Chapter 6: The Cult’s History

The Library

Claire sat in her car outside the Millbrook Public Library, fifteen miles from Cedar Lane, watching Margaret pull into the parking lot in a blue minivan. Margaret had specifically chosen this branch for their research to minimize the chances they’d be spotted by the HOA.  She had to blink twice to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. The leather-clad vampire hunter was driving what looked like a Honda Odyssey with a soccer mom bumper sticker.

"Don't," Margaret said as she approached Claire's window, catching her expression. "Not one word about the van."

"I didn't say anything." Claire got out of her car, grinning. "Just wondering if your street cred can survive being seen in a vehicle with built-in cup holders and probably some Cheerios under the seats."

"The motorcycle's not exactly subtle for surveillance." Margaret adjusted her leather jacket with indignation. "Besides, you'd be amazed how much supernatural investigation equipment you can fit in a minivan. The sliding doors and self-opening tailgate are very practical."

"Uh-huh. And the 'My Child Is An Honor Student' sticker?"

"Camouflage," Margaret said firmly. "No one suspects the minivan."

Inside, they settled at a back table, looking to anyone outside as concerned neighbors researching Cedar Lane's history. Margaret pulled out a pair of reading glasses, perching them on her nose as she opened the first newspaper archive, and Claire's brain short-circuited. Somehow, the woman managed to make librarian-chic look dangerous.

"You're staring," Margaret murmured without looking up.

"You're wearing glasses," Claire whispered back.

"Some of us are over forty and these microfilm letters are tiny." Margaret glanced up over the frames with a knowing smirk. "Like what you see?"

Claire felt her face heat. "I'm trying to take this seriously. You know, the whole 'suburban vampire cult' thing?"

"And I'm trying to read property records from 1972, but someone keeps looking at me like they're writing erotic fiction in their head."

Before Claire could respond, she caught movement in the stacks. Mrs. Chen from three doors down was browsing the cookbook section, inching closer to their table.

"Come on," Margaret whispered, standing and grabbing Claire's hand. "This way."

They ducked behind a shelf, pressed close together between the Local History and True Crime sections. Claire could feel Margaret's breath on her neck, smell her scent mixed with old books.

"The minivan's looking pretty smart now, isn't it?" Margaret whispered, her lips brushing Claire's ear.

"Shut up," Claire managed, very aware of Margaret's body against hers. "I'm still skeptical about all this supernatural stuff, you know."

"Mmhmm." Margaret's hand found her hip. "That why your heart's racing?"

"No.  No, that’s not why."

Mrs. Chen's footsteps moved closer. Margaret pulled Claire deeper into the stacks, and somehow they ended up with Claire pressed against the Historical Reference shelves, Margaret's thigh between her legs.

"Still skeptical?" Margaret murmured.

"About vampires? Yes." Claire's hands found Margaret's collar. "I’m coming around on you, though.”

Mrs. Chen cleared her throat loudly from the end of the aisle. They jumped apart like guilty teenagers, Margaret's glasses slightly askew.

"Just... checking for home decorating books," Claire said weakly.

"I'll bet," Mrs. Chen replied drily, with a disapproving frown. "I'm sure the HOA will be fascinated by your research."  She huffed and walked away.  

After she left, Margaret straightened her glasses with a grin. "So much for being subtle."

"Pretty sure the minivan's not going to help your story anymore.  Your cover is blown."

"Worth it." Margaret smiled and returned to their research table. 

Research Montage

The microfiche reader hummed as Margaret scrolled through another decade of local newspapers. Claire had taken over the property records, if only to stop herself from staring at Margaret's hands as she manipulated the controls.

"Here's another one," Margaret said, tapping the screen. "2000. Three families vanished within a month. The police only did a cursory investigation."

Claire added it to their growing timeline. "Same thing happened in '75. And '50. Actually..." She lined up the dates. "It's exactly twenty-five years between each cluster of disappearances."

"Like clockwork," Margaret murmured, switching to another article. "And look: each time, right after the disappearances, the HOA announced new leadership."

"Probably because the old leadership moved away," Claire offered reasonably. "Small towns have turnover."

"Small towns don't have the same HOA president for one hundred years." Margaret pulled up the property records Claire had flagged. "Look at these photos from the Cedar Lane Chronicle. HOA leadership announcements, every twenty-five years."

Claire leaned closer, her shoulder brushing Margaret's. The photos showed various HOA boards through the decades - different faces, different fashions, but always with Evelyn Whitmore’s face front and center. 1975 Evelyn could have been 2025 Evelyn's twin, right down to the perfectly styled hair.  The names changed each time.

"It's probably her daughter," Claire said. "Or granddaughter. Some families just have strong genes."

"That's one explanation.  The other is that our HOA president is an ageless blood witch who reorganizes her supernatural pyramid scheme every quarter century."

"You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?"

"More ridiculous than finding ritual altars in the rec center basement?" Margaret raised an eyebrow. "More ridiculous than synchronized sprinklers and mandatory beige exteriors?"

Claire studied the photos again. Each Evelyn wore the same pendant - a dark stone on a silver chain. Each stood in the same pose, surrounded by different board members who all had the same vacant smile. In the 1975 photo, she could just make out a familiar symbol carved into the podium.

"Okay," Claire admitted. "It's weird. But there has to be a rational explanation."

"Like what? Really good plastic surgery?" Margaret's excitement was infectious, her eyes bright behind her glasses. "Come on, Claire. You write about supernatural stuff all the time. Why is this so hard to believe?"

"Because I write fiction. I make shit up.  This is..." Claire gestured at their research. "This is real. This is my neighborhood. My actual life."

Margaret's hand found hers under the table. "Your actual life already includes getting trapped in ritual basements and making out with a leather-clad supernatural security consultant. Is this really where you draw the line?"

Before Claire could answer, the microfiche reader displayed another article, this one from 1900: "LOCAL DEVELOPER PROMISES 'ETERNAL COMMUNITY' AT CEDAR LANE GROUNDBREAKING." The photo showed Evelyn cutting a ribbon, wearing the same pendant, looking exactly the same as she had at yesterday's committee meeting.

"We need to keep investigating," Margaret whispered urgently, her eyes never leaving the century-old image of Evelyn. "This goes deeper than just an obsessive HOA president with a control fetish. The timing of these disappearances, the same pendant with the squiggly design on it across different eras, the identical appearance.  These aren't coincidences." She finally tore her gaze away from the screen and turned to Claire, their faces now inches apart. "There's likely physical evidence somewhere in Cedar Lane: old records, ritual sites, something that could explain how she's maintained her immortality. And we need to find it before the next twenty-five-year cycle completes and more people vanish." The intensity in her voice was matched by the firm grip of her hand; a silent plea for Claire to join her in this increasingly dangerous quest.  “If I’m right, this is all building up to the eclipse in October.  Whatever summoning they are working on has to be disrupted before then.”

"Fine," Claire sighed. "But if we're really doing this, I have some conditions."

"Name them."

"One: We're taking your minivan, not the motorcycle. Two: You have to keep wearing those glasses."

Margaret's laugh echoed through the library, earning them a stern look from the reference librarian. "Deal. Though I should warn you - my van has an optional 'Baby on Board' sign. Really commits to the cover story."

"You're ridiculous," Claire said, but she was smiling as she turned back to the records. "Now show me more evidence of our immortal HOA president's evil plan."

"That's the spirit," Margaret grinned. "Nothing says 'date night' like investigating suburban vampire cults."

"This is not a date."

"Keep telling yourself that." Margaret squeezed her hand before returning to the microfiche. "But just so you know, I packed snacks in the minivan."

Margaret Explains the Cult’s Power

"There's more to all of this; a darker, sexual side," Margaret said.  "The photographs don't just show Evelyn's physical presence over the decades - they show her pattern of control. Look at who she surrounds herself with."

Claire studied the images. In each era, Evelyn had a core group of followers, usually prominent community members. "The special committee?"

"More than that. She picks specific targets - people going through crises, feeling powerless, seeking validation. Then she offers them what they think they want." Margaret's voice was grim. "It's a classic vampire cult pattern. I've seen it before in other cases. They use intimate relationships to create bonds of loyalty and dependence."

"Like what she's doing with David," Claire said softly.

Margaret nodded. "The BDSM setup in the basement isn't just for fun; it's ritualistic. These cults have always used dominance dynamics to harvest energy from their followers. The more control they have, the more power they can draw."

"And the special committee meetings..."

"Are probably a mix of actual HOA business and ritual feeding." Margaret flipped through more records. "The committee members show the same patterns - increased devotion to Evelyn, personality changes, a kind of... fading. Like she's slowly draining something from them."

Claire thought about David's recent behavior.  His obsession with order, his desperate need for Evelyn's approval. "She picks people who are vulnerable. Who need what she's offering."

"They’ll be harvesting blood, somehow.  They’ll need a lot of it for the kind of ritual they must be working up to.  But the power exchange isn't just physical, it's supernatural. Each act of submission feeds her strength.  That's why we need to stop this before she has enough power to complete whatever she's planning."

"And why she's so interested in Lila," Claire realized. "All that teenage rebellion, it's like a battery for her."

Margaret's expression darkened. "The younger ones have more energy to harvest.”

The Unexpected Connection

Claire was about to suggest they take a break when something caught her eye in one of the newspaper photos: a symbol carved into the cornerstone of the original Cedar Lane stone gate post. Not the geometric patterns they'd seen in the basement or on the sidewalks, but something older. More complex. It looked like a series of interlocking spirals surrounding what might have been a door, or a mouth.  

"Hey, look at this." Claire tapped the screen. "This symbol's different from the others. Almost like it's—"

She broke off, noticing Margaret's expression. The other woman had gone completely still, her face draining of color as she stared at the symbol.

"Margaret?" Claire touched her arm. "What's wrong?"

Margaret seemed to shake herself out of whatever trance had gripped her. She glanced around the library, then leaned in close. "Not here," she whispered. "We need to go to my house. There's something I need to show you."

"What is it?"

Margaret's hand trembled slightly as she gathered their notes. "I have a book. An old one I got from a dead professor. With that exact symbol on its cover." She pulled off her glasses, rubbing her eyes. "I've been trying to translate it for months, but I never... I didn't know it had anything to do with Cedar Lane."

"What kind of book?"

"The kind that's bound in something that's definitely not leather," Margaret said grimly. "And the kind that sometimes bleeds when you turn the pages.  Come on, I’ll drive so we can talk."

The Origin of Margaret's Book

Claire climbed into Margaret's minivan, still processing mentally. Empty Starbucks cups and what looked like surveillance equipment littered the back seats. A dashboard hula girl wearing tactical gear wobbled at them.

"Nice touch," Claire said, flicking the hula girl.

"Came with the van. I gave her an upgrade." Margaret pulled out of the library parking lot.

They drove in silence for a moment before Claire couldn't stand it anymore. "So... the book?"

Margaret's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Remember that professor I mentioned? I found it at his estate sale in Portland.” She paused at a stop sign. "He taught at Reed College.  His name was Daniel Harrison. Expert in obscure religious texts. He died mysteriously."

"Mysteriously how?"

"The official report said 'animal attack' in his study. Which might have been believable if they'd found any way for an animal to get in. Or if his entire library hadn't been torn apart like someone was looking for something." Margaret checked her mirrors with practiced paranoia. "I went to the estate sale hoping to find his research notes. Instead, I found this book hidden inside a stack of hollowed out Better Homes & Gardens magazines from the 1950s."

"Seriously?"

"Complete collection. Mostly well preserved. Someone had hollowed out the middle issues to make space for the book." A small smile played at Margaret's lips. "Had to admire the dedication to hiding in plain sight. Who looks twice at vintage home decorating magazines?"

"What's in it?"

"That's the thing - I've been trying to translate it for months. The text keeps shifting." Margaret turned onto a side street. "But there were references I could understand, at least partially. Something about ‘arboreal gates' and 'planned communal rituals.' I thought it was metaphorical."

Claire laughed despite herself. "You found an ancient evil text hidden in home decorating magazines, and the suburban references were the part you thought was weird?"

"Hey, I've seen some pretty strange things, but this is a new one." Margaret grinned. "Though it explains why the book smells like potpourri and brimstone."

A minivan identical to Margaret's passed them, driven by what looked like an actual soccer mom. Margaret and Claire shared a look.

"Best camouflage ever," Claire admitted.

"Told you." Margaret turned onto her street. "No one suspects the minivan. Or Better Homes & Gardens. It's actually kind of brilliant.  These suburban slobs are surrounded by dark magic and don’t even know it."

"Makes sense," Claire said thoughtfully. "Suspension of disbelief is important for horror.  I’ve been trying to invent clever ways for supernatural creatures to hide their identity in my books; turns out blending in with suburbia is effortless and effective."

"Speaking of which," Margaret reached back without taking her eyes off the road, "can you grab what’s in the center console?"

Claire opened the console to find an ornate ceremonial dagger nestled between packages of Goldfish crackers.

"The crackers, please," Margaret said seriously. "Investigation makes me hungry."

The Black House

Claire hesitated at Margaret's threshold. The chrome skull doorknob glared up at her ominously.  She had been in Margaret’s house several times, but those times had always been rushed.  She took a moment to take in the surroundings and more carefully consider Margaret’s decorating decisions.

"You know," Claire said, "most people just put up a 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign."

"I have one." Margaret grinned, ushering her inside. "It says 'Die, Cackle, Hex' in ancient Aramaic."

The study looked like the Killstar warehouse had exploded inside a library. Medieval weapons decorated the walls, candles burned in skull-shaped holders, and what appeared to be a stuffed raven wore tiny leather pants.

"Please tell me that's not real," Claire pointed at the raven.

"Edgar? He’s real. Came with the pants." Margaret moved to a bookshelf. "He judges my life choices almost as much as the HOA does."

"Your decorating budget must be impressive."

"Dead asshole husbands are surprisingly profitable.” 

She pressed something, and a section of shelf swung outward with a soft click. "Really?" Claire raised an eyebrow. "A secret compartment? That's not cliché at all."

"Says the woman who hides her erotic manuscripts under laundry." Margaret reached into the hidden space. "Besides, where else am I supposed to keep my ancient evil texts? The coffee table?"

The book she pulled out felt wrong immediately. Its cover seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and Claire could have sworn she heard it whisper something. The symbol from the newspaper photo was burned into what looked disturbingly like leather.

"Here." Margaret sat on a leather couch. "The Binding Codex.  Let’s see what this book can tell us about Evelyn’s scheme."

Claire settled next to her, trying to focus on the book rather than their proximity. Up close, she could see the cover moving slightly, like something was breathing beneath it.

"Is it... alive?"

"Not exactly." Margaret opened it carefully. "But it’s not entirely inanimate, either. Some of the text moves when you're not looking directly at it," Margaret explained. "Like it has social anxiety disorder."

Claire wasn't sure if it was the book's strange aura or Margaret's deadpan delivery making her skin tingle. The candlelight threw strange shadows across the pages as Margaret turned them, each one seeming disturbingly warm and moist.

"I've dealt with my fair share of supernatural texts over the years," Margaret said, her fingers hovering just above the writhing symbols. "Books like this are temperamental. They have... personalities."

"Personalities?" Claire leaned closer despite herself.

"Oh, absolutely. This one's relatively mild-mannered compared to some I've encountered." Margaret's eyes took on a faraway look. "There was this grimoire in Budapest that would only reveal its secrets if you recited specific verses to it. They had to be in perfect Hungarian pronunciation."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "You're making that up."

"I wish." Margaret winced at the memory. "My accent was so bad the book actually slammed itself shut on my fingers. Left bruises for weeks." She held up her right hand, showing a small scar across her index finger. "But the worst was in Morocco. This ancient text that would only translate properly if you solved its riddles first."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"You'd think, right? Except the riddles were all about obscure local customs from the 12th century." Margaret shook her head solemnly. "Try figuring those out at three in the morning while being chased by irate archivists."

Claire couldn't help but laugh. "So how did you solve it?"

Margaret's face grew serious. "I didn't. I traded it for a less temperamental book and a very nice rug that I'm pretty sure wasn't cursed." 

The book made a sound that might have been a purr. 

Claire leaned closer, her eyes tracing the strange symbols that seemed to writhe under Margaret's touch. The candlelight made the text swim before her eyes, casting moving shadows across the page. What initially looked like random patterns began to resolve into recognizable forms.  Diagrams of houses arranged in precise geometric formations, ritual circles disguised as cul-de-sacs, and what appeared to be detailed instructions for proper landscaping that concealed something far more sinister.

She squinted at the section Margaret indicated, where symbols resembling a map of their neighborhood were interwoven with what looked like blood ritual procedures. Each paragraph seemed to shift between mundane suburban regulations and ancient sacrificial rites with unsettling fluidity, as if the two were naturally connected. The margins contained annotations in a cramped, urgent hand.  Calculations for astronomical alignments lay alongside notes about proper plant growth height and drainage requirements.

"This is..." Claire swallowed hard, her finger hovering over a diagram that looked exactly like Cedar Lane's street layout, but with additional lines connecting houses in a pattern that made her eyes hurt. "This is our neighborhood. But it's designed as some kind of massive ritual circle."

The Binding Codex

"Here." Margaret's finger traced strange symbols that seemed to writhe under her touch. "The Ritual of Alaric's Gate. It's a summoning spell for a vampire lord."

Claire leaned closer, the candlelight making the text swim before her eyes. "Why does an ancient vampire ritual include a section on proper hedge maintenance?"

"Because vampires are really into landscaping, apparently.  If it helps, don’t think about it as landscaping.  Magic is all about sacred geometry.  What you use to accomplish that: chalk, blood circles, hedges, doesn’t really matter a lot." Margaret turned the page, which made a sound distinctly like someone squelching through mud. "Look at these requirements: 'Gardens must be planted with flowers of death and purity - white for innocence, black for corruption.' That's literally in the HOA manual, word for word."

“There are no true naturally occurring black flowers,” Claire said absent mindedly.  “There are some that are deep purple and deep blue that look black, until you get close.”

“Spectrometers hadn’t been invented when this was written," Margret said, rolling her eyes slightly.

"And the no-garlic rule?"

"Right here. 'The sacred space must be cleansed of the herb of protection.' Along with specific instructions about arbors creating ritual boundaries." Margaret flipped another page. "The whole thing is basically a supernatural HOA manual. Even the blood sacrifices have proper procedural guidelines."

Claire felt a chill as she recognized more connections. "The sprinkler synchronization?"

"'Waters must flow in perfect harmony to maintain the ritual circle.'" Margaret nodded. "And look at this astronomical chart. The summoning requires specific alignments of Mars and Venus during a lunar eclipse."

Claire pulled out her phone, checking dates. "There's an eclipse coming up. September 21, 2025."

"Which is exactly twenty-five years after the last wave of disappearances." Margaret's voice grew urgent. "Everything Evelyn's been doing - the regulations, the committee meetings, the property arrangements - they're all preparation for the ritual."

"But why the real estate focus? Why suburbia?"

"Because vampires are parasites," Margaret said grimly. "They need a stable feeding ground, a controlled population, and most importantly, everyone's willing invitation to enter their homes."

"The HOA contracts," Claire whispered. "When we signed the agreement..."

"You literally invited them in. My HOA paperwork has been ‘lost’ since I moved in." Margaret turned another page, revealing diagrams that made Claire's eyes hurt. "And look at these layouts - the weird window alignments, the exact angles of the houses. Cedar Lane isn't just a neighborhood, it's a massive ritual circle."

Claire stared at the evidence before her, her skepticism finally crumbling. "Holy shit. This is real. This is actually—"

A floorboard creaked somewhere in the house.

They froze. Margaret moved with practiced efficiency, closing the book and sliding it back into its hidden compartment. Claire gathered their notes with trembling hands.

The sound came again, closer this time.

"Could be Edgar settling," Margaret whispered, though she was already reaching for something that looked suspiciously like a stake hidden behind a throw pillow.

"Your taxidermied raven in leather pants makes house-settling noises?"

"You'd be surprised what—"

Another creak, definitely from the hallway. Margaret doused the candles with two quick pinches. They sat in darkness, barely breathing, as footsteps approached the study.

Claire's hand found Margaret's in the dark. The book's hidden compartment seemed to pulse behind them, like the terrible truth it contained was trying to escape.

A shadow passed beneath the door.

Growing Closer

The shadow passed, followed by the distinct sound of chains rattling and what might have been a melodramatic sigh.

"Oh, that's just Beatrice," Margaret said, relaxing. "She haunts the study on Thursdays."

Claire stared at her. "You have a ghost. Named Beatrice."

"She came with a broach that was part of the Battle of Rorke's Drift. A friend gave it to me, and her with it.  She's very Victorian, very dramatic. She keeps rearranging my books by tragedy level." Margaret relit the candles. "Don't worry, she's harmless. Unless you try to redecorate - she's got strong aesthetic opinions."

"You're telling me there's actually a ghost. In your house. And you named her Beatrice."

"No, she named herself. I don’t think that was her name in life, but she insists on it now. Gets huffy if you call her anything else." Margaret settled back on the couch. "She’s the best roommate I’ve ever had." Claire laughed despite herself, the tension draining away as Margaret pulled her closer. "You know," she said softly, "I didn't really believe any of this before. The vampires, the supernatural stuff... I might still not totally believe it.  I went along because..."

"Because?"

"Because I couldn't stay away from you." Claire turned to face her. "Even when I thought you were crazy, even when none of it made sense. I just... wanted to be near you."

Margaret's expression softened. "And now?"

"Now I'm terrified. Because it's all, maybe, real, and Evelyn's planning some kind of vampire apocalypse, and my son is mixed up in it, and—"

Margaret silenced her with a kiss, gentle but firm. "I won't let anything happen to you," she whispered against Claire's lips. "Or Ethan. We're going to stop this."

"How?"

"We've got the book. We know some of their plans. And we've got two months until the eclipse." Margaret's hand cupped Claire's face. "Plus, I've got a whole arsenal of weapons in the minivan."

"Of course you do." Claire leaned into her touch and put her hand under her tank top.  "Probably hidden under the soccer equipment."

Margaret moaned softly.  "Hockey gear, actually. Better for concealing crossbows."

Claire kissed her then, harder this time. Margaret responded hungrily. The candlelight threw wild shadows as they fell back against the couch.  Claire pulled off Margaret’s leather pants and positioned herself on the floor in front of her. 

"Wait," Claire gasped as Margaret's hand pressed the back of her head. "What about Beatrice?"

"She's very discreet," Margaret said plaintively. "And she leaves notes if she has complaints or recommendations on technique."

Claire laughed, then moved her head slowly forward.  Claire paused.  "Beatrice watching should probably bother me more than it does."

"Less talking, more—"

Claire's phone buzzed violently, making them both jump. Ethan's name flashed on the screen.  They made eye contact, Margaret let out a low, exasperated moan and made the universal sign for ‘please, by all means, stop going down on me and answer the phone.’

"Mom?" His voice was tight with panic. "Something's wrong. It's Lila. They've taken her."

The candles flickered as a cold breeze swept through the study. Even Beatrice, it seemed, knew trouble when she heard it.