Chapter Text
“My word is absolute. My word is gospel. Those who do not follow my teachings shall fall in eternal torment”
—Malcolm
The Gribbleston children had heard of cults before. They were aware they existed and what they were, but they could never imagine they’d ever be part of one. If anything, they thought such a thing existed only in stories meant to frighten people. They were good kids from an ordinary middle-class family that rarely got into trouble.
Harry was the oldest sibling at eighteen years of age. Tall, with coily red hair that draped over his eyes and a dark complexion. He liked to spend his time listening to music and relaxing in the comfort of his room. He had a laid-back attitude that most would mistake for aloofness.
Robin was fourteen, and, like most middle children, he was often overlooked. Unlike most middle children, he had an affinity for antiques. His collection of 19th-century pocket watches was his most prized possession. He had green hair that was slicked back, olive skin and a hooked nose.
Doi, the youngest, was eight and obsessed with animals. He would often bring home injured critters, some of which he would successfully nurse back to health. His hair was blue and coily, shaved on the sides.
It was Sunday, 19th of June 1955. The Gribbleston children awoke late to find their parents nowhere to be found. Although the children looked everywhere in the house, there was no sign of the adults. Baffled, they all sat together in the living room.
“Maybe they had work to do,” said Robin.
“Wouldn’t they have left a note? It’s not like them to leave like that,” said Harry who was beginning to worry.
“I know,” said Doi “It’s because we’re in a place where we’re not from but they are, and they have others who are like them but at the same time not.”
Harry quirked an eyebrow. “What?”
“Huh?”
“That’s it,” Robin got up and stormed towards the front door. “I’m going to look for them outside. Feel free to join me if you’re done with whatever it is you’re doing.”
The other two attempted to follow him, but they stopped when they heard a loud thud. Robin stumbled back, and the Gribblestons realised the doorknob was flat. The shape of the door was painted on the wall. They were horrified to realise the windows were also like this. The entire house looked like a crude drawing. The more they wandered in it, the more poorly drawn it looked. And that wasn’t the worst part; doors led to rooms they’d never seen before, endless hallways with nothing but potted plants and empty painting frames. Eventually, they ended up back in the dining room. The table and chairs comprised nothing but squiggly, colourful outlines.
How the kids sat on the chairs, they didn’t know. But all three of them sat around their table quietly, for no words could describe what they felt at the moment.
That’s when a gust of wind blew from who-knows-where and a notepad fell off the dining table and onto the tiled floor. The children watched as a pool of ink formed underneath the white pages. Before they could do anything, the ink piled upwards, forming the silhouette of a woman. The pages of the notepad served as a face with black lips and an inky heart on each cheek. She wore a white bustle dress and a hat with a wide brim. Her pastel rainbow-coloured hair was in a neat updo.
“What’s your favourite idea?” She asked in a sing-song voice. “Mine is being creative!”
After the initial shock wore off, the children began to ask questions.
“Who are you?” Asked Harry.
“What are you doing in our house?” Asked Robin.
“Our notepad turned into a lady,” Doi blurted out.
The woman curtsied before the kids. “My name is Paige and I am your new teacher.”
Robin frowned. “A teacher? But it’s Sunday!”
“My brother’s right,” said Harry. “And we’re all different ages. How is that going to work?”
“Too bad. We’ll get creative now.” Paige snapped her fingers, and the dining table went back to its normal state. She ripped three pages off her face and handed one to each kid without elaborating on what they should do, then left the room.
Paige didn’t return until about an hour later, a picnic basket in her hands. “Time’s up,” she told them, “Let’s see what you three have done so far.”
“I drew a clown!” Doi showed off a pencil drawing he’d made, his face beaming. Paige’s response was to smear black ink from her fingertips on it. Doi’s enthusiastic smile turned into a shocked frown as he watched the ink encase the paper.
“No,” she grinned.
“What was that for?” Harry jumped to his brother’s defence.
“You know what I like?” Paige interrupted him. “I like what Malcolm likes. And Malcolm doesn’t like clowns. Not one bit!”
“Who the hell is Malcolm and why should we care for what he likes?” Robin was growing impatient.
Paige’s perpetual smile gained a hint of anger. There was something about the way her eyes glistened and the corners of her mouth twitched that made the three kids quiet down immediately.
“We’re going to make something Malcolm likes. He created everything, so it’s only fair that we create art to appease Him,” she placed the basket on the dining table in front of all the kids. “Reach into the basket.” The kids hesitated. “Reach. Into. The basket.”
Harry did as he was told. He felt something wet and squishy, and when he pulled his hand out, it was covered in a thick, red liquid. The smell of raw meat was indescribable. House flies gathered around it. Their buzzing was the only sound in the room.
“Is that…?” Doi mustered the courage to ask.
Paige emptied the contents of the basket on the dining table; it was a pile of viscera, some lungs and a heart. They were just the right size to fit a human.
“Create art!” She handed them a container of glitter, some beads and glue. Doi started weeping.
“What is wrong with you?” Robin snapped at the woman. “We don’t have to put up with this. I’m leaving. Come on, guys.” He walked out of one door, but he somehow found himself back inside through another. “Huh?”
“Create art!” Paige’s permanent smile was wider than ever, the inky corners of her mouth dripping with black. Eyes looking sunken.
The kids looked at one another. There was no way out of this. They couldn’t run and they couldn’t risk trying to fight her. Whatever she was, it most definitely wasn’t human, and there was no telling what she would do if they didn’t listen, so they did the only thing they could do; they played along.
By the time the Gribbleston children were done with their arts and crafts project, the sun had already set. Along with many other bizarre instructions, Paige had them recreate Malcolm’s likeness out of toothpicks. They also made an altar on which they placed the glitter-covered innards.
Paige clasped her hands together. “Well done! You’ve passed the first lesson on how to be Malcolm’s friend with flying colours! Now it’s time for me to go. Have a blessed day!” And with that, she vanished as suddenly as she had appeared, their home returning to normal.
As soon as she was gone, the kids rushed to wash their hands, but no matter how much they scrubbed, they couldn’t get all the glitter off. And the smell. That smell would haunt them for days.
They made their way to their room quiet as the grave, their eyes wide and hearts pounding. They all sat on their beds feeling empty inside.
Doi was the first to break the silence. “My tummy hurts,”
“Well, you’re not the only one. What even was this?” Robin was trying to get the glitter from under his nails.
“I hope mum and dad are…am come back soon. Then we can tell them Mrs Paige was bad and to not let her teach us ever again.”
“I don’t think they are coming back,” Harry said.
Doi tilted his head. “Huh?”
“Something tells me they’re not coming home, at least not today.”
“But today is my birthday! They wouldn’t miss it.”
Robin scowled. “How can you think of your birthday at a time like this?”
Doi brought his gaze to the ground, his eyes welling up. He knew it was selfish, but he was looking forward to his birthday all year round, and this was not what he had in mind. He had envisioned a cake with eight candles on top, his parents smiling and singing happy birthday, and maybe a new toy… or a puppy! Instead, he got blood and glitter stuck under his fingernails.
Harry and Robin tried to go to sleep. Doi didn’t bother. As much as he tried, he couldn’t get the visual of the organs out of his mind. He knew he was going to have nightmares about Paige smiling down on him with those shiny eyes.
Unable to sleep, he went downstairs to get some milk, hoping that would help him.
That’s when he saw the butterfly.
It was outside the kitchen window. Tiny, with yellow wings. It flew away as soon as it was spotted, but somehow, something about the sight of it calmed Doi’s mind and, for a moment, it felt like things could be alright again.
***
St Amalia’s Cathedral was a lavish temple near the northern walls of Clayhill. It stood looming over the town with its two bell towers casting a shadow over the houses below. The ringing of its bells invited the worshippers for communal service.
Shrignold, the Bishop of Clayhill, was a man of short stature with teal skin and purple hair. On his back, a pair of majestic, yellow butterfly wings hung down like a cape. He stood behind the pulpit, his arms outstretched heavenward.
“Rejoice!” He told the congregation. “For our community has been blessed with three neophytes.”
The crowd cheered. “Praise Malcolm!”
The Church of the King’s Order was three members richer. If there was ever a time to celebrate, that would be it. And celebrate they did. After prayer, they all gathered in the town square where they lit a bonfire and sang songs of gratitude to Malcolm.
Later that day, Shrignold would return home, hanging his coat on the rack with a tired sigh. Hearing him come in, Benson, his adoptive child, came running. They were a plump kid, about eight years old with silver hair and brown skin. People would call Benson ‘Bunny Boy’ and they were half right. Benson was a bunny, but they weren’t a boy. That was something they’d only told their father (and Wadsworth, Shrignold’s dearest friend who Benson called “papa”), but they didn’t feel like neither a boy nor a girl.
“Daddy, daddy!” They ran up to Shrignold, arms out as if they wished to be picked up.
Shrignold lifted the child in his arms. “Hey, poppet. How was school today?”
“We made fireflies out of paper rolls, look!” They showed off their creation.
“Really? That’s wonderful.”
“Mrs Paige said we can use it as a candle holder. That way it will really glow in the dark!”
“Will it? That’s lovely, I’m sure the new kids are going to love it, too.”
“Who?”
Shrignold put Benson down. “Three new friends have joined us. One of them is your age, if I’m not mistaken.”
“When can I meet them?”
“Soon enough,” Shrignold walked to the kitchen. “Come, now. I’ll make us something to eat.”