Entranced by the Cult
Intrigued by stories of a cult outside of town, Rosie the mouse embeds herself as a journalist in disguise. The only fruit of her labor is an escort to a storage room, and a mesmerizing encounter with a strange woman who wants nothing more than to help Rosie relax.
The loveseat dominated the room, though Rosie only felt tiny as the cushions swallowed her. It was as red as the walls were green, a mural of a woodland half-hidden behind a bookshelf so tall it scraped the ceiling. Half-hidden, the painted face of a rabbit smiled from behind it, only her waving hand in view. Chips in the old plaster carved pock-marked highlights in the clouds above it.
Rosie scuffed her shoe against the rug covering most of the floor, her dress hanging just below her ankle— the green linen marking her as a Student. All newcomers came to the cult a Student, proving with time if they could be trusted. Most left the commune and it’s smiling families behind; it was how Rosie had first come here nearly a month ago.
She worked for a newspaper just out of town, and with how many former converts had been talking of a new religious movement starting in the hills, one that preached the virtues of taking a wife and pumping her full of kids… well, it was something that had piqued a reporter’s interest.
That, and the tales of an enigmatic leader known only as The Lamb.
“Ah, I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” The door opened, revealing a tall woman in a dress so blue it was almost black. She was a possum, her gaze as flat as open water. It was the look of a shark, a predator that weighed and measured her with a gaze. The gothic look didn’t help, not with her polished boots or the coal-dark hairnet half-veiling her face.
“The black-shirts lead me in,” Rosie said, regarding the stranger carefully. From the sky-blue sash around her waist, she knew the possum was an Overseer, one of the women around the compound in charge of keeping the commune running. That Rosie had gotten a private visit set her on edge, especially when she hadn’t seen any of the other greens alone with a woman like this.
Rosie sat up a little straighter, following every heavy step of the other’s boots as she stepped over to the room’s only window.
“No doubt. It’s something every Student goes through when they arrive here,” the tall possum said as a stripe of amber light fell across her snout. Even the sky wasn’t as blue as her eyes.
“You may call me Colette. I’m certain we’ll see each other often,” she said, turning at last.
Rosie pursed her lips, but she didn’t say anything. It didn’t feel smart.
“Think of this as an introduction to our Family,” Colette continued, stepping a slow circle around the room’s only lamp, skirting it where it hung in the center between them.
As she walked, Colette ran a gloved finger along the lampshade, a trickle of dust following. The rustle of paper on leather filled the air like a breath, light and crisp. “Every new camp has an orientation, this will be your… alignment.”
“I’m already ‘aligned’ enough,” Rosie said, shifting herself back against the seat. “I’ve come to the Family to be free of the world, I mean, you’ve seen the news. Bombs in the desert. Homeless on the street. A government that won’t do a thing about it… I don’t have any attachment to keep.”
Colette smiled thin as piano wire.
“I know, and that’s the first step,” Colette said, her glove hissing a slow circle. She watched it instead of Rosie. “The next is to simply… relax.”
With a push, Colette used the tip of her glove to set the lamp swinging. The motion spilled light over Colette, her eyes flashing as the shadows of her dress surged long.
“Breathe for me, Rosie. Deep,” Colette said, her voice brooking no argument.
A hundred things flashed through Rosie’s mind— fear that she’d been found out, confusion that this was the tactic, irritation that a commune forced her into breathing exercises. She huffed. “If that’s what The Lamb desires.”
“It is.” Colette glanced at her. “Follow the light. Don’t move your head, only your eyes.”
Rosie looked past her to follow the lamp, the light muted behind the old lampshade. Warm and yellowed, it wasn’t painful to look at. Instead it was almost soft, like a candle behind frosted glass. Inviting.
“Good,” Colette said from the side. “I told you to breathe, Rosie. It’s okay. I want you to take all that tension into your lungs, and I want you to let it out.”
It wasn’t like she was lacking it, her muscles tight. Rosie wanted to look at Colette, follow her as she heard the woman’s footsteps, but something about the arc of the light pulled her in. Her chest swelled as she tensed herself up, tensed every muscle in her body. And she took a breath. Long and slow.
“Good girl, now let it out,” Colette spoke from just beside her, voice soft.
It was stupid, Rosie knew, playing along with this little game. She was here to debunk The Lamb and his cult, but if this was what it took… she’d do it.
The light reached the apex of its arc, and she let her breath out. She unclenched her body as though a wave were blown from her lips, rolling through her until her arms lay still. It was like they were made out of softened lead, malleable and heavy, sinking deep into the cushions of her seat.
Colette’s voice was warm behind her, featherlight. “You don’t want to move, Rosie, you’re too comfortable.”
“But I’ve already—”
“Not the commune, little mouse, the chair,” Colette chided gently, and Rosie could all but hear her smile. Rosie’s face flushed, letting out a little ‘oh.’ She gazed at her shoes, fingers fidgeting with her nails. With her eyes on the her feet, she didn’t see Colette move.
“Keep watching the light, Rosie,” Colette’s hand found her chin from behind, her glove smooth and supple. Rosie’s breath hitched, her heart beating quicker— a finger lifted her gaze like she was light as a feather, a petal balanced on the end of the other’s fingertip. It was impossible not to obey, not as her view was pulled from the carpet and back into the embrace of the lamp.
“Much better, isn’t it? It’s okay to speak, Rosie, but,” Colette paused, “if you’re nervous I want you to repeat what I say, can you do that?”
Rosie wanted to glance back, but the light pulled at her like a fly caught in gossamer. Shadows danced across the wall as if thrown back from the lamp, fractals of midnight splashed along the wall. Rosie could only nod.
“Good. You’re a good girl, Rosie.”
“I’m…” That hand never left her chin, not as it sent tingles down her neck with every minute stroke along her jaw. It was intimate, more intimate than Rosie should ever have let the strange possum get, but with how she spoke… “I’m a good girl.”
God, that felt good to admit, a tender drizzle of delight leaking down her spine. It only grew as the lamp swung through the bottom of its arc, flaring in a blur. The delight she felt ebbed with it, but it never fully left.
“You are Rosie, no one’s told you that enough. You were smart to come here, you are smart.”
The world was light and sound and warmth; Colette shifted, and Rosie’s large ears could hear everything. Every low squeak of the floorboards as Colette shifted her weight, each rustle of her dress, every groan of the chair as Colette’s hips pinned it’s back to keep it from reclining.
“I’m a smart girl,” Rosie said, blushing the barest bit— it sounded silly as she said it.
Colette’s laugh was gentle, though. Genuine. Without judgement.
“That’s right, little mouse, and I’m so happy you’ll admit it.” Colette’s other hand eased through Rosie’s hair, the burnished leather of her glove working Rosie’s scalp in tender, easy strokes. If a breath had been relaxing, this was enough to leave her melting beneath palm and light alike, the chair a bowl to catch her.
“Your mind is clouded, Rosie, a lake with the bottom stirred up. All those smarts kept fuzzy by silt and mud, keeping you from being all you can.” Colette’s fingers moved back, her fingertips pressing small circles just behind Rosie’s ear just to leave the softest moan melting from Rosie’s mouth. It was bliss.
“I’m going to help, little mouse. You want to be clear.”
Rosie didn’t hesitate.
“I want to be clear,” she said— something about Colette’s words tugged at her, pulled as if the swinging light was coaxing them out with every arc.
“Good girl,” satisfaction lingered in Colette’s voice, “you can already feel it clearing, can’t you? The light clarifying your mind, stilling it.”
Rosie could, it’s why she nodded, Colette’s glove warm against the fur of her chin. Each long and heavy sway of the lamp cast a different light over her, pushing away the detritus of her thoughts. Hesitations. Doubts. Her fears. It left only the warmth of the lantern. It left only Colette’s voice.
“There it is,” Colette all but purred. “There it is, Rosie. You can feel it, can’t you? The warmth of The Lamb?”
Every rational bone wanted to argue, to protest, but… what else could she call this? It was like there was a presence in her mind, a hand different from the one between her ears. It teased beneath her skull, held her firm.
“I…” Colette stopped Rosie with a squeeze of her hand, stilling her mouth for a moment. It wasn’t a shock, wasn’t anything but enough to make her sit and drink in the light before her. Whatever Rosie was going to say slipped beneath the mud of her mind.
After a long, long moment, she couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. She knew the answer.
“I do.” Rosie didn’t glance away, not as she felt Colette’s palm heavy and proud between her ears.
“Good girl, Rosie, I knew you were smart,” Colette said, her hand finally slipping away. She stepped around the chair, stopping the lamp with a hand. It was the first time Rosie could look away. The first time she could see Colette’s smile.
“Let’s get you back to the Students,” she said, offering Rosie her palm. Rosie took it, stumbling on numb legs. Colette caught her, her gloved hand warm in the small of Rosie’s back. “Our little reporter has an article to write.”