Hare Moon

Write Down Everything Unusual

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I keep coming back to the same conclusion.

A cult.

It all makes sense. In the light of day, in the safety of my bedroom, everything starts to fall into place.

My Dad struggled for years to find a job where he didn't have to do weekends and nights for minimum wage. Then, out of the blue, he's offered job in middle management, complete with accommodation, and his daughter gets to attend a fancy school free of charge? Mr McKendrick, aka Ed Sheeran wannabe, is grooming us to join his cult town.

After fifteen minutes of pacing my room I text the only person in the world who might possibly believe me.

OMG, you have to help me! I'm being forced into a cult!

My phone rings almost immediately.

"Hello to you too, girl," Maisie says.

"That was quick." I fall back on my bed and grab my new white pillow to hold onto, one of my phone habits, something Maisie suggested would ease my anxiety of conversing with no body language available.

"I've only been checking my phone all weekend, waiting for you to reply."

Ah shit! I'm such a terrible friend. Maisie must be feeling my absence just as much as I felt hers, well, when not completely overwhelmed by the jacked up mess that is my new life. Honestly though, she probably misses my parents more than me. She'd spent nearly every weekend at mine, avoiding her own awful family. And I just up and left her. Oh God, it hurts my stomach to think about it.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's been crazy busy with the camp—"

"And then when you do it's to freak out on me about a cult? If you had just texted or phoned or anything maybe we could have de-stressed you before it got to this point." 

Maisie continues to rant for a good two minutes before she finally lets me explain. About the weird vibe, the secrecy, the way Mr McKendrick seems to not only own everything but have an unusual amount of say in things, like my schooling. The reoccurrence of the term pack. The fireside chanting that I almost certainly didn't hallucinate. Teens befriending wolves and running starkers through the woods.

"A cult?"

She doesn't believe me. I bristle, preparing to snap at her.

"That's entirely possible," Maisie says.

"What?"

"You don't think so?" It's unusually quiet on her end. No screaming kids or arguing teens. She must not be home. Or she is, but she murdered everybody.

"Well, yeah, that's why I brought it up. I just thought that you would tell me I'm being paranoid."

A new voice speaks up. "Of course you're being paranoid. But why should that mean that it isn't real?"

"Ethan! Maisie, you should have told me you were there. Ethan, how are you?"

"Oh, hither and to. I can't taste food anymore but with the way mum cooks that's kind of a blessing really, I've actually gained a few pounds, so I don't look like slenderman."

"I've missed your humour." I smile.

"Well, you know I have a phone, right?"

Ouch. I haven't been in touch since moving but it wasn't for lack of missing them. And I know Ethan needs all the contact he can get these days, while he's stuck in bed on and off. That settles it. I will video call at least once a week and text in between.