Crash Gordon and the Mysteries of Kingsburg (61 page)

Let’s face the fucked up facts: a demented hypnotist-creator disguised as a caring god is in charge of this world, with a legion of dark magicians dedicated to fulfilling that unholy master’s every task. I’m talking, of course, about the Demiurge and those pesky Archons again. When we learn, early in life, that this world is a deterministic prison ruled by the Dark Brotherhood, that knowledge (usually unconscious) causes us to reject cold reality and submit to the Dark Brotherhood’s entrancing, mass-marketed spells instead. “You, too, can attain happiness and success and Kodak moments galore. All we require in return is….” Well, you get the picture.

Does that seem too harsh? Then consider the words of another hypnotist–one of the good ones, this time–a guy named Michael Ellner:

“Just look at us. Everything is backwards; everything is upside down. Doctors destroy health, lawyers destroy justice, universities destroy knowledge, governments destroy freedom, the major media destroy information and religions destroy spirituality.”

Why? Because big business, big government, and big religion operate outside the boundaries of conventional, little guy morality. Their true goal is not to serve the people, but to dictate to them. It’s all about totalitarian control and bleeding the masses dry by any means possible–financially, emotionally, even spiritually. And so, to paraphrase Bob Dylan, you’ve got unrighteous doctors peddling pills that won’t cure anyone’s ills (but will turn huge profits for the pharmaceutical companies…). You’ve got unscrupulous lawyers perverting the law because justice is just a game and they like seeing innocent people suffer (as long as their law firms can keep racking up those billable hours…). You’ve got disingenuous scholars, think tank “experts,” and TV pundits planting the seeds of disinformation so others won’t be able to separate the truth from their lies (because a numbed and confused electorate won’t mount a serious challenge to its controllers…). And so it goes, all the way down the line.

Sure, all that stuff could be ascribed to selfish, ordinary human failings. No need to drag the Demiurge and the Dark Brotherhood into it, right? Just because the world is a little off-kilter that doesn’t mean there’s a bizarre supernatural conspiracy going on, overseen by evil, hyperdimensional entities using the Pentagon as their headquarters. But the more you look into these things, the more I think you’ll see of what Gordon touched on in his essay about Occult Politics–an undercurrent of black magic in high places, a sinister occultism oozing around the edges of the National Security State.

Take, for instance, the U.S. importation of all those Nazi scientists, engineers, and intelligence officers under Operation PAPERCLIP. What the hell was up with that? Was the American government just picking up the fascist quest for world domination where the Third Reich had left off? The few documented facts pertaining to Nazi-influenced CIA mind control programs like MKULTRA could certainly lead a person to think that. Congress estimated in 1977 that at least 23,000 people had been experimented on, without their consent, under the auspices of MKULTRA. Lives were lost. Minds were shattered. The numbers could be much higher, but we’ll never know, because in 1973 all records of the CIA’s mind control activities were destroyed on the order of then Director of Central Intelligence, Richard Helms. MKULTRA and its successor programs went “dark” after that–becoming black box projects–but they sure as hell weren’t discontinued.

In fact, Doctor Lemingeller suspects–rightly or wrongly, I can’t say at this point–that Gordon, Jimmy, and Twinker practically grew up in one of those black box projects, possibly the most fiendish and ruthless one of them all:

Project MONARCH.

ANAMNESIS

R
ight after his encounter with Doctor Lemingeller, Gordon decides to visit his grandmother. He wants to ask her a few questions about her neighbor, Doctor Smiley. He invites Twinker to go along with him. After what they’ve just been through, he knows she shouldn’t be left on her own.

“I should warn you, my grandma’s a little flaky and out-there…” Gordon says as they’re walking over from school.

“I don’t care. I love being around crazy old ladies,” Twinker says with a smile. She grabs Gordon’s arm and does a little hop and a skip off the ground. “Man, I’m so happy right now! It’s gonna be great, not being strung out anymore.”

“You might feel a little crappy at first, but I know you’ll pull through it. Doctor Lemingeller said you’d never have to snort crank again.” Gordon figures some positive reinforcement is called for, even if it’s a lie. Better that than the actual, horrific truth. Twinker doesn’t seem to have any memory of her alters or mind control programming, and until Gordon can figure out how to safely deprogram her self-destructive OMEGA personality, it’s probably best that her memory stays that way.

As for his own self-destruct programming
(if he was programmed at all),
he’s pretty sure Doctor Smiley botched the job. There’s a nasty fluttering tingle in his gut, like he’s on the verge of a panic attack, and he’s short of breath, which could just be asthma. But aside from those symptoms–along with an incredibly persistent hard-on–he seems to be okay. He certainly doesn’t feel like killing himself. He might be persuaded to hump a vacuum cleaner, or a tub of low-cholesterol margarine… but kill himself? No.

“I don’t have any time for Jehovah’s Witnesses today,” Helen says, greeting them at her front door.

“Grandma, it’s me! Gordon!” He’s been through this same routine many times before.

“If you’re Mormon… well–if you ask me, Joseph Smith had far too many wives. And all those men running around in their sacred Mormon underpants? It’s just silly. So count me out.”

“You’re right. All those Mormon guys are hopeless horndogs…” Gordon says. “Grandma, this is my friend, Twinker. Can we come inside?”

“What are you selling?” Helen asks, suspicious.

“Dog cookies!” Sometimes Gordon can’t resist going tit-for-tat with her when she’s veering off into the surreal.

“I don’t have a dog–
I have squids!
–but you can come in, anyway. I’ll make us some coffee.” Helen turns and abruptly heads toward the kitchen, leaving the door wide open. “They’re not
Scientology
dog cookies, are they?” she suddenly shouts from deep within the house.

“She’s not having one of her better days,” Gordon says to Twinker.

“I think she’s nice…” Twinker whispers back. “She probably spends a lot of time petting those squids and making sure they have everything they need.”

“They live in her toilet,” Gordon informs her.

After they settle into the black swivel chairs around the dining room table and Helen pours the coffee, she seems to get more lucid. There’s some loose talk about Lawrence Welk sniffing the damp organza panties of his floozy back-up singers, and a brief mention is made of the Reverend Jimmy Swaggart’s nocturnal activities as a hard-partying iguana. But by the end of that monologue, Helen has recognized Gordon and is curious to find out if he and Twinker are dating.

“Twinker’s been dating my friend, Skip,” Gordon says. “We’re just hanging out today because we both stayed late after a hypnotist show.”

“I was always afraid to date Gordon,” Twinker says, putting her hand on top of his on the table. “I thought he was too handsome and intellectual for me.”

They both burst out laughing.

Helen–having a rather high opinion of her grandson–doesn’t quite get the joke, but she goes ahead with the conversation, anyway. “So you saw a hypnotist! How was that?”

“Weird,” says Gordon.

“Beyond weird,” Twinker adds.

“Yeah. You know who he reminded me of? A lot?” Gordon is improvising to steer the conversation in the direction he wants it to go. “He reminded me of your neighbor, Doctor Smiley.”

“Really? Doctor Smiley!”

“Yeah. Do you talk to him much these days?”

“Not to him, no. Sometimes I visit with his wife, Sarah. But honestly? I don’t care for them much as neighbors.”

“Why not?” Gordon asks.

“Oh, I don’t know how to describe it, really. I guess it’s because whenever I see them, they somehow bring up a deep sense of…
revulsion
in me.”

“
Revulsion.
Wow! That’s a pretty strong word,” Twinker says.

“Well, you don’t know these people, dear,” Helen says, patting Twinker’s hand–which is still resting in Gordon’s palm. “I used to think all doctors were helpful and kind. And now, well… let’s just say I know better.”

“God, what’d he do?” Twinker asks.

“It’s not so much what he did,” Helen says, “although that’s certainly bad enough. It’s what he
is
that I find disturbing. He’s evil.”

“Evil?” Twinker almost laughs. “How can you say that?”

“I’m an old, old woman. I’ve earned the right to say it when I see it. This world is full of people who choose darkness over the spirit’s light. The sooner you learn to recognize them, the better off you’ll be.”

“Well, I’m still curious about what he did,” Twinker says. “I mean, it must’ve been pretty bad, because you don’t seem all that judgmental, otherwise.”

“Except for that stuff about Lawrence Welk and the organza panties…” Gordon can’t help but put in. “I thought you
liked
Lawrence Welk.”

“I like his music,” Helen clarifies. “And if allowing the man his panty-sniffing is the price we have to pay for his musical genius, then I say, by all means, send him mine if he wants them.”

“Spoken like a true fan,” Gordon says. “But about Doctor Smiley… what turned you against him? I always thought you liked him, too, for some reason.”

“Do you remember that time… oh, you must’ve been seven or eight… when you hopped up on my fence one day and asked me if the Smiley’s had a dog?”

Of course Gordon remembers.
Vividly.

“Well, I never told you this, because I thought you were too young to know it at the time and I wanted to spare you the horror… but just that very morning I’d found a dead dog in my garbage can. And from the looks of it, it had been skinned alive.”

Gordon can actually
feel
the color draining from his face.

“Now, I didn’t put two and two together right away,” Helen continues. “I guess I was a little dumb, or naïve, in those days. But this dog, I was sure, hadn’t died of old age. All its skin had been sliced away from the neck down–even on its paws–but there wasn’t any blood, anywhere.”

“What kind of dog was it?” Gordon asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

“Judging by its face, I’d say it was a brown Doberman pinscher.”

“I saw that dog get killed in the Smiley’s backyard,” Gordon says. “A group of grown-ups were standing around in a circle, levitating it, and then they somehow broke its spine.”

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” Twinker says, squeezing Gordon’s hand. “Crash, are you serious?”

“I couldn’t even really believe it myself back then,” Gordon says, looking at his grandmother. “But I guess it’s true now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is,” Helen says with a sigh.
“What a world, what a world….
”

“So Doctor Smiley is a secret dog killer,” Twinker says, leaping to the obvious conclusion. “No wonder you think he’s evil.”

“The worst thing is,” Gordon tells Twinker, “all while I was growing up, this guy was my pediatrician. I guess he still is–only now there’s no way in hell I’m ever going back to him.”

“Oh, honeybug… I’m so sorry. I guess I should’ve told you sometime earlier. But like I said, I didn’t make the connection with Doctor Smiley right away.” Helen swipes at a tear as her face turns grim. “But I was suspicious enough to start snooping on him.”

“What’d you find out?” Gordon asks her.

“Oh, all sorts of things… but nothing that ever made any sense. The Smileys had regular meetings at their house, once a month, for something called the Four-P Club, or the Four Pi Movement. Your mother went to them, along with her friend… oh dear, what’s her name?
Janice.
Sometimes they all wore black robes and carried around candles in the backyard, but aside from that, I never saw anything very strange going on.”

“No more dog murders?”

“None that I’m aware of. But there
were
more dog killings taking place elsewhere. I’ve saved all the newspaper articles.” Helen gets up and goes to her desk, returning with a pair of black cat’s-eye reading glasses and a handful of tightly rolled and rubber-banded newspaper clippings.

Helen puts on her glasses and squints at the first unrolled article. It’s a Xeroxed copy. “This was, what, back around 1973 that this happened? Some of these articles I found go all the way back to 1968 or ‘69. It seems there were a lot of dogs being found skinned alive not all that far from here, in places like San Jose, Santa Cruz, and Los Gatos. All the dogs were either German shepherds or Doberman pinschers. Here, in this article, is what the director of the Santa Cruz animal shelter had to say about it.” Helen primly reads:

“‘Whoever is doing this is a real expert with a knife. The skin is cut away without even marking the flesh. And the really strange thing is that these dogs have been drained of blood.’”

“It sounds like they were being used in ritual sacrifices,” Gordon says.

“Well, I
did
run across a few isolated reports of that,” Helen says. “Some people swore that the dogs’ blood was being drunk by a cult of Satanists up in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Supposedly there were some human sacrifices taking place up there, too, on some kind of a dragon-festooned altar. But no one took those reports seriously–and by about 1974, at least, the dog sacrifices seemed like they’d ended. But then they started up again in 1976 and ‘77–in New York City this time. Over eighty German shepherds and Dobermans were found there skinned and drained of blood in the exact same way. It was right around the same time as those ‘Son of Sam’ murders.”

“You think there’s a connection?” Twinker asks her.

“I don’t know what I think,” Helen says, removing her glasses. “All I know for sure is that Doctor Smiley and Gordon’s mother were here in Kingsburg that whole time. They never once traveled to New York, not even on vacation.”