Portance of Fear is a horror fiction podcast
which is intended for mature audiences. Discretion
is advised. Welcome, fearlings, to another weird
and horrifying tale made just for you. I am your
host, Mashulu, and I'll be your guide into the
macabre and mysterious. Tonight we learn about
the hideous workings of an unhinged cult in The
Black Flame. Before we get started... Take a
moment to like, subscribe, and ring that notification
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Tom adjusted his thin black tie, attaching a
diamond -studded clip to its center. His deep
burgundy silk suit fit perfectly. The mirror
reflected an overly indulgent man, egocentric
and cunning. Every detail of his persona had
to be perfect. The smile, the hair, the outfit.
He exuded confidence. He repeated the lie like
a mantra. I am your father, your teacher, your
everything. I will show you your true potential.
All you must do is open your heart. He smiled.
God, I'm good, he thought. Father, it's time,
Colin said. Colin stood by the door, eyes down.
He wore a dark blue suit with a thin black tie
and shoes. All the men wore the same outfit.
All the women wore light blue dresses. Conformity
decluttered the mind and made all his children
equal. Good. Please tell Mother no pills tonight.
I need her lucid up there. At once, Father. The
sun sank into dusk over the city. The dying amber
of its light painted the sky. Below this masterwork
of Mother Nature's creation sat the Church of
the Eternal Father, a huge amphitheater with
towering stained glass windows and the capacity
to hold 30 ,000 people. His church numbers didn't
reach that lofty height yet, but one must be
able to expand. Tom hated the title megachurch,
but he knew it applied. The crowd erupted as
their father walked out on stage. Sarah followed
close behind, holding Tom's hand. She'd already
popped her pills before being told not to. Sarah
was mother to the congregation and she needed
her little helpers. My children, keep standing.
Let me bless you as you have blessed me. Yes,
father, a crowd replied. 18 ,000 voices of love
washed over him. I bless you all. Your father
loves you. I am your heart. I am your soul. I
am always by your side in spirit. Please sit.
They did as father said. The path to perfection
begins and ends with obedience. I am your father,
your teacher, your everything. I will show you
your true potential. All you must do is open
your heart. Your unwavering faith in my love
for you is perfection. Now I know many of you
are new to the family. Know that if you open
your heart to us, you will find perfection in
all things. What is perfection? When you find
yourself standing on the peak of creation, looking
down on the valley of man, when everything comes
into view and it all just clicks, that, my friends,
is perfection. The crowd roared with vacant -eyed
enthusiasm. Night brought slightly cooler air
to the rich streets of Beverly Hills. Rows of
mansions and perfectly manicured lawns sat behind
ten -foot fences. Tom's mansion used to belong
to Ellis Wright, a silent film star who claimed
to be a necromancer. Tom loved the backstory.
To him, Ellis was a fellow conman using mumbo
-jumbo to make bank. In a way, Tom felt he was
carrying on Ellis' work. Tom looked over the
night's receipts in his study. $253 ,000. Not
bad for a day's work. But he did make more off
those who never set foot inside his church. The
classes, the retreats, the books, the pay -per
-view, the streams, the merch. Those paid for
the jets, lawyers, and drugs. The next goal was
being recognized as a religion for tax exemption.
Thinking about this, Tom raised his glass of
50 -year -old scotch. Too evil, he chuckled.
Setting his glass down, he noticed a strange
black leather -bound book sitting on the corner
of his desk. He picked it up. Where the hell
did this come from, he wondered. It weighed a
ton. Must be a gift, but from whom, he mused.
The binding was stitched with gold thread. The
pages were vellum. It had six multicolored silk
bookmarks. The cover had an embossed gold symbol
on the front. He started to thumb through it.
The pages were filled with many different languages
and notes in what he assumed was the former owner's
hand. Many pages featured pictures of horrific
scenes. Looking at them caused his head to hurt.
He noticed that the red ink glistened in the
lamplight as if still wet. He touched the crimson
lettering and felt its moistness. It was fresh
blood. but for some reason it didn't smear or
cause the pages to stick together. He turned
to the title page. The Black Flame by Ellis Wright,
unabridged, printed in Hollywood, 1915. What
the hell? It didn't escape his notice that he'd
just toasted evil after thinking about Ellis
in his old study. He started reading. To his
surprise, the bloody script transformed from
unknown script into modern English before his
eyes. The process frightened him, but he couldn't
stop reading. For a week, he shunned everyone,
rarely eating or sleeping. After the seventh
day, he assembled his inner circle. Dear God,
Tom, when's the last time you slept? Fontaine
asked, horrified by Tom's state. Tom, you're
to call me father. You know that. Forgive me,
father. Your appearance is alarming. That's all.
Fontaine apologized. With all due respect, father,
you've missed two sermons this past week, so
please understand our concern for your health.
Honestly, you look like you need medical assistance,
Wilson interjected. Yes, Father, we only have
concern for your well -being, Oliver chimed in.
Cut the crap. You're only concerned about your
bank accounts. I haven't called you here so you
can pretend to care. I called you to talk about
a new path forward. We're about to reshape the
world, gentlemen. There are greater goals than
money. Hold on. We all play along with this BS
because it gets us cash and laid. We funded this
little cult of yours. Tom, you can't start drinking
your own Kool -Aid and expect us to follow, Colin
snapped. The rest of the men shook their heads
in agreement. Yeah, I'm fine with calling you
father, but the cult stuff we feed the marks
is nonsense to make cash, nothing more. Tom frowned
and started to pace. I see. Well, let me remind
you of the facts. I brought you into this venture
with one request. Play the parts you're given,
and I would make sure you get all the drugs,
orgies, partner swapping, or partner killing
you could want. Fontaine, you hunt teenagers
at summer camps in a hockey mask due to an unhealthy
fascination with Jason. Who makes sure you're
not caught? Me. Wilson, you and your wife skeet
shoot nude high on cocaine in Hawaii all the
time. Remind me, what do you use for skeets again?
Don't want to say? I don't blame you. Colin,
you lure men to cocaine -fueled bacchanalias.
How many of those parties end up with me hiding
bodies? The answer is all of them. And Oliver.
Sweet, innocent Oliver. You are by far the worst.
Without my resort in Brazil, where would you
go to safely indulge your twisted sexual fantasies
with unwilling participants? The less said about
that, the better. I've kept my part of the bargain,
you degenerate ingrates. I expect you to do what
I say or I'll hang you out to dry. Do you understand?
After a moment, Colin spoke up. You're right.
What must we do? This book has the secret to
ultimate power. It's a ritual that I need your
help with. Magic, Tom? I mean, Father? Oliver
asked. Yes, magic. I know it sounds insane, but
trust me, we'll be kings ruling over Earth. You
think we've got it good now? Imagine no law that
could touch us, no desire too taboo, no thirst
we can't quench. But the first step is the cage
ritual. We start right away. Sarah sat on the
end of her bed, staring out the large bay window
across the Amazon forest canopy. She came here
when she wanted to be away from Tom. Her life
felt hollow. She understood the grift, sure.
But droning on and on about obedience, worldly
corruption, oppressive family members. Enough
already, she thought. At the window, she could
see the sun peeking up over the trees. A perfect
start to a new day, at least till the cravings
set in. She thought about going cold turkey every
morning, but she'd never been able to follow
through. The door opened. Mother, I bring good
news. Father wants you to stay with us for a
time, the cultist said. Really? For how long?
He didn't specify. I'm to get you whatever you
need. That's nice of you, child, but I'm not
staying. In fact, I intend to fly back tomorrow,
she replied. I'm sorry, mother, but he was quite
clear. You're to remain at the resort. He also
said it's for your own good, if that helps. It
doesn't. Tom isn't my father or keeper, she argued.
Sarah went to grab her phone, but it was gone.
Where's my phone? I'm sorry, mother. But we were
told you're to stay here and that you didn't
need your phone. When father says you can have
it back, we will gladly give it to you, the cultist
apologized. He closed and locked the door. You
listen to me, you son of a bitch. I'm your mother
and I demand you let me out. She pounded on the
oak door till her hands pulsed with pain. But
no one came. She was trapped. It took two weeks
for Tom to teach the ritual. Without a sermon,
his congregation started to whisper about father's
well -being. They also wondered where Mother
was. After the first week, Tom and his inner
circle stopped asking for food. A few days after
that, they no longer wanted water. Tom's study
had been stripped bare to the floorboards. The
black flame tome floated in the center of the
room open to the ritual. Etched on the floor
was a Yithian diagram of spatial power. Tom lied
to himself about understanding the ritual. The
book's study ate away at his sanity, but the
words entranced them all. They had to see it
through. Special Agent Davis scanned the evidence
-filled corkboard. Things had been quiet for
weeks. He hated quiet. Special Agent Brooks walked
in with much -needed coffee. Oh, thank God. What,
no donuts, Davis chided? I refuse to be a stereotype.
There is chocolate in my purse, though, Brooks
replied. She poured a healthy amount of cream
into her cup. No sugar. That'll work. Davis snagged
a candy bar, promptly using it to stir his coffee.
Brooks made a face. I hate when you do that.
Let's talk about Tom Gates and his cult grift,
shall we? There's been no change for three weeks.
Tom and his inner circle are still MIA. His followers
seem to be at a loss. His network started streaming
reruns of his sermons a few days ago. And Sarah,
Davis inquired? She got on a plane to Brazil
a month ago. Since then, no call from her number.
Do you think he killed her? It's possible. What
about calls in or out of the mansion? Nope. Brooks
took a long sip off her coffee, allowing it to
touch her very soul. We've no way of confirming
if Sarah is alive or dead. It looks like we're
in a holding pattern for right now, Davis said.
He started to stare at the corkboard again. This
guy couldn't be allowed to win, he thought. Rain
pelted the rooftop. The thick air of the jungle
hung just outside the air -conditioned bubble
of the resort. It was as if the Amazon was trying
to drown people on dry land. Since her imprisonment
started, Sarah had lulled the servants into a
false sense of security, obeying the rules, acting
like she wasn't a threat. She was mother, after
all. That meant something. She'd ordered a steak
for dinner, knowing they wouldn't think twice
about giving her a knife to cut it. Her attendant
opened the door. Hello, mother. I'm here to take
your... She plunged the knife into his throat,
cutting through his esophagus before he could
scream. Blood sprayed out, and he dropped to
the floor. She grabbed his radio, ID card, car
keys, and taser. His key ring had a lucky rabbit's
foot on it. Ironic, she thought. She stuffed
the guard in the closet and threw on new clothes.
In around five minutes, she headed to the door.
A bottle of pills sat on her nightstand. Sarah
glanced at it for a moment before leaving, shutting
the door behind her. She finally went cold turkey.
Slipping into the hallway, Sarah scanned for
more children. Using the shadows, she made it
to the break room. The sound of conversation
came through the slightly cracked door. She lingered
long enough to learn that Tom and the others
had locked themselves away in the mansion and
no one knew what was going on. Taking the stairs
down, she ran right into a guard. Before he could
respond, she rammed the taser into his ribs,
then slit his throat for good measure. With no
time to hide the body, she kept moving forward.
She opened the front door with the key card and
made her way out into the torrential downpour.
Making it to the parking lot, she clicked the
alarm key. A jeep's headlights flashed. She quickly
climbed in and took off. She hit 75 heading towards
the gate. The floodlights turned on at the resort.
Sirens blared. The guards closed the gate. She
gunned it to 90, smashing through the barrier.
She'd done it. Back stateside, Tom instructed
the staff to leave. The time had arrived. Each
man stood at their assigned position. The ritual
began. For weeks, the book's words had seeped
into their brains. It rewrote their mental pathways,
numbing them to its corruption. They hadn't noticed
the weight loss, the sunken features, or the
fact that they didn't care about anything but
the ritual anymore. The words spilled from their
mouths like water over a fall. Their bodies came
apart at every joint. Their spines and ribs exploded
from their torsos. Their heads detached, remaining
still as the rest of their flesh and bones fused
together, creating a horrific cage in the center
of the room. It formed a dodecahedron that floated
a foot off the ground. Five hearts hung like
a chandelier in the middle of the cage, still
beating. Skin melted around the bone and muscle
like cheese on a pizza. The cage complete, the
five heads came together. Energy shot from the
hearts and transformed them into Tom's mortal
shell, but he was no longer human. Sarah stepped
out of the taxi in front of the mansion. It had
been a long trip, but luckily Tom hadn't frozen
her accounts. She wondered why no one seemed
to be there. She typed in her access code, opening
the front gate. Brooks and Davis sat at their
desks, typing out reports that never ended. Davis's
phone buzzed. Yeah? What? When? Okay. Really?
That's weird. No, let her go in. I don't want
them to know we're watching. I'll talk with you
soon. Thanks, Tina. Good work. He hung up. Mother's
home, he smiled. Wow, I thought he killed her.
I owe you a Coke. What'd they say that was weird?
Brooks asked. I guess she showed up in a taxi
looking like she'd bought her clothes at Target.
That is weird. I've never seen her not in designer
threads, Brooks replied. Want to go over there
and see what's going on in real time? She's been
gone a while. Might be trouble in paradise, Davis
asked. True, and it gets us away from all this
paperwork for a few hours, Brooks replied. Sarah
closed the door behind her. The house felt cold,
smelled terrible, and none of the lights worked.
She climbed the grand staircase to the second
floor, pushed the double doors open to her room,
and went to the gun safe in Tom's closet. Tom
assumed she didn't know the code. She did. Something
told her a long time ago that Tom might let all
this cult gibberish go to his head. The safe
door popped open in the back of the closet. Leave
it to Tom to make it feel like a cheap spy movie
reveal. She loaded the shotgun. What do you plan
to do with that, Sarah? It was Tom's voice, but
also not Tom's voice. Her blood froze. She slowly
turned, leveling the shotgun just at his stomach.
You locked me up in Brazil, you ass! You've let
this whole father thing go to your head. Oh now,
come on, sweetie. I'm sorry, but it was for your
own good. He took a step forward into the closet.
He smelled of boiled flesh, and his eyes were
a strange violet. What happened to your eyes?
And your voice? I've become a higher life form,
sweetheart. Embrace me. And you can join Wilson,
Oliver, Colin, and Fontaine. He lifted his shirt,
revealing their faces pressed up against his
flesh, screaming. He took another step forward.
Stay back, Tom. What have you done? Sarah stammered,
cocking the gun. I told you. I've become a superior
being. I can see past time and space to where
it all began. I've learned the ancient rites
of magic. I have real power now, and my cult
will become the religion of the world. He took
another step forward. Stop! God damn it, Tom!
I just... Jesus Christ, Sarah stammered. Jesus?
He's not part of this show anymore. I've got
so much to show you, dear. I used to be like
you. Thought I had the world figured out. But
I was missing something. Power, Sarah. I now
have true power. And if you take my hand and
obey, I'll share it with you. He put his hand
out and took another step forward. She fired.
The slug ripped a massive hole through Tom's
stomach, right through Colin's screaming face.
Tom didn't flinch. Please, Sarah. You're just
embarrassing yourself now. You could have run
away. You had all the money you needed. You wanted
to come home. You want to be with me. He took
another step forward. She shot him point -blank
in the face. Half his head was gone. Why won't
you just die? He smiled a half -faced grin. We're
going to be together forever, Sarah. It will
be wonderful. He took another step. Tendrils
shot out from the gaping wound on his head and
wrapped firmly around her skull. She tried to
cock the gun again, but dropped it instead. The
tendrils began pulling her forward to Tom. Stop
it! Please, no! I'm sorry! Let me go, please!
She flailed, trying to break free, but within
a moment she was nose to nose with him. Tendrils
from the stomach wound wrapped around her midsection.
Think of it, Sarah. You'll have a front row seat
to eternity. Sarah screamed as Tom absorbed her
entire body into his. Brooks and Davis arrived
to a circus in the middle of Beverly Hills. An
alphabet of agencies swarmed the streets. They
jumped out of their car and searched for their
surveillance team. Harris, Johnson, what's this
mess about? There were two shots from inside
the mansion 15 minutes ago. Then all the windows
on the top floor blew out. We called for backup
and the entire world showed up. I guess the address
mattered. The place is surrounded and they're
evacuating the area, Harris reported. How many
people are in there, Brooks asked. Sarah went
in about half an hour ago. Wilson, Oliver, Colin,
Fontaine, and Tom haven't left the building in
over a month now. All staff was sent out at 6
a .m. this morning. At least six people in a
possible hostage situation. We have a negotiator
on the way, Harris said. Okay, this is our case.
We're taking command. Tell SWAT to prepare. If
we have to, we'll go in, Davis instructed. Without
warning, bullet -sized bolts of energy screamed
out of the upper floor, tagging Beverly Hills
Police and special agents nearby. Harris, Brooks,
and Davis hit the ground. A few feet away, Agent
Cook and several BHPD officers lay dead from
multiple wounds. Windows shattered, tires exploded,
and engines caught fire. What was that? Brooks
yelled over the sounds of the wounded yelling
for help. It sounded like a laser. We need to
shut this down now. I want tear gas in that second
floor. Who's in charge of SWAT, Davis questioned.
Mendez. He's lying over there. He doesn't have
a head anymore, Harris replied, half stunned.
Shit. Radio someone in SWAT now. I want tear
gas in that second floor. Also, tell them to
go through the back of the house and clear it
out, Davis ordered. Harris nodded. Davis looked
at all the carnage around him. The moaning of
the wounded was deafening. If you can hear my
voice. Do not move from cover till I say so.
If you're wounded, stay where you're at. Help
is on the way, Davis commanded. Small electric
bolts fired again, this time hitting the houses
behind the agents, setting them on fire. SWAT
is in position. They have an armored vehicle
and are shooting tear gas into the second floor,
Harris stated. Good. Brooks looked pale. Davis
noted the blood was seeping through her coat.
Brooks, you're hit. Oh, you're right. I think
the adrenaline muted the pain. Davis quickly
removed his coat and overshirt, ripping the fabric
to make a bandage. The burn around the wound
was like nothing he'd seen before. Lie on your
back. Harris, keep pressure on the wound. Tear
gas billowed from the mansion. Over the radio,
the command for SWAT to move in boomed. Within
moments, the sound of gunfire erupted and screams
could be heard between volleys. Huge, fleshy
chunks of officers flew through the second -story
windows. The call for retreat went out from command,
but no one responded. They'd all been killed.
The entire top floor began to burn. Flames shot
towards the sky. We have to fall back! Harris,
grab her legs! Let's go! The two men quickly
removed Brooks to a safer location. Newscopters
buzzed high above, sending a feed of the devastation
to the rest of the world. More body pieces were
ejected from the building. The fire department
waited in the wings for the all clear. The random
sound of electric bolts whizzing by kept most
people pinned down. It was at this point that
the flames reached the downstairs study. The
construct on the first floor activated. The cage
of blood and bone drew in all matter around it.
First the smoke and flames, then the entire building.
Within a few moments, the mansion was gone. An
ill quiet fell over the scene. No one moved.
The only thing remaining was the construct. Its
hearts beat a strange rhythm. The smoke cleared.
Tom appeared on top of the cage. Time stood still
and no one knew what to do. They were gripped
by shell shock. Raising his hand to the sky,
Tom called out to the god at the center of the
universe, that which dreamed reality and would
one day wake, destroying it all. The cage below
shook. Black flame erupted from the chandelier
of hearts. Tom yelled as the energy washed over
him. He and his cage were gone. What? just happened?
Brooks asked. I think we just lost. Amazing.
Tom unlocked the necromancer achievement of cult
leadership. Tell me, would you read a random
strange book that just appeared on your desk?
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