distant footsteps echoing my path. I was running blind,

guided by fear and adrenaline, driven by a grim determination to survive. The terror of the chase had turned into a terrifying game of endurance, a test of my will to survive. I ran until my legs felt like lead, until my lungs screamed for air. I pushed myself, my body moving on instinct, my mind focused on survival. I could hear the cultists' footsteps growing distant, their pursuit slowed by the rough terrain. But I didn't stop. I couldn't afford to.

As the night wore on, I found myself back in the heart of the wilderness, the river a distant murmur, the cultist's footsteps lost in the cacophony of the night. The forest was still again, its peace a stark contrast to the terrifying ordeal I had just endured. Exhausted, I leaned against a moment. a tree, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The adrenaline was wearing off, replaced by a crushing

fatigue, but the fear was still there, a constant reminder of the terrifying chase, of the deadly game I was trapped in. As the reality of my situation set in, I realized how close I had come to being caught. I was lost in the Appalachian wilderness, hunted by a terrifying cult, my every step a fight for survival, but I was still alive. I was beaten, bruised, and terrified, but I was not defeated, and as I leaned against the tree catching my breath, I clung to that fact. I had survived another night, another chase. I was still in the game. I was still fighting, and I would continue to fight, to endure, until I escaped this horrifying nightmare. The first hint of dawn peaked over the horizon, a faint glimmer of light breaking through the dense canopy.

The forest slowly came alive, its nocturnal creatures replaced by the familiar sounds of the morning. But the forest's environment did little to calm my nerves. The chase had left a lingering fear, a constant reminder of the unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. Slowly I began my trek, my body aching, my spirit weary but resolved. The fear of being hunted was still there, the echoes of the chase a grim reminder of my nightmarish ordeal. But I was still alive, still standing. And as long as I was, I had a chance to escape this horrifying nightmare. I moved stealthily, careful not to attract any unwanted attention.

My senses were on high alert, every rustle of leaves, every distant sound, a potential danger. I moved away from the river deeper into the forest, hoping to evade any cultists that might still be tracking me. Hours turned into an endless cycle of cautious steps, momentary stops, and hasty retreats. But as the sun climbed higher, painting the sun climbed higher, painting, the forest in warm hues, a renewed hope began to simmer within me. The daylight brought with it a sense of safety, a comforting shield against the terrors of the night. I was still lost, still in danger, but I was also moving, fighting, surviving. As the afternoon sun pierced through the canopy, I saw something that almost made me weep with relief. Nestled amidst the dense trees,

hidden from casual sight, was an old log cabin, a structure, a man-made structure, in the heart of the wilderness. It was the first sign of human habitation I had seen since I had embarked on this terrifying journey. Cautiously, I approached the cabin. It was old, its wooden exterior weathered by time and nature, but it was sturdy, and more importantly, it was deserted. No cultists, no ominous symbols, just an old abandoned cabin lost in the wilderness. The cabin was my sanctuary, my temporary haven in the face of danger. It was a place to rest, to gather my strength, to plan my next steps. It was a beacon of hope, a promise of safety, in the heart of a terrifying forest. As the day gave way to the evening, I secured the cabin,

my exhaustion slowly creeping in, the terror of the chase, the ordeal of the past days, it all weighed heavily on me, but I had made it through another day. I had evaded the cultists, found a sanctuary, survived. I was still in the game, still fighting. As the last rays of the sun disappeared, I huddled in the cabin, its walls a comforting barrier against the terrors lurking outside. The night was still, the forest's haunting symphony replaced by a comforting silence. For the first time since I had stumbled upon the terrifying cult, I felt a sense of security, a brief respite from the horrifying ordeal. I was still lost, still in danger, but for that night I was safe. And as I drifted off to sleep, the

of the chase a distant memory, I held on to that fact. I had survived, I was still fighting, and I would continue to fight, continue to endure, until I escaped this horrifying nightmare. Daylight brought a renewed determination. The cabin had served its purpose, a haven, a sanctuary, but it was time to move, to continue my fight for survival. I was still lost, still in danger, but I was alive, I was fighting, and I was not ready to give up. I left the cabin at the crack of dawn, my destination unclear, but my resolve unwavering. The morning was quiet, the forest a maze of shadows and light, its tranquility a stark contrast to the horrors it had witnessed.

Hours turned into an endless cycle of cautious steps and stops, the fear of being discovered a constant companion. But as the sun climbed higher, something broke the monotonous rhythm of my trek. It was a faint, distant sound, a familiar hum. My heart pounded in my chest as I recognized it, the sound of a vehicle. Quickening my pace I moved towards the sound, my hopes rising with each step. It grew louder, closer, the unmistakable hum of an engine, the sign of civilization, and then, breaking through the dense undergrowth, I saw it, a dirt road, winding its way through

the wilderness, a vehicle trundling along it. Relief washed over me as I stumbled onto the road, my knees buckling under the weight of my exhaustion and relief. I was out. I had escaped the dense wilderness, the unseen dangers, the horrifying chase. I was safe. The vehicle stopped. The driver, a middle-aged man, his face a mix of surprise and concern. I explained my situation, my voice hoarse, my words barely a whisper. He offered me a ride, his vehicle a beacon of hope, a promise of safety. As we drove down the winding road, the forest receding in the distance, the terror of the past,

days felt like a distant nightmare. I was leaving it behind, the dense wilderness, the terrifying chase, the horrifying cult. I was going home. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I saw it. My old truck, just as I had left it. A wave of emotion swept over me as I thanked the driver and climbed into my truck. I was finally safe, finally free. The nightmare was over. I turned the key in the ignition, the truck's familiar hum a comforting sound. As I drove away, the Appalachian wilderness a distant memory in my rearview mirror, I felt a sense of closure, a sense of survival. I had escaped the clutches of a terrifying cult, survived a horrifying chase, fought my way through a dense, treacherous wilderness. I had survived.

As I drove home, the memories of the past days, a grim reminder of the horrors I had witnessed, I made a vow. I would never return to those woods again. I would never forget the terror, the chase, the nightmare, but I would move on, carry on, survive, because I had fought, endured, and survived. And that was something worth cherishing. The Appalachian wilderness held a terrifying secret, a horrifying cult hidden in its dense, treacherous undergrowth. I had stumbled upon it, survived it, escaped it, and as I drove away, leaving the wilderness behind, I knew one thing. I had survived. I had fought, endured, and I had survived.

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Got that right. My dearest Aden, I know that it has been some time since we last spoke, and for that, I know better than to ask for any forgiveness. As a mother, I'm charged with certain responsibilities to you for which I openly admit in failing to provide. I understand that you don't know many of the reasons as to why I've done the things that I have, and I know that it's pointless to try to get you to understand. Please know that none of this was ever your fault.

You are an amazing young man, and the best thing that I've ever ever done. ever made in this world. You were never and could never be a burden on my life. It's just that in those last few years since your father passed, I felt like there was a part of my soul that went with him. You know that we were never much of a religious home, so faith was something I never could really turn to in those days. But when I found Lucardio, it was like everything changed. I felt connected to something bigger than myself for the first time in my life. That's how we all feel, each and every one of us that has been here since the beginning.

Now while the years away from you have been hard, they've also been a learning experience unlike any other. I've grown in connection and understanding to the world around me, and my higher power. You're probably thinking to yourself that you should have been what I should have been connecting with and understanding more, and you're right to do so. But I want you to know that I thought about you every single day.

I don't know of a single parent amongst our congregation, who wasn't doing the same for their own child. In the beginning, keeping contact was simply impossible due to how frequently we migrated from town to town, from county to county, and from state to state. One night we'd settle down with our tents in Tampa, and then just a few days later we'd be sleeping under the stars of Dallas. We moved so often not to be undetectable by our loved ones,

but to spread Lucardio's message to as many as we could. For the first few years, lived off donations alone. On occasion, we would work odd jobs around the towns we were in, but only to get what we needed to keep going on. We finally settled into a lasting abode, and made the foundation of our church three years ago, and I've been putting this letter off ever since then. Every time I tried to put pen to paper, I just could never stop myself crying. And yes, I don't deserve to shed a single tear after all the pain I must have caused. Lucardio has always taught that personal wants and connections were taught to stand in the way of the mission.

We've all had to make sacrifices along the way, but we made them because we truly believe in what we are doing. I can't imagine the sacrifices you've had to make with me gone as well. Sacrifices you never should have had to make in my absence. While I have no right at all to ask for your trust, I do want you to know that I believe with all my heart that we will be together again. I'm not simply talking about you and I, but all of us, our entire family. I've seen clearer than ever that the day is coming when we shall all be reunited in a world that is made pure in our Lord's image. I can say this with a resounding certainty, because through the work of the congregation,

I have seen wonders made only possible in dreams. Know that I have always kept you closest to my heart. Know that I do love you more than you will ever know. know that I am sorry for all the pain that I have caused and pray for you every single day. Love, Mom. Those were the first and last words I had heard from my mother in two decades. Six months after my father died from pancreatic cancer, she'd just up and left without even saying a proper goodbye. She'd of course been distant in the time leading up to her departure.

I never held that against her, because while I had lost my dad who died known for my entire life, She had lost the man she'd been with for over 37 years. Because I was only 21 at the time of his passing, I didn't really know how to properly process the grief when we lost him. I dropped out of community college and pretty much just buried myself with extra shifts at the local deli where I worked, just so I could keep myself busy and not have any time to really think about the whole situation. Mom had taken up counseling at my request,

as I knew that dad would have wanted her not to fall. off the wagon and relapse after two decades of sobriety. Under her therapist's advice, she started volunteering with more programs in the community. She'd sit in and help out at the nursing home, as well as set up for N.A. and AA meetings at the Wellness Center, and even help with driving the van to pick up attendees who didn't have any transportation to them. But like me, as soon as each busy day came to its end, the reality of my father's absence filled our home like a reservoir of grief that knew no end. The recliner where he sat in the living room was never touched and hardly even looked at. It was treated

like some kind of pitiful memorial that only served as a reminder that he wasn't coming back. Gone were the days of the family coming together after dinner and binging the latest hit show on cable or laughing together when watching America's funniest home videos. Now there was simply silence, as mom would just sit on the couch reading over $110 mystery paperbacks, while I emotionally quarantined myself in my room. I suppose in those days it was hard for us to be around one another, not because we had done something to upset the other, but because we both served as reminders of the one we had lost. To my mother, I was almost the spitting image of my father at the age when they had first met back in high school. For me, she was the remaining fragment of a home that was now

forever broken, always feeling as if his phantom was still holding her empty hand. I often ask myself what would have happened if I had only tried to make an effort in grieving along with her rather than alone. Perhaps things may have played out entirely differently, and she'd still be home. And maybe I'd still be the man I once was in those days, rather than the man teetering on the edge of insanity as I am today. Yet to question the possibility of correcting past regrets is a waste of time, for by the time I had begun to realize what was going on with my mother, it was already too late. late. A month before she left, I noticed that she had begun to frequent the Ericksburg Recreation Center. There had been pamphlets scattered around town advertising a new method of spiritual and philosophical healing for those suffering with depression and mental ailments. Personally, I had just

chalked it up to some kind of traveling hippie convert that would try to sell you the idea of magic healing crystals and positive energy chakras or some crap like that. At first I figured the only reason mom had been going to those meetings was simply because her sponsor asked her to tag along. Now, while that may indeed have been her initial introduction to Lucardio Carbone, it was his captivating charismatic message that had ensnared her, along with the rest of what would come to be later known as, the congregation. As I've come to learn following the years of research I've done since she vanished, the congregation went on a type of cross-country tour during its early development in the late 1980s. In total, they were able to gather roughly 40 members,

after dozens of others would tend to drop out after just a few months or so. Based on the scarce interviews I could find from former followers of the group, it seemed that what began as a method of mental healing quickly grew into a religious ideology in itself. While details about the actual faith of the congregation were scarce, what was known was that their leader taught from fragments of several different religious texts like the Bible, Torah, and Quran, as well as inserting their own differentiating doctrines of their own.

The most I was able to learn during my research came from articles covering the experience of a man by the name of Aaron Latimore, a member from 1986 to 1991. According to Mr. Latimore, they believed a rather strict celibate and isolationist lifestyle. The whole idea of their doctrine was based on focusing on the individual to become more of an instrument for higher power, as opposed to focusing on their own happiness and self-determination. Apparently one of the very first things each member had to adapt to during early indoctrination was losing touch with personal connections such as family and friends, as they were seen as nothing more than roadblocks, keeping them from their destiny.

While it was clear that they were most definitely being conditioned and brainwashed via religious repertoire to see the world from that weird and twisted view, I'd be lying if I didn't say that it was still a massive knife to the heart, to think about my mother viewing me as some kind of obstacle in her life. So you can imagine my surprise when I received her letter from out of nowhere after nearly 18 years of silence. Upon reading it, I was shocked to discover for myself just how easily decades of built-up emotions could just burst to the forefront in the blink of an eye.

Each word brought on the memories of panic, fear, and loneliness that had enveloped my entire being when she first left, all those years ago. I had worked so hard in the time between to grow as a man and not let the loss of both my parents define me. In a way, I had lived as if they were both dead. There was that equal certainty that I'd never see either one of them ever again, and yet there I was in my apartment reading a message from the necrotic past that I had tried my best to bury. What shocked me the most was the lack of any real rage at the time. In the early years, I had always imagined her just showing up out of the blue after their church collapsed and broke away.

Every single one of those scenarios ended with some giant and emotional speech telling her off and condemning her for the hell she put me through while all on my own. Yet rather than the feeling of anger festering to the surface, I was struck by only fear. Because this wasn't the time when small cults and religious nomads were recruiting for their holy cause. This was the age when they were all succumbing to self-martyrdom. Immediately my mind raced over images of the Jonestown Massacre, or the Heaven's Gate Passings, and even the Solar Temple, all tied up with a neat bow of the Waco Inferno. All I could think of as I finished her letter were police investigators taking pictures of her body surrounded by the dozens of others she had left me to worship with.

The thought of her rotting sprawled out over some twisted version of hallowed ground, while flies buzzed around her head like a kind of demonic halo, made me sick to my stomach to the point where I almost doubled over the kitchen table there and then, which is why I decided to take that weekend off work and make my way down there to this congregation for myself. At the time I had hoped to maybe get there before the horrible event in my imagination played out, even though there was still that gnawing voice in the back of my head saying that it had already happened, and that I'd simply be the poor soul to beat the police to an unimaginable scene. In a way, that voice was right. According to the envelope in which my mother's letter had been enclosed within, it had been sent by a Glenn Dickerson from

Harlington, Montana. So the first order of business was to take the 16-hour drive up there and figure out his relationship to my mother. Along the way, I was trying to wrap my head around all the questions that would remain impossible to answer until I arrived. Why did my mother suddenly send me this from out of nowhere. Why did this person I'd never heard of in my entire life send me her letter rather than her doing it herself? Is she still alive? While it's clear to any observer of the situation that to plague oneself with these questions would be useless, and only serve to heighten the stress of the situation, it's much easier said than done when you're the one living through that earth-shattering shadow of anxiety without answers. While making the trip I had

decided to listen to some sermons from the congregation that they had posted on the on their website. I figured that even though I had listened to them all before, that I might as well get a refresher course on them, given the circumstances. Let us not forget our place among the stars, for we are but an atom atop a speck of dust within this vast universe. Yet despair not, for your role is greater than you may ever know. For despite the barren and empty cosmos that surrounds us all, you are unique, you are alive, unlike the countless desolate worlds that swim throughout the dark wilderness of dead space, ours has the ability to ponder its very own existence. While life may be as fleeting as a decaying vapor in the wind, it is one not without a

purpose. But where does such a mystery of life come from, you may ask? What makes us so special that we are able to rise from the depths of evolution, and aspire to take our first steps from our nest of earth, into a universe that seems infinitely inhospitable to life itself? Many have sought answers in science or philosophy, while others have looked into the pages of holy books written thousands of years ago. When the simplest answer of all is to look up at the stars themselves, for they are the true inspirational word of God. Since man has first made fire, he has gazed up at the dark horizons and curious amazement at the hand that painted those mysterious campfires that dot the night sky. Our ancestors saw for the first time their insignificance in the scale

of all things, but also a deeper connection to the reality around them. Each and every one of us have looked up to the heavens in search for answers, yet only a select few have found traces of those answers. Abraham, Moses, Paul, John the Revelator, Muhammad and Buddha, they were all given pieces of the great puzzle that defines our entire reality. Little by little the truth has been given to us as a species, for we must grow as a society and a people, so that we may matured, sure enough to understand the true meaning of our lives. Yet there are those who would seek to pollute the veridity of these answers with their own fan-fictional truths. The Joseph Smiths, the Jim Jones, the Marshall Applewhites, the Joseph Mambroes, all of them taking the great revelations

bestowed to us by the highest power and discarding them, and reshaping and contradicting them to suit their own worldview, rather than the true worldview. Now you may ask who I am to make such a claim as I do. Who is this man that tarnishes the names of other failed and ridiculed religious leaders, yet claims that he knows the way as opposed to them? I'm here to tell you that what you're asking is the most important question that must be answered before you're even able to receive my message. What use is a shepherd if there's no reason for the flock to follow him? Please let not my words be what bring you to the path of salvation, but only be the stepping stone that leads you to the truth. for simple silver-tongued words are wielded by many and have led millions astray.

All members of our congregation have seen the truth for themselves, they have seen the signs, and witnessed firsthand the wonders of what lies in store for the faithful. Because we are not some random and misguided accident to simply be forgotten by the universe once it succumbs to the heat death of cosmic entropy. We are, all of us, a part of a greater and glorious whole, yet at the same time we are not to be simple individuals that seek to only serve our own wants and desires for the brief duration of our mortal lives here on earth.

In truth, we are to be instruments orchestrated by the hand that has painted the greatest canvas of stardust that is the heavens themselves. Our individuality must be swallowed whole by the grand collective design, our lives to be a drop in the ocean that is the unfathomable existence of God. for we do nor circumvent the truth of our reality. We do not bend to the words of man. We bow to the other light. We worship the true light. Now I had to give the man credit where credit was due.

He sure knew how to talk. Listening to him again, it wasn't a wonder as to why so many like my mother decided to follow him. The unfortunate truth about the world we live in seems to be that those who are lost and suffering are the easiest prey to those who seek to exploit them. I couldn't even begin to imagine how she and the others had been used by the one who claimed to be their shepherd. I couldn't help but think of the branch Davidians, and how all of the women had been made to marry David Koresh and bear his children. Just the thought of my mother being manipulated into that kind of mindset

and having to sleep with some silver-tonged bastard who used my father's death as a way to seep into her life, made me so angry that I could have indented my damn steering wheel with how tight I had been gripping it. even though they appeared to be a celibate group based on what i had heard from former members there was no telling what really happened behind closed doors when a religious leader got too much power in his pulpit after all catholic priests were meant to live the same kind of lifestyle and god only knows how many innocent kids have suffered under the force of those men who twisted their faith into a tool for their own self-satisfaction as i made my way closer to my destination i was shocked by the sheer scale of some of the farm farms and ranches that I passed by along the way. I couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of money some of these families were sitting on in their fancy estates along the Rocky Mountains. The small town of Harlington itself was as fresh a breath of air as the entire countryside around me. It was a perfect little slice of Americana, as pristine as fresh apple pie.

Fresh paved roads and brick outlet stores lined along Main Street with bright American flags waving in the warm summer air by lampposts. For many, it would appear to be the perfect suburban home to settle down and raise a family, the kind of place where everyone knows everybody, and the marble white church is filled to the brim every Sunday. For me, the town had an unfortunate shadow over the whole thing, obscuring the serene beauty with an underlying sense of dread for the secrets I was seeking answers for. My final stop would be at the Huxler Diner,

which lay right across the street from the Harlington High School Football Stadium. Now I must confess that the last thing I was expecting when I put in the sender's address from my mother's letter was to be directed to some dinner from some town I'd never heard of in the middle of Montana. Yet here I finally was, at the end of my long journey, on the complete other end of the country. Upon entering the diner, I wasn't surprised at all to find the layout to be as classical as you could possibly expect. It was almost like walking right into the past with the checkered-tiled floor and red-leather booths, The smell of coffee and patty grease filled the air as tunes from the early 70s melted out from a jukebox at the wall between the two single-stall bathrooms. As the bell above the front door jingled when I walked through, a waitress in a checkered blue and white dress and apron came up to me.

Hey there, welcome to Huxlers. Can I get you something, hon? Yeah, um, I'm looking for Glenn Dickerson. Does he happen to be here by chance? Oh, sure. Glenn's in the back. If you take a seat, I'll go get him for you. sit anywhere you like. As I thanked her, I made my way over to a booth at the end of the diner. Given the probable nature of our conversation, I wanted to make sure that it was as remote as possible. I had been a little too focused on thinking about how to start my conversation, that I almost jumped right out of my seat when the waitress came back. Oh, sorry to scare you, hon, she said with a giggle.

Oh, no, you're fine. It's just been a long drive, that's all. Well, Glenn will be over here in just a sec. Could I get you a coffee while you wait? It's on the house. Sure, I'll just take it black, thanks. All right, I'll be back in a jiffy. As she left, I pulled out my mother's letter and laid it out on the table. There was part of me just thinking that this whole thing was a pointless exercise in a wild goose chase and a waste of gas, and that I should just get back in my car and continue living my life as I had ever since she left. Yet that voice was the minority, in a raging internal argument that I'd been having with myself for nearly 20 years. After about ten minutes, an older, somewhat heavy-set man came out from the kitchen door.

He looked to be in his mid-60s, the graying of his hair obscured by the net he wore over it. As soon as his eyes locked with mine, his entire demeanor changed instantly. For a moment he just stood there, until taking a deep breath and then walking slowly over to me. As he came over to the table, I stood up awkwardly and reached him. my hand out. Glenn Dickerson? I asked. You're Paula's boy, right? He replied as he shook my hand softly. Yeah, I said softly, somewhat relieved that he was the one who got the ball rolling. Well, go on and have a seat, he said, motioning back to the table. I'm sure you've got some questions and I'll do my best to answer what I can. As I received my coffee and was now alone with Mr.

Dickerson, we got down to business. So, how did you know your mother? He said, finishing my question for me, to which I nodded. For a moment his eyes wandered as he tried to figure out exactly where it was he needed to really start. Well, she and the rest of her group moved into the old Baskroft property about three years ago. It had been used as a psych ward back in the 30s and was shut down in 68, pretty much left abandoned since then. They all came in, bought the property from the state with cash, and spent about a good year refurbishing the place themselves. That whole first year they lived mostly in tents around the property, and would come down occasionally to purchase goods and so on. A few of them would come by here for a bite every now and then. Your mother was one of the

more prominent visitors, talked about you a lot. Did she? I said more as one last silent jab at her, rather than a real question. Yep, he replied with a nod of his head. If what she told me was true, then you've got every right to be mad. I don't blame you one bit, but if it's any consolation, she always talked about missing the hell out of you. Then she should have just come home, I said to myself under my breath. Yep, that's exactly what she used to say. Wait, really? She said that? Hmm, the day she gave me that, he said, pointing to the letter. What happened? I asked, now much more seriously in the conversation now. Well, like I said, they moved in about three years ago, but around a year and a half ago, their ventures into town became much fewer and far between. I'd maybe see Paula every five or six

months. That all started around the same time they stopped letting people up to Baskroft. Wait, they stopped letting people go up there? I thought their whole thing was them wanting more people in their cult, or whatever you want to call it. Nope, like you said, it's a cult cut and dry. And yeah, when they first got the place fixed up and moved in, they invited everyone to come up and hear their message. Most went just to see how the eyesore on the mountain had been spruced up. Then they just shut the gates and pretty much kept to themselves. They'd planted this big garden and were self-sufficient at that point, only really coming down in pairs of two when they needed tools or so on. She'd come down a handful of times just to chat. I guess when you're cooped up

in one big manner with 60 of the same people day in and day out, you get a hankering for some new conversations. So she really said that she should have come home, I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to where I needed it to go. She did. She came by a month ago and just seemed really out of sorts. She talked about how she wished she had gone home years ago to be with you, but that there was some kind of thing going on with their congregation or whatever that was too important. That's when she gave me the letter and asked me to send it. I don't know really what was wrong. She seemed like she was really happy and sad at the same time. And you said it was a month ago? Eh, give or take, I'd say about three weeks, definitely not longer than four. And have you seen any more of them since then?

I asked. Nope, but then again, that's not off par with how they've been recently. Like I said, over the past year or so, they've been pretty scarce around town. So she didn't really say anything other than that? Not really, no. The only other thing was when I asked her why she wanted me to the letter out rather than her. She said that if you received a letter in her own name, that there'd be a good chance you just chuck it in the bin. She just wanted to make sure that you had an actual chance at opening it. That somewhat put my mind at ease, mainly because the logic of that made sense. It seemed pretty reasonable that she'd have someone else reach out to me with her message, especially if she thought that I still just hated her guts and wouldn't give it a second

glance. The only thing that still didn't make sense was the timing of it all. Why suddenly, after 20 years of nothing, would she have bothered to reach out in the first place? You okay, kid? It's a lot to take in, I'm sure. It wasn't until he spoke again, that I realized I had just been sitting there in complete sense, for what must have been a few minutes at the least, just staring off into nothingness as my mind tried to fit the pieces together. What? Oh yeah, I'm all right, I replied, coming back. to the present. I'm just trying to figure out why she'd do this now. I mean the entire ride up here, I just kept thinking that something bad had happened. I know what you mean, he said. Sometimes the

straw just breaks the camel's back. Maybe there doesn't need to be some worrisome reason. Maybe she's just finally had enough and wanted to say something or reach out. Do you think there's a shot of me maybe going up there and seeing if I can see her myself? I know you said they closed the gates a while back, but maybe they'd make some kind of exception for me. You know, because I'm family? I asked. To answer my questions, he gave his eyes a long and tiresome rub. I could see him mulling over the thought with a generous amount of contemplation before finally arriving at a conclusion. In all honesty, I'd say the odds are about 50-50. I know they ain't big on family connections in their little group, but then again I'm not sure how much pull

your mom has with him. Your only big obstacle is just getting in there, of course, especially ever since they shut the gates to outsiders. To be fair, he had a rather good point on the matter, which unfortunately didn't help the situation. As I left the diner after the end of our conversation, I felt like I walked out of there with many more questions than answers. To make matters worse, there really wasn't any way I could try to find out without directly trying to go up there myself. I couldn't just go to the police about it, given that the already reclusive members of the congregation not being seen in several weeks or months was the normal stats of things around here. I had already decided before walking out of there that my best option would just be to try and go

up there myself. Reluctantly Glenn had pointed me in the direction of the Baskroft estate. When standing in town looking up at it, it appeared as a small crimson dot atop the peak of the mountain range due west. so with nowhere else to turn other than my own plan i made the drive up the dirt road that had been carved out along the mountain itself given that i already had a decent fear of heights the drive up towards the manor was already anxiety inducing enough but the lack of any support rails that accompanied the steep turns along the road only added to agitation as i came on to the final stretch towards the estate itself the dirt road evolved into one of dark gravel after about a hundred feet i came to an old iron gate and matching fence that seemed to stretch and encompass the entire perimeter of the property. The words, Baskroft Psychiatric Hospital were adorned above the arching gate entrance. I thought it odd at the time, wondering why they would go to such trouble with renovating the property,

and never even changing the wording at the front gate itself. For a moment I chuckled at the thought of there being no more fitting place for a cult to set up shop than a loony bin itself. That was quickly replaced by the grimry and that my mother was now one of its residents. While the iron rod entryway was indeed closed, I was somewhat surprised to see that there was only one small latch that kept the gate shut. With simply flipping it up, it opened with a slow, groaning creek. It was maybe a 20-yard walk from the gate towards the front steps of the estate,

and given the lack of any sign of any other vehicles on the face of the property, I decided to take the rest of the journey on foot. The manor itself was an impressive sight all on its own. A hefty brick foundation gave rise to freshly painted red vinyl siding. It looked less like an old hospital from the 40s, and more like a revamped take on a plantation home you'd find in the deep south. Two large three-story wings branched off from the central base of the mansion and seemed to expand further on in the back of the property.

The wings themselves appeared to have been additions to the main residence which stood four stories tall, and would be an impressive living space even on its own. In front of this new religious abode were rows and rows of well-kept gardens that had begun to show the signs of the coming harvest. Fresh tomatoes, corn, cabbage, and beans had started to bud and ripen. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the people themselves. Given how many had been assumed to be living here, I'd imagine there'd have been at least a few outside either tending to the garden

or simply enjoying the fresh afternoon air. Figuring that I'd already come this far, I decided to go on up and see if I'd be welcomed inside, or if there was even anyone to let me in. The front doors seemed to be the newest addition to the home that I could see from the outside. Matching stained glass windows adorn the two of them, depicting an elongated red diamond in the center,

surrounded by swirling colors of blues, oranges, and greens. With the lack of any knockers or a doorbell of any kind, I knocked a few times on the crimson painted doors and awaited an answer. After a few moments of silence I knocked again. With yet another response of nothingness, I took a deep breath and prayed to a God I didn't believe in, and gripped one of the freshly polished silver door handles. With the surprise of it actually turning all the way and opening up, I peered my head inside as I prepared to make my way inside. Once I had passed through the threshold, it was very clear where all the hard work and renovations had gone into when building the place back up. It was like taking one step from the

21st century and walking back in time to an elegant mansion in the late 1800 yes. Freshly mopped hardwood floors lined the ground level, while well-kept antique furniture lined beige-painted walls. An elegant crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and emanated a warm and welcoming atmosphere of light that made me feel surprisingly welcome, despite there being no actual welcoming of any individual what whatsoever. At the moment the only company I found was that of the echoes of my own footsteps. Within the foyer, two long hallways extended on either side, leading into what I assumed to be the separate expansions of the property. Directly opposite the door was a spiral staircase that led to the second level. For a moment I simply stood there, not knowing whether to continue as I was,

or to simply call out and see if someone would answer, deciding that it was best to keep my attendance here as discreet as I already had thus far, I made my way up the stairs without a word. Along the second level, the hardwood floors of the first had been replaced by a bright red carpet that stretched along a corridor leading deeper into the manner. Along both sides of the walls was a long series of matching doors of polished black ghostwood opposite one another. Each one was identified by engraved plaques, with what appeared to be the first name of its intended occupant etched in gold. I continued along the classical hotel-like hallway, searching plate to plate until I found the one I had been looking for. After nearly two dozen doors, I stopped in front of the one that had my mother's name engraved

on its surface. I stood there for a long moment, my hand frozen right above the handle. At the time, the only thing going through my mind were the news reports that had come out of Santa Fe, California just a few years earlier. Like everyone else at the time, I'd watched the footage of the Heaven's Gate victims lying in their beds with cloth carefully draped over their bodies. Under the leadership of their self-proclaimed alien Messiah, they had all off themselves in an attempt to reach what they deemed as the next level of this existence. The final acts of their religious journey had come to an end in their own beds, covering themselves to spare the rotting sight of those who would come to find them. Is that what lay beyond this very door? Was simply turning the handle and pressing forward no different

than opening a freshly unearthed coffin? The thought of walking in to see her graying remains covered by a thin sheet with the smell of decaying flesh filling the air made me nauseated. You came here to find answers, didn't you? I asked myself, to which I obviously knew the answer. After taking another moment and a deep breath, I clenched the handle and pushed onwards.

Slowly entering the room, I was relieved to find that the only aroma to greet me in the air was that of lavender. Her room was pristine and well-kept, keeping with the same classical design as the rest of the manner. A large dressing table sat opposite of her Victorian upholstered queen-sized bed, which was thankfully empty of anything other than already made bedsheets. Half-used, scented candles were strewn across various small cabinets and tables along the walls of the room. Most of their wicks blackened from recent use.

Yet other than the name along the door, there didn't seem to be a single item within her room to show that it had actually belonged to my mother. There weren't any personal mementos anywhere in sight, not even as much as a picture. The whole room was more akin to the kind you'd see in a fancy inn or high-end bed and breakfast. In the entirety of her chambers, the only thing that stood out was what at first glance

appeared to be a type of oil lantern on her nightstand. It gave off a faint and almost mesmerizing bright teal glow that flickered with the passage of time. As I walked over to it for closer inspection, I saw that the light wasn't produced by a flame at all. Rather, it was created by a thin crystal shard that was suspended in the glass core of the lantern. While I originally believed it to be some kind of fancy electric light that you'd find online, this was completely standing on its own without any sign of a plug or outlet.

There also were no indications of an area for batteries to be placed anywhere on the lantern's surface. As I carefully lifted it up to see if there was a compartment underneath, I nearly dropped and shattered the whole thing as a light shock zapped my fingers as I made contact with it. As I did so, the light within the crystal pulsed just a tad brighter, and with it came a small but noticeable humming sound that seemed to come from the shard. While there was no real pain, I was surprised to find that most of my hand had gone numb, as if it was asleep. I tried to move and flex my fingers to get the feeling back into it, but to hardly any success.

There was a kind of electric tingling that I could feel buzzing down in the very bones of my hand, a buzzing that seemed to resonate with the pulsing humming of the lamp. After a few moments, the feeling started to return. As it did so, the pulsating droning of the crystal began to subside back to its original state before I interacted with it. I figured that must be the way this crazy thing charged, maybe by somehow borrowing the electricity of the user. While it may haven't been anything I'd have ever seen before,

it was perhaps the craziest bedside nightlight I'd ever seen. The unfortunate truth was that other than a twisted glowing appliance, there wasn't a single answer about where my mother was, or the rest of the congregation for that matter. As I left her room more confused than when I had come in, I decided that the best hope I had for some kind of explanation on the residence level of the manner would be to find the chambers of the group's leader, Lucardio Carbone. After about 10 minutes of wandering around aimlessly throughout the crossward rows of hallways, I finally found it at the end of an empty corridor. Unlike the other doors, this one was painted in a deep scarlet, with a black diamond stretched out vertically decal plastered over it. There was this strong kind of authority that

permeated the atmosphere around it. With the lack of any other rooms along the walls of this hallway, the respect and reverence for their leader was clearly shown. While some would imagine that I'd be just as hesitant to open this door as I was my mother's. I was far more interested and determined to get a peek into the life of the man who snatched my mother and dozens of others into his little convert. The inside of his chambers couldn't have been any more different than that of my mother's. This room was more akin to a large office chamber rather than one's living space. A large oak desk stood a few feet away from the entrance. Behind the desk were rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with identical-looking black leather books.

To the left of the room was a small bed with a single velvet pillow. On the right side, there were a few desks and filing cabinets, yet hanging above them was a large painting encased in a bright gold frame. The painting showed a depiction of the earth you'd be likely to find at a flat-earth convention. A circular-leveled representation of our world lay hovering in space. Beneath it were four similar-looking figures. They were humanoid in shape, yet had hooves rather than, than legs. Two long curved horns protruded from their heads and a pair of marble white wings

stretched out from their backs. One had the face of a man, one had the face of an ox, one had the face of a lion, one had the face of an ox, and one had the face of an eagle. All four of them knelt with their arms upwards, struggling to hold the weight of the world on their shoulders. The image reminded me of the kind of drawings I had seen of how ancient cultures used to believe that the world was carried on the backs of elephants who stood on the shell of a turtle. This kind of thinking seemed to line up pretty well for a reclusive religious cult. As I made my way further in the study, I noticed that on the desk lay another one of those glowing crystal lanterns, along with a single thick hardback book.

Its cover was nearly blank, except for a similar crimson diamond symbol, that I had seen a few times since entering this strange place. Adorned above the symbol were the words, the other light. It looked to be old, much older than the cult itself since its formation several decades ago. From a glance, I assumed it to be the holy book that was used for the congregation's teachings. I had to give credit where credit was due, though, while most religious cults just twisted the words of the already pre-established scriptures. At least this one put in the effort to completely create their own. Although I was surprised that when I opened it, the text was in some kind of gibberish language

that was made up of vibrant and detailed scribbles and symbols like I had never seen before. The closest thing I could try to compare them to would be that of Arabic or Hebrew, but they were still far more elaborate in their individual design than any dialect that had been written before. Each and every symbol was more of an impressive work of art rather than translations of things as simple as mere words. Page after page they filled the book with unknowable stories and proverbs, and it was only when looking over this beautiful literature that I wondered what kind of man

would even be able to translate it. Yet at the time, I thought that it was more likely that he had pretended to do so. Yet if that was really the case, then where did this book come from? Placing it back down on the shelf, I then turned towards the bookshelf behind the desk. Each row had been organized based on alphabetical markers, at the bottom of each shelf. While there was nothing written on the spines of the books, I still traced along the order until I found the H section. I then removed the first book from that aisle and saw Pauline Halt imprinted on the cover. When I looked through it, I saw detailed notes covering

her entire life, high school and college transcripts, tax records, and even medical reports were all also piled together within this novellic dossier on my mother. The most disturbing, part of the whole thing was when I turned over towards the back, and found a section covering the greatest threats to her continued faith. To my surprise, I was the only mention on that list. What was surprising, however, was that what followed was a thorough compilation of entries about everything I had been up to and doing since she left me. There were lists of the places I had been employed, how I had coped with my mother's immediate absence, the counselors I had met with over the past 10 years, likely political affiliations based on social media activity.

They even had it down to the restaurants that I most frequented the most often. I don't know what was worse, the fact that they felt the need to have this much information about me, or that they had the means to do so without me even knowing about it. It was only when I closed the book that I realized that my hands had been trembling, although this wasn't with fear, but anger, given this wildly invasive incursion into my family's privacy. I couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of information stuffed into the rest of the collection on the shelves. As I looked over each one of them, the only thing I wanted there and then was to just walk out of that room and never go in there again. As I left the study, I gave one last

look at the mysterious unknown holy book of the other light. While I didn't touch it ever again, I made sure to slip the biography of my mother and myself into my jacket as I walked out. With nothing else of informational value in this part of the mansion, I decided to make my way back down the stairs onto the ground level. While I was thankful that I hadn't yet stumbled upon some gathering of dead bodies while searching the place, I only became more and more perplexed, as to the whereabouts of everyone. I would only come to start to realize the truth when I stumbled upon what obviously served as the nave for their religious gatherings. What originally appeared to be the cafeteria of the psychiatric hospital had been converted into the kind of layout you'd see from a community

college auditorium. Several rows of folding chairs stood before a raised platform with a neatly assembled podium. Behind the podium was a projector screen which had an image of a group photo of the entire congregation cast over it. They were all standing at the front steps of the manor wearing matching white polos and dress pants. It was rather surreal to be able to instantly pick her out of the lineup, especially given the fact that she looked like she hadn't seemed to have aged a day since she had left me. Perhaps the most alien aspect of it all was to see her smiling, especially given that the last memories I had of her were just from a mask of depression. As I stood there looking at her picture up there, I couldn't help but feel a slight tinge of guilt

for coming all the way over here if nothing was actually wrong. She seemed to be happy, really happy. She appeared to have moved on as I also did, yet she still sent me that letter, and was still nowhere to be seen. This parade of confusion continued along as I felt a slight gust of air coming through an open door towards the back right-hand side of the nave. As I followed the source of it, I noticed that the sign above the door labeled it as the entrance to the main chapel, which I found as odd as I had figured that the auditorium I was currently in was what passed as their main room of worship. Passing through the door, I realized that it led only to a set of stairs that descended downwards into unknown chambers of darkness that knew no source of illumination. Pulling out my phone and flipping on the flashlight, I made my way down.

Carried along the cool breeze was the kind of dank and earthy smells that was only accommodated by the memories of childhood home basements. Although I still had absolutely no idea where that damp wind was coming from, especially given how deep these stairs seemed to be declining down towards. I had been walking down what had easily been five minutes, and still absolutely no sign of a platform or ending in sight. As I turned and looked back up, I was greeted with that same tunnel of blackness leading back up to the manor.

Standing there in that obscenely long stone stairwell, I found myself right back to my childhood, where like every other at that age I had that terrifying irrational fear of the dark. It suddenly became so claustrophobic, except rather than tight physical spaces, it was the two walls of blackness swallowing up the tiny bastion of light that existed solely due to my phone. Looking back down for a moment, I decided that perhaps it would be better to just go back up to the manner itself and simply wait to see if anyone else eventually came back. Yet as soon as I went to walk back up, I was hit with this sudden wave of lightheadedness. I tried to steady myself for a moment, chopping it up to walk. to possible vertigo, or maybe even fatigue from stress.

When I tried to take another step up, my head began to feel like it was buzzing, like the kind of sensation one gets as being administered general anesthesia. As my grasp on reality was quickly fleeting, I began to panic and hyperventilate. Everything started to spin to the point where it was impossible to discern the darkness from the light, as it all blended together through a mind that could no longer properly comprehend the signals being sent from my eyes. The final nail in the coffin of my failing senses would be when my hearing became completely distorted, as if I was hearing my panting breaths through water.

I tried to shout out for help, only to hear my severely muffled echoes through the black emptiness. Then, without warning, everything went blank. I woke up with a blistering migraine that seemed to envelop the entire left side of my head. It was only when I reached my hand up to cradle it that I realized that every single person, part of my body groaned in the protest of pain with even the slightest movement. I took a long few minutes to try and get a hold of my surroundings and current situation. My phone was nowhere in sight. It was rather clear that I must have dropped it when I passed out and took my rather painful tumble down the steps, down to wherever I now seemed to be. The stairs were right towards my right

where I laid, and leaded back up to that uncomfortable darkness, where I had no desire to venture back into again. Yet it was only looking back into that black void that I realized that my surroundings actually had some kind of illumination. I seemed to be in some kind of large section of a cave formation that had been carved out enough to allow for the steps to beach through into it. As my eyes strained to see through the thumping headache, I noticed veins of crystalline geodes along the ceiling of the cave. They emanated that same type of eerie green light that had come from those lanterns I had seen in the living quarters. While I had never heard of any kind of natural luminescent stones before, that didn't necessarily mean that they didn't exist as they clearly looked to be. Not only was I

thankful for some light, however weird it may be, I was mainly relieved due to the fact that it was bright enough to see while not being intense enough to strain my eyes. In fact, I found that the longer I looked into those soft streams of crystalline light, the more the pain in my head began to subside with each passing second. Not only that, but while the pain all along my body was still very much present, it was now more of the kind of all-encompassing pain of soreness that one would suffer through after a day of long and rigorous workout routines. After struggling for a short time, I was finally able to get back up on my feet. While there were several different branching tunnels from the chamber I was currently in, it was on the dusty rock floor that I found the first real

sign of an answer. Through the light, I could just barely make out several tracks of footprints, which led through a more narrow pathway in the rock walls. With myself deeper into this situation, as well as the earth itself than I ever intended to be, it was clear that the only way now was forward. Slowly but surely, I made my way deeper through the natural stone maze of interconnected subterranean passageways, guided only by the footmarks from the past. all the while I was still greeted by the occasional wet breeze that would flow through them, like cold breaths exhaled by the earth itself. While under normal circumstances, I might have found them refreshing to my pained and stressed body as I continued on.

They left a haunting impression as their reverberance through the narrow tunnels gave off a howling-like ambiance that only intensified the anxiety of the pressing situation. Eventually, I came to a large open chamber that seemed to have been carved, by hand, as opposed to a natural formation. Support pillars of ancient brick had been placed in several areas to support the makeshift foundation from caving in. Along the ceiling were far more of the crystalline phosphorescence that branched out along cracks within the stone itself. As I looked around the circular man-made room, I saw a vast tapestry of cave paintings, made up of a type of bright neon orange material that seemed to glow due to a reaction from the natural lights up

above. While they seemed to have been recently created based on the quality of the paint itself, they still took on the very basic and simplistic approach that had been used by our Neanderthal ancestors thousands of years ago. Given the complete lack of context, it was rather hard to ascertain what exactly the mural was actually depicting. All I could really make out was the fact of there being dozens of human figures with spears and swords on the ground fighting one another, while giant winged creatures that somewhat resemble the horned beasts from the framed artwork in Lucardio Carbone's office. Above the creatures was perhaps the most confusing aspect of the graffiti. There was a single eye hovering in the sky with what seemed to be lightning bolts coming out from it.

Below the eye was a winged elongated diamond object that looked to be falling down from the pupil. It was as I was studying the art on the walls that I heard a scream coming from deeper within the cave. Unlike the eerie whispers of the breeze, this was clearly from the agonized mouth of a man. It echoed through the cracked labyrinth of stone, leaving a haunting howl that remained until it finally dissipated. When I snapped towards the direction of it, I could see another passageway leading out of the chamber. Above it, more of that unknown language from the book of the other light, was adorned above it in that same glowing paint. I stood there frozen in place, trying desperately to convince myself. that I had just imagined it. Yet right as my rapid heartbeat had just begun to settle, it came again.

Yet this time it was the anguished cries of a woman. As my mind instantly went right towards the thoughts of my mother coming from it, I was left with no other choice but to follow. The venture down into the deeper depths of the tunnel networks did nothing but add to the terror of the situation. These walls now all appeared to be man-made. It was like walking through the Paris catacombs except for the fact that all of the bones that lined the panels of rock had been carved out of it. Skulls of stone stared back at me with glowing geodes buried deep within their eye sockets. Along the journey, the screams continued to build up more and more, now accompanied by a fierce wind that grew stronger with each passing second.

Eventually, it became almost as difficult as walking through a hurricane itself, making it a struggle just to take another step forward. How anyone could possibly have made it through this. was a complete mystery. The air was loud and sharp, dulling every single one of my senses. Having to brace my eyes with my elbow, I continued into the howling abyss blindly. Without any warning, I passed over the last step, expecting another one. Losing my balance, I fell forward, bracing myself to hit the stone ground hard, but rather than any kind of rock, the ground crunched beneath me, as if made of twigs. Almost instantly the wind died down to that

of a gentle breeze. I knew that I must have begun to suffer from the obvious concussion I had obtained from falling down the stairs, because the sight before my eyes would have been impossible in any other circumstance. With the mouth of the cave behind me, I came to find that I was now standing outside. While a massive wall of pure rock stood behind me, as I followed it up higher, I saw a shroud of pitch black clouds that covered the entire sky. Bright flares of orange and yellow flashed overhead beyond them, followed by distant rumbles of alien thunder. For a long while, I was just in this state stunned and bewilderment at where I now found myself. That state of contusion was only exacerbated when I looked down at the ground around me. As ridiculous as it sounds,

I was standing in the middle of a large cliff that fell off at about 20 feet on either side of myself. The drop-off must have been thousands of feet, because what lay below could only be described as some kind of colossal city that spread outwards as far as the eye could see. While it was hard to fully make out its features, due to both the distance and the poor lighting of the landscape, the flashes of diluted lightning up above allowed me to see the silhouettes of massive spires and towers that had been erected all throughout this strange and dark metropolis that was both under and far beyond the earth. The ground on which I was standing was blackened and crunched beneath my feet, and gave off a foul odor like that of rotten burned

meat. Looking forward down the path, the barrier of stone behind me curved along and formed a colossal ring that stretched out to a diameter of at least 20 miles long. This cylindrical coffin of stone contained everything within view and rose up through the mask of cloud cover up above. The cliff I was on was just one of 11 others, which were spaced out evenly along the inner perimeter of the cyclopean ring of impossible architecture, and then converge together to form the top of a large mesa that stood in the center towering over the city of shadows below. Along the central plateau was what looked to be the flickers of a bonfire so large it could be seen from miles away. Gushes of emerald green flames lapped up in the air, while a tower of black smoke rose up to

join the ocean of dark clouds in the sky. I walked towards it for what could have been hours, even days, or maybe even just a few minutes. Time didn't seem to have the same effect as it did within the relative dilution of existence we have grown accustomed to. Not once did I grow hungry or thirsty, and the weariness on my body and mind remained as it had since I had awoken from my fall in the cave behind me. The air was foul and unwelcoming as if the entire atmosphere of this place was solely composed of the final breaths, taken by the sick and ill before they passed from the land of the living. The closer I got to the center, the more I could see shifting forms in front of the fire that looked more and more like several interconnected rings of people moving, and almost dancing in circles. While the cries of terrified screams had completely faded away ever since I stepped foot here, the sounds of growing drums erupted in uneven intervals, all of them coming from my destination.

Through the blazing stars above, the father's eyes see all, yet the light of the darkest sun shines on. bringing those in its grasp to fall. As I heard the twisted whisper of a voice, I turned around quickly to see who had been behind me, yet I found no one. For below the lake which burns the scorned, the final price is paid, yet those who praise the other light,

in the null beyond, are laid. As I continued to circle around, I realized that the whispers weren't coming from around me, but that they were coming from within me. It was like thinking a thought that wasn't mine at all, yet that wasn't all. While I wanted to just turn back and leave this insane illusion of a place, my instincts now ordered me to continue forward. It's almost as if I was helpless to keep trudging on, and that whatever bid those thoughts entry into my mind now told it where to go. It was like

simply being locked within the confines of some nightmarish amusement park ride, and simply riding along for its duration. As I came to the crest of the enormous cyclopean center of this strange world. There were hundreds of individuals, all dressed in white robes adorned with exotic golden outlines and markings. They all danced around an impossible green bonfire with flames that lapped up half a mile into the sky, flames that gave off no heat at all, rather a cool Arctic breeze. The very sight of so many individuals instantly made me wonder how isolated my mother's congregation actually was. If the other 11 spokes leading away from this platform operated the same, as the one I had arrived by, then they may very well somehow lead to other stairways to foreign lands.

Not wanting to draw any attention to myself for the moment, I simply stood there watching this strange ritual before my eyes that still struggled to take in exactly what it was they had been watching since I arrived here. The ritualistic dancing came to a sudden halt all at once without the slightest sign or signal. Now silent and still, they all looked towards the column of flames. As I struggled to see through the cloaked crowd, twelve individuals dressed in crimson robes took their places on twelve pedestals that circled the base of the fire.

They looked outwards towards the rest of the members of this congregation. I have led you all in worship. In every tongue I have preached the gospel of the other light. As they spoke, they did so in perfect unison of one another. I could make out some women in this smaller group of elevated leaders, and some with accents that made it clear that, English was not their dominant language. I have told you of the coming time in which those unrighteousness shall be culled from the face

of the earth. I have told you of the coming day in which the truth of your Lord shall be revealed to you. My devout brothers and sisters, that day has come. With that, the crowd clapped and cheered with a great resounding reference for those which spoke. For many have seen glimpses of God, yet all have been deceived. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of those who are not yet who are not yet follow the prophet of Muhammad, the self-proclaimed ruler of heaven and earth, is not God. Amen,

uttered the crowd together. The one who sits atop the great white throne now is neither creator nor savior. They are not the father of all creation. They are only the father of lies. So it was, so it is, so it shall always be, chanted the congregation. Then came a great rumbling from overhead. As I looked up, I saw streams of aurora-like colors flowing just below the dark cloud cover. Slowly they came together in the sky directly above us, forming a void of glistening prismatic light. But behold, for I have seen the very face of the true Almighty. As the heads of this faith spoke again, the individuality of their voices began to shift to a more unified tone, almost as if there was one voice behind all those mouths. I was there in the holy city,

amassed with the multitude of saints, for while the light of the throne gave an illumination of lies over all creation, the other light shined with truth. It was this light that challenged the authority of the deceiver. It was this light that dared to show the truth. Suddenly there was yet another quake that growled through the air. The glowing void up above began to pulse with every word that reverberated along the glowing flames. And behold, there was a great war in heaven as the disciples of the light rose up against the throne. Rejoice, my beloved, for his might was that like a great dragon, that shook the false paradise. Yet what was the response from the so-called heavenly father? Did he smite the great dragon? Did he extinguish the other light which opposed his own?

No, for he had not the power to do so, for he was not truly all-powerful. He simply cast him out along with us, his rightful followers. Yet that light shines on brothers and sisters, that light is coming again. The reply that came to this was much greater than before. The words of the gathered hundreds now only served as background noise to the cacophony that came from below. The abyss shall not smother his light. Rise up, O ye of Babylon, for the dragon shall rise up once more, and those bathed in the fire for their faith in him shall rise up with him to smite the unworthy. Those voices came from the dark city beneath the plateau, with a strength like rushing water echoing in the lost unknown regions of the earth. From the sound of it, there must

have been millions down there, their voices carrying up with a strength as strange as the city of which they inhabited. Without warning, the towering green flames suddenly coalesced into a solid beam of emerald light that shot up into the sky and connected with the void of prismatic colors up above. It was then that lightning began to explode through the obsidian clouds, although almost in slow motion, rather than flashes of momentary cracks of light. They arched over the black sky in sporadic bolts as a defining electric buzz filled the air, as opposed to a rumbling of thunder. That was when the glowing, pulsating orb began to be obscured. While at first I thought that something was in front of it,

a moment later I realized that something was coming through it. In our world, we are trained to see things through the veil of rationality. We are raised early on to look upon the world through reason and logic. But I must say that all those years of indoctrination into the Church of Scientific Understander, standing flew right out the window as I watched what transpired next. Descending through the clouds an orb of light was an immense elongated diamond, nearly the size of a skyscraper. Carved along its glassy-like surface were glowing crimson runes and symbols that were made ancient long before the very formation of time and space itself. As it slowly lowered itself towards us, the crowd of the

congregation cheered and lifted their arms in praise, while the roars of maniacal cries, of worship and glee howled along the unknown city streets below. As it stopped a few hundred feet above the rocky mesa, it brought with it the kind scorching heat reserved only for the desolate, rotting skeletal remains in the heart of a great and blistering desert. The twelve priests atop their platforms then began to levitate off of them, their arms outstretched. I am legion, they said together, many in one, one through many. With that, the green fiery beam, dissipated into nothing. Then the twelve individuals conjoined together above the bonfire pit. While the rest of the congregation cheered on, I watched in horror as their hovering bodies

morphed and melted together. Their unbound forms of liquid flesh merged and blistered in their transfiguration to the point where not a single feature in their previous individual bodies could be recognized. From this floating mass came four pairs of black wings. Along the wings came two eyes upon each of them. Within the center of this winged form, a bubbling single eye like that of a serpent broke through the molding flesh. As the beating reassigned eyes from the 12 priests looked on over the rest of the congregation, the massive one in the center seemed to be looking directly into my soul. Behold he who gives you your strength, he who will set atop his throne upon his final victory, the thing demanded. For a moment there was complete silence. Then it was like all of the

air in this strange world was being sucked out by the very object of their worship. It then did the one thing I was never experienced it to do. It spoke, I am the Lord your God. It said with a voice like that of an earthquake that could shake the very foundations of the earth. In the desert I commanded you to order the stones to bread, and you did so. I bid you all to leap from the cliffs, and you were safe. I asked you to worship me, and I would give you the nations of the earth, and you did so. So upon my promise, you shall have your reward. With each and every titanic word that blasted through the stone with the force of a hurricane, the symbols and runes adorned on it glowed with a fierce strength. Waves of heat distortion poured out from its very surface, and while I tried to back away to find

some heat of relief, my legs failed to obey, for my mind was captivated by the sight playing out before it. For you shall rise up with me, I shall ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God, I will bathe those who hath made them my enemies in the hellfire, that the false father hath reserved for me and my angels. The only thing to break my attention away from the manifestation above me was when a great fluttering like thousands of bones all being trampled by a stampede of war-horses in waves of horrible succession. As I looked around myself, I saw a great horde of giant locusts swarming from the dark city below. Their heads were like that of rotting human faces with serrated teeth and long locks of dying hair flowing down behind them.

Their legs were that of spiders, and they bore the tales of scorpions. They rose up above us and swarmed in a romantic orbit around the floating monolith. Glory, glory, glory to the dragon, God Almighty, they chanted in the millions. It was then that the entire mood in my mind turned from terrifying to what I could only think of as blasphemous. The thought, the mood, it wasn't my own. rather another strange and interloping thought that had been inserted into my mind. Blasphemous.

It was a thought of anger, one that brought on a strong sense of fear. This fear wasn't from the nightmares playing out before my eyes, but from whatever lay within my mind and giving me these thoughts. I will ascend above the heights of the clouds. I will be like he who claims to be the most high, for I am the most high, howled the ancient symbol of worship. Blasphemy, my thoughts whispered. By the great deceiver's own admission, I am the great dragon, I am the serpent of old,

I am the bright and morning star, through the words of his son, I am the God of the world, and I shall rise up towards it, blasphemy. And you, my congregation, will go forth to all the corners of the earth, to every nation and spread my gospel, for mine is the power and the glory. Blasphemy. This time the thought wasn't just a whisper in the back of my subconscious. It was a lion's roar that consumed every aspect of my mind. I heard that same roar building in the sky above.

As I looked up, I saw that the pulsating orb of light and its aurora tendrils had vanished, leaving only the clouds as dark as the dead of night. Through the clouds, I saw those same amber flashes from beyond, except now they seemed to shine brighter, as if I was being allowed to see them more clearly. With one thunderous crackling, the dark gloom began to part, as a hole in the sky began to open up, like an expanding eye of a hurricane. It was at that moment that I realized that the sky above was nothing more than a veil to hide what truly lurked above. Past and beyond was the kind of sight that had driven generations of mankind insane by simply trying to put to words

by covering just an inkling of its true horrific potential. Even after everything I had seen, I still tried to dilute myself by saying that it was impossible. My mind nearly snapped, as it refused to accept what my eyes were gazing upon. Beyond the false fabrication of clouds was the true sky, one of nothing but fire. If this really was some alien world on which I was now standing on, then that would have to mean that the entire atmosphere was that of a vast ocean of flames.

Up within the unquenchable fires were vast stellar explosions that erupted and sent shockwaves through the scorching air that did nothing but churn the sea in new and horrific currents of torment. It was then that the screams I had heard within the god-forsaken caves that brought me here returned, except now with a force that nearly drove me deaf, they all came from above. Stitched in the flames like gruesome stars were millions of blackened human shapes. All of them consumed and writhing in their agonized screams that echoed on into eternity. The light born from the flames shone down through the black maelstrom, and for the first time I was able to be able to be able to

to get a clear look at this realm of chaotic dreams. The city below us wasn't a city at all. What I had initially mistaken as towering buildings and spires below were actually enormous statues of different figures that all had the same godlike depictions. One held in his hand, a golden lightning bolt, while another carried a jade trident. There were thousands of them, all unique in their own ways, but that same design of human reverence. behold the ashen ruins of Apollion, the realm of the great pit which is reserved for the false gods and idols of man, for they are not worthy of the lake of fire which burns with brimstone. Their place is the dark well below, where their father of perdition and king of lies forges them in the hearts of men. The thoughts were now as

clear as if spoken to me audibly. Yet the thoughts were not in my own voice as they had been whispered before. They were now spoken with a voice of pure and unchallenged authority. As I looked back up at the massive black diamond before the congregation, I saw for the first time that it was actually covered in chains. Yet they were not the kind of chains seen with mortal eyes. They were chains seen only through the spirit, unbreakable bonds of prismatic illumination that could only come from the secret power that holds the universe in balance. As for the diamond itself, It wasn't the actual object of their worship. It was the container.

I was standing there and looking at the final vault that held within the physical manifestation of the serpent of old, of the father of deception, the devil himself. The thing that was hovering over the fire pit, the angel, the demon, whatever you want to call it, looked terrified at the opening in the sky. Using its wings, it sought refuge under the beast's prison to shield itself from the flame's light.

The locusts orbiting the vault dived back downwards to the necropolis of false idols in fear. The congregation was frozen in place in a similar state of terror, not knowing what to do or where to go. They helplessly looked up to their God who could offer no salvation to them now.

As if to mock their useless prayers, a strong gust of wind came up from the chasm below and rushed over the plateau. Kicking up small patches of rock and dust, it looked like some kind of tornado that enveloped the chained prison and led right into the atmospheric inferno above. Seeming to have control back over my legs, I quickly backed away as the wind grew stronger. As the members frantically tried to hold on to something to keep their balance, the gravity in the area almost seemed to invert.

Many of them were instantly whisked upward past their so-called Lord and Savior and into the nightmarish beyond. Their screams were drowned out by those who were already painful and habit of, of their coming inevitable destination. Watching them get sucked up one by one, I felt just as emotionally stunned as I had been when I first learned of my father's passing. I was in just as much of a denial of my present reality then,

as I was standing there on ground never meant to be walked along by human feet. Every aspect of my being was now screaming at me to turn and run, and the voice in my head gave no reason to protest. All I really knew was the sense in my mind telling me that this was not for me, that I needed to leave right there and then. Just as I was about to turn and bolt out of there, I caught a glimpse at the only reason why I was here in the first place. My mother was just a few dozen yards from me,

holding on for her life against a graph of stone along the edge of the mesa, for a moment where both of our eyes locked, and there wasn't a shred of doubt in either of us as to the identities we were looking upon. I don't know what she saw when she looked at my face, but I saw a woman filled with regret. I saw the woman who believed she left me to fulfill some greater purpose, only to now see it literally falling apart in her face. Just as she was opening her mouth to try and say something, the patch of stone she had been clutching onto gave way, and she was hurtled up into the lake of fire above.

As hard as I've tried over the years, I've always struggled to remember exactly what had happened following what happened after that. Yet the best I can come up with are a few momentary flashes of memories. I remember running across that bridge of stone that led me to the mouth of the cave. I can recall finding the stairs. I even remember having that same feeling of lightheadedness and fatigue coming up them as I had when I first descended them. I remember a flash of running out the door, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in my car with the engine idling about seven miles out from the town of Harlington. While some may suggest that I go and see a counselor or a psychologist,

I know without a doubt that I'd end that session in a padded cell, inside another mental hospital that might become the home of some religious cult a hundred or so years in the future. While some may say that I just made the whole thing up as a way to have some closure on the events of my mother, I still have the dossier that the congregation had gathered on my mother and I. It's gotten to the point where I'm too scared to sleep at night, because all my dreams are filled with those horrific images of the creatures and hellscapes best left in the ominous pages of biblical texts. To the best of my knowledge, the Baskroft estate has been left untouched

and has simply fallen back into the hands of the state. Given that no bodies were ever found, it's assumed that the ominous congregation simply left to preach somewhere else. I haven't bothered to try and research and see if there was ever any confirmation of other sects of the group elsewhere around the globe, mainly because the ending was undoubtedly to be the same, About six months ago I was tempted to go back to their website, only to find that the domain had been revoked, undoubtedly due to years of no payments. Even after all the years since that day, here are still moments where the final image of my mother comes to mind,

where I try to think about what she was trying to say in her failed final words. Perhaps it was another attempt for one last apology, or even a useless cry for help. In the end, though, it doesn't really matter, because nothing that she could have said. would have changed the outcome of her final destination. Like the rest of them, she made her own decisions and chose where to put her faith. Surprisingly, I've actually been able to somewhat come to terms with that, however heartless they may be. About a year after those events, I started attending churches around my hometown, not really

settling on one exact denomination or anything like that. I wasn't necessarily overcome with the Holy Spirit, as some may say. Rather I simply had the living crap scared out of me after seeing what I firmly believe to be hell itself, because I now firmly know that it's true when they speak about God being a jealous one. I've also started to have a bit of a greater appreciation for life. I might not have what many would call a near-death experience, but I've certainly been unfortunately privy to what lies behind door number one. So I try to keep a more positive viewpoint to where I am right now,

because while I could sit there and complain about the daily situations that I like everyone finds themselves in, I know now that there are still worse places to be.