#she asked if they thought the house was flooded with kool aid if not rain water

[rescueonefinancialnet]

"I am thou, thou art me."

"I am thou, thou art me!" They announced in unison.

A series of qualms infiltrated the beast within — a heart, so naive to the horrors of the world. Exposed to the horrific incidents that had befallen this house.

My name is Atlas Marsier, currently 24 years old, I work as a Physical Chemist, fundamentally, we research new chemical properties, and from that, we create new pharmaceutical products.

I was five when I was introduced to the household's maxim, "I am thou, thou art me!" (I know quite common, yet I still found it odd). Questions weren't always met with positive reactions, at least in the family. Due to this, I grew up learning by myself, personally preferring chemistry over other matters, learning how the world functioned inside a solitary pen, away from society. My father, Avery Marsier was a respected man, beloved by the people around him, because of his inherent charisma, people were drawn towards him, towards his ideals, to a cause greater than himself. And so, he decided to establish his own community, revolving around the concept of occultism and parity (an unlikely pair).

But, I digress.

Most of you have presumably heard of the "Jonestown Massacre," if you don't, I'll provide a little context. The "Jonestown Massacre" was a dreadful event in history that occurred in Guyana, wherein approximately 918 people died from food poisoning, essentially, it was a flavored beverage — some calling it "Kool-Aid" which was laced with potassium cyanide (KCN).

My grandfather, Calien Marsier, was a firm believer in their cult leader, Jim Jones — a white minister who preached unconventional socialist and progressive ideas to a predominantly African-American community, thus, that was how the People's Temple was formed. My grandfather was one of the few people who also believed in the equality of all, to rid of racial discrimination.

Though, my great grandfather fled to Indianapolis after the massacre, after being subjected to so many dead bodies, leaving him traumatized, and attempting so many occultist ways to ask for forgiveness from those who had died. He passed it onto his family, saying it was his Kins' burden to carry, to do what he could not, to ask for forgiveness from the damned.

It was two days ago when I got stuck inside this haze of a dream, a belligerent phase in between reality and fiction. Though, maybe it was due to those red eyes that lingered in the darkness, or maybe due to the decaying mixture of blood and food, or perhaps the inhumane growling that has been sending chills down my spine. Nonetheless, I believe that my life is facing an immotile peril, which is the sole reason that I am writing this.

The phenomena were as vivid as daylight entering the eyes. Two days ago, I was researching the possibility of Potassium (K) manipulating the nerve cells to function adequately when a buzzing rang inside my ear, it was a ringtone from a phone, my phone. Slowly, I unlocked it only to see that my Sister from Indianapolis was calling me. I hesitated, unable to answer the dark memory that haunted me to this day, though ultimately, I gave up and answered the device that rang endlessly.

"Hello? Sarina?" I called, my voice cracking delicately.

"Yes, hello? Atlas, is that you? Gosh, it's been so long," her soft voice, a mellow autumn that brought a sense of relief. I was glad, I hadn't spoken to family in so long, but if I truly wanted to forget, I should have avoided this call.

"Atlas, Father is at his deathbed..." There was a brief silence, a monotonous tone that was unable to lull this heart of mine, deliberately booming with dismay and anguish.

"Atlas? Are you still there?" She consulted breaking me away from my anticipated trance.

"Uhh... Yeah, I'm still here... It's just, it's too much to take in, sorry," I muttered over the phone truthfully.

"We all know what Father did to you, but, please just this time, see him off, he so badly wants to see you!" She sighed on the other line, and I felt my heart wrench, her muffled cries were audibly clear.

I scratched the back of my head, unable to come to amends with the decisions that scrambled inside my barren abyss.

"Please..." She pleaded, an unbearable break in her voice.

And, on a whim, I mumbled, "Ok, but only for you, and Janne!" A sigh of relief following after.

"Thank you!" She retorted, immediately ending the call after.

I was met with the once monotonous tone of the dead phone as rain pelted through the glass of the laboratory I was situated in. The sensation was dreadful, knowing that a family member was nearing demise was horrendous in itself, though another reason deterred my conscience from going back home.

And so, I drove into the silent night, every inch of darkness consuming my car, the headlights being the only source of light. Soon after, a morose emotion took over, it was my old house, and upon meeting it, a looming gloom that seemingly was withering away along with the wooden structure met my eyes — recollections of a murky past that haunted my very being.

Slowly parking my car in the driveway, I departed towards the deathly reality of my history. My sister stood on the porch at the dead of night, tears cascading down her rosy cheeks that were somehow lit by the faint glimmer of the moon.

"Glad that you're here, Atlas. Janne also just got here," I nodded, peeling off the leather cloth that glued onto my skin, liquid gushing down the fabric.

I inspected the window beside us. Instantly flooding my sight was the ample amount of my father's cult members, solemnly sobbing and whimpering inside the living room. It bothered me, a son like me was distant from his own father, yet people who aren't even blood-related to us were bawling their eyes out. They seemed more of a family than I.

Gagging the discomfort away, my sister yanked me through the hallways — a grandeur, Victorian-inspired ancient home, crumbling due to old age. Deliberately, we ascended the stairs, then a familiar set of orbs locked onto mine.

It was my sister's.

"Janne? I've missed you so so much!" I mumbled, as to not attract any unwanted attention. The owner of the ocean-like spheres beamed and hauled me into a tight embrace — I was the youngest out of the three, and these two were the only ones who've ever treated me like I was part of the household.

"I've missed you, Atlas! It's just sad to see that the only time we all gathered together was at our father's deathbed," Janne extended her arms out to Sarina, Sarina directly accepting the gesture.

We stood there, for quite a while hugging, reminiscing about our days together.

"I guess we all wanted to leave this house," Sarina murmured, her once solemn manner, replaced by a warming smile, a smile that gave me a brief reminder that I was truly back home.

"Yeah..." I managed to blurt out.

We started pacing towards the uppermost master bedroom, my Father's room. And, upon ascending the last flight of stairs, I was immediately met with peculiar eyes, staring right into my soul, slowly drilling away what was left of my sanity which reduced my composure with each passing second.

I excused myself, passing through those demeaning eyes. Eyes that held expectations, it held all kinds of things, and it belonged to my Father's executive cult members. Scrutiny wasn't handled in a calculated manner, and so I shifted my gaze towards the ground, hastening my pace towards my dreaded Father's room.

And there, the horrors began to reminisce, the abuse, the pain, wounds, and bruises that were unable to move on from their horrid history. My chest tightened ever-so-slowly, it felt like I was being constricted, towards death itself, just like this old ragged man before me.

Old white hair, meager to remove itself from the depths of his scalp. Skin, wrinkly as age could have folded, pale as a corpse, yet refusing to give his last breath.

"Can you leave both me and my son in the room? I would like to have a word with him, privately..." He coughed, spitting blood all over his red-stained sheets.

They all rapidly dissipated, like smoke, even the souls of my sisters were not present inside the room. Then, it hit me, I was alone, with the gloom that haunted my very being all of my life, an agonizing one at that.

"Son, Atlas... I'm deeply ashamed of the way you've grown to fear me. Let fear not shape you, instead, let your courage mold you," the pale man coughed once more, spouting red oozing liquid from his mouth. I pitied him, oddly enough.

"I just wanted you to know that it was never my intention to do any of those horrible things to you," he mumbled, his raspy voice laced with a hint of discomfort. This caused something within me to snap — an anger that built itself upon fear, anger that fed on hatred, and it was inclined to the idea of bursting out.

"To what?! Kicking me in the stomach? Beating me until I was unconscious? Or maybe, it was slitting my wrists with a knife?! And, let's not forget you, mixing Cyanide with the beverage for your members, you're lucky I found that one before they could have killed themselves!" I felt my chest lighten, a series of breaths that seemed to ease the beast within — a heart that held all of the resentment and bitterness, flaring like wildfire.

"No... I did not do any of that!" A tear rolled down his saggy cheeks.

"Then who did?!" I retorted. He yanked my hand, nearing my ears until he uttered.

"You're the key, you need to find out, you need to save those damned souls, Atlas! And, I hope that you may come to forgive me when you come to confirm my suspicions. Inside my office, there is a hidden passage, you've accidentally entered it before. You can find my journal there," He coughed again, more blood spewing out of his maws, his eyes slowly turning bloodshot. And, it scared me, what if I was loathing an innocent person?

But, it couldn't be, it was him, every single time.

My curiosity was piqued, and the thought frightened me immensely.

"Plea—" his eyes gazed into the vast nothingness, bloodshot, and lifeless. His head hung down from the pillow as tears began to trickle down from my tear ducts. I was scared, frightened of being truly alone. My father laid there, motionless, everything was followed by a loud bang, the door opening, and people flooding the room, and I sat there, incapable, limp from the dread of death of a family member.

Soon after all of the tears, I met my sisters, talking to a black woman who, if my memory does not serve me wrong, was also a member of Father's cult.

"Yes, Sarina, embalming your father will take approximately two days, the Priest will also come by in two days, and I'm heartbroken of your loss, goodbye!" She nodded and went off into the street at the break of dawn. Makeup, stained from all of the inherent crying.

"Sarina, Janne, are you busy? I'd like you to help me with something, of course, if you aren't," I said shyly, clawing the back of my head.

"Well, surely, we can make time," Janne tubbed my back as a form of assurance, slowly pacing off into my deceased Father's office.

"Remind us what we're doing here again?" Sarina inquired.

"Well, to put it simply, Father said that he wasn't the one who did all of those horrible things to me, and I'm here to find out if he's telling the truth. I don't want to live, hating someone all of my life!" They must have the perceived integrity in my gazes, and so they asked no further.

"So, what are we doing exactly?" Janne queried.

"See those tiny metallic letter blocks on Father's table? We're supposed to find the correct code," I mumbled analyzing shelves and shelves of books that had placed themselves before me.

I fiddled with the books, lining upon my sight when a faded book cover caught my eye. It was a book entitled, "Narrative of Life," the author was a black slave during the 1800s, who wrote about the continued racial oppression, his journey of ending the oppression, and gaining his freedom.

And, upon inspecting the cover closely, I discovered the familiar set of hollowed-out number placeholder. Grabbing the "L" of the "Life," which disclosed a four-number combination that was to be filled by the metallic blocks.

"I remember him, Frederick Douglass, he was the one who said, "This fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn," signifying that the Blacks' were never truly free," Sarina elucidated, as she fiddled with the metallic placeholder.

"Yes, I remember now. Janne, spell "July" inside the four-letter placeholder. It's the 4th of July, 4 letters, and the date that the author said the statement!" I said, Janne deliberately placed the letters one by one on the book, whilst we were waiting for a reaction from any of the contraptions.

"Nothing!" Janne sighed, placing the book on the table, and accidentally closing the lid of the container.

An abrupt quake frightened our notions — a dissatisfied one. The floor started cracking, revealing a dimly lit staircase right below the table, and within that single second, it hit me, the fear, of knowing the truth, of knowing that I might have hated the wrong person most of my life.

I trekked into the darkness, flashing my phone over the darkness, carefully treading towards the enigma when I accidentally bumped into a tough substance. It was a bulb, enclosed in networks of webs. Pulling off the silk from the contraption, I tugged onto the string, instantly causing the bulb to turn on.

"What is this place?" Sarina questioned.

"I accidentally entered here before, which was why I got beaten until I was unconscious. It's Father's Research Room," I informed them, both unable to take their quizzical stares from the substances that were hidden inside the room.

"What's this? It says "Jonestown Journal." Entry number 1, Guyana, October 21, 1978. Journal, during our council meeting, Jones has showed signs of severe psychosis, he doesn't want to lose the lawsuit as it will greatly influence the power of the community. I'm worried, he's been talking to thin air, and I, along with the other inner-circle members are deathly afraid of him," Sarina read. I motioned her to proceed to which she gladly obliged.

"Entry number 7, Guyana, October 30, 1978. I ordered a plane on the 23rd of November. I need to escape from this place, even the inner-circle members want to escape, Jones is slowly losing himself. Every night, I dream of a catastrophe made by himself, I hope it only stays in my nightmares," She finished, immediately flipping the pages.

"Entry number 16, Guyana, November 16, 1978. I saw the Psychopath beat a black child until he was lifeless, I couldn't save him, I've reported to the authorities, but none believed me, the locals all believed the minister. And, also, I saw him in my dreams, his eyes bloodshot, puking a puddle of blood, pointing towards me, and saying that it was all of my fault!" She tossed a few more pages.

"Entry number 18, Guyana, November 18, 1978. This madman fooled his Black cult members! He termed it a "Revolutionary Suicide," I talked to the investigator, he wouldn't believe me! He distributed a beverage laced with cyanide throughout the whole cult. I warned them, but they wouldn't listen!" She gasped, utter disbelief coming off of her mouth.

"Should I continue?" Sarina asked, wanting assurance before anything else, to which I nodded as an affirmation.

"Entry number 28, Indianapolis, November 28, 1978. I arrived last afternoon in here. They've published articles of the massacre I couldn't stop, this was in my dream. And, speaking of dreams, I had a dream last night, there were eyes, bloodshot eyes that stared at me in hatred, fangs that wanted to raze my very being, and I reckon they were nearing a thousand. There were also carvings on the roadside, something about an "Andras," and not only that, Jones, was hunting me, with a sickle, he wanted me to drink the poisonous liquid as well," Sarina muttered, her worry intensifying.

"Read the last part, I need to know what Father wanted to tell me," I told Sarina, she flipped to the last page, a single strand of paper left inside the journal.

"Entry number 836, Indianapolis, July 6, 2021. Ever since my father died, the same dream he was narrating, passed onto me. What he did to me, he wasn't the one who did it, it wasn't those thousands of red eyes and the owners of the boiling blood puddles either. My death is nearing, this is my last entry, and my son is the only one who can put an end to this curse, he can liberate them. The pills are inside the drawers, focus, and let yourself slip into The Nether. But, beware, isolate yourself as to not hurt anyone, you are susceptible to possession in this phase. Chant the family maxim three times, it'll place you in the correct body," Janne and Sarina turned their attention towards me, I slowly paced towards the drawers, snatching a bottle of pills — pills that melted in the dark background, a shade of vantablack, and it sent the ripples inside my tiny mind in disarray.

I eyed both of my sisters, wanting both of them to remove themselves from harm's way, Sarina nodded in affirmation, although Janne begged to differ. She willfully attempted to stop my attempt, and I appreciated her worry, but the truth was the only thing that could set me free from these wretched chains filled with immeasurable doubt.

"I need to do this, Janne, please!" I pleaded, wanting her to get out of the room, and away from the chamber.

"Please, come back, we don't want to lose you as well!" Janne managed to blurt out which gave rise to a smile.

"I'll return, I promise," I assured her, swallowing the pill, along with the entrance closing, leaving me in the dimly lit chamber. Senses, gradually dulling, a paling darkness, along with those horrific red eyes. The body, unable to move at will, fear eventually swallowing the abyss into a sluggish and agonizing insanity.

"I am thou, thou art me! I am thou, thou art me! I am thou, thou art me!" I muttered through the tips of my lips. The darkness eating my conscience away.

Frigid concrete caressing my cheeks, body, lying on the cold hard ground. Shadows, spanning as wide as the eye could see, it almost seemed like a town, an abandoned one, and situated at the very tip of the town was a building, seemingly unaffected by the apprehensive aura of the darkness.

It looked almost like a temple.

The scrutiny shaped itself in the form of the red eyes, maws craving a soul, and a body that was to be torn, limb from limb. Yet, they were incapable of advancing, as if they were scared... of something.

"Calien? Where are you going? I need you to persuade the inner circle, we desire to make a statement, and do it we shall," he laughed... in a twisted and horrid way, it scared me to death, the psychotic look painted on his face was absolutely appalling.

"I-I'm going... uhmm... Jim?" I stuttered, fear getting the better of my sanity. It would be the most tactical idea, to play into the enemy's arms, and from the inside, destroy the structure of the community.

"Very well, Marsier, let us head to the People's Temple!" My grandfather? Peculiar, was I seeing things through his eyes?

"I am thou, thou art me," a shuddered whisper rang inside my ears, a familiar raspiness to the tone, almost like I've known the person all of my life.

"It's luring you... run!" The murmurs moved along with the wind, a sequel of dull heartbeats following after.

Taking the warning, I slowly paced away from Jones, my body pursuing the source of the voices. The murderer must've been too occupied in his daydreams, clarifying that everything was just a misinterpretation, or so it seemed.

But, still, I couldn't get that twisted smirk of his away from my mind, and it bothered me with each passing second.

"Where did you go? Those red eyes and sharp fangs aren't your companions, I advise you to stay away from them!" He shouted with a melody that was almost taunting as if he was questioning my intentions, and it terrified me. After all, the human mind can only endure so much.

Then, a sudden tug on my shoulder alarmed me. It was one of those red eyes, yanking me, all too forceful. Me, fearing for dear life, fought back, only to meet the puddle of blood soaking my face, and percolating inside my eyes.

This was it, death, a gruesome demise. And, for a second, a darkness blanketed my eyes, yet it oddly felt relieving, like it was not meant to kill.

"Stand up! We have much to talk about!" It was a black man, tugging my shoulders, a person, amongst many others.

"Where are those demons?!" I yelled, a wave of panic rushing inside me.

"There's only one demon here," he mumbled, pulling me inside a barren shack, only a single vial of red liquid caught my eye which the man promptly took, about five canisters of fine silver nitrate — easily distinguished if examined by a chemist's eyes, one look was all it took and a dull-looking kris.

"That temple was a sacred ground, me, along with my family have been protecting that place. This is the blood of Jesus, our order salvaged the blood from France, my father, warning us that Jones was planning something sinister, that we need the blood to stop the catastrophe, and that he sensed a demonic presence," I stared at him, demented, frightened by the things that he was spouting.

"That temple is a gateway for evil, wherein the connection between our world and the world beyond ours is severely weakened. Unbeknownst to us, after hearing about the future of his lawsuit, Jones became angry, and with that anger, he accidentally summoned a demon, a demon named Andras, who has been manipulating him to do his vile bidding," he finished, the name grew familiar inside my abyss, it was at the verge of my thoughts, but it was all but futile.

"Andras, detecting the presence of the blood of Christ, started to order home-to-home raids. And eventually, after failing to find the treasure, manipulated the whole community to commit mass suicide," my eyes widened, learning the truth behind the catastrophe seemingly drained my capacity to reason.

"I am thou, and thou art me. My spirit has provided the means to rid of this demon and to finally liberate us, I needed pure people, and your grandfather was as pure as can be. But, none dared to come near the illusions, to us," he sighed, scratching the back of his head in slight annoyance.

"You, luckily, managed to get our blood into your eyes which caused you to finally see the truth," he said, placing the vial of blood inside of my hands.

"If I had a physical body like yours, I would have done this a long time. But, I'm only a spirit, and you have to be the one to save all of us. To be the one to finally banish that demon!" I sighed, escaping peril was only the half of it, I had to come back as well.

I was about to refuse when I recollected, this plight would have no end, a curse that is passed through each member of the family once the holder dies. I bit my lip, anxious about all the possibilities that may transpire, and then it hit me.

"I need those silver nitrates, and I'll take the kris!" An idea instantly coming into mind, I tightened my grip on the canister, on my right, the blood of Christ, and the kris inside my mouth.

"You need to draw a cross on Jones' forehead, or it would be nothing but futile," the man yelled, as I walked towards the temple, the existence of the Nether, and the danger that lurks within, no longer feared.

The once dark-enclosed city inverting shades with the temple which now held a distinguished gloom. Despite the fear, and despite all of the emotions trickling within, hope seemed to fuel my very being, and so, I continuously took the path towards the unknown, with hope.

The gloom embraced all of the vicinity, crosses near the mass graveyard turning upside down as I paced right past them. A series of unnerving claps resonated behind me, and it was no other than the demon himself, Jones. He held a large sickle, his eyes drooping in agony, blood flowing down his eyes, in an effort of hesitation.

It seemed like he didn't want it like he was being forced. A stream of blood came from his mouth, puking out guts onto the dirt which forced me to squeal. And, as if on cue, my legs mindlessly ran towards a ragged building, a series of bloodstains, and organs, left about for flies to infest.

I headed towards the leftmost chairs, hiding behind the brittle wood, and removing the handle of the blade from my mouth. Opening the lid of the canister, I deliberately scattered the silver nitrate on the wooden chair, slowly moving towards the backrooms of the temple.

"Hide, little man! Because when I find you, I'll make sure that you savor every last bit of my drink!" The demon hissed, a hoarse voice that encapsulated the soul in a strange tingle of fear. A maniacal laugh following after.

I slid through the stone slabs, only to find a whole table of corpses, choking on their own blood, guts, and innards spawled on the floor.

"This is what happened to the inner circle, Calien. Poor them, they should have stayed as loyal lapdogs!" Jones laughed maniacally, his grin protruding towards his ears. It was a horrific sight, and I could feel my hands, shivering from fright.

"I saw an empty canister just outside, you should have been more careful," the demon taunted, causing me to frown.

"You demon, you murderer, I'll never forgive you!" I said pathetically, my eyes void of life, with the hope being the only fuel.

"You pitiful human, I've slaughtered billions of lives, and I couldn't care any less. You, humans, are of no significance, just like all of them!" He hissed, jumping onto me with a sickle in hand.

He attempted to slice my neck with the sickle which to my luck, I dodged. Soon after, he pressed the sickle towards my face, attempting to overpower me, my left hand struggling to keep his hand from advancing, and ultimately, slicing my face open.

"Imagine losing to something you call insignificant, Andras!" I yelled in its face, spitting as a form of aggravation.

The strength in his arms gradually increasing with each second, his once pale face growing feathers, into a shape of a horrifying beast, limbs turning pale, blood dripping from the tip of its mouth, eyes that perpetually gushed blood. I pushed with all of my might, which resulted in the blade slipping on my palms, leaving a minor wound.

"You fo—" And, before the demon was able to finish his words, I clinked the kris onto the stone, causing sparks to fly out of the steel end of the blade, and into the silver nitrate, which resulted in a strong explosion.

Both of our limp bodies flew into the air and landing on the ground. The demonic transgression from Jones slowly fading along with the demon that possessed him. I limped towards his body, noticing that his face was burnt in half, and the blade nowhere to be seen. I took the initiative to limp towards him, head still filled with angst, and a vision clouded with haze.

I examined his body, assuming that he was dead due to the dismal lack of beats from his heart. When a hand instantly grabbed me by my neck, choking, trying to grasp even the tiniest amount of air.

But, it was futile.

"Fool, do you really believe you can kill me? I am a Marquis of hell, instigator of discord, of anger!" He tightened his grip on my neck, causing me to scream in pain.

"Go... to... Hell!" I yelled, destroying the vial with my hands, glass penetrating through my thick palms. And, on a whim, I drew a cross on the demon's forehead, which caused him to scream in agony, whilst his slowly deteriorating body blew along with the wind.

I was dropped on the ground, unable to fix the syncopation in my breathing. A strong smell of iron infiltrated the nose, the dissipation of light following after.

I unlocked both of my eyes, sunlight infiltrating both of my orbs. The hazy dream felt all too real, and it caused a certain rush of panic. Then, I was met with two familiar faces.

"Janne? Sarina?" Embracing both of them in a tight hug, relief overflowed through my system. The plight was finally over, the demon was finally gone.

"The malevolence I've sensed has dissipated, Janne and Sarina! A miracle must've happened!" A man, dressed in priest-like garments announced, which resulted in a fit of smiles.

I glanced at the searing pain in my palms, a minor wound, fresh, and clean.

It was real after all, and I'm glad that this curse is finally over.

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