I remember when I first heard mention of the cult called the House of the Claw. Not by name, of course, because one of the points of keeping a secret cult a secret is so you don’t hear its name falling from the mouths of non-believers. And not as a cult either strictly, although Haley knew what I was looking for when she first approached me that day at the bookstore.
I was working on my doctoral thesis project for my PhD in Sociology, and after a month of considering various ideas, I had settled on the topic of cults. Specifically religious and pseudoreligious cults that claim some kind of quantifiable supernatural occurrence, object, or being that can be supposedly be quantifiably experienced by its members and is used as a source of authority and control by the cult leaders.
But my idea went further than just some stodgy academic paper citing some new review of old research and a rehashed theory claiming to be an innovation. No, I wanted to see it from the inside. I wanted to find a cult, join it, get enough access to be able to call them on their bullshit when there was no great Wizard of Oz, and then write a doctoral paper and subsequent book that would let me write my ticket to any teaching position I wanted and possibly get me on a talk show or two.
Was it selfishly motivated? Certainly. Was I in it for money and glory? Absolutely. But I also thought it was a very cool idea, and it was also going to potentially be very dangerous, depending on the people I got involved with. So why shouldn’t I profit from it?
The thing is, it’s not as easy to just find a cult as one might think. Oh, you can join a variety of fringe groups that are publicized, religious or otherwise. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted something unknown and sinister, or at least bizarre enough that it felt the need to hide from the general public. But even most scholarly articles on cults either dealt with larger, well-known organizations or used more generalized examples to talk about the structure and tools of cult culture. Again, not exciting or sexy.
So I had to find one on my own. My first thought was the news. If I could find some article about an obscure cult committing a crime or being complained about by a former member, that could be the break I needed. But after two weeks of steady searching, I had nothing other than a small religious community that had gotten caught abusing their wives and daughters and a big protest a few years back when a new age bookstore had moved into a nearby small town.
The abusers had been criminally prosecuted, and I wasn’t sure how much they were a cult versus just misogynistic assholes. So out of desperation I went to see if the bookstore was still open.
The store sat at the end of a dingy shopping center that was largely empty except for a nail salon and a small shoe store that had a “Going Out of Business! Fixtures are for sale!” banner depressingly draped over its door. The bookstore itself seemed to be doing fine from the outside, with displays in the windows and a freshly-painted sign that just declared “Books” hanging up near the entrance.
When I went inside, I was surprised at how big it was. Apparently it had expanded into the store next door at some point and just kept the same end of the sidewalk entrance, so it was both wider and deeper than it appeared from the outside. Aside from the slight smell of incense and the light, echoing thrum of some kind of strange music playing from a pair of large speakers bolted to the walls near the ceiling, it seemed to be a normal bookstore at first.
Then I started walking down the aisles and looking at the shelf headings. Astral projection. Soul swapping. Demonic possession. Skinwalkers. Magik ritual. The Fae. And then in the back, like the punchline of some store-long joke, there was a section of horror and fantasy books that by authors like King and Barker. These were labeled “FICTION” in such a large and harsh script that I wasn’t sure if the sign maker was being ironic or was that earnest in distinguishing the one pile of bullshit from the other.
Still, I had to play the role of a potential believer if I was going to get anyone to talk to me. And I needed to play it cool and smart. Going up to the clerk or another patron and being like “Hey, heard about any good cult meetings lately?” wasn’t going to get me very far. But maybe, if I was lucky and patient, one of these fine folks would be into that kind of group insanity, or at least know enough to give me a good lead.
So I browsed the stacks for about an hour, making a big show out of looking at various books. Over that time, half a dozen other patrons came and went, and I could see a couple of them glancing at me out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored them. Got to play hard to get. I ultimately settled on a book about “spiritual evolution” and another called the “Encyclopedia of Demonology”, and I checked out. The man behind the counter looked like a disenfranchised professional wrestler with his long, gray beard and his weathered, orange skin. He didn’t say anything when he took my money, staring out of half-lidded eyes like a brooding, sullen tangerine, but I gave him a smile and told him I’d be coming back soon.
I was true to my word. I started going to that store every few days, and in between I would skim the books I bought so I wouldn’t appear totally ignorant if I managed to strike up a conversation with someone. I have to admit, even those first few books were more interesting than I would have originally thought. I knew it was all fantastical, made up bullshit, but the level of detail and conviction that went into much of it made it somewhat compelling.
The first few conversations I had with patrons were much the same. The store had an area where there was a collection of overstuffed chairs and sofas, and I found that if I gathered up a stack of books and posted up in the reading area, I would inevitably have someone start wanting to talk to me. An old man told me about the power of healing crystals. A young woman wearing hospital scrubs spent her lunch break detailing to me how she could see angels and how they had given her the power of prophecy. Every person, every story, had a certain charm and weight to it because of the earnestness of their beliefs. I would take it all in, trying to stay noncommittal in my responses so I didn’t get pegged too early on as a believer or disbeliever in any particular thing. These people weren’t in cults as far as I could tell, and I need to play the field. Keep my options open.
And then I met Haley. If I’m honest, I first noticed her because she was beautiful. I was 27 at the time, and she looked to be at least 10 years older, but I was struck by her presence the first time I saw her walking between the stacks, and when she later came and sat down in a chair in the reading area, I wasn’t sure I would be able to talk to her at all. But I did keep peeking at her over the edge of the book I was reading on Native American spirits, and by the third time she met my eyes and smiled.
“I’ve seen you in here before.”
I blinked. “You have? I haven’t seen you.” Swallowing, I added. “I’d remember.”
Her smile widened slightly as her eyes stayed fixed on mine. “I tend to stay out of sight. Tucked into a corner here or there.” She pointed at the book I was reading. “How’re you liking that?”
I glanced at it, having no idea for a moment what book I was even holding. “Um, yeah. It’s interesting. Very different than some things I’ve read.”
She wrinkled her nose slightly. “Yeah, I saw you were looking at a book on the 19th century spiritualist movement the other day. Seems like you’ve been casting a wide net.”
I felt myself flushing. “Yeah, I have looked at a lot of subjects since I found this place.” Dimly able to recall the whole point of my hanging out at the bookstore, I managed to add in a tone that I hope sounded wistful, “I guess I’m just looking for answers.”
Her lips pursed slightly at that and I was afraid I’d said something wrong. Then she leaned forward and whispered to me. “I know what you mean. I spent a long time searching for something real. But the group I’m a part of now, it’s really something special. The first time I’ve really felt whole in my entire life. Like I have a real purpose.”
I felt the fog lifting slightly as a low thrum of excitement started building. I was no expert—yet—but that sounded like cult talk to me. And beautiful woman or not, I needed to keep my eye on the prize. I tried to keep my reaction low-key but interested.
“Really? That’s good. Yeah, I need something like that in my life.” I glanced down, hoping I looked morose instead of dishonest.
Another pause as she studied me, and then she seemed to make a decision. Pulling out a pen from her purse, she handed it to me and held out her palm. “Write down your number. If you want, the next time my group gets together, maybe you can stop by. No pressure at all. But they’re cool people, and it’d be an excuse for me to see you again.”
I felt my heart speed up at that, but I tried to keep my grip steady as I jotted down my number on her smooth skin. As soon as I was done and had handed her back her pen, she gave me a final smile and said she hoped to see me soon before getting up and heading off to the counter with a handful of books. Then she was out the door and I was left wondering what exactly I was signing up for, if anything. That uncertainty was an uncomfortable feeling, but it didn’t dull my excitement that I might get a call from her or my anxiety that I wouldn’t.
Over the next couple of weeks I tried to maintain the same routine of going to the bookstore, and I always kept an eye out for the woman, though I made efforts to not be obvious. But there was never any sign of her. I was starting to think I’d never hear from her again when my phone rang one night about nine o’clock.
I felt a pleasant thrill when I heard her voice on the phone. “Hey, it’s Haley. Actually I didn’t tell you my name before, did I? I’m the girl from the bookstore. You gave me your number.” She laughed, her voice light and melodic, “I hope that narrows it down at least a little. And now I’m babbling.”
I laughed. “No, I know who you are. It’s good to hear from you. What’s up?”
“Well, I know it’s spur of the moment, but do you want to come hang out with my group tonight? Like, right now?”
“Sure! Give me the address.”
That night went much differently than I expected, though I wasn’t sure what to expect. I think I assumed it was going to either be a large group of glassy-eyed, too-friendly people giving overly earnest speeches about how the group had changed their life or a smaller cluster of sullen misanthropes wearing ill-fitting robes bought at the annual renaissance fair upstate. Instead, it was just Haley and three of her friends hanging out.
I’ve never been overly social, but I do fine with small groups I know or big parties where I can meet people or fade into the background as needed. But a small group where I don’t know anybody? It’s my kryptonite. So when I was led by Haley into a large ranch-style house in the suburbs and saw a couple of guys and another girl hanging out and watching television, I felt my stomach clench a little.
But they were so cool. They said hey and kept watching television for a few more minutes, and when the show was over, they turned it off and started milling about in the kitchen, getting some drinks and snacks out before setting up to play cards in the dining room. There was a brief argument of what we were going to play, with the majority finally settling on penny poker, which I fortunately knew.
Over the course of playing, they all talked about themselves and found out more about me, but it never seemed awkward or forced. It was almost like they were catching up with an old friend. I never felt like I was being recruited or sold something, and in fact, I was the one that first brought up the group being part of a “group”.
I had just folded on a pair of eights and I tried to sound casual as I brought up the subject. “So…how did you all get to be friends?”
The oldest of the group, Bruce, gave a short laugh. “Well, we’re all part of the same group. Hell, might as well call it what it is I guess. We’re part of a cult.” My eyes widened, though it was out of surprise at his honesty. He seemed to take it as fear and raised his hand. “It’s not what you think. We are all part of an organization that has certain spiritual and philosophical beliefs, and many of those beliefs are outside the norms of traditional religions or self-help groups. But that’s the only reason I use the term cult beyond a bad attempt at humor.” He glanced at Haley, who was already looking at me.
“Look, Jimmy, I know you’re a smart guy,” she began, “And you knew I was probably into something…well, kind of weird…after I was talking about the group at the bookstore. But I’m telling you, these are really good people. And yeah, you could call this a cult, or a secret society, or whatever you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s all based around something that’s real. Something that’s real and very important.”
She leaned towards me and I could smell some kind of flowery scent coming off of her, probably her shampoo. I tried to keep my attention on what she was saying.
“I was never religious growing up. My parents weren’t either, and the only thing my sister worshipped was drugs. I didn’t even believe in a soul until I watched my sister burn away slowly from cancer two years ago. But spending that time with her, watching her final moments, I got this profound sense of something more than just her body laying there rotting away. I could feel her spirit. It was almost like the more her body faded, the more I could see her soul.”
“When she finally died, I started looking for answers. I explored more traditional religions, but none of them really spoke to me. It felt like they all relied on faith more than I was comfortable with. I needed something tangible. If I was going to maintain a belief in a spiritual world, in having some higher purpose than this life, I needed something I could actually see and touch and taste.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And you found that in this group?” I had spent weeks planning a loose, improvisational script of what I would say if I got the chance to potentially join a cult. I would be the skeptic, the polite denier that wasn’t really interested in joining anything. Put up just enough resistance that they would feel they had to win me over, making my ultimate conversion seem more genuine.
But I found myself surprisingly earnest and interested when I asked the question. Haley didn’t seem like a crazy person. None of them did. They all seemed intelligent, low-key, and very comfortable with their life choices.
But still. They were a cult, right? Confidence and charisma are two of the hallmarks of a cult, especially among its recruiters. And of course, beautiful Haley, with her bright personality and stunning looks, was just the right person to draw people in. To parrot some insane doctrine with a dazed look and an upbeat demeanor, like a cheerful steamroller slowly crushing a recruit’s free will.
Except she didn’t look dazed, and what she was saying didn’t sound insane. She went on to explain that she had met Bruce a year before at a grief counseling group. She was still mourning her sister, and he had lost his wife a couple of months earlier. But while he missed her, he had told Haley, he was doing okay because of the group he belonged to. They had helped him understand the true nature of things, and it made losing his wife temporarily a much easier burden to bear.
In the weeks that followed she had developed a close friendship with Bruce, and eventually she had joined the group herself. Haley said that while the larger group (or cult) was spread all over the world, each individual Room (which is what the small groups were called) were made up of only four or five people. She said that while there were occasional interactions with other Rooms, it was fairly rare. Instead, for the most part they only dealt with higher-ups in the organization called Emissaries, who would periodically contact them and sometimes arrange their attendance at a larger gathering for some occasion or significant event. Even then, these occasions were structured so they didn’t actually know the identities of the people in the other Rooms or even the Emissaries themselves. For safety reasons, Haley said.
I could feel the sociologist in the back of my brain ticking off all the warning signs that this was truly a cult and likely not a benign one, but it was being drowned out by my interest and curiosity. I had to fight the urge to take notes or interrupt to ask questions, and it was only partially so I would have better records for my thesis project.
Haley laughed. “I can tell this is a lot to take in. I know it is. But we’re honest about what we believe, and we’re really not trying to sell you on or trick you into joining some weird cult. Yes, we don’t advertise our existence to the outside world, because what point would that serve other than to get unwanted scrutiny and ridicule. But I hope you’re starting to feel like we’re friends, and I don’t ever mind talking about this stuff with a friend.” She was looking at me steadily, her face serious except for a slight, hopeful smile.
I rubbed my face and gave a sigh. “Yeah, I mean you’re right. It’s a lot to take in. What do you actually believe? What do you do?”
She nodded and started to speak, but the other woman, a girl in her early twenties named Elise, spoke up first. “We help the Ascendants.” She glanced at Haley and then Bruce before lowering her gaze slightly. “We help them with their work, and in doing so, we prepare the way for ourselves and others.”
Okay, here we go. Some douche in a bathrobe somewhere who uses these people as servants or something. I felt my head starting to clear as I sat back in my chair. “I see. So who are these Ascendants?”
Haley shot Elise a look and then smiled at me. “Yeah, I know. That sounds super-culty, right? But try not to judge it until you have a chance to see for yourself. For now, let’s just say that the individuals we call Ascendants are people who have taken the next major step in our spiritual evolution. They’re pioneers that show us the first tangible proofs of things that exist outside of our small world and small lives.”
Bruce gestured with a nacho chip he was eating. “Kid, I was sitting right where you are twenty years ago. My wife was the one who first got me involved, and believe me, there was no bigger skeptic than me. But then I saw it for myself, and while it scared the dog piss out of me, it was also the first step to me understanding and accepting the truth of things. And to realizing how wonderful it all really is.”
Haley reached forward and put her hand on top of mine. “We’re being vague with all of this because…well…it’s hard to describe and do it justice. And also because once you see what we can show you, there’s no turning back. I know that sounds kind of spooky, but I’m just being honest. If you aren’t cool with this, if you aren’t sure you want to know more and be a part of this, I understand. We’ll finish playing cards, you can head home, and we’ll never see you again.” She paused at this, looking into my eyes meaningfully. “That means me too, of course.”
I nodded. My heart was hammering in my chest, and my thoughts were like a hundred startled birds, flying up in every direction and seemingly headed for different destinations. “Okay. And if I say I want to see whatever it is you have to show me?” I felt somewhat separate from myself as I said the words, and I saw the birds, despite the apparent chaos of their initial flight, were all angling towards each other in the air, coalescing into a dark, surging cloud across the sky. They were flying towards something big that I couldn’t quite see the shape of yet.
Haley grinned. “Well, in that case, I go make a phone call. And we keep playing cards. And then hopefully in a short while we’ll have a visitor.”
My mouth was dry as I spoke the words. “Okay. Go make the call.”
“You’re sure? You’re kind of in it if we keep going.”
I nodded, thinking about my thesis paper, my book, my bright, planned future, but also thinking about this group of people and what could drive them so. What mystery, what perceived truth, could be so compelling? I had to see it, or not see it, for myself. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
After Haley got back from the other room, we continued to play cards, though I could barely keep my mind on what we were doing. A dozen times I almost got up and left, my fear pulling back against my ambition and curiosity. But every time I would make myself a promise that I’d give it a few more minutes, and if no one came, I would go.
This went on for close to two hours, and by this point it was nearly three in the morning and I could feel myself starting to fall asleep. Looking around the table I saw that the rest weren’t that far behind.
Suddenly there was a heavy knock at the front door and everyone jumped a little, Haley and Bruce both giving a brief startled laugh. But then Haley’s eyes grew wide with excitement as she beamed at me.
“He’s here!” She took me by the hand and led me away from the table to the front door. Before she opened it, she leaned close to my ear and whispered. “Try not to be too nervous. He’s very impressive, and he’s a doctor even, but he’s very easy to talk to.”
When she opened the door, a short, overweight man in his late thirties or early forties was standing there, his expression momentarily blank. His eyes went to me and his face brightened into a jovial smile as he stuck his hand forward. I shook it as he entered, his grip cool and slightly greasy to the touch.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Jimmy. Pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr. Marcus Salk.”
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Credits
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