Aberrant Weather

This story is best read after A Montauk Horror and possibly before A Montauk Mensch, but I believe they can all stand on their own.

The parts about L Ron Hubbard and Parsons' relationship and attempted magical rites are based on fact. Look into it. It's a crazy story.

Aberrant Weather

June 17, 1952

Pasadena, California, USA

"Damned sheep is what they are!"

His loud voice echoed through the laboratory as they arranged the corpse.

"Yes, sir. Sheep. Got it. We should really get a move on. We have four hours until the submarine rendezvous."

"As if I'd ever wind up dead in an accidental explosion. Me! But they'll believe it, because the damned papers will say it's true."

"I'm sure they will, sir. Is this how you want the body arrayed?"

"Yes, yes. That's fine. It won't matter much after the explosion. You're sure everything is set? New papers, identity, everything?"

"We've been through this, Mr. Parsons. We very much want you alive, well and working with us. You have nothing to worry about."

"And you're keeping tabs on Hubbard? That quack never steps foot in Israel, right?"

"That's correct, sir."

"Scientology. What the hell sort of name is that, anyway?"

Hands on his hips, Jack Parsons surveyed his home laboratory, looked at the cadaver with its passing resemblance and laughed. "All right, Henry. Let's make sure that Tel Meggido can rain down fire on any of your enemies. Screw Operation Paperclip and the Germans. The US has von Braun, but Israel gets Jack Parsons. I'm ready to go."

They heard the muffled explosion as they drove into the night in the Plymouth Belvedere. As the home faded behind them in the distance, Parsons again began to laugh.

His accomplishments, Jet Propulsion Laboratories, his dealings with the US government, ties to Ordo Templi Orientis; all of that was behind him now. The Israelis recognized his genius and with their backing, he would scale new heights.

August 3rd, 1977

Montauk, NY USA

My dress flapped around my legs as the wind picked up. Looking from the looming Montauk Lighthouse to my gathered friends, I lifted my glass.

"To Adrian Demos, an artist, a soldier and a hero." I glanced over at Birgette, who was trying not to cry while she held her son's hand. "When our friend was lost, Adrian's only thought was of her return. We have him to thank for having Birgette with us today. May he be at peace and never far from our thoughts."

Thankfully there was no grit from the sand in the wine as we drank in our friend's memory. Looking up at his mother, little Alistair drank from his plastic cup of apple juice when the rest of us tipped our glasses. We were a strange gathering: Duhnagaham, the Killer; Piotr, the Monk; Birgette, the Genius and Alistair, the child of a Nephilim and Birgette. Then there was me, whatever I was.

"He is a large boy, is Alistair. Yes?"

"That he is, Piotr. That he is."

"Abnormally large. And intelligent. You are aware that he speaks three languages?"

The waves were growing in size and the horizon was getting dark. There was a storm on the way, and I watched its approach as I spoke to my Russian friend.

"Yes, Piotr. I understand both what you are saying and what you are implying. I'll be keeping an eye on the boy."

"This is good, Cynthia. You are good woman. You watch and I will watch. We shall see how he develops."

We finished the bottle there on the beach as we remembered Adrian. I wondered who would be the last surviving member of our informal little tontine and inherit the remaining bottles of Penfolds Grange Hermitage, 1951. It would likely be either Duhnagaham, who would kill the Grim Reaper if he got too close, or Piotr, who seemed indestructible.

We had a vow between us to gather each year on Adrian's birthday and drink in his honor. The Penfolds would only be opened, one bottle at a time, after each of our deaths. We would find another suitable vintage for the somber anniversary, as we kept his memory and sacrifice alive.

Placing my arm around Birgette's shoulder, we walked from the beach to the parking lot, trailed by seagulls that seemed obsessed with Alistair.

Duhnagaham was simultaneously the most lethal man I knew and a people person. He had a way of focusing on you while speaking that made it seem as if your every word was of the utmost importance. He knew when a light touch would put someone at ease and a sympathetic nod and silence would buy him empathy.

In spite of that, he had no use for children. It boggled my mind that someone who seemed so dedicated to his fellow man could be so indifferent to children. He had given up trying to get me to join him in his bed and was now having to face the indignity of interacting with the children from the Little Flower Orphanage.

I had coerced my friends into helping me host a BBQ at my home as an early birthday party for Alistair, and inviting the children seemed like a perfect plan. Duhn laid out his argument in his unique stilted speech.

"Cynthia, I will take this opportunity to travel into Manhattan. Much good can be done there for us all. I know people I can speak to about Alistair's parentage."

"Will they still be there the day after tomorrow? And maybe the day after that?"

He looked trapped, as if associating with a group of young children was a death sentence.

"Yes, but..."

"Excellent! I'll drive you to the train station myself. The day after tomorrow. How are you on a grill? Can you handle the burgers and dogs? Or would you prefer balloon duty?"

Appearing forlorn, he went to the sink and looked out the back window. "I shall grill the meats. That is not safe for a child. They should stay back."

Piotr and Duhn stayed at the house with Alistair while Birgette and I went to King Kullen to pick up supplies and get his cake from the bakery.

Birgette looked to the sky as I carefully drove. Turning to me, she asked "Is it just me, or is it getting dark much too soon?"

"It's not just you. I keep waiting for the skies to open up. It's like the weather is playing a game of chicken with us. The storm clouds come, but don't break. I hope it clears out by tomorrow."

"It's been this way for a few days now. Unusual, right?"

"Very. If it'd just rain it would break this humidity."

We filled cart after cart with chips, cookies, soda, fruit and juice. Paper plates, plastic utensils, disposable cups and cartoon-covered tablecloths rounded out our purchases. Pushing the carts into the King Kullen parking lot, we saw three young men in leather jackets, jeans and shaved heads standing near my car.

Trying to avoid conflict, I smiled. "Scuse me. Just gonna load up our groceries and head out."

They turned towards us and the one closest stepped forward. He had a jagged scar running the length of his forehead and was wearing a Black Flag tee-shirt.

"Mercedes. Beautiful car. Rich husband?"

Looking him in the eye, I replied. "I have a knack for investing. We're done here."

"Yeah, sure. Let me give ya a hand with the bags." When he extended his hand towards the cart, I could see the tattoos on the base of his hand, his wrist and part of his forearm.

"Don't touch the cart, don't touch the bags and don't touch the car. Just leave."

"What the fuck's with the attitude? You too good for someone to help with the fuckin' groceries?" He grabbed the cart and yanked it.

Birgette looked at me. "Did he just say he wanted the keys to your car and he was taking you with him? I believe he did." She looked at the men. "Go away or there shall be screams for help."

One of the other two spoke up. "Go ahead and scream, lady. And where's that accent from? You German, Fraulein?"

"Strasbourg. I am French. You mistook me. It won't be us yelling." She pulled out a gun from her purse and held it down at her side. "Get away from the car."

They did, amidst grumbling and macho posturing. We loaded up our purchases and I was shaking as I drove to the butcher shop.

"Birgette, what the hell? Where did you get a gun from?"

"I will never be a victim again. Never."

I kept looking up at the sky as everyone pitched in to get the groceries in the house. Squatting down in front of Alistair, I held my hands behind my back.

"Okay, choose a hand."

"Uhm... Left!"

"Right you are, my brilliant little man." I said as I shifted the cookie from the bakery from my right hand to my left. Extending the cookie to him, I continued. "How did you know?"

He smiled. "I dunno. Just did."

Tousling his hair, I started putting everything away. Piotr approached me from behind, placing his hands gently on my shoulders.

"There was difficulty at food store? Birgette says young men. Violent looking?"

"It wasn't as dramatic as it sounds, but there were others in town."

"How many?"

"Thirteen others. Total of 16."

"This is normal? You see men like this before?"

"Passing through once in a while, but never more than two at a time."

"You are sure of this?"

I turned my head to stare up at him. He was as solid and steady as a mountain. "Piotr, how often am I wrong about numbers?"

"Izvanyayus. You are right. If it is a number, you remember, you know. Okay, so why so many?"

"I don't have the foggiest."

We spent time child-proofing the house and I'm sure that Duhn had a plethora of weapons he had to secure. As everyone else good-naturedly blew up balloons and hung up decorations, he sorted out the charcoal and the grills and then cooked us dinner.

After we ate, Duhnagaham approached me. "If it will not be missed, I need to use your bicycle."

"My bike? Sure. Feel free."

"Please remain awake. I will speak with you when I return."

He was an odd small man with a sing-song voice, but there was an air of menace about him when he wasn't actively engaging someone in conversation. It was as if he put on a veneer of congeniality that slipped away when he thought it wasn't needed.

"Uhm, okay. Is there a problem?"

"I do not know. But I will."

An hour later I noticed that he was gone. I wasn't overly concerned. We were in suburbia that bordered on farmlands. The biggest problems in Montauk were lost dogs and an occasional fender-bender. How much trouble could there be?

It turned out that there was more than I could have anticipated.

I had my feet up on the couch as I read Benchley's Jaws and sipped some ginger ale while waiting for Duhn. It was just before midnight when he walked in the backdoor. His clothes were filthy and he was wet from head to toe, but he didn't seem injured.

"My friend, please get Birgette and the Russian."

"Duhn, are you okay?"

"I am fine. Thank you. Very odd evening, though."

The four of us gathered in the den, Birgette had clearly been sleeping, and Piotr was wide awake and still clutching his prayer rope. It was easy, at times, to forget that he was a man of letters and some type of monk. I brought in some water for Duhn, which he gratefully accepted, downing all of it in one pull.

He looked to Birgette. "What is the German word Bund?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Uhm, a formal group or federation, why?"

"The bald men you saw today weren't the only ones here. I followed a group of them to a meeting or rally at a farm. Behind a barn were more than 60 young men like the ones you described. They were listening to someone who spoke a mix of German and English. He said his name was Ernst Toht and that the gathering was the vanguard of a Fourth Reich."

Duhn refilled his water glass from the pitcher I had brought out.

"He spoke at length about his father, an SS Major and member of the Thule Society named Arnold Ernst Toht. The speaker grew up in Argentina, living on tales of his father, Hitler and the Third Reich. The group has gathered for a reason. He called them the new American Bund and something is going to happen soon that requires their assistance."

With deep rumbling thunder as a backdrop, the three of us sat there staring and the room was still until I was able to speak.

"Are you... is this a joke or something? Nazis and skinheads and a Fourth Reich in Montauk?"

"I am not joking and I am only relaying what I heard, not what I believe. The skinheads are just foolish disaffected youth. Stupid, cruel and venal, but not much of a threat. They are likely local," He looked around and shrugged. "or semi-local muscle. Thugs. The leader and the few colleagues of his I saw? They might be entirely different. Regardless, it doesn't involve us. We just need to stay alert."

"Yes. Definitely." Involve us or not, I was already planning on making a call the next morning. Aiden Corrigan was quickly climbing the ranks of the Suffolk County Police Department, and he ought to be informed. The last thing I wanted was to have my friends, employees and neighbors having to deal with fanatic Nazi wannabees.

Piotr spoke up. "Are you sure this man said Thule Society?"

He and Duhn had an oddly friendly but simultaneously contentious relationship. Both always vied to be the Alpha dog in our little group. Duhn paused before answering him.

"I believe so. You know of this society?"

Piotr's accent grew thicker as he became angry. "Yes. They were Nazi occultists. They had their perverted hand in every dark and shadowy project Hitler conceived of, and many that he did not. They were also his relic hunters. The Führer was obsessed with legends and myths, and any item of supposed power was hunted down by the Thule Society for the use by the Reich. Horrible disgusting men, these black mystics. They should have all been killed in the street, like rabid dogs."

I checked my watch. "Well, on that pleasant note, let's try to get some sleep and address some of this in the morning."

After I was sure that everyone was in their rooms, I slipped into Piotr's. He was on his knees praying, but he looked up with a smile, stood and took me in his arms. I felt save as his huge body enveloped mine. Lifting me effortlessly, he put me on his bed.

We were slow, patient and loving. He needed to be gentle at first and always conscious of his strength, and I loved his ever-present concern for my safety. We made love for the better part of an hour and I fell asleep in his arms.

The strong wind rattled the windows and I awoke in the darkness of the room. I felt a body next to me. It was foreign and wrong. I kicked at it and pushed back, almost off the bed.

"You...You're not Finn! You're not..." Gasping for air, I was hyperventilating. "You're... you're... Piotr. Piotr, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"It is all right. I understand. I just wish I could be this Finn. Do you wish to stay for a while?"

"No, I... I'm sorry, I need to go."

"Shall I walk you to your room?"

"No, I'll be fine. Truly. And I am sorry. You deserve more, Piotr. A better woman... a whole woman."

His Russian accent lent an earthy depth to his words. "Thank you, Cynthia, but do not tell me what I deserve. I am a blessed man and I am happy with what I have received. You are more than what you believe. You are one of the many gifts that I am grateful for."

I slept in my room, dreaming of Finn.

I tried making us pancakes three times before Birgette gently shooed me from the kitchen and took over making breakfast. Heading to the den, I used the opportunity call the police department in Yaphank.

"Hello, may I speak with Lieutenant Corrigan please?"

"Please hold."

After a few minutes, he picked up the phone. "Corrigan."

"Lieutenant, this is Cynthia Kallas. We've met a few times at P.A.L. events."

"Yes, I remember, Ms. Kallas. What can I do for you?"

I hadn't thought about how this was going to sound until then. I should have prepared some sort of cover story. "Well, this is going to sound odd, but I had a minor run-in with some skinheads yesterday while shopping, and I noticed that there actually a number of them around. More than 60."

"Ma'am, was anyone injured in this run-in?"

"No, not really. But, well, I'd really appreciate it if you could find a way to do me a favor. I'm having 21 children from the Little Flower Orphanage over today for a birthday party. Actually, 22 with Alistair, and that's not the best of numbers. Maybe one won't be able to make it. Twenty-one is such a great number..."

"Ms. Kallas, was there a point to this?"

"Yes, sorry. Would it be possible to send a patrol car around a few times just to keep an eye on things?"

"Yes, Ma'am. That shouldn't be a problem."

"Great. Thank you. The children should be here around one. I was just so worried about the Nazis and these skinheads that..."

"Nazis?"

"I... I may have also heard some men speaking German."

"Okay, that's a pretty big jump. Lots of people speak German. I'll make sure a car comes by."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Have a good day, Ma'am." He hung up.

Well, that went pretty horribly. I had just convinced the man who was going to be Finn's grandfather that I was a nut.

I followed my nose and the bewitching aroma of bacon and coffee to the kitchen. Birgette had pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs and orange juice ready to go. We sat, eating together like an ad hoc family, sharing laughter, stories and some concern about Duhn's revelations that we didn't discuss in front of Alistair.

It was a relief to see the little boy excited about his party. He was behaving so normally, a typical child on his birthday. His parentage was always there, knocking on the door of our fears, and the quotidian happiness of a little boy pushed back at our worry of what tomorrow might be. Looking at him at the table, bouncing with energy and repeatedly asking how long until the children arrived, quelled our worries about who and what an adult Alistair would be.

A light pitter-patter of rain could be heard as the knocking on the door started. I peered out the side windows as I made my way to the door. It would be a shame if we had to move the party indoors.

It's sad fact that when you have politicians calling you or stopping by regularly asking for donations or favors, you are almost guaranteed a more pleasant relationship with the police than you would otherwise experience. I anticipated that it was them knocking on the door, and was perplexed to see two men in black suits, black ties, black shoes and black sunglasses on my porch. Looking past them, I saw a late model black sedan in my driveway.

The one on the right pulled out some sort of leather wallet, flipped it open to an ID of some sort and flipped it closed again. "Ms. Kallas, we're from the government."

Who the hell says they are from the government? What government? State? Local? Federal?

"And?"

They both looked as if allowing any expression to cross their faces would be painful. The man with the ID continued.

"We understand that you were talking to a law enforcement official this morning about Nazis and skinheads. We're here to assure you that there are no Nazis or skinheads in this area. Repeating these stories could only lead to unfounded concerns by your neighbors. We'd like to request that you rethink your surmisings and not discuss this with anyone else."

His partner spoke up. "For the good of the community."

I've seen weird. I've lived weird. This was ranking right up there on my weird-o-meter.

"And who are the two of you with again?"

ID man was back to talking. "We're with the government. We'd hate to have anything happen to anyone. Inciting panic is a criminal offense. We appreciate your cooperation."

He lifted his hand to his forehead, as if to doff an invisible hat, and the two of them turned in unison, walked to their car and drove off. Watching them drive away, I lifted my eyes and saw the horizon once again filled with dark ominous clouds.