The Cult of the first sect

	This is a collection of notes, testimonies, documents, and newspaper articles about the subject. On the table, there is a tape recorder and a lamp with a unique light. The shade is thrown on the other side of the lamp. The button on the tape recorder is un-pressed. A note came with the recorder that only says "play me" with ink spread on the sides. It was intentionally made that way. Someone prepared it well. The tape is clean, with no visible fingerprints but some dust on the sides. It seems like the sender deliberately placed it there. There is also a mirror standing on the other side.

	This is a collection of notes, testimonies, documents, and newspaper articles about the subject. On the table, there is a tape recorder and a lamp with a unique light. The shade is thrown on the other side of the lamp. The button on the tape recorder is un-pressed. A note came with the recorder that only says "play me" with ink spread on the sides. It was intentionally made that way. Someone prepared it well. The tape is clean, with no visible fingerprints but some dust on the sides. It seems like the sender deliberately placed it there. There is also a mirror standing on the other side.

	A voice comes out followed by static. He stops it with one hand and checks his schedule with the other. He doesn't have any appointments. He resumes playing the tape. Another voice confirms what is happening. It sounds feminine at first but becomes clear that it is the voice of a younger man. He writes down the word "uncle" on a ripped paper next to "old." The voice on the tape explains that it is a backup in case he misplaces his work. He greets his old self and pauses the tape.

	He uses a cloth to remove his fingerprints. He mutters that the device must be stolen. He cleans it again with the cloth. If it is stolen, he doesn't have any authority to possess it. There are no signs of forced entry in his office, and nothing else is missing. Someone went through a lot of trouble to place the stolen tape on his desk. He wonders if the owner did it or if it's related to a murder. He decides to listen to the tape and hear the person out. The voice on the tape starts by summarizing the documentation.

	"That's a stretch," said the man.
	He told his nephew not to interfere because this was for him. It seemed too formal for a family gathering. The man noticed more static on the recording when the man coughed. The previous recording had less static.

	"I will start simply," the man said.

	"It would be fitting to give it a title. How about 'Research of Occult'?"

	"Research on the occult?" asked the nephew.

	"Don't be clever," the man replied casually.

	The detective thought it might just be a nitpick.

	"As I was saying, research on the occult. It doesn't matter what it's called since it'll probably just be for me."

	The thought of stopping and dismissing it as fake crossed the detective's mind. It seemed too planned, with every word carefully chosen. Something played in the man's hand while he heard those planted words. It made the detective curious because it seemed well-planned. This wasn't the work of an amateur trying to prove something. Alan dismissed his uncle's remark and kept going. He wouldn't stop now as he didn't have the whole night to spend. He noticed that the forward button was stuck, as was the backwards one. They worked together.

	"Well, I've come across the secrets of the occult after years of research. Specifically, one particular cult. The cult of the first sect, a well-hidden society. I discovered their name more than thirty years ago. Since then, I've dedicated my life to finding and revealing their true intent."

	The sound of a door cracking could be heard, followed by distant static. The man tried coughing, but the static made it hard to tell how dry his throat was.

	"I won't give a date as I'll know where to find every extract and document I'm talking about. That's not why I'm doing this. I'm doing it for you, my dear nephew. I care deeply about you and your mother. That's why I chose to make this recording, even though you don't fully understand my true intent yet. And maybe because you're not much of a reader."

	He placed the tape down, and it fell onto a table.

	"I'll start by reading a few pages. Just the important information and some pages that are bent.

	It'll make it easier for you to find what you're looking for."
	"Yes," Alan said, imagining himself standing in his office, facing the old man at the table. The sound of paper being flung filled the room, even the dust particles had distinct sounds.

	"No dates, so I'll skip that," the old man muttered.

	He moved away from the recorder so he wouldn't be heard. Alan wondered if there was someone else in the room besides the nephew who left. Maybe it was the wind? No.

	"Here, no more delays. A swear or an oath for newcomers. This note was given to me by a trusted source."

	The man's voice was monotone.
	"They must bring an offering to be accepted. It's quite peculiar, but I'm not exaggerating. There are rumors that they have a method of tracking the person who spilled the blood. By the way, I haven't tried it and I advise you not to either. The detective thought the ritual wasn't that unusual. At first glance, it may seem grotesque or indecent. But he saw it as a test of courage and a way to join the occult. He heard rumors of young people going missing after doing strange acts involving grave robbery.

	Is this why this was given to me? There was a case that might have involved clues like this. Now, there may be other trials. I suspect that not doing it correctly might result in death. According to the files, a man named Anthony le Fond went missing and his body was found months later with some organs missing. The strange thing is that only half of each organ was taken. It seems more like the work of a murderer than the occult. There may be influences involved, even ritualistic ones. What they didn't tell you is that there was something left inside the bodies.

	Oysters were inserted deep in the stomach. They were planted there to be found and linked to the initiation. There were also small hooks found, possibly in the bottle and in the kidneys. It seems they meant to acquire the blood with the hooks, as they had skin attached to them. The wounds on the fingers were sewn back. It would have made more sense if they were done in January. There's something else I won't share, as it is too gruesome. The other two cases I have files on are the same, with torn skin and organs chopped in half. What else is there?

	Everything else that is written by hand is the opposite of the working table. Now, I will explain why I have decided to continue. I am certain that you have left and should not return for a few hours to stop me. With this in mind, I have decided to join this cult. I have everything I need now, I just have to wait. You might be wondering why I have to wait. Here's where you're mistaken, my nephew. When you came here earlier, I kept my hand out of your sight so you wouldn't notice. You might have also heard some noises, like static. This happens sometimes. The door is locked, but that won't stop them from entering. Don't be sad, I'm not going to die, just go away for a while. That's why I've hidden the last step. It took me a while to figure it out, so make sure you water the plants, okay? The tape suddenly stopped, Alan looked at it while playing with his whiskers.

	His interest grew as he pressed it again.
	"Tape number... it's hard for me to speak, but I'll do my best. There's a man standing directly opposite of me, far enough to read my lips. It's someone I know.

	Alan recognized the voice, it was the same man but with a slight lisp. No static.

	"You might be wondering where I am. That's a valid concern. You might also be wondering why I'm speaking calmly and with contempt. I was fed up with what I'm speaking about now, that's why I have to be secretive. Don't worry, only a few seconds passed since I last spoke to you. That's why I'm asking you to deny my request. I have given up on chasing the occult. The discoveries are shocking, in a good way.

	But I can't say more. I've decided to dedicate my life to something that will benefit humanity more than chasing false leads and senseless murderers. This way, I might make a difference, my nephew. And that's why I have to leave you."

	Another voice interrupted, it was hard to tell who said what. The tape stopped again, even shorter than before. It was an old model and there was no more room left. The next entry might have been the last. It described a ritual and mentioned a name, but the details were vague.

	"Why there, why now? Why me?" Alan asked himself, still confused.

	It was getting late and it seemed like he would spend another night at the office. He saw movement through the window on the door, but he couldn't tell if someone else was on the same floor. He had a way to find out, though. He had set up a system of strings on the bottom floor, made by a friend who had passed away. The strings would lead to a compact device under his desk, and a bell would ring when someone approached, with the sound getting stronger as they got closer.

	He remembered that he had asked him to take it even farther away a long time ago. Two bell rings for a lower floor, three for an even lower floor, and one if someone came to his door. He thought it was quite late because there was no ringing.

	"I'm getting paranoid," Alan said, glaring and fiddling with the tape. He had something else in mind besides his mild delay.

	He would finish it and lock every door so no one could get in or out. That way, he would be certain. He thought to himself that he would hear and rush to the door. He had a firearm nearby, just in case. A third bell rang, followed by a click. Static started, even though nothing was being said.

	"My dear," the voice spoke again, slowly and without a working jaw.

	"Dear nephew, I don't know if these messages will reach you in time. I must confess something. It hasn't been easy for either of us with my absence. Now, I have been told that you haven't followed my advice. I hope you can hear this clearly while I can still talk freely." He cleared his throat sloppily, making a noise as he spat out a mixture of mucus and saliva. "Not as much as I want, though. You must stop. The reason they cut the organs wasn't part of the ritual.

	Listen carefully. I have been wrong this whole time. What I thought was my research, everything, even the bodies. Listen, lad." He stopped speaking, and static and noise could be heard approaching. Alan privately thought about everything - his research, the static, the false evidence and theories. Someone was messing with him in a terrible way. It went even deeper, knowing that there were signs that a group of thugs was targeting him next.

	They tampered with evidence, for sure. He checked the bell again, and it still didn't ring.

	"They played us, they played me. They're not just occult, they are delusional. The bodies and documents, the newspapers and rumors, all made up for me to follow. And I fell for it, just like you apparently did. This is why I'm asking you to stop. These are dangerous people." His throat still had the same concoction, making its way back outside.

	"They will get rid of you and me once I'm no longer useful to them. Those bodies, remember them.

	They were only carved to fit the narrative they wanted. Burn the tape, burn my library."

	The static interrupted him for the last time before the tape stopped, not fully clicked. Was there another message? Alan noticed that the button didn't return to its original position like the last two times. It was most likely a threat. He thought this was the point where he would be blackmailed or forced to join their group of thugs.

	But why him, a low-level detective? He couldn't swallow because his throat was dry, but he continued listening. Another voice came, deeper and almost monotone.

	"Hello. Can you hear me well enough? As you might have already suspected, Alan Pethrichok, detective.

	The ship was expensive and a lot was paid for it. Alain said thank you, gave his final regards, and left his boat. He understood that the boat had gone far. He kept quiet about it. The small village he landed in seemed nice. He didn't have time for pleasantries. Even though the weather was bad, Alan was sweating and couldn't swallow because his throat was dry. He had a short conversation with some locals who were studying him closely. He thought they didn't suspect anything.

	It wasn't far now. He traded a few things and got a sled and some dogs. Along the way, there was a small accident. The sled crashed and all the dogs died, but the owner survived. Alan thought it was fitting, after making sure it was an accident. Whatever happened in the last few months changed him. He wouldn't go too far to kill innocent animals in any other situation. He came face to face with a man dressed like the Grim Reaper. Alan finally arrived at the Great Depression.