The Cult

Reads: 133  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Some of the people who are meant to help you do not have your interests at heart. Some people may find this distressing.
WARNING: Contains triggers.

Submitted: November 02, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 02, 2016

A A A

A A A


The Cult

 

My name is Anita Walker. I am twelve years old and I am about to die. I am writing this in the hope that others might be saved, that somebody will pull apart this cruel and nasty cult.

It will be too late for me.

 

My mother became sick when I was ten years old. She grew so depressed that she was put into hospital several times over the last two years. She was befriended by a couple of the staff, a German male nurse and an Asian psychiatric sister. They are married to each other and have three children, the youngest, one year older than myself.

 

During her times out of hospital my mother spent more and more time with them and various other adults they brought along. I was expected to socialise with their children but neither I nor they wanted to go along with that. I’d stay by myself while they carried on with their discussions with their other friends. I could not understand the things they said, the blame they were placing on everyone outside their own little circle.

 

Soon she was taking me along to their meetings. I tried to blot out all the things they said. So many of my neighbours were ‘under the influence of Satan’ and should be encouraged to turn away, to join this group of special chosen people. The things they said made no sense to me, casting blame for things that I could see no problem with. The biggest sin seemed to be to criticise this group.

 

My mother stopped talking to other people apart from those in the group. She would rarely even acknowledge my father. He tried to get through to her, but when his attempts to make her see what they were doing failed over and over again, he stopped trying. My father spent more and more time away from home.

 

My mother became intensely depressed again and would not see anyone. She would not even talk to me. I carried on going to school, did the shopping, took care of the chores, but I could not make her smile.

 

And then one morning my father was there, waking me up, tear drops almost visible in his eyes. My mother was dead. She had taken all her pills, many more than she should have had so she must have been saving them up. She had washed them down with most of a bottle of whiskey. She had made sure she had no chance of failing this time.

 

I missed her. Of course I missed her. My father spent more time at home and did what he could to help me out. I carried on doing the shopping and it was during this that they found me. They would follow me, calling me a murderer, saying that it was because of me that my mother had given up. I wanted to turn and shout at them, tell them that they had killed her, not me. After a few times I wanted to beg them to leave me alone.

 

I had no one that I could turn to. My father was being eaten up by his own guilt and grief. I could have gone to the police, talked to a teacher, but then they would have found out how much time I spent in the house on my own. They wouldn’t have let me stay there and I did not want to lose both my parents. I had to stay silent.

 

But now I know they are coming to get me. They are going to remove the devil from me. That is what they said, those children of theirs. Their parents were going to come and get me and they were going to get my father’s consent. I don’t see how they can achieve that, he hates them, but I am writing this now because I know that if they get their hands on me they will never let me go.’

 

* * * * *

 

Anita. Anita, come here a minute.” The girl’s father stood at the bottom of the stairs, calling up to her. In front of him stood the couple that had befriended his late wife. They wanted to take Anita for a treat, to make her feel better. That is what they had told him, and it seemed that he had taken them at their word.

 

She did not want to go down the stairs but she had no choice. She could tell him what had been going on, how she had been intimidated by their children, how she had been bullied and threatened. But she couldn’t do it. And even if she had he would probably not have believed her.

 

Anita stopped to get her coat but they said there was no need. She would not be outside for more than a couple of minutes. As she walked in between them to their car she looked back to call out to her father, to tell him that she did not want to go, but he had already shut the door and had gone back inside. Anita Walker was all alone.

 

She was pushed in to the back of the car, not roughly but hard enough to get her into a position where she was sandwiched between two of their children. Nobody spoke on the fifteen minute drive, not one word. The silence was not even broken by a sniff, a cough. The building they pulled up outside of was the meeting hall and all the other members were waiting for them just outside the door.

 

Anita wanted to make a run for it, could have made a run for it, but her arms were firmly grasped and she was forced to walk towards the building. When she started struggling they lifted her up by her arms so her feet were away from the ground. When she started screaming a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth. They entered the building and the doors slammed shut.

 

The girl was carried, bucking and thrashing, by two of the strongest men of the group. She was deposited on to a hard chair, held firmly in place. She faced the congregation who were now all seated. They all looked back at her with a mixture of hate, horror and pity. Behind her was the pool where she knew they carried out their warped form of baptism. At least she now knew what was to be her fate.

 

The voice started speaking but Anita Walker would not listen to those words. She caught the odd reference to ‘Satan’ and ‘the Devil’. Their leader began to move into the pool, fully suited. If she had not been so panic-stricken, Anita would have found the spectacle a mixture of bizarre and absurd. She would have laughed at the sight of the stupid man.

 

Her chance for escape came. The pressure on her shoulder lessened and she was up on her feet, running towards the door. Arms were trying to grab her but she made it – almost. Anita was seized by the waist, roughly carried back to the pool where she was handed to the leader. All her attempt at escape had achieved was to build up an even greater frenzy against her, to increase their conviction that she was indeed possessed by some sort of evil entity or devil.

 

With no chance of struggling, Anita found her head thrust under the water and held there. She could not count the seconds for the pumping in her head, the pressure on her lungs. She hit the surface with a splutter, coughing and choking and trying to free herself. Through the water and tears that dripped down her face she could see that a kind of madness had gripped the group. There was going to be no chance of help from anyone.

 

And at that moment Anita Walker made a decision. She would do what she could to see the end of this group in the only way now left open to her. When her head was next thrust under the water to the chants of ‘Devil be gone’, she took in a deep breath in. The water flooded her lungs and she was incapable of coughing it back out. She fought back the panic and allowed herself to become heavier and heavier and to drift down to nothing but blackness.

 


© Copyright 2017 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply