Ascend, mydear

The night was cold and dreary, a usual sight to behold on a November evening. The sun just lowered below the horizon and the city which lay before it stood silently. Not a car drove past, neither did a dog bark. It was usually time for them to make their rounds, on a pickup truck spewing nonsense buzzwords through loud megaphones, but nothing arrived. The people of the city started to get concerned. Even though it was extremely annoying to hear, so much so that they had to put on noise-cancelling headphones or turn the television to maximum volume to drown it out, it was a warm and fuzzy feeling of familiarity. Of normal. The emptiness and silence left them feeling cold and worried. One particular man who was less worried, but bothered nonetheless was a man named Oliver Langley. A detective that worked for the local police station just a few blocks away. He was familiar with them. He knew who and what they were, which is, he knew the background information his boss had told him:

Profile 12 – Cult organisation

Led by an unknown person(s), this group has been trying to recruit new members ever since they began their journey. Their ultimate goal is to “ascend” to a “new plane of existence”. Reports and insider testimonials say that they are losing many members quickly, as the rituals they need to perform to “ascend” require human sacrifices.

Oliver had noticed their recruitment efforts. Posters in alleyways, cryptic ads on the radio, and even some short, 30-second ads on television. Now, they weren’t as active. Actually, they weren’t being active at all. No more posters, no more radio or television ads. Oliver had heard rumours on local chat sites. Some said they lost all their members, others say that their main building was blown up and they were all killed, and even others say they just gave up recruiting. They had become somewhat of an urban legend in the area, so their absence was very disconcerting.

“Find them, Oliver,” bellowed the captain in his thick, New-York accent the next day. “Find them and figure out what happened to them.”

“Yes sir,” asserted Oliver, not one to look weak in front of superiors. After being excused by the captain, he left his office and walked out the building with a manila folder full of info:

YEARS 7-9 WINNER

A picture of their ceremonial robes from a mole that had recently lost contact with them, the profile sheet detailing the addresses where he should look and a transcript of an interview with an ex-member:

{Interviewer Reeves walks in}

Interviewer Reeves: Thanks for agreeing to this interview, [REDACTED].

[REDACTED]: Thank you for inviting me here, Mr. Reeves

Interviewer Reeves: So, you were a part of this group, correct?

[REDACTED]; Yes, that is right, I climbed to the rank of truth-speaker.

Interviewer Reeves: How long exactly were you in that group for?

[REDACTED]: 5 months and… three weeks.

Interviewer Reeves: You mentioned the rank “truthspeaker”. What exactly is that rank?

[REDACTED]: It is one of the highest ranks of the group. Their roles are to exact the rituals and share the commands of the higher being.

Interviewer Reeves: When you were a part of this group, or rather when you joined, did you know what happened during those rituals?

[REDACTED]: Nope, the higher-ups didn’t say anything about it.

Interviewer Reeves: When did they tell you?

{Silence}

[REDACTED]: They never really did. They probably just assumed I understood when the first person came to the chopping block.

{Silence}

Interviewer Reeves: If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly does this group sacrifice people?

[THE FOLLOWING RESPONSE HAS BEEN REDACTED]

Interviewer Reeves: Oh wow, okay.

{Interviewer Reeves clears throat}

YEARS 7-9

Interviewer Reeves: Well, I have no further questions. Thanks again [REDACTED] for coming out here.

[REDACTED]: Thank you, sir.

{[REDACTED] and Interviewer Reeves leave the room}

On 33 Orange St. stood a derelict, old building. Oliver read in the information that that place was built 100 years ago to serve as an asylum. The most obvious place to start a demonic cult. The old oak doors squeaked loudly on its rusted hinges as Oliver struggled to pry it open. A musky, dank smell crept out from inside the building. Oliver shuddered slightly at what could be causing such a stink: Dust? Mould? Rotting flesh? Oliver shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and blocked them out, trying his best not to breathe too much. The empty, dark hallways he roamed echoed his every footstep and the jarring drip of a distant leaking pipe. Suddenly, he found a room with light streaming from under the crack of the door, weaving through the hanging wires to reach it. The fallen paint of the ceiling crunched under his feet. The knob was an ornate golden eye, a spiral in the iris. It seemed… new. Newer than the rest of the building, but that wasn’t an especially high bar to reach. Oliver examined closer, not even a fingerprint. He formulated an idea in his mind and checked the image of their robes. Yup, gloves. This room led to where they were located, he was certain of it. He apprehensively turned the knob and peeped through the ajar door.

At first, Oliver thought the room had red walls. But it wasn’t paint. It was blood. The room was bathed in a ghastly, terrifyingly abhorrent amount of blood. Oliver held back the queasy feeling emerging from his stomach and crossed the threshold into that bloodbath. There were bodies strewn across the floor, each dressed in the ceremonial robes and each with a multitude of stab wounds ranging from minor cuts in the arms to half-a-meter long gashes across the chest and legs. He also saw scattered, disembodied body parts. Shakily, he counted them. 3 right legs, 2 left ones, 5 hands, 2 noses, 6 eyes in a multitude of colours and 15 fingers. Each and every one had looked to have been sawn off, with the jagged edges in the flesh, except the eyes which seemed to have been ripped out using a fire poker. Oliver struggled to hold back sick as he looked around more. Among the red shapes, one stood out to him. It seemed to be a podium, no, an altar. Oliver walked closer. A note had been taped to the surface. After Oliver had read it, his heart dropped. He ran through the asylum, back outside and fell to his knees and hands on the damp grass.

“What in the fresh hell was that?” He gasped to himself, knowing he couldn’t tell it to anyone. After a few shallow breaths, he recalled the words:

“Whoever finds this, ye hath failed us. Thou hath ignored our warnings of the calamity emerging from the dark depths of the abyss, now thou, which art liars and crooks, shall be hoisted down to hell by iiawqmw. He will grab a hold of thee and pull thee into the lake o’ fire in which thine sins will be punished. He will come. We have ascended. Who would notice that we were gone?”

School’s Name: Garden Int. School Eastern Seaboard Ban Chang

Student’s Name: Jess

Category: Year 10 - 13

Theme: Coming of Age