Secret File: The Case of the Hyphael Cult - Part I

The city was an unforgiving, unwelcome jungle of concrete and sludge, rich and poor, heaven and hell. And most of its denizens were in hell, but unlike the biblical counterpart, these human devils were able to just tilt their head up and see the clean glinting lines of heaven above, its angelic looking citizens more purely heinous than the devils of the slums could ever be.

There were a select few who straddled the line between heaven and hell, those who kept the balance as best as they could. Those whose eyes were trained on the darkness in front of them, and those whose backs served as boundaries for the light behind them.

I was one of those fat heads.Taylor S. Drew, a simple gumshoe who's seen the glitter in the grime, and the hidden poison behind the shining facades of this city. And I was about to be in a deeper pit of trouble than I'd ever been before.

It all started with that anchor clanker. Poor bastard whose only remaining evidence of life was the pool of blood and a couple of teeth. And a handful of, of all the strange things, mushrooms. I wasn't on that scene, it was the cop's deal, and I was more of a consultant if they had the cash. I just heard about it through the grapevine. I figured, and so did the police, that it was a simple matter of a scuffle gone wrong, someone dropped their groceries at the scene, and they dumped the body into the harbor. Only, they never did find that body. But they were finding more mushrooms across the city.

Mushrooms, of all things. At an alley behind McKinley's bar. Across the street from the laundromat. In some poor family's house . . . and lots of mold on that occasion.

Were the serial killers getting whackier or something? Jeez. I figured though, that if I wasn't getting paid to make it my business, it just wouldn't be. Oh, how wrong I would be. For I hadn't yet met the most beautiful mistake of my life.

Agatha Kittsdale.

It was a miserable night in the city, and another bout of melancholic isolation in my office. I was just about twenty minutes from closing time, and I'd sent my secretary home ages ago. There was no light but one singular glow from a candle that sweet old broad had bought me months ago to, "liven up the room." No one little light of life would be enough to defeat the ages of death caked into every floorboard and crack in the plaster, but she was sweet for trying.

The first knock was too soft to hear under an abrupt crack of thunder. Still, I sensed something, and so I looked towards my office door. Between the last clap of thunder and a new flash of lightning, I heard the door to the unit open and sharp footsteps start walking in. A clap of thunder heralded the emergence of a distinctly feminine silhouette, clouds of hair visible before a shadow of a fist rose and knocked twice on the frosted glass.

"Mr. Drew?" A sultry voice rolled the usually boring syllables that made up my name as if they were chocolate bonbons. I had half a mind to climb out the fire escape, because a voice like that usually accompanies a dame who's no good for my health. But . . . what can I say? I was bored and she sounded too lovely to resist.

"Yes, come in." I rose from my seat at the same time as the woman opened the door, and I both cursed and praised my instincts. A brunette bombshell to match that sultry voice that came out of a little, burgundy colored mouth. Her coat and the shine of her hair let me know I was dealing with one of the twisted angels of the upper class. What was a classy gal like her doing all alone on a stormy night, seeking out a private investigator?

"Mr. Drew." She said my name again, slow and amused, a little curl to her lips as she stepped forward. "It's so good to finally meet the legend."

"I think your buddies up top definitely have a different word in mind." I couldn't help but respond to her grin, reaching forward and pulling out a seat for her in front of my desk. "Please, get comfortable."

"Oh, thank you." With a viper quick flash of a grin, she shrugged out of her coat and placed her umbrella aside, and it allowed me the opportunity to swallow the lump in my throat from seeing her very nice dress show off dainty collar bones and a mile of skin from throat to low neck. A smell like gardenias wafted from her. When her face rose again, sat pretty and waiting for me, I perched on the edge of the desk and looked at her plainly. She was pulling out all the stops here, fine dress and floral perfume . . . I was getting more and more interested.

"So, what can I do for you, Miss . . . ?"

"Agatha Kittsdale." My eyebrows shot up. A Kittsdale! Old money and quite proud of it, that family. Had family in some of the most important sectors of the city- politicians, police, a nephew or two in the Navy. A brother looking to become the next senator.

"What can I do for you, Miss Kittsdale?" I repeated.

Agatha, primly smoothed the fabric over her lap and crossed her hands. "I need your help, Mr. Drew." She admitted in a low tone, looking up at me through dark, long lashes.

"I figured. But what kind of help could I offer a Kittsdale?" I crossed my ankle over my knee and leaned forward, palms gripping the desk.

Her lashes fluttered as she looked down. "My uncle has gone missing, and . . . well, it's not something the family wants advertised, you see. We can't really go to the police for something discreet, not after the last debacle- you'll recall . . . ?"

I nodded in sympathy, jaw ticking to the side at the irritating memory. "Kid got drunk and drove around the land, neighbors were concerned and called the police. It blew up everywhere."

"Right," Agatha nodded, dark eyes piercing. "We can't have anything like that again, not with Robbie on the campaign trail, and . . . well, I heard you were discreet. And very capable."

Well could you blame a guy for feeling a little pride when a beautiful dame knows his record? The crooked grin couldn't be contained. "That's right. And, uh . . . the name of the missing uncle is-"

"Lester Kittsdale." Agatha answered shortly, and suddenly the case took a turn. Lester Kittsdale was, to put it lightly . . . the black sheep of the family. A man of learning, a scientist who was more known for his conspiracy theories than his accolades. He was, understandably, not in a lot of the society photos the family took. I wasn't a science guy myself so I knew little about him besides rumors, and from what I knew, it was more likely he'd absconded for the mysteries of Machu Picchu. Agatha must have seen something on my face, because she leaned forward and grabbed my hand.

"Oh please!" she beseeched, and Lordy if she batted those big eyes one more time she was gonna blow the whole place down. "I know what they say about him, and even my own family prefers not to have much to do with him but- but he was always kind to me; Lester Kittsdale does not deserve to be lost to whatever trouble he's mistakenly got himself in to, so I'm begging you, please Mr. Drew, please. Find my Uncle Les!"

Still, I hemmed and hawed. "Well Miss Kittsdale, I can try my best to help . . . but . . ."

Agatha opened up her little clutch and pulled out a thick stack of clams. "This is half for now, and the rest will come after you find either my Uncle or . . . proof of what happened."

Well. What else could I say but that I'd take the job?

But boy, I wish I hadn't.

Because little did I know . . . somehow, Lester Kittsdale's disappearance, and the new Mushroom Killer were connected.

I started my investigation in the morning by heading to investigate one of the senior Kittsdale's former colleagues, a Professor Alvin Casper . . . only to find his office covered in blood and a handful of little mushrooms and scattered tendrils of something green and slightly rough littering the crime scene. His secretary, who had opened the door for me, hadn't even realized. How could this be? It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, didn't anyone come by and speak to her before going into the office? Wouldn't anyone have heard the banging around, the noise coming from a violent confrontation?

Turns out the secretary had been sent by the Professor to fetch him a couple of books from the library, and so nobody was around to hear or see anything. I asked her for the books, and she handed me books containing early accounts of some prominent families from a few families that had been here when the city was nothing more than a colony. All we had to go on was the freshness of the blood, an open window behind the desk where blood was slowly streaking the wall thanks to the rain coming in, and a couple of vegetables.

"Fungi." Williams, the forensic scientist corrected me. Cops were crawling all over the place, gloves and brushes dusting for fingerprints, but all they could find were the streaked fingerprints and fingernails of the deceased Professor, obviously from his struggle to not be butchered.

"What?" I frowned, looking askance at the older British man.

"Mushrooms aren't vegetables, they're fungi." Williams explained.

"You mean like mold?" I was checking over the desk, reading the documents slowly. When the police checked it out before, they decided it was all a bunch of magic hooey, but I couldn't help but find myself intrigued. Professor Casper had been a no-nonsense kind of guy who specialized in mathematics, so what was he doing reading about occult practices and the practice of human sacrifices in history? And . . . I squinted my eyes, trying to see if that would change the text on the page before me, but nope, it was all about . . . fungi.

"No, well yes," Williams huffed as he finished up his work, tossing his gloves into the trash can. "There are all kinds of fungi in the world, some good for humans and some bad. There's so little research being done on the topic but it's quite fascinating, did you know-!"

"Willy, if you're so fascinated, maybe you can tell me what these notes are about." I interrupted, gesturing for him to come closer and review the work here with me. With a curious noise, Williams came up beside me and started to read. I knew by the way his eyes peepers nearly popped out of his head that he was just as surprised as I was.

"What on Earth was he doing with these?" Williams muttered, hands pushing the papers over to check out the occult writings. "I'm not sure what we've got on our hands here, Drew, but if the police left it . . . then maybe it's best kept with you."

And I agreed. I was a little confused why the cops hadn't taken these papers just in case, but if it could in any way help my investigation then I'd take whatever I could get. Down one potential lead but confronted with several more questions, I took the books, the papers, and made for the University library. I showed the librarian the pages on the fungi research and asked her if she knew what books might help, and she was quite helpful. News of the Professor's death had already spread across the campus in just two hours, and I sure didn't look like a student. Felt like one though, sitting at a table and cross referencing books, writing down notes until my hand cramped. I remembered why I only went for two years before getting into the investigating business.

As for the occult papers, I consulted a longtime friend of mine, Madame Talue. Those occult papers had given me an idea . . . in my career I've seen a lot of things. Some things no rational man would believe . . . because that rational man hadn't started into the abyss and asked questions. Hadn't gotten answers back. Not every person who ran away was trying to get away from his responsibilities, if you catch my drift. Not every murder was straightforward . . . some held little sigils, a circle full of what the police saw as meaningless satanic drivel. I knew otherwise, and that's why I was going to need to call in some professional help.

The neon purple sign enticed all looking for some answers, some hope. Madame Talue's Spiritual Consultation. The rain beat at my shoulders and hat as I stood outside of the building for a minute, looking back and forth at the near deserted street. Seems even the toughest, dirtiest bums around the city weren't looking to have a run-in with this new serial killer. Wanting out of the rain, I marched towards that door like I was walking towards an execution. This case was giving me the creeps.

I hadn't even crossed the threshold of her little alleyway business when her smoky voice piped up from behind a purple silk curtain. "I've been waiting for you to get on this case, Drew."

"The Kittsdale case, Lulu?" I asked. Her silhouette, visible thanks to the candles on her side and the near total darkness in the place, shifted. I knew she was starting to pull out her tarot cards.

"No, the case of this little . . . what do you call him? Ah, Mushroom Killer." Her husky chuckle drifted through the air, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand up. Batty old dame. But she wasn't wrong.

I closed the door behind me, the bell at the top letting out a couple brassy chimes. I walked over and swept the curtain aside, making to sit across from the medium. She's hardly changed in the ten years I've known her, crows feet and rouge lips, gauzy shawls and curls escaping to tumble out from underneath her headwrap. Her lavender painted lids were heavy as she observed me, shuffling her cards. "Help me out here Lulu, I've got nothing to show for this but fungi and magic circles."

"That's all you really need!" Talue declared, but nonetheless she plucked out three cards from the top and placed them face down. Setting the deck down she hovered her hands over the cards and looked at them, gaze distant. "It's a big one this time, Drew. I don't know if you should continue this . . . it might spell doom."

"Might is a bet I'm willing to take. Besides, I already got paid half, and I've got my eyes on the new Ford." I joke. Talue's lips crack open with a grin, and she flips the first card over.

Talue hummed. "The Emperor reversed. Upright the card means something like authority, stern expectations and duty. Reversed, its meaning becomes colder. Tyrannical. Rigid and unyielding. Almost . . . cruel."

The next card. "Oh, interesting . . . the King of Wands. He's focused on the big picture, helps to overcome challenges and focus on the goals ahead. A real leader."

And then the next. "Ah." I huffed out a laugh, looking at the card that's recognizable even to someone who doesn't deal with these card tricks. Death. "Well . . . maybe the Ford isn't worth it."

Talue's gaze is compassionate, but also knowing. "And yet the last two times I pulled this card for you, you kept going anyway."

And damn it, she was right. Even I could tell that something was very different about this case. Something beyond anything I'd seen before. But was I a man or a chicken? Talue looked over the occult documents I found at the Professor's office, and told me about rumors that a cult of some sort was gathering in the shadows. They'd taken, lately, to meeting up in the sewers just off the city park. Satanic? She didn't think so. Likely something older. And wasn't that just swell.

The meetings would be in three days, and start at 3 a.m. The witching hour. How cute. In the meantime I spent my days at the library looking up more on the old families that ran the city, looking back and finding some evidence of a witch trial happening here. Not as bad as Salem's, they only got about five women here, but it led me to more questions. Was someone trying to finish what an ancestor had started long ago? I needed something concrete before I could face Miss Kittsdale again.

Finally, the night of the meeting rolled around. I had to be stealthy, knowing that in an enclosed space like a sewer, any small extra noise on my part would echo. Carry, like a death sentence, if these wackadoos were connected to the serial killer. In the dead of the night I descended even further down into the city's depths, entering the underground cities that housed only the most hopeless, the most unwanted of society. It wasn't much but the folks had made a community down here. A community that didn't speak to outsiders, at all. So I didn't waste my time trying to hail one of the glinting sets of eyeballs observing me from the shadowed shantytowns or stalls curiously absent of workers yet still full of all sorts of wares salvaged from the world above. I knew there was an entrance to the sewers here, and walked steadily towards it.

As I stepped in, I heard a cut off choke, and a harsh whisper. I whipped around, hand reaching for my gun as I waited for some type of ambush. Were the sub dwellers part of the cult too? But no. Nothing. Just some people staring balefully at me. With another keen look, I turned back and headed into the sewers. And let me tell you, it was as pretty a picture as you're imagining it. Smelled just like the gardenias wafting off of Miss Kitssdale's swan-like neck. Oh, boy, did I wish.

Whether it stunk to high heaven or looked like a one-way ticket to the hospital at some spots, I couldn't falter. I was maybe about . . . a quarter of a mile into the tunnel when I started seeing those strange symbols. Were they directions or tenants? I never did learn Latin. But then half a mile in I got lucky. Started seeing things popping up in English.

Praise the Great One.

We are all connected.

No one escapes the connection.

Give yourself to the Transformation.

It didn't make much sense to me. Pretty much any organized religion I'd ever heard of connected their followers under one banner- that of the rules of their practice. But what did it mean by 'no one escapes the connection'? And what Transformation? Were they transforming the victims after the killer got through with them? Was this some sort of sick exhibition? There were too many conjectures for so little evidence, so I moved on. At least, I knew I was on the beam.

I haven't been in sewers too many times in my life . . . but I sure had enough experience to know that it was quiet. Too quiet. Besides the drip of water, there was no sound of scurrying rats or their annoying little squeaks. But there were plenty of bones. Were the cultists eating them? Were they living in the sewers perhaps?

If it hadn't been for my preoccupation with how quiet it was, I might have missed the softest whisper of movement behind me. The sound of something far too close to me. I grabbed my gun and whipped around.

"Cool it buddy- GOOD GOD!" I was horrified, frozen for a second as I viewed the monstrosity before me. It was grotesque, something vaguely humanoid when you took into account the four limbs and the eyes at the center of his head, but nothing else about it could be related to any of God's creations. Overlong arms that had claws dragging to the ground, legs had three toes only, and its entire body was covered in something like . . . like algae or moss. Mushrooms of different sizes and colors dotted the ragged terrain of its body. Strands of the stuff hung from its body, and a set of long curved bones jutted out from its spine, like one of those dinosaurs I'd read about once as a child.

It reared up and roared at me, the noise breaking me out of my frozen state as I dove backwards to avoid its deadly looking claws. Grasping my hat and cursing up a streak, I pointed my pistol at it and shot several times. Each bullet made it jerk back, and after the final bullet it screeched and ran around a corner of the tunnel with alarming speed. For my part I was still sprawled on the ground, gasping sharply and looking around.

"Jesus Christ." I whispered to myself. Shakily, I got up and patted myself down, checking to see if maybe the rush of adrenaline was keeping me from feeling any slashes on my body or something. How had I just survived that? What was that?! Taking a deep breath, I composed myself. Whatever it was, it was likely crawling somewhere to die. I had shot too many bullets in it. And I had come too far to give up now.

Wait a minute.

I shot bullets-

The scuffling of footsteps sent a surge of panic in me, and I looked around frantically for a place to hide. The footsteps sounded like they were coming from a tunnel up ahead to the left, and the tunnel the beast had escaped into might not have any cover. But what the hell else could I do? I dove into that tunnel and looked around, jumping first at seeing the thing's corpse collapsed in a heap not too far from the entrance, and then an alcove accessible by a ladder. Ignoring the still lump, I scrambled over and up, disappearing from view just as those cultists made it to where I had been sprawled previously.

"Do you think that was a police officer?" A gruff voice asked. I was crouched in the alcove, and risked taking a peek at the speaker. With my hat off, I nudged my head out as far as I dared. Two tall figures, both male, wore long robes of black and the hoods prevented me from seeing their faces.

"Likely, or maybe someone hired a Private Investigator to find a missing person. Too bad the Gilly leaves nothing behind." His companion chuckled, both men having a nice little giggle over the murders of innocent people. I stared at them, begging them to turn around so I could see their faces. But still they faced away from the mouth of the tunnel. Until finally, one happened to look over their shoulder, only showing me part of a cheek and a thin mouth, before jumping and whacking his companion on the shoulder.

"By the Hyphae! Look! It's the Gilly!" Both turned and rushed over, and the sudden movements made their hoods flutter just enough for me to see their faces, and nearly shout in shock. By God, it was the Attorney General and the Mayor! I watched both men, men I'd see holding babies and dancing with their wives with nothing but gaiety in their steps, rush over to the lump of monster and hover over it.

"It's not . . . not dead, is it?" The mayor asked breathlessly.

"Don't be silly! The children of the Great Gill can't possibly be hurt by some crummy bullets." The AG scoffed, but then hesitated and turned to the mayor. "We shouldn't stand too close to it, I think."

"Why?" The mayor questioned, shrugging. "It's never harmed us before?"

"Yes, because before it had other . . . things to preoccupy itself with." The AG insisted. "We really should go and fetch the High Priest-"

With a vengeful, furious roar, the monster they called Gilly, rose up and spread its arms wide, furious howls echoing in the tunnel. Both men screamed and jumped back, turning to run, but the Gilly was upon them too quickly. I watched in terror as the Gilly stuck the claws of one hand straight into the mayor's back, the man screaming gutterally as his body contorted instinctively away from the intrusion, and the other clawed hand slashed at the AG and dug deep into the back of his left knee. The man went down with a scream, turning to look as the mayor was bashed against the tunnel wall and floor, screams becoming shrill and wet before the Gilly tossed the dying body aside, shaking the man vigorously off his claws. Then it hissed, crouching before springing upon the AG and beginning to . . . God, to tear the man to pieces.

Hell if I was going to stick around for it to find me! While it was preoccupied trying to stick its entire head into the slit it made in the AG's throat, I quickly climbed down and then sprinted away.

"Wait . . ." The mayor gurgled, a hand reaching out, but his plea only reminded the monster of his presence, and soon he was set upon by the beast, but I didn't get to see what it did since I had turned the corner and was booking it. Distantly, I could hear other footsteps and voices coming.

"STOP!" A woman's voice shrieked, and I ducked when I heard gunshots firing. Bullets hit the walls and floors but I kept running, miraculously feeling nothing hit. Soon I heard more bullets firing and screams, accompanied by the roars of the Gilly. I guess it hated having its meal, or whatever the hell it was making of those two poor souls, interrupted.

Two days had passed since that terrifying night in the sewers, and I had been lying low, there was too much heat from that event. Cops went down there and harassed the sub dwellers but they kept mum, and besides some blood and an eyeball, nothing about that secret cult meeting or the Gilly was left behind. I was currently waiting for Agatha Kittsdale to come back to my office, and I didn't even know what I was going to tell her. That a Gilly monster ate her uncle? That he might be part of a secret cult that worshiped things like that? I didn't even know for sure myself.

But what I did know . . . was that this was too big for me. This was statewide . . . I couldn't even say for sure if the federal government was involved. But I knew that if the most powerful people in New York were a part of this, then it was likely her family was too. And when a small voice in my mind whispered that Agatha might also be involved, I ignored it.

Another night of unrelenting downpour, the storm beating furiously upon my windows. I'd been thinking more about that Gilly creature . . . maybe it really was made of algae or something. Maybe it was some cockeyed fungus. And apparently bullets didn't kill it, but surely even a fungus or a plant or whatever the hell you wanted to call it had some kind of weakness. Had to be. A lot of those mushrooms from its body had featured at crime scenes of the "Mushroom Serial Killer" now, and I had no hope of trying to convince the police that the killer they were looking for wasn't even human. Wasn't like anything they'd seen before. Thinking about it, maybe some of the police did know- the Chiefs? The Commissioner?

What I did know was that after I made my apologies to the dame, I needed to get tight.

I'd left my office door open so I could hear when she knocked, and just as I was contemplating grabbing the flask of whiskey my secretary thought she'd cleverly hidden, those two gentle raps on the door stayed my temptation.

"Come in, Miss Kittsdale." I called.

"It's locked." She replied, jiggling the knob a little as if to prove it. Thing is, I knew it wasn't. I'd unlocked it an hour ago. A sinking feeling was growing in my gut. I grabbed my pistol, checked the chamber, and patted my lower leg where a small knife lay.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear. Hold on, I'll come over and open it." I was halfway out the window when all of a sudden hands seized my shoulders and threw me bodily out. Grunting in surprise, my hands shot out and grabbed onto the railing of the fire escape, preventing me from going over and onto the roof of a shining Cadillac.

I was only just coming to the realization that my situation was not copacetic when those same hands seized me again and roughly turned me around, banging my back against the railing.

I snarled at the two men. They wore black trench coats with the collars pulled up high, and the brims of their hats down low. Gloved hands clutched onto batons that tapped expectantly against their palms. What a couple of yucks, wanna be gangsters that got their moves right off the silver screen.

"You knuckleheads." Not my best work, and I noted that with dismay as the one on the left cracked his baton against my temple, plunging me into darkness.

Whoo! There's one more part to go in the last story in the Sinister Garden series . . . the finale (of the finale)! Oh, I'm so excited! I love leaving things on a cliffhanger! Luckily, you don't have to wait forever for the next part, just a few hours! if you like what you've been reading, share it around for others to enjoy some spooky noir fun. See you later, and-

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!