J. Gonzalez - They

“That is the…” Reverend Powell sputtered. He was so flabbergasted he couldn’t finish.

“I know how you feel,” Mike said. He took a sip of beer. “It sounds insane. And in 1966 and ’67 it probably sounded no more insane than the dozens of other crackpots out there proselytizing among the counter-culture crowd at Haight and Ashbury. But they’re also the kind of ideas which would have been easy to find a receptive ear.”

“And they found it with my mother,” Vince said.

“They did,” Mike said, nodding. “One of the things I found out about Maggie was that she came from a very repressive background. Her father was a rabid fundamentalist minister and he was very strict. From what Frank’s father told me, Gladys came from a similar background. They would have been eager to embrace such ideas since they corresponded with belief systems they had grown up in. It would have made them feel powerful, that they felt they belonged to something far greater than anything they’d ever experienced. It would have allowed them to be manipulated more easily. In fact, shortly after your mother joined the group, they made a pilgrimage to the Middle East. From what I gather, they participated in several archeological digs in what is now modern day Iraq. It’s also suggested they performed several rituals there, possibly a soul-cracking ritual on your mother.”

“Soul-cracking?”

Mike explained. “It’s a ritual designed to literally crack the soul of the intended victim with the goal of letting elemental forces out into our world. Think of it as being used to provide a gateway, a door.”

Vince thought about this, trying to wrap his head around it. Everything was coming at him so fast.

“We aren’t certain of this,” Mike continued. “But one member who defected from the group shortly after they returned to the states told a source I was able to talk to. The soul-cracking ritual is very rare, and is only performed by extremely experienced magicians.”

“Why would they do this?” Vince asked.

“We don’t know,” Mike said. “You were conceived around this time, and it’s possible you were born in Iraq, not in California as your birth certificate states. When the group arrived back in the states in July of 1966 they came home with you and several rare artifacts dating back to ancient Summer. One of the members had a permit to bring the items into the states—he’s a well-known archeologist with a major university on the west coast.”

“Do you suppose this soul-cracking ceremony later drove my mom crazy?” Vince asked. It made sense to him. The emotional trauma they would have inflicted on her could have been suppressed for years until it eventually manifested in her extreme shift to Evangelical Christianity.

Mike nodded. “Yes, it’s very possible.”

“So if this ritual worked, what would they have let out into the world?” Vince asked, mostly to himself.

“We’re not sure, and keep in mind we’re only going by second-hand information,” Mike said. “The cult member who spilled this all to my source later disappeared.”

“So Maggie somehow wound up with this splinter group,” Reverend Powell mused. “This Children of the Night group?”

Mike nodded. “Yes, because unlike what mainstream Christianity teaches, serving Satan ultimately serves the will of God. As to what led her to… join this splinter group, I still don’t know.”

“Could it have been Tom?” Vince asked.

“Possibly.”

“That still doesn’t explain the Manson family aspect of this thing,” Reverend Powell said.

“By 1969 The Children of the Night were a very powerful, very secret satanic organization,” Mike continued. “They’d been around since the 1920s, but in the 1960s they’d experienced a resurgence of sorts. They were headquartered in San Francisco, and Samuel Garrison led them. Part of their goal was to spread total chaos in order to aid in the breakdown of society. They promoted the total worship of evil. They became so secret that contact between them and The End Times was completely severed. Because there are some vague connections between Manson’s group and The End Times when the Family was in the Bay Area, it is believed they remained in contact with select cult members, including the satanic faction—The Children of the Night.” Mike Peterson looked grave. “The theory is that Garrison ordered the bloodbath in August to stir things up and that Manson’s group not only did it, but took the fall.”

“The same with Son of Sam?” Vince asked.

Mike nodded. “Berkowitz admits to belonging to a satanic cult in New York, but crime experts have denounced that as the ramblings of a man trying to cop an insanity plea. Berkowitz maintains this story to this day, especially after having converted to Christianity in prison. He claims he was a member of a satanic cult when he committed the murders, and that the purpose of the murders was the spread of chaos. Again, in full accordance with the beliefs of The Children of the Night.”

“And all these murders,” Reverend Powell said, his fingers drumming along the bar. “They were committed for the same reason?”

“Some,” Mike said. He finished his beer. “Others, like the murder of Arlis Perry, were committed because the victim knew too much. Berkowitz apparently had inside knowledge of the Perry murder.”

Vince thought about all this, his mind whirling with the craziness of it. “What did mom tell you when I left home?” he asked Reverend Powell. “I… I always thought she had become a real… religious fanatic in the last ten years and… she used to tell me I was… the spawn of hell. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she thought I was the Anti-Christ himself.”

“Your mother always feared for you, Vincent,” Reverend Powell said, his features grave. “She always prayed for you. In all the years I knew her, I never knew her to reveal much about her past, although I used to guess that she was involved with some sinful people in California. She always seemed… as if she were running away from that past.”

“Do you think that’s it?” Vince said, turning to Mike. “Do you think this devil group Mom was involved with thought I was their Anti-Christ? Do you think that’s why they’re trying to kill me?”

“If they thought you were the Anti-Christ, why would they want to kill you?” Mike asked.

“ Somebody wants me dead.”

“It couldn’t be them,” Mike said. “And it couldn’t be the original group, The End Times. Besides, I think you’re letting your emotions get a little carried away. They’re obviously trying to get to you for something—perhaps to bring you back into the fold—but they’re not trying to kill you.”

Vince was livid. His blood was boiling in his veins. “Look at the facts! My mom joins this group in 1965 shortly before learning about the two opposing sides of the cults’ beliefs—darkness and light. She chooses darkness. They take her to Iraq, do this soul-cracking thing on her or whatever it’s called, I’m conceived there and am born there. If I were a paranoid, fanatical zealot with an Armageddon complex, I’d sure think I was the Anti-Christ. Fuck !”

The room grew quiet as Vince seethed. Reverend Powell appeared to visibly flinch at the sudden expletive, but remained silent. Vince took a long drink from his beer and set the empty bottle down on the bar with a thud that almost cracked the bottle. Reverend Powell opened a fresh one for him. Vince took it and downed half of it.

Mike shook his head. “I… I don’t think that…”

“You don’t think these psychos think I’m the Anti-Christ?” Vince shouted. “Use your head, Mike, c’mon! Mom joins an apocalyptic satanic cult that believes the end times are a good thing. And hell, why not? It’s all according to God’s big plan for us, right? And everything that comes from God is good, right? Even a little destruction and doom and pestilence. In fact, why not help God along? Why don’t we just call up ’ol Scratch himself during a satanic ritual, get him to impregnate some impressionable teenager and bam ! You have your Anti-Christ. Me !” Vince slapped his chest and took a pull from his beer. He felt high but he wasn’t drunk. He was scared and angry.