Church For Shaggotts

  Church for Shaggotts

    By Anton Kukal

Carl Tindle graduated from college with a degree in journalism. He wanted to move to a

big city, get a job at a major news agency, and help change the world. Instead, he

moved home to his parent’s house in Aldrich Lake and took up residence in their

basement. With dismal job prospects in town, he got an online job writing product

reviews for a large internet marketing agency.

To say Carl wasn’t happy with his life would be a gross understatement. He had been in

the top ten percent of his high school class. He deserved better. Most of his home-town

friends went to college and never came back. They were off having grand adventures.

They had studied chemistry, computer science, and engineering. These majors allowed

them to get a job right out of school.

Even the kids who didn’t go to college were living their lives. They took to the trades,

becoming plumbers, electricians, and auto mechanics. Most of them got married right

out of high school and had kids. He had nothing in common with them anymore.

His life was this weird limbo that left him without any friends in town. Mostly, Carl spent

time in his room on his phone where he was active in sub-Reddits and on many Discord

servers. When he wasn’t drafting advertisements for household products, he spent

many hours providing the members of these internet groups with insightful information

and cogent commentary.

Just as he was making an essential point proving how the toxic fanbase of Star Wars is

responsible for killing the franchise, his mother burst into the room.

“Will you stop doom scrolling on your phone and help your father bring out the trash?”

Carl could only sigh. His mother didn’t understand the importance of his involvement

with these online communities. Whole groups of people depended on his wisdom.

These people really cared about his point of view, and mostly read everything he typed.

Some of them even responded, of course, about fifty percent of the responses were

highly argumentative. The internet was full of trolls. When that happened, he used his

moderator privileges to ban these small-minded people.

Mother crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Your father has a bad back. He

shouldn’t have to carry those trash cans out to the street by himself.”

“I’m getting up!”

Carl wanted to avoid escalating the situation. His parents had become increasingly

hostile recently. They even threatened to charge him rent. Everyone he typed with

agreed that he should stand up for his rights, but sometimes it was easier to just

comply. He got up from his bed and slipped into his sneakers without untying and re-

tying them, which prompted his mother to complain, “You’re going to break those heels.”

He’d already broken the heels, so it really didn’t matter. He’d just ignore the way the

shoes cut into his Achilles tendon until he got a new pair for his birthday. No big deal.

His parents always overreacted about everything.

Carl hurried up the steps with his mother following behind him. Once in the living room,

he saw through the front window that his father had already brought the two heavy trash

cans out to the street and was walking back up the drive. He sprinted for the door, ran

along the front of the house, and grabbed the orange recycling can just before his father

reached it.

“Let me help you!” Carl said.

Carl dragged the orange can down the driveway, scraping it, which caused his father to

say, “Please carry the can. Pulling it along the asphalt will wear a hole in the bottom.”

Sighing, he lifted the can. “It’s heavy.”

“If you went to the gym, it wouldn’t be so heavy.”

“If you cared about the environment and stopped using so much plastic, it would be

lighter.”

This was an old argument, and Carl probably should have just carried the can out.

“We do try to reduce our impact,” his father said testily.

Carl rolled his eyes. He needed to challenge his father’s blatant lie. “Your generation

doesn’t really care about the environment.”

“Half the can is filled with your energy drinks!”

Carl glanced down. A large number of his colorful tin cans lay amid the bottles, boxes,

and papers. Not a lot of frivolous recycling, mostly condiments, soups, tuna fish, and

vegetables. His energy drink cans did fill much of the space, but he needed the boost to

write.

“Not half!” Carl objected, sure that he was in the right.

His father opened his mouth to retort but closed it again as his eyes moved to stare past

him. An attractive young woman around his age with blue hair was walking up the

sidewalk carrying a sheaf of papers. Instead of putting the paper in his mailbox, she

came up the drive and extended the paper to him.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. “My name is Trish.”

He took the offered paper, and read the words out loud, “Visit the Church of Cultivation

every Wednesday evening at six o’clock to meet the preacher and members of the

congregation. 793 Poe Street.”

Carl handed the page back to her. “I object to organized religion.”

“Why?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

“I don’t go for that imaginary being stuff.”

“We are not that kind of church.”

“Really.”

“There is no ‘faith’ element.”

“You don’t believe in God?” Carl asked a bit sarcastically.

“We’re much more sophisticated than that.”

Carl chuckled. “All religions are the same,” he said. “They’re cons.”

“We are a cooperative collective where everyone embraces equality.”

“Yeah? Everyone gives their money and ends up poor.”

“We don’t ask for money. Our church gives money.”

“Sure.”

Father walked down the driveway. Looked at the girl, looked at him, smiled at the girl,

and took her paper. “Well, Carl, who is your new friend?”

“We just met,” he mumbled.

“I’m Trish, from the Church of Cultivation.”

She shook his father’s hand.

“Religion is not a bad thing,” his father said.

Father was raised as a Catholic, but didn’t go to church anymore. He wasn’t necessarily

for or against organized religion, but he was extremely interested in getting Carl a

girlfriend.

“You should go and see what’s happening.”

“I don’t think so,” Carl said.

“Today is Wednesday. And it’s almost six.”

“No.”

“You could meet people around your age,” Father encouraged.

The girl nodded. “Everyone would love to meet you.”

Mother came out onto the porch.

“Your whole family could come,” Trish said.

“I have work to finish,” Father said.

Carl shrugged. “I don’t have a car.”

“I will be happy to drive you up to the church.” She pointed down the street to her purple

jeep.

“Go ahead Carl,” Father encouraged.

“You would be very welcomed.”

Carl looked up to the porch, and there was mom nodding her head like one of those

bobble dolls in the back of cars. He hated the way his parents pressed him to find a

girlfriend. Truth be told, this girl Trish was hot, not in that polished beauty pageant way,

but that quirky fun cute kind of way. He liked that. He liked that a lot.

“You can meet everyone, and then I’ll drive you back here and finish putting my flyers in

the mailboxes. If you like what you hear at the church, you can even help me finish.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll come meet the congregation.”

She waved an awkward goodbye to his parents. “So nice meeting you, Mister and

Misses—"

“Tindle,” Father said.

As Trish echoed the name back, she took Carl by the hand and lead him to the car. His

parents waved as the Jeep pulled past the house. Carl rolled his eyes. “My parents

suck.”

“They seemed awfully nice.”

“I guess they mean well,” Carl admitted. “But they are always on my case.”

“Parents are in the rough position of watching their children make all the same mistakes

they did.”

Carl shook his head. “My parents don’t think they made any mistakes.”

“My church is all about open communication and understanding other people’s

perspectives. If you and your parents join, I think you’ll all see that each of you means

well.”

“That’s not what the people on Discord say.”

Trish laughed. “You know that site divides people. The joke is in the name. The whole

design fosters disagreement. Discord.”

“You’re against the internet?”

“I am against dividing humanity. My church is about bringing people together. Most Evil

in the world can be traced to factionalism.”

“You’re in that old Christian church. The one by the pond.”

“That’s us. Our church bought the building a month ago. We’re trying to build up

membership. My dad is the preacher.”

“Really?”

“We live in a house down the road from the church.”

Trish drove them out to Aldrich Lake and then turned onto Poe Street. The lake, on their

left, was beautiful mountain water, clear blue and sparkling in the afternoon sun,

surrounded by rolling hills painted in the rusty red and orange colors of autumn.

The white church was just like it was the last time Carl had seen it, faded paint,

overgrown yard with a small cemetery out back, and a gravel parking lot on the side.

The only difference was the missing cross. The large black icon had been removed off

the tall, white steeple, leaving a patch of brighter paint in the shape of the cross. The

bright red Aldrich Lake Christian Congregation sign now read “Church of Cultivation” in

a half arc with the address underneath.

Trish parked the jeep in the lot next to the building. Poe’s Pond was just a short

distance away. Green water covered with lily pads with reeds growing along the edges.

Frogs croaked loudly, sounding oddly ominous.

“Come on inside and meet people,” she said, hopping out of the Jeep.

He followed, keeping up with her as she skipped up the sidewalk and climbed the steps

two at a time. She held the door for him. He passed through the wide double doors and

paused in the vestibule to look at a photograph on the table surrounded by altar

candles.

“Is that your god?” he asked.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “No. Silly. That is Miles Pendleton, the Primary Cultivator.

He visited the world of the shaggotts and brought their message to us.”

“That sounds like faith to me.”

“It’s actually fact.” She took his hand and dragged him into the nave. They walked hand

in hand down the center aisle that ran between the pews.

At the far end of the nave, people milled about chatting in two groups. A man and

woman stood with their teenage son talking to a big man wearing a cowboy hat and a

woman in a pink dress. Two women just a bit older wearing tank tops were talking with

two men in their mid-twenties. The girls, both pretty hot, had tats and piercings. The

guys seemed like normal dudes.

A larger group of people were up on the chancel, talking with some guy wearing an odd

green robe with a bright red cowl that went up behind his head and neck.

Carl chuckled.

“Something funny?” Trish asked.

“What’s with the old guy in the bathrobe wearing the vampire cowl?”

“That’s my father.”

“Oh.”

“He is wearing the sacred garb of a cultivator. That red cowl you find so funny

represents the great fin of the nexus shaggott.”

“Yeah.”

“The fin allows the great nexus to transmit its thoughts across time and space.”

“Sure it does, and I am supposed to just believe that?”

“Of course not. If my father finds you worthy, we will show you the truth.”

The preacher noticed Carl’s entrance and hurried over to them. “Hello, my daughter.”

He kissed her chastely on the cheek. “Who have you brought to our congregation?”

She let go of his hand, gave his name, and introduced her father. “This is the Third

Cultivator, Ernest Perch, my dad.”

“What is a Third Cultivator?” I asked.

“We have tiers of church leadership. I am in the middle tier. Above me are Cultivators of

the fourth and fifth ranks, whereas below are the first and second rank Cultivators, and

of course, above us all is the Primary Cultivator, Miles Pendleton, who brought to us the

word of the great nexus across the gulf of space and time.”

“I saw his photo in the vestibule.”

“Oh, good,” Ernest said, then more loudly he added. “All Praise the Primary Cultivator.”

The entire congregation raised their arms into the air, swirled them around limply over

their heads and shouted. “Praise be the Primary Cultivator.”

“I should probably be going.” Carl took a step to the door.

“Don’t run off.” Trish grabbed his hand. “We are a wonderful group. Full of love and

caring. The shaggotts are wondrous beings of great intelligence and knowledge. They

have much to offer us.”

“You think they’re real?” Carl asked.

She took both his hands and looked into his eyes. “I’m not lying. In this congregation,

here with me, you can become part of something so much bigger than our world.”

“Okay,” Carl said hesitantly.

He didn’t normally do crazy, but damn this girl was hot, and she was definitely into him.

He’d stay a little while longer. What harm could it do?

“As my daughter said, we have allied with the shaggotts for the help they can provide.

We don’t worship them. We don’t serve them. We are working as one with them for the

common good of everyone. Their society is the evolutionary advancement that humanity

needs. At this stage of our existence, we are all individuals striving against each other.

We are all lonely. Struggling. Competing. With the help of the shaggotts we can unite in

common purpose. By becoming a world community that shares our resources instead of

hoarding them, we make Earth into the paradise that it was always intended to be.”

“Wow,” Carl said. “That’s ambitious.”

Trish gave his hands a squeeze and let them fall. “The shaggotts make everything

possible.”

“You’ve seen these things.”

“We have,” Tirsh affirmed. “And if you truly want to help people. If your heart’s desire is

to make this world better, we will bring you to the shaggotts.”

“We do live in a crappy world.”

“Only because some people oppress others.”

“Yes,” Carl agreed. “That’s how it’s always been. Conquest. Colonization. Slavery.

Every culture. Every nation. Everywhere.”

“Exactly,” Trish said. “We’ve warred since the beginning of time. We’ve harmed the

planet: pollution, extinctions, global warming… All of it is our fault.”

“And it’s just getting worse.” Carl could feel his enthusiasm building and it was exciting.

“There are so many toxic people.”

“You understand,” the Cultivator said. “Humanity is evil.”

“The original sin,” Carl whispered.

“No.” The preacher cautioned. “Don’t give evil a religious basis. Accept that the evil of

humanity comes from the evolutional state of our species. It’s something we cannot

overcome at this developmental juncture of our species. People have tried and always

failed. It’s so tragic.”

Thinking back over his history courses, Carl did remember some moments where

people tried to create better societies, but they were always destroyed. Everything

people created was eventually ruined. Existence was just a cycle of destruction which

made the effort of building anything hopeless under these conditions.

“You might be right,” Carl said. “I never thought about evil as part of us, part of me.”

“We are all evil,” Trish said. “Because we have individual minds, our survival instincts

make us self-centered.”

Carl could see that truth.

“It’s not our fault,” she said. “Selfishness is in our genes, lurking in everyone’s self-

conscious. We become tribal and egocentric as defense mechanisms.”

“Wow,” Carl said.

The Cultivator took up the explanation. “The shaggotts are innately good because they

have communal minds. They exist in a collective, where every mind can join into hubs

of consciousness. This mutual sharing of thought helps them have empathy. They are

kind, beneficent, and organized in a way that simple, single-minded organisms cannot

be.”

“I understand.” Carl had that lightbulb-going-on feeling that people always talk about. “If

humans can achieve mind to mind contact we can evolve.”

“Exactly!” The priest reached out and placed his hand on Carl’s shoulder. “The

shaggotts can take a world full of chaos and violence and through open communication

rebuild that world with peace and order. Everyone will be together. Everyone will share

the work and the rewards.”

“Like socialism?” Carl liked the ideas of Karl Marx, mainly because they shared the

same first name and he thought that was cool. He’d never read the great man’s writings,

at least not firsthand. He’d never actually studied how Joesph Stalin and Mao Se Tung

had put socialist ideals into practice, but all his college friends and professors definitely

agreed that socialism was the highest form of human government. A world with

everyone sharing responsibility for their fellow person. What could go wrong?

Carl sighed. Along the edge of his vision, he saw silvery threads … of energy? They

appeared in the corners of the room where the shadows were deepest, and they flowed

in an out of the walls, twisting on themselves. He opened his mouth to ask about the

strange gossamers.

“Let’s meet the congregation,” the Cultivator said.

Carl followed the preacher and his daughter over to the groups who all welcomed him

with either hugs or handshakes. It felt so good to be appreciated. These were such nice

people.

The cowboy’s name was Miguel. The man nearly broke Carl’s hand with his powerful

shake. The husband and wife were Larry and Marsha Seinfeld, with their son, Larry

Junior.

“We joined the church last month,” Martha said. “We were gonna lose our house, but

the Church of Cultivation paid our back payments on the mortgage. The Cultivator hired

my husband to take care of the church grounds. We’re doing great now.”

Carl was wise enough to know that religions gave little handouts to people. They had

food drives and stuff like that to make themselves seem community focused. No church

he knew made mortgage payments for brand new members. Churches did enough to

sustain their public image and invested the rest of the money in overly beautiful

buildings and expensive trappings.

“How does the church make money?” Carl asked.

“The shaggotts provide everything we need,” the Cultivator explained.

“Everything?”

“They are part of a vast intergalactic community. Everyone in the collective is happy to

share.”

“How does that work?”

“They give us things that are valuable on Earth, like gold and silver, and we send things

that are valuable on other worlds. The shaggotts arrange this and everyone benefits.”

“Are you saying that you open portals to other worlds?”

“Of course.”

“I think it might be time for me to head home.”

“Or,” Trish said. “Maybe it’s time for you to meet a shaggott.”

“You got one in the basement,” Carl laughed.

No one said anything for a long moment.

“Animatronics?” Carl asked. “Or video projector?”

Another long silence stretched as everyone looked at the Cultivator.

“I have listened to your words and believe you are a person who wants to make the

world better. The abuse of people and the world offends your sense of justice. You

would stand against those who oppress. Carl Tindle, I deem you worthy of meeting the

shaggotts. Do you accept?”

Trish leaned close to him. He felt her right breast brush his arm. She whispered in his

ear. “Go with my father. He likes you. I like you.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it!”

“Well, come this way.” The Cultivator led Carl across the chancel to a fancy oak door

with six panels.

As he walked past the people, they all patted his back or touched his arms. Welcoming

gestures, backed up by words of encouragement. As he reached the door, the man with

the cowboy hat shouted, “Praise the shaggotts.”

Everyone raised their hand up and shook their arms and shouted, “Praise the

shaggotts.”

“We are going to the basement.” The Cultivator opened the door.

Carl stepped down to a landing. A dim glow emanated up from a staircase. The

Cultivator motioned for him to precede. Carl walked down the wooden steps to reach

the concrete floor. The basement was divided into rooms. He stood in a small chamber

with three doors. The forward door was unlabeled. The one to the left read,

“Maintenance”. The door to the right read, “Food Storage”. A single light bulb dangled

down from a short cord.

A human-like moan came from behind the door to Carl’s right.

“Is someone there?” Carl asked, reaching for the handle.

The response to his query was a muffled cry, some shuffling, and a dull thud.

The Cultivator put his hand over the knob. “That room is only for the worthy.”

“Okay.”

The Cultivator led him through the door to the front. Carl followed into a room that ran

to the far wall of the foundation. Strange phosphorescent plants grew out of the rough

stone walls giving the whole place a greenish light. A large hole had been cut into the

center of the concrete floor. This hole was filled with water.

To his left was a glowing sphere of silvery energy, nearly the height of a person and just

as wide. The strands looked similar to the single threads of energy he’d seen in the

shadows upstairs, but this giant orb pulsed with power. Intricate interlacing gossamer

fibers wove into mesmerizing, ever-changing patterns. For a long moment, Carl could

only stare, enchanted by its odd beauty.

When he could find his voice, he asked, “Is that a portal?”

“No,” explained the Cultivator. “Portals look like rings of colored lights. There are twenty

mystic energies, and each are needed to open a portal. When they oscillate in the

visible spectrum, they outline the edges of the portal.”

“Then what is that?” Carl pointed to the sphere.

“Profane energy.”

“Is that bad?”

“No,” the Cultivator spoke kindly. “No form of energy is good or evil. All have physical

and psychological effects that can be useful.”

“What does profane energy do?”

“Opens the mind and helps people understand the truth.”

“Really?”

“I would not lie,” the Cultivator said, seeming very sincere. “Let’s meet the shaggotts.”

They moved to the edge of the pool. The water smelled rotten. Chunks of meat floated

in the liquid. Was that a human eyeball bobbing up and down? A thumb? He opened his

mouth to scream when the things rose out of the water stifling any reaction he could

make.

Three shaggotts rose before him as he trembled in shock and horror. Wiggling

phalanges covered bulbous bodies. Above the torso, a grotesque nodule thrust out with

drooping jowls and a pair of round black eyes. This head-like protrusion had no mouth,

but dozens of little orifices dotted the surface spewing slime and whistling discordant

tunes. The center shaggott had translucent red skin and long curving scythe-like claws.

The other two had a greenish tint to their skin and long tentacles that waved in the air.

“Praise the shaggotts,” the Cultivator shouted.

Without conscious thought, Carl lifted his arms into the air and moved them in imitation

of the writhing tentacles above the two greenish monsters.

His mouth opened and he shouted, “Praise the shaggotts!”

Carl wanted to run, but his body would not comply. His feet felt glued to the concrete.

Slowly, he became aware of a pressure on his mind, a probing push inserting itself into

his thoughts. He felt a vast awareness, a cosmos spanning consciousness, that made

him feel so insignificant and small, but at the same time was welcoming him into the

fullness of its mental embrace.

A voice speaks in his mind. “We are the Shaggotts.”

The voice conveyed more than words. He perceived an image of uncountable shaggotts

spreading across the galaxy, and an inexorable wave of flesh with writing tentacles and

slashing claws. Each shaggott had different skin colors, translucent red, orange, green,

blue, so many colors. Each tended to a purpose. Each was perfectly fulfilled as a

member of the collective society. A society that wanted to welcome him.

“Everyone belongs,” mind-speaks the alien. “Everyone is important. Everyone is

successful.”

“I understand.” Carl gasps.

The mind-images flowed into his head. He saw innumerable civilizations spanning the

cosmos. Each one allied with shaggotts and finding purpose and prosperity within the

collective. The shaggotts help these worlds become places where everyone is equal

and protected. The inhabitants live in an orderly society where everyone contributes as

per their ability.

“There is no war,” mind-speaks the alien. “The environment is protected. The arts

flourish. People are happy.”

“They truly are happy,” Carl agreed.

“We want to help the Earth. We want the humans living here to embrace Cultivation.”

Carl wanted to see more, to learn more. “I didn’t know there could be such peace on

Earth. With your help we can have our perfect world.”

“Yes!” The shaggotts affirmed and then sank beneath the waters.

The Cultivator put his arm around Carl. “Welcome to the Collective.”

“Thank you.”

They went upstairs and when they stepped out of the six-panel door, the Cultivator

announced, “Carl will be joining us.”

The girl in the dress shouted, “Praise the shaggotts.”

The congregation repeated the shout and waved their arms like tentacles above their

heads. Carl joined in, and then they were all congratulating him. All those miserable

months in his parent’s basement by himself just faded away. He had found his people.

His righteous cause. He could not stop smiling, and when Trish hugged him, he knew

his life had changed for the better.

“I have to finish those flyers,” Trish said.

Carl said goodbye to everyone at least twice. Trish had to drag him out of the church.

He really didn’t want to leave.

“Will you help me with the flyers,” she asked as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Of course.”

“My father is really trying to build this church.”

“It’s nice for you to help him.”

“I believe in the message.”

“I see that,” he agreed. “You’re committed.”

“I am,” she agreed. “What about you? Could you see yourself being someone to help

expand the church?”

“Of course,” he said. “I am committed.”

They reached her Jeep.

“I thought I saw a human eyeball floating in the water.” He laughed.

She didn’t respond.

“You’re not laughing?”

“Carl,” she said his name very seriously. “You can’t tell anyone about the eyeballs. Or

about the shaggotts. Not yet. We don’t bring everyone down to the basement.”

‘Wait. I really saw those eyeballs?”

“Part of being in the collective is sharing resources. You heard my father talking about

that?”

“Sure.”

“One of the resources we have on Earth is food. And to have our perfect world, we will

need to contribute our share.”

“Food?” he asked.

“People.”

The truth struck Carl. “People?”

“Only the bad ones.”

“They eat people!”

“Abusers, rapists, murderers, racists, and bigots.”

“I don’t know if I am okay with that.”

She stared at him.

He sensed her disappointment, but he needed answers. “How can we just kill people?”

She sighed. “There will always be people who don’t want to live in a world of peace and

equality. What do we do with these people?”

“Prison?”

“Where they take resources away from people willing to work hard and share.” She

moved closer to him, taking his hand into hers. “Do you think the people who oppress

others are going to stop if we ask nicely?”

“No. They won’t,” he admitted.

“We have a chance to end the cycle of violence. The Church of Cultivation will

permanently bring peace and order to the world in a way that human governments have

never been able to achieve.”

“You make it sound so wonderful.”

“It is wonderful,” She hugged him. He felt her breasts pressing against his ribs. Her hair

tickled his nose. “I was hoping to find a nice boy to join our church.”

Carl could hardly believe this beautiful person was interested in him.

She whispered into his chest. “I couldn’t be with a boy who didn’t join my church.”

Carl couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This hot, beautiful girl might be his. Still,

eating people was wrong. “I understand that every world has to give resources, but can’t

we give something else.”

“We will give whatever the Collective needs. And the Collective will give us whatever we

need. That’s how we get our perfect world. Everyone must sacrifice a bit. Everyone

must compromise. And those who refuse…. Well, they have made their choice to stand

against the common good.”

“I guess they did.” She made so much sense. Holding her, feeling her beating heart

against him, he came to the only conclusion possible. “The shaggotts are the best thing

to ever happen to Earth.”

She sighed and pushed away. “Let’s go finish handing out those flyers.”

They hopped into her Jeep and pulled out of the parking lot. She turned on the radio.

They rolled down the widows. The cool evening air made her hair dance. They sang

together with the music as they drove back to town.

Just ahead, an approaching motorcycle was taking up too much space in the narrow

road. Trish had to jerk the wheel to the right and ride the rough shoulder to avoid getting

in an accident. The rider looked at them as he rode past. They couldn’t see his eyes

behind the dark sunglasses, but he was one bad dude in black leathers and blue jeans.

The motorcycle was a rusty old thing with dirty chrome and a battered black gas tank.

Ropes tied a colorful blanket to the sissy bar that had a length of chain wrapped around

its base. A fire axe was clipped onto the front fork.

Trish turned down the radio, slowed the Jeep, and looked into her review mirror.

“That guy was scary,” she said.

Carl could see she was worried. “Do you want to go back?”

“Why?”

“The church is the only thing at the end of the road.”

She laughed nervously. “Guys like that don’t go to church. Let’s get these flyers handed

out.”

© 2024 Anton Kukal

https://antonkukal.com