Scarleton Series I : Before the Cult

By Sandy Masia

Copyright 2015 Sandy
Masia

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition,
License Notes

This book is licensed
for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or
it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your
favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Cheryl’s
Notes

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Other Titles by the
Author

Connect with the
Author

About the
Author

Reading Group
Guide

For Saya Heather
Pierce-Jones for always being an inspiration.

Ritah Mafokwane, for
staying up with me all those nights.

Lauren Pillay, for
always being around.

Scarleton
Series is partially chronological although events that happen in
one book usually intertwine with other books and bring light on
some issues expressed in other instalments. It is more of a
thematic series; events on one book might be occurring at the same
time, before or after the events in another book. They might
influence each other or feed off one another. Each book takes
centred look on one of the characters. Each book can be enjoyed on
its own, but will be enjoyed even better within the context of
others. All books are based in the fictional town Scarleton. Before
the Cult is where it all begins and you are about to read about one
of the most influential and pivotal characters to the series.
Enjoy!

She lay on the
mattress free bed, tied to the bedframe. Her breasts severed and
cauterized. Hair seared off and ears cut off. Her body covered with
bruises, scabs, festering burns and wounds. Coagulated blood
staining parts of her body. Too sore to move and dispirited she
was. Her breathing wheezy and irregular. She had no idea how long
she had been there, or where she was but it was long enough to
drain all the hope she had. The scars that were inflicted within
her were oceanic. Her ear shattering screams were of no avail.

The man in the
long dark trench coat came back into the torture chamber. He took a
seat beside the bedframe. A dark silhouette in the dark room, his
back turned on the grimy small window that ushered the only natural
light into the damp place. He watched her naked body for a while,
allowing the unsettling quiet to takeover. When she began shivering
and panting he spoke, “Remember what we asked you when we first
brought you here?” A modest voice came from the shadow, coaxing in
nature.

She couldn’t
say anything to him, she had learned how futile it was the hard
way. All she could do was listening. Besides her thoughts he was
the only voice she heard in a day.

“We asked you
‘What price is your life worth?’” He always spoke in plurals like
that. He sat back into the chair and audibly exhaled. “You said
you’re priceless.”

She waited for
him to carry on, he always lingered in silences like that. “After a
few modifications to your body you don’t wanna live anymore? Do you
see how absurd that is? You have diminished the value of your life
to the loss of a few parts.” He sighed. “Each time you convince us
of how worthless your lives truly are. It’s why we don’t think
twice before using your lives to buy in into a home.” He shifted in
the creaking chair. “Isn’t belonging the only thing invaluable
after all?”

With that he
unwrapped something in his hand. “Your wish is granted.”

He began
sprinkling some liquid on her. Gasoline, she smelled it. “No. no,
no. Not like this please!” she wept, wriggling on the bedframe.
“Haven’t you hurt me enough? Just make it quick and simple,
please.”

He snorted,
stood to his feet. “Consider the pain payment. Put your death to
good use, you should be happy knowing that your death helped
someone out.” A camera light fell on her face from the tripod. She
squinted trying to make him out behind the light. He heard him
unbuckle his pants and letting them fall on the floor. He began
heaving. Then he flicked the lighter on. When she looked down at
his groin she could see him touching himself. Before she could even
make sense of it all flames engulfed her.

“Fuck, yes!” he
snarled with pleasure.

“Would you shut
the hell up?” I snapped.

Macfearson
shrugged. “It’s just strange what you guys are doing here. Who
listens to music like that? I’m tiptoeing around this place afraid
to make a sound like you have your freaking heads buried in a book
before an exam. Afraid because I might, “he added air quotes,
“distract you.”

“I think you
can’t stand being alone,” said Macxermillio.

“I think you
missing the point. I can’t stand being in a room with fucking
zombies staring at a screen watching every little move I make. No,
I can’t stand the silence oozing from the undead. It is just
awkward.” He began approaching with a coyly careless gait. Leaned
over from behind us to take a look at the screen. “Oh my dead-dog,
you guys are just staring at nothing? I thought you were looking at
visualizations or something. You just staring at the player?”

Macxermillio
shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand, music is not just meant
to be heard but experienced and be enveloped in it. That requires
your undivided attention and the moment you realize how beautiful
and magical the experience is maybe you would burn yourself a bit
less. Nothing strange here.”

With a shrug
Macfearson sat on the bed behind us situated at the corner. He
rolled up his left sleeve, grabbed a lighter from his pocket and
held his arm over the flame, searing his skin. He groaned, “Oh
yeah. That does it.” He leered at us then slumped on his back over
the bed. “You can freakin’ carry on now. I’m gonna take a nap. I
like the whole keeping the room dark thing but what you guys are
doing is strange.”

“Every time you
speak you just distract us and we have to start all over again.
This is an
album
not a random collection of songs like a pop
record. We need the silence!” I said.

Macfearsonn
sighed heavily. “Why can’t you start where you left off? It’s like
a fuckin’ movie on pause, right?”

“Some
experiences beg to be experienced without a pause or an
interruption. It’s not the same, it’s a thing of its own kind,”
Macxermillio answered. “Do we have your cooperation?”

“Can I snore
and have a freakin’ ciggy?”

Macxermillio
chuckled. “You can’t fuckin' snore.”

“Alright.” He
stuck a cigarette between his lips and let it dangle on the corner
of his mouth for a little while. “Okay, I’m ready. You can hit
it?”

With a gentle
tap on the laptop’s keyboard the album started and the room filled
with a modest stream of sound. Soaked us in it. Soon our minds were
drowning within the affect world of music and the spells of the
experience. The external world submerged into a darkness, so deep
and out of sight that the furniture reverted to its lonely creaky
nature. The tree out the window and its shuffling leaves miniature,
the bird songs mixed in the background fog of student voices, cars,
motorcycles, trucks and dog barks. Such abstraction from the
university’s morning stir. The music spawned webs the size of the
universe and we swam in the volume like whales.

KNOCK! KNOCK!
KNOCK!

Aggressive and
disruptive, tugging us from the depths of the music. With a grimace
on his face Macxermillio muttered under his breath, “Who the fuck
is that?”

“No, fucking
clue,” I said.

KNOCK! KNOCK!
KNOCK !

“Fuck,” I
cursed under my breath as I got up, exasperated. “On my way! Cool
off.”

“I wanna see
who this dopey is.” Macfearson got up and waited.

I opened the
door. “Jay! How are you?”

He ignored my
greeting and went straight to his point. “I can smell the smoke in
the hallway,” he said. “I told you to stop smoking in your room. I
can’t give you hours for this but the sub-wardens will. It’s just
fuckin’ annoying, man. Please be considerate to all the people
living in the res.” He paused. When he did I realized he was coming
from the shower, his towel wrapped around his waist. He was still
wet and for the first time I could see how far his belly hung out
and how flabby his biceps were. I also found myself not hearing
half of the stuff he snarled, increasingly apathetic. He lived
three doors down from me and my neighbours never complained about
the smoke, but occasionally the music. “Please, will you stop? It’s
a fire hazard.”

I sighed. “Okay
I will, Jay.”

He studied me
closely for a while, incredulous. “I am serious.”

I shook my
head. “I see that now.”

“Next time I’m
telling the one of the sub-wardens.” With that he stepped out of
the doorway and went down the hallway.

I watched as he
disappeared into his room, turned and shut the door behind me.
Macfearson harboured a grin on his face, eyes sparkling with an
idea. “When the flowers grow too high and too close to the window,
enough to block your view. You clip them off,” he said.
“Deathlings, I think we have our next sample. We have let it grow
too high and wide.” He paused. “His blocking our view.” He pointed.
“Fellas, that is the true distraction.”

He planted
another cigarette between his lips.

“Are you gonna
smoke again?” said Macxermillio.

Macfearson
stared at Macxermillio for a while. Removed his lighter from his
pocket and flipped it on. “If it all goes well,” he lit the
cigarette shut the lighter and placed it back his pocket, “I am
breaking his nose in a few minutes.” His jaws jerked and his
breathing grew heavy. “A fucking
lifeling
can’t tell us what
to do. Fuck him!”

“He is probably
not coming out in his room for the next fifteen minutes or so. The
guy just took a shower,” Macxermillio said.

“It is enough.
Cigarette smoke is not easily cleared.”

“I would love
to watch it all go down but I gotta go to the philosophy lecture
pretty soon,” I said.

Macfearson
nodded. “You going, Macx?”

“No, I think I
will continue listening right up until the encounter.”

“Guys please
don’t mess my room. Don’t get me in too much trouble. I am
responsible for you guys since you don’t stay in this res or are
even students here,” I said.

Macfearson
sighed. “Yeah, we won’t. It’s cool.”

“Guys, don’t
cause too much trouble, we can’t afford to draw much attention to
ourselves now.” I shook my head. “I guess a simple intimidation
would do. Look he is a bully he can’t go tell on me because that is
freakin’ weak according to the standards he set himself.”

Macfearson
groaned. “C’mon, let me break his nose. It won’t cause any
commotion or take long. No one will notice, not even himself until
the deed is done.”

Reluctantly I
replied, “Okay, but only if he comes here. Don’t overdo it.”

Macfearson
chuckled. “Alright!” He pulled on his cigarette and grinned.

“Okay. Macx,
I’m trusting you, okay?”

“Okay.” He
nodded.

With what felt
like a speck of assurance I grabbed my bag which rested against the
bookshelf, opened the door behind me and disappeared into the
hallway.

Stepped out the
main door to find the Scarleton’s morning sun yellow and hot. Cruel
and intolerant. Across the lawn where the cobbled-stone walk lead,
students walked to their morning lectures in various
conglomerations of groups and the lone. The girls in short pants,
sundresses, tight-skin denim skirts rendering the day bit more
bearable with their pleasurable distractions. The bashful
conventional ones brought with them an atmosphere of order,
direction and purpose. Considerate and mindful they were, the
conventional ones, but never boring unlike the conservative ones.
Unlike popular opinion, I found the conservative intriguing. Like
any other minority in that they inspired a great deal of curiosity,
mystery and open-mindedness in their quest not to conform. As for
boys, they were boys. Like every male first year , excited over the
freedom from parental supervision, they basked in the seven deadly
sins. Nevertheless, intolerance never ceased to pour from their
mouths and spill from their swagger. A masking scent that my nose
was way too sensitive to.