Nowhere Children Inc.

Chapter 1 - The Beginning of the Cult
Polygamy. Bizarre sexual rituals in remote forest clearings. The leader of the Cult almost Godlike in his power over the other members. People rushing to cater to his slightest whim. His permission needed for the simplest of tasks. More and more members joining up every week. FBI now estimate the Cult several thousand strong – with centres springing up all over the world. Worrying reports of lethal weapons being amassed at Cult HQ.

Godfrey Simmons tugged at his straggly grey beard and nodded with grim satisfaction. Yes, that was how it should be. Himself at the head of the fastest growing and most powerful Cult in history! The only problem was, he wasn’t.

The Godfrey Simmons Cult, which twenty years ago he had believed would encompass the entire globe, consisted of only one member. Himself.

“It’s the bloody Irish!” he told the bedroom wallpaper gloomily. “They’ve taken all my followers. It’s a pity the Germans didn’t finish the job properly and wipe ‘em all out!”

Godfrey Simmons had attended a good school in his time but his history was somewhat patchy.

“Twenty years ago, things were different!” he told the bedroom doorknob sternly.

And so they had been. Then, Godfrey’s beard had been long, black and luxuriant and the Godfrey Simmons Cult had had at least nine members – himself, Fiona and their seven children. Also, people outside the family had been showing an interest. It had seemed only a matter of time before the rest of the world saw the light and joined up.

Godfrey had drawn up Seven Commandments by which the Cult must abide and had written them on a blackboard placed in the hall.

1. No Tobacco.

2. No Television or Radio.

3. No Alcohol.

4. No Violence.

5. No Stealing.

6. No Newspapers.

7. No Disagreeing with Godfrey Simmons.

These Seven Commandments were not a success. Everyone who expressed an interest in the Cult decided they could not do without at least one of the first three banned items on the list. Godfrey tried to sweeten it by changing ‘No Disagreeing with Godfrey Simmons’ to ‘No Disagreeing with the Godfrey Simmons Cult’. This was a smart move and many changed their mind about joining until he explained to them that they would still have to keep the first three Commandments. One woman told him that, as there was to be No Disagreeing with the Godfrey Simmons Cult, no-one in the Cult would disagree with her breaking any of the Seven Commandments once she became a member! Godfrey was so angry at her perversity, he smashed his entire set of crockery. He and his family spent the following week eating from paper plates until he bought replacements from the local car boot sale.

So no one outside his family ever joined. Then the children grew up and, one by one, they left the rambling farmhouse that was the Cult’s headquarters. Some came back to visit – but none of them ever wanted to stay.

Years passed. Godfrey’s beard started to go greyer; his face grew thinner and more lined. The membership of the Cult stood at only four – himself, Fiona, Cloud Berry and River Boy. Then finally, a new disciple arrived.

She was a small pixie-like woman from Ireland and Godfrey was glad because, although he distrusted the Irish, he preferred women to men.

“They’re easier to teach,” he told himself. “And they don’t argue like men do!”

The Small Pixie Woman had big, round, green eyes and nodded and smiled respectfully at everything Godfrey said. For the first two days, he was ecstatic. After four days, he hated her.

“She doesn’t take in a word I say!” he grumbled to his thermometer. “She doesn’t argue like a sane person – she just smiles and blocks it all out!”

He limped heavily across to his barometer, rapped sharply on the glass and peered angrily at the dial. “Twenty-nine point seven – it’s falling! Oh no, we’ve got heavy weather coming!”

In Godfrey’s study, he kept a barometer and a digital thermometer that showed the outside temperature. The two instruments were placed on opposite sides of the room. Ever since he had stopped smoking, he had got into the habit of checking them several times an hour. If the temperature or barometric pressure dropped significantly, he would go into a state of agitated excitement.

“It’s gettin’ cold!” he mumbled as he shuffled back towards the thermometer. “Aha! It’s down to forty-nine! There’s gonna be a blizzard! I’d better light a fire!”

He lit the fire in his study and in a short time the place was roasting hot. He nodded contentedly. “That’ll show ‘em!” he told the barometer. He patted his pockets for his tobacco – then remembered that he didn’t smoke.

“Damn ‘em!” he snarled at the flaming logs in the fireplace. “Damn ‘em all to…to live in small, sad Cults where nobody listens to 'em! Yep! Interfering – that’s what they are! Why can't they just let people be?”