Chapter 41: Forty

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Abigail stretches her arms way, way up until her back goes crack-pop and she lets out a happy sigh. Class is over and now it’s time for more fun stuff, not that playing with Web wasn’t fun.

You stretch too, stubby arms reaching up towards the ceiling, then you wiggle you body from side to side a little. Some of the girls nearby giggle and there’s a big smile on Charlotte’s face as she pats your head. “That was a big stretch,” she says.

You nod. It was.

Charlotte, still smiling, brings her own arms way up, then bounces on the balls of her feet. You notice a lot of the boys nearby stopping their conversations mid-word to stare at her really good stretching form, especially when she bends over double and presses her hands to the ground without bending her knees. She pulls up, then with both hands on her hips, sways from side to side. “Ah, that feels good.”

You’re impressed. For a creature with so many hard bony things in her, Charlotte can bend very well. Abigail’s face is very red after she watched Charlotte. You think that it’s the jealousy of not being quite that flexible. “It’s okay,” you say as you pat her hand.

That snaps Abigail out of her jealous funk. “We’re heading to the Old Faith’s club today, right?” she says after clearing her throat.

“We are,” Charlotte says with a firm nod.

Everyone tucks their stuff in their bags and you toss Abigail’s things into the shadows where your tentacles are waiting to sort them for the next class. Then you’re all off to the next club!

Or you would be, if Abigail doesn’t stop a few steps out of the class, bringing your entire group to a stop.

“H-hello Abigail,” Daphne says. “And Dreamer, and Charlotte,” she adds a moment later. She doesn’t look nearly as nervous as she was over lunch time, but she’s still a little fretful. Really, she needs to get over her whole thing with liking Abigail. It’s natural to like Abigail, everyone should do it. You liked Daphne more when she was all tough and assertive.

“Hello Daphne,” Abigail says. “Ah, you wanted to.... Right now.” She goes red again and looks around for a bit. “We were going to visit a club, did you want to come?”

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Daphne took in a deep breath of air and straightened herself back up. When she was done her smile was a lot more Daphne-like. “I would love to,” she said.

You skipped ahead of the others on the way to the mysterious Old Faith’s club, Web riding on your head and grabbing on to your hairticles for dear life.

“You didn’t actually say which club we’re visiting next,” Daphne says.

“Ah, it’s the Old Faith’s club,” Abigail says.

“Really? Of all the clubs... well, I suppose it’s not so bad, though they have something of a reputation.”

“What sort of reputation?”

“They’re considered, honestly, it wouldn’t be polite to say in public. I suppose you’ll just have to find out,” Daphne says.

You’ll find out really soon because you arrive before a classroom in one of the quieter corners of the school that had a black sign with big fancy letters on it that reads ‘Old Faiths’ on the door. You rap your knuckles on the closed door and bounce while you wait. Web is tap-tapping a beat on your head in time with your bouncing because Web is just neat like that.

The door opens to reveal a person that you think might be a human. He’s tall, but really skinny, and instead of wearing the school’s normal robes he’s wearing a white blouse that’s very tight and much tighter black leather pants. He sighs. “More lambs to the slaughter?” he asks, his voice sounds like Abigail when she wakes up in the middle of the night to go pee.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hello,” Abigail says. “We wished to visit the Old Faith’s club?”

“Ugh,” he says before eyeing them all for a long time, then he moves back from the door. “Come in, I guess. I’m Lewis.”

The four of you step into a dark room. There are drapes over the windows and lots of black leather couches against the walls where people who are all wearing black or red or sometimes white are lounging around as if they’re really sleepy. But this doesn’t feel like a sleeping place.

“Hey everyone,” Lewis says in a voice barely louder than normal talking. “We have new people here to find enlightenment and truth by peeling back the evil and sordid lies of the Inquisition. Let us all guide them to the truth.”

You expected a cheer, or some clapping, but there’s a lot more sighing and low moaning. You then notice that all the boys and girls have very pale, powdery faces and lots of makeup on. You don’t know what this means.

“So, um, Lewis,” Abigail asks. “What does your club... do?”

“Ugh,” Lewis says. “Like I said, we know that there are things underneath the underneath, and we want to, like, peel off the coverings and expose the dark, bleeding heart of this decrepit world.”

“Can you explain... more?” Abigail tries.

Lewis sighs as if she just asked him something really stupid. He is being very dismissive of Abigail and that isn’t okay. “You.” He pauses and makes a wavy motion towards your group. “Sheep are all the same. Can’t you see that there’s more to this world than what’s on the surface? There are things lurking in the dark, and we ought to bring them to their rightful place above us.”

You think you might maybe know what he’s talking about. There are lots of things that like dark hidey places. Like the Abyss and tadpoles and cthulians and sometimes some of your kinda-cousins.

“And so you’re trying to... summon those things to our world?” Abigail asks.

“We try, but as with all things, the only result in the end... is failure.” Lewis turns around and kinda waddles over to a corner of the room where a girl is inscribing a circle on the ground.

There are all sorts of things around the circle, you notice. Yummy looking fruit, and jars of pixie dust, and a few bowls with some juice, and other snacks.

“Everyone, my dark brothers and black sisters,” Lewis says. “Gather ‘round, if you please. The time is nearing when we must begin our ritual and call up on the great dark one.”

Nearly half of the people move towards Lewis and his ritual circle, most of them looking a bit older than the others. You suppose that the spikiness of their hair and the amount of tears in their clothes is some sort of indication of rank.

“I forgot about our guests,” Lewis says. “If you want to see us attempt to commune with the great darkness beyond, feel free to stay. But if you’re too much of a sheep, you know where the door is. Summoning the great Pou-tine is not a feat for the weak of heart.”

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