I have refrained from telling this story for many years. Maybe I thought that if I kept it to myself, chained up and locked deep away like a venomous snake, then maybe my trauma would eventually fade away. But as I lay awake, sleepless for the third night in a row, it became obvious what I needed to do. My wife was snoozing beside me, and our cat, Nala, lay motionless at our feet. She must have snuck out of the kids’ room somehow…the kids…
I remember how strange it was for us, my sister and I, despite having grown up knowing nothing else. Our parents were incredibly religious and, of course, they pushed their views hard and strong onto us. We never owned a T.V. growing up; we only ever learned about computers when we went to school, and the color white did not exist anywhere in our household. And when I say it did not exist, it really did not exist. Our refrigerator had been painted black; every wall in the house was a drab, gray color; every article of clothing, whether shirt, shoe, or even underwear, had to adhere to the allotted color palette: No white. Every single door in the house, save for the front and back, had been removed, and we were required to attend “cleansing” twice every day at 3:00am and 3:00pm, without fail. Even our dog, Alan, had to be present at these prayer meetings that I had come to loathe with every fiber of my being.
The cleansing always went the same: We would all gather in the livingroom, circled around a rickety, round table. Four dolls made of black clay would be placed upon it, as well as a big, black ball of hair/bone that I never dared ask about. My father would then drink from a very old, very rusty chalice, and would pass it first to my mother, who in turn passed it to my sister Patricia, who was older than me, and then it would finally come to me. I’ll never forget the bitter taste of the thick, red beverage; After finishing it off, I was to place the chalice on the table (as it was never allowed to touch the floor). Then my father would say something in a language I did not recognize before pulling out two very long, very ancient scrolls. They seemed to be written in the same made-up language that he was speaking, and he would read passages from them. Occasionally he would translate the words, but none of what he said ever really made sense.
“We come to you together, Great One, and beg for our souls to be chosen.”
“The blood of the foolish grows colder, oh Elder, let it run truly.”
“Great Elder, the wind blows and the earth bleeds, but the time of the virgin is near.”
Yeah. Our childhood was pretty fucked up.
My sister and I were allowed to go outside and play with our friends, but we were strictly forbidden from telling anyone about the goings-on in our household.
“We are the last descendants of his original four,” my father told us once, as he rested on both knees, his eyes closed and his hands raised in worship. “Only we have the blood and only we are worthy of his gaze.”
I looked over at my him while I rubbed Alan’s belly. “Who is he, Dad? You’ve never told us his name.”
“I can’t tell you what I do not know. Be grateful, son, for if any of us ever spoke his name, our tongues would wither to dust in our mouths.”
We ate lamb, potatoes, and cabbage for dinner, every night. Every. Night. We were also only allowed to drink water that my mother drew from our personal well in the backyard. Breakfast usually consisted of any assortment of lamb, eggs, nuts, and freshly chopped apples. We each had an assigned position at the table (even Alan had to be tied to a certain leg of the table everyday) and were not allowed to speak while eating. When we were done we were to give our leftovers to Alan, who was obviously more than delighted to have human food everyday. Though we were allowed to do homework, we were forbidden from reading any books. He promised that he would teach us the “true language” when each of us turned 14, as was tradition. He would also teach us “the ways of the body,” he promised, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Even though I was only twelve years old, I knew that this was fucked up. I wanted to get my mother and sister the hell out of there.
When I came to my mother with a plea to escape one day while dad was at work, she simply shook her head and looked at me with sad eyes.
“This is the way things have to be, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, but if we are to be chosen to walk amongst the flowers of paradise, we must adhere to his will.”
“Mom, just listen to yourself. Dad has you brainwashed. I bet you didn’t even know whatever the ‘Elder One’ is before you met him!”
That made her chuckle. “But I did, son. You see, your father and I were, um, fruits of the same seed, if you will.”
“You were what?”
She looked at me for a second before replying. “You know, you’ll learn all about that one day. Just pray, sweetheart, and maybe he will forgive you. The Great One is always listening.”
I was still hellbent on getting the fuck out of there. I did not sleep that night, but instead waited until the house was quiet and snuck out of bed. I had to do this quickly, before it was time for our nightly cleansing. As I was making my way down the hall, however, I heard my dog barking in the backyard. I crept up to the window and peered outside. Alan was wagging his tail, bouncing around excitedly as my father stood over two people, one of them a man, the other a woman. Both had been bound at the wrists and ankles; both looked absolutely terrified as they lay with gags in their mouths at my father’s feet.
He was speaking in the true language, holding two fingers up in the air, his eyes closed. I could not believe what I was seeing. I was frozen, unable to move, wondering what the fuck my father was up to and why he had dragged our dog into this. After a few minutes of this ominous scene, my father stopped chanting and raised a knife in the air. He sliced his own finger and then let the blood drip down onto the faces of the man and woman. He then sucked his own finger before letting Alan lap at it as well. He then stood up and grabbed the man by his feet. I watched as he dragged the man over to our well. It was only after my father picked him up, shaking and trying to yell through his gag, and dumped him down into the well that I screamed. My father glanced up, spotting me in the window, and I turned and ran.
I ran towards the front of the house, but my mother suddenly came out of her room, completely naked and a candle in one hand. Blood ran down her chin, and she held a heap of bloody meat in her other hand. “You’ve interrupted the ritual, damn you!”
I dashed back down the hall and into the nearest room I could find: The Room of Worship, as my dad had called it. There were all sorts of strange things here: Old, dusty books, dead animal carcasses in jars, the black clay dolls, brass relics and the chalice we drank from, along with other things I had no interest in. My heart hammering against my ribcage, I looked around for something, anything to protect myself. I grabbed at a knife that had dark stains on it, knocking over one of the clay dolls. I felt as though I was being watched and spun around. My mother and father were both standing in the doorway, candlelight illuminating their haunted faces.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” my father said sternly, as though he were scolding me for getting a bad grade.
“Dad…what were you doing out there? That man…you just…just…”
“Fed his soul to the Great One. It is what we must do, son, in order to stay in the darkness. For only in the dark will we find salvation of his choosing. We are the last of his followers, true and devout, through and through. You will understand one day.”
“I don’t want to understand! Dad, this is crazy, I can’t let you do this! You’re killing people, I’m…I’m gonna call the cops!”
My father shook his head. “They won’t be able to stop him. No one can stop him. It’s fruitless. I really need you to trust me on this one, son. And if you don’t follow the black laws, then you will have to-HEY!”
My father had stopped suddenly and looked as though he were about to have a heart attack; I had taken a step back and nearly stepped on the clay doll in the process.
“What?”
“You be careful with that! Pick it up and put it back on the table, now!”
I looked down at the doll, picked it up, and studied it. It was faceless; it had long limbs but no hands or feet, and was, for some reason, heavier than it looked.
“What if I don’t?” I asked, wondering how I could use this to my advantage and get out of the house.
“Son, you know not what you are meddling with. Put it down, or-“
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I just wanted to show him that he everything he ever believed was a lie, and that he had nothing to be afraid of; Maybe I just had hatred in my heart of the damn thing from years of having to see it and its counterparts as we did our weird rituals. Whatever the case was, I stabbed the doll, right in the chest, and I swear that it jerked its limbs in reaction.
My father fell to his knees, clutching his chest, screaming and crying; He rolled over to his back and my dog, whimpering, ran up and licked at his face. He was dead.
Then I heard yelling, and my mother whirled around, screaming, and ran down the hall with the candle; All I heard was gunfire and the sound of her body dropping to the floor. My father, meanwhile, lay motionless, while Alan ran between he and my mother, whimpering sadly. Apparently the neighbor had heard a commotion, saw the woman laying in our yard, and had called the police. The cops had come and kicked in and the door and changed my life for the better. All of my father’s weird religious relics and family heirlooms were confiscated and my sister and I faced a lot of questioning. But that was almost twenty years ago. Why was this all on my mind?
My sister and I grew up like normal people after having been adopted by another couple, but I never knew what happened to our dog…
Lying in bed, I felt my heartbeat slowly speeding up. I looked down at my feet, where Nala was suddenly awake, sitting up and staring at me. She was a black cat, so only her yellow eyes were visible in the darkness. When had we gotten her? I had no idea…this cat had seemingly popped up into my family’s lives, and I had no idea of when this had happened…not even the slightest recollection…
As my cat stared at me and I at her, for what must have been an eternity, I finally found the courage to sit up. I swiped over towards my lamp, my eyes never leaving Nala. I felt myself knock something to the floor, which promptly caught my attention. I hadn’t left anything on my nightstand…had I? I turned on the lamp and looked down at the floor. A faceless clay doll lay there, as black as the night.