Flash Fiction: These Cultists are Monsters!

I don’t have much time, I can feel it. I know they want me gone, this paranoia is what my lawyer is trying to use for me to be able to plead insanity. I’m not insane though…not like them. I killed out of self-defense, but it was them…their doing. I won’t be silenced! 

My uncle was a great man, I always admired his tenacity and fortitude. When you have worked for over twenty-five years in CPS, you must have grit. Otherwise, that career will drain you mentally and emotionally. His funeral was wonderful, he made a big impact on our community. So many people from the school district and non-profit organizations came. All accomplices to his crimes. At that time they had always told me how much they enjoyed working with my uncle as he was one of the only CPS supervisors who seemed to get things done and put the children first. At his funeral, they went above and beyond giving him praises and even telling me things such as; “We look forward to seeing what you do now,” “Do him proud and continue his legacy,” and even “You’re a Novack you’ll do just great!”

I wasn’t sure what they expected from me but I did not see myself working for over twenty-five years at CPS like him. The state directors needed to hire someone to fill the role of supervisor. I applied of course because I was pressured into doing it but I didn’t care for it, I thought about quitting soon after his passing. When my mother and aunt came to clean out his office and take all of his belongings home I remember feeling like I owed it to him to at least continue in this job for another year. It was my admiration for him after all that I pursued this career. 

While going through his belongings I came across the ring he always wore during his shifts, it is strange because I never saw him wear this ring outside of work. A gold-encrusted ring with an insignia of what seemed like a bird of prey holding some insect. The ring was well worn showing scratches and smoothness of the human oils rubbing down the metal. It made it difficult to distinguish the difference between the bird and the insect, it all seemed to mesh into one. My aunt wanted me to have it, apparently, it brought my uncle good fortune in handling all of the discontented parents and children he had to deal with daily. I’m not one for keeping mementos but at that time it seemed appropriate.

Some weeks passed before I started to notice school board members and families that I did not recognize approaching me at my office. The state had hired some older gentleman to take over my uncle’s position and at that time I was already looking elsewhere for employment. It seemed that a huge influx of children were taken from their homes or foster children suddenly had to be moved to different homes. We have always been busy but this sudden surge was making other caseworkers complain of the huge caseloads racking up. 

Amidst the disarray, these few community leaders started being more pleasant toward me. Offering me dinners and tickets to sporting events, telling me how they loved and admired my uncle, and asking me how my family was taking his passing. They volunteered their time saying that they could always take in more children and that my uncle always had a system in place to avoid this type of rise in cases. 

One of these families- the Asmussens- made it very clear about their relationship with my uncle. They would explain to me how my uncle would always have a preference towards them when it came to kids whose parents had signed their rights away or kids who were orphaned. The Asmussens took a liking to me and expressed their eagerness for me to achieve and get the position that my uncle had. At first, I didn’t pay attention to their anticipation but they were not the only family who were excited for me to “follow in his footsteps” and “continue the traditions” my uncle had set up.

The Asmussens, the Johnsons, Jacksons, Garcias, Fittipaldis…they’re all guilty, monsters! Every single one of them! I soon noticed their clutches slowly enthralling me when I saw the same-looking gold-encrusted ring on Mrs. Jenna Fittipaldi. I didn’t say anything when I saw it but she soon spoke of it and asked me if my uncle had left his ring for me. I was an idiot for saying yes and asking what it meant and why she had a similar ring. She answered that soon I would know. That ‘they’ had to be sure I was on the same page as my uncle and supposed family. Their ‘kindness’ brainwashed me, the kids I was placing with these monsters…how could they ever forgive me? Can arrogance even be an excuse?

I saw what was going on when Mark Asmussen invited me to their residence for a dinner party. It seems being in the foster home business brings you a pretty penny. Their home is large and suitable to house many children. I was invited to this dinner party three months in advance and all the aforementioned families were present, along with some school board members, teachers, and some people I recognized from The Helping Hands Org. The few children I saw I quickly recognized them, they were new into the foster care system but I did not see any of the older ones. And that is one thing you will start to notice when you pay attention, the kids that get placed with these families slowly stop being seen.

Without my knowledge or consent, I was the guest of honor on that horrid night of the 15th of April. The welcome was warm and the smell that penetrated the air made my mouth salivate for I had not had ribeye in a long time. The appetizers were delicious, the brown sugar butter bread melted in my mouth, and the grilled skewered zucchini with lemon pepper only intensified my appetite. I was getting impatient while seeing that everyone else seemed calm about the fact that an hour and a half had passed and yet we were only dining on appetizers and talking amongst each other. After I acquainted myself with everyone I walked to the kitchen to see what was taking so long to prepare the food. Mrs. Asmussen was feeding the foster kids the beef that I had smelled. I was excited and asked if it was time for us to line up and get food. With a twisted smile, she responded “After they go to bed.” I was irritated but she quickly assured me that the ‘adults’ meal was already ready, we just had to wait for the children to go to sleep. I was confused but was ok waiting for I had imagined our main course was more extravagant than steak. 

Another forty-five minutes passed before the hosts announced that it was time. Many of the guests quickly lined up and started walking towards the kitchen. I was held back by Jimmy Garcia with his stern hand on my shoulder telling me to allow everyone to go and get seated first since I was the guest of honor. I soon noticed that nobody was taking their seats at the dining room table. The line was moving into a mysterious door in the kitchen that led to a damp and dark basement. Seeing the long stairway down made me tense, Garcia squeezed my shoulder telling me to relax and that my uncle would be proud. It was a long walk down, and with every step, I noticed that I was not going down a normal basement. The echoes of those ahead of me grew indicating a large room ahead. The lighting was opaque and the mesquite smoke smell of meat intensified the more I walked down these steps. It was starting to make the back of my throat raspy like when one charrs jalapeños without opening a window.

The hosts awaited me below holding open sturdy oak doors. My stomach churned upon entering the chamber where the feast was to commence. Banners and statues of the bird and insect insignia adorned the ceiling and walls. The ring was not as worn down as I thought it was for the banners and statues showed a clear representation. It was not a bird and insect but a fused Cronenberg creature, an alien with a beak lined with sharp little teeth. In front of me, everyone had taken their assigned seats looking at me with twisted smiles. There was another room visible from the one we were in, a chef…a person I did not recognize wiping his hands on his apron and leaning on the door frame. The other room was a kitchen. I wanted to run but the hosts were grabbing me by my arms guiding me to my seat. I was moving against my will for I did not want to sit, I wanted to puke, I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I still have nightmares of the roasted forms of two small human bodies lying on long platters on the stone table and bowls of crimson viscous soup with a distinct smell of iron.

They praised me for delivering the ingredients of this dinner, two ten-year-olds that I had signed for placement five months prior. They thanked me for being a Novack and wished for me to do what my uncle had always done for twenty-five years. To make a toast and praise the hellish fiend they called a god and to take the first bite of flesh as a complement to the chef for being the guest of honor. 

Yes, I took the steak knife and stabbed Mr. Asmussen and ran. But the story they are perpetuating is false. Check their basement, check all of their homes, check on the children currently staying with them, and check everyone in our CPS office. I have been abandoned by my own family and coworkers, in the eyes of the public court I am seen as crazy and dangerous. I have come to peace about my dying, but the truth must get out there. These cultists are monsters!