The Celestials of Turing

Small towns like Turing are littered across the United States. Well, not exactly like Turing. There are any number of towns with a low populations and with just one set of shops in the town square, none of them having another branch. Many towns had just one elementary school which was also the middle school and high school. However, even though perhaps ten thousand such towns existed in quiet innocence around the continental US, there were none exactly like Turing. There were none that did things quite like they did. This little speech was exactly what Adam Collinsworth and his son had heard from their friend Rupert Gaingly, a former resident of the nearest town to Turing: Amos. When he found out the father and son would be moving to the small town, he’d gone pale.

“So all I’m saying is… be careful,” finished Rupert earnestly. 

Adam sipped on a large coffee. His son, Timmy, picked at an omelet.

“I still don’t really understand what you’re getting at,” said Adam after a minute. “Is it dangerous there? Violent crime reports are negligible. I think they’ve had one murder in the last twenty years.” 

“That was a manslaughter,” corrected Rupert. “Some poor guy got hit with a car some teenagers were driving high out of their minds.” 

“Alright boy, watch out for stoned maniacs on the road,” said Adam, elbowing his son with false sternness. 

Timmy laughed. He was twelve and anxious about… well, just about everything, but at this moment he was nervous to start a new school. “Uncle Rupert, it can’t be that bad, can it?” 

“I don’t know,” said Rupert, shrugging in defeat. “I lived in Amos for twenty years. Folks around there knew not to go to Turing unless it was an emergency, which it never was. We never messed with them, and in return they never messed with us.” 

“Sounds more like old townie superstition than anything to me,” said Adam. 

Rupert stirred the ice in his lemonade with his straw. “Listen… do you have to go?” 

Chuckling, Adam reached across the table and slapped Rupert in the arm. “You’re gonna miss us that bad, huh?” His friend’s eyes were serious, so Adam sobered his tone and continued, “They’re opening a new regional hospital there, and they accepted me to be their Director of Medicine. It’s a crazy opportunity, and it’s not just about the money, although,” he covered Timmy’s ears, “we need the money.” 

“Dad,” complained Timmy, pushing his father’s hands off of his ears. 

Rupert’s red hair, light and graying upon his balding head, was glistening with sweat. His round, jovial face was rarely ever in such tension. At last, he nodded and raised his glass. “Well, cheers to new beginnings, old friend.” 

Timmy raised his chocolate milk and dinked his cup with the lemonade and the coffee, feeling like a professional adult. Adam beamed and said, “Thank you, Rupert.” 

They sipped their drinks, Rupert waving for the check as he said, in one last spurt of seriousness, “If anything happens, you call me, okay?” 

Adam gave him a kind smile. “Sure, sure.” That call would never come.

The next thing Timmy knew, they were driving through the flat green lands of the American midwest, the monotonous country flying past them. They were in an old Prius, so the road noise came through loud and clear. Timmy liked it. If it was too quiet he started to think of his old school and the friends he lost, and his new school and the enemies would gain. 

“Excited?” asked Adam for perhaps the fiftieth time. 

Too nervous to speak, Timmy simply nodded to placate his father. 

They arrived in Turing late on Friday evening. Their house was small; one floor with two bedrooms and one and a half baths. Its low, slanted roof was missing some gray shingles, and the front had some white paint weathered from the wood panels. The storm door squeaked as Adam swung it open, and Timmy could count the number of properly seated bricks in the walkway on one hand. Weeds had taken the garden as their domain. Perhaps the only redeeming feature, in Timmy’s eyes, was that their front yard was long and flat, perfect for football. 

Adam unlocked the door and swung it open. A narrow hall revealed a living room and dining room on the right side, turning to the bedrooms and full bathroom on the left. The kitchen was further down and to the left, and their half bath was at the far end of the living room, down a short hall which also contained their washer/dryer. 

“Well?” asked Adam. “Is it as good as you remember?” 

Truthfully, Timmy would have preferred the small studio he and his dad shared in the city. This house looked weathered and sad, not played-in thoroughly. However, Timmy was sharp for his age. He smiled at his dad and said, “It’s awesome!” 

Adam tousled his son’s hair. The rest of their day was spent unpacking their Prius. Most of their belongings, contained in about half a moving truck, would be delivered in a week, delayed due to the truck breaking down and getting lost. 

Shopping consumed their weekend. They got a lay of the land; the small town square having just a police station, diner, general store, pharmacy, grocer’s, liquor store, church, and restaurant. The only odd thing to Timmy was that everyone liked to wear scarves. It was early autumn, and he couldn’t help his blond hair from plastering to his forehead with sweat, but everyone here wore either a heft turtleneck or a scarf. 

The people seemed helpful enough, though. They learned that haircuts were done at Marianne Tiller’s house and that if you needed something fixed-up, you went to Nick Smith. They also met Damien Antsworth, who would be Timmy’s teacher. He was a portly man who grabbed his belly when he laughed, and he laughed often. His red cheeks and thin gray hair gave Timmy the impression that, with a simple beard, he could be looking at Santa Claus. 

“Listen, Timmy,” said Damien as they were about to part, “I know you’re probably feeling pretty shy or nervous about fitting in right about now, but don’t worry about that. The kids your age all have this club called The Celestials that they do Mondays after school. Just hop in that and you’ll be alright.” 

“The Celestials,” said Adam. “Is that like an Astronomy club or something like that?” 

“Something like that,” repeated Damien with a casual wink. He readjusted his blue scarf and added, “I need to be going, but remember Timmy, The Celestials will treat you right.” 

They shared an amicable parting, but Adam had furrowed his brow. He stooped and said quietly, “Timmy, don’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, okay? It sounds a bit like a weird cult… The Celestials.” 

Timmy nodded sincerely, but he took the word of Damien, a jovial stranger, far more seriously than his father. After all, Adam was just worried. Usually he was pretty adventurous, but they were in a new place; it was natural for a dad to be worried about his son. Before they even left the tiny produce aisle, Timmy had resolved to go to that club on Monday. 

And before they knew it, Monday morning was upon them. Adam had to be up at 5:30 to get ready, so that meant that Timmy was also up at 5:30, grumpy as anything. He refused to have his hair combed into a neat part; it just wasn’t cool. Cool was having your hair sticking up at all ends and drooping over your forehead. There was a bit of an argument, stressed as Adam was, but all was forgiven as he grabbed his briefcase and bade goodbye to his son. “Now listen,” he said, pointing out of the window. “The bus is going to stop right in front of our house. If for any reason it doesn’t, call me using the landline, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Adam’s eyes glistened as he looked at his little boy, messy hair and all. “Your momma would’ve been so proud of you. She is so proud of you.” 

They shared a tight hug, and Timmy’s eyes got misty. He didn’t want his dad to go, all of a sudden. He had few memories of his mother, but one which stood out was him clinging to her ankle as she tried to drop him off at kindergarten. Timmy felt like doing the same with his dad as he wrapped his tiny hands around Adam’s torso. But then they separated, and Adam was waving goodbye from the walkway, from the Prius as he backed out, from the main road as he drove away… 

Timmy wiped his eyes and grabbed his backpack. He looked at his blue watch and saw that the bus should be there in twenty minutes. Indeed, twenty minutes later he heard the grumble of the engine as the bus pulled up. He was one of the first on the round, so he got a seat to himself, looking out of the window and hoping someone cool sat with him. 

He was beginning to give up hope until about halfway through the ride a tall kid flopped down into the same green seat. “New kid?” he asked. He was clearly older, his voice an octave lower than Timmy’s. 

“Yep. I’m Timmy.” 

“I’m Greg.” The boy flashed a wide smile, his eyes gleaming. “You’re probably all worried about being left out and not making any friends, right?” 

In spite of himself, Timmy nodded. “Yep.” 

Greg slapped him on the back, maybe harder than he needed to, and said, “Don’t worry about it. Just come to the cemetery after school.” 

“Th-The cemetery?” repeated Timmy, his heart faltering. “Why?” 

“There’s this club called The Celestials,” explained Greg. “Everyone’s in it… At least, anyone who’s anyone is in it. We meet in the cemetery.” 

“Why’s that?’ asked Timmy. “I thought it was something like an Astronomy Club. At least, that’s what Mr. Antsworth said.”

“Oh, so you met old Damien already,” said Greg, nodding appreciably. “Good… You’ve probably already got the idea that Turing isn’t like other towns, and you’re right. It’s so much better. Just come by the cemetery and you’ll find out why… Unless you don’t want to be cool. That’d be bad..” 

Timmy chewed his words, but despite his heart racing and his mind screaming warnings at him in his dad’s voice, he nodded and said, “I’ll be there.” 

“Good kid,” said Greg. Their bus stopped at the school and as they went their separate ways in the building, Greg finished, “See you at three, Timmy!” 

“Yeah, see you…” 

The school day consisted of Timmy collecting the few week’s worth of notes he had missed. They hadn’t moved to Turing due to the stellar school system, and given the dearth of things he apparently missed over the three weeks of school, Timmy found out quickly that his intelligence would not be too tested by the scarf-wearing teachers. Mr. Antsworth, who taught science, had the most to give Timmy, but even then it was pitiful compared to what he had been learning in his city school. He found himself wishing that his dad’s job went so well that they were able to move back soon.

As the bell rung to signal the end of the day at 2:40, Timmy found Greg waiting for him at the school’s large foyer. He smiled and said, “I forgot I didn’t tell you how to get there.” 

Timmy suddenly realized he wanted no part in this. He didn’t want to be in The Celestials; he wanted to go home and mop up his homework before playing video games. But then… Greg looked nice enough, and he was doing Timmy a huge favor by allowing him into this club. If Mr. Antsworth thought it was a good idea… 

So he found himself walking through the backstreets of the small town, running through excuses in his head. Greg texted others with a smirk on his flip phone. Timmy had begged his dad for a flip phone last year, but the money hadn’t been there. They finally came to the twisted, dark metal gates of the courtyard, a light rain beginning to fall from the sky in peppery drops. 

“Greg-” 

“We’re almost there, bud. Don’t worry about it.” 

On and on they walked, through a cemetery far too large for such a small town. It seemed that anyone who had ever lived in Turing was buried here, with some tombstones so old the names were weathered to nonsense.

Timmy’s heart was thudding through his shirt. They came upon a small walkway through the woods. By that point, they had been on the road for almost twenty minutes, so he was at least somewhat relieved when Greg said, “It’s just through here, you’ll see.” 

When he got to the other side, what he found made him stop in his tracks. 

It looked like just about every student from fifth grade and up at the Turing General School was there - all three hundred of them. They were all wearing deep burgundy robes with large, dark hoods, and he quickly realized what he was seeing and wanted nothing more than to turn back. In fact, he did attempt to push against the firm hand Greg had placed on his back, but the older boy was too strong. Soon, Timmy was being led through the ranks of the school, starting with the youngest. They were all paired with an older kid. Timmy had read of squires and knights before, so when a ninth grader slapped Greg on the back and said, “You got yourself a clinger, huh?” 

Greg laughed and said, “Hell yeah. This boy’s mine.” 

“Does he have a mom and dad?” asked a girl who had to be at least a sophomore.  

“Mom, no, dad, yes,” said Greg. 

Timmy didn’t know how he knew that, but he finally mustered the courage to say, “Please, let me go. I don’t wanna-” 

“I thought you wanted to be in, Collinsworth,” demanded Greg, turning the small kid around to face his angry glare. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know what it’s like on the outside of The Celestials.” 

Timmy spluttered the only reply which came to mind: “If this is such a cool club, why is almost everyone in it! Even the nerds! They’re never invited to the cool clubs.” 

“That’s because this club isn’t about nerds or jocks or whatever,” said Greg. “Now shut up and stand right there. You’re gonna repeat after us.” 

Who “us” was quickly became clear; Greg and about eleven of the older kids stood in a semicircle in the rapidly falling darkness before Timmy. They recited Latin. Timmy, who did not know Latin, mumbled gibberish at first, but he swiftly received a strike from a girl standing next to him. Soon, he was at least phonetically slogging through the performance. After they had done this for about an hour, an older boy, maybe eighteen, stood in front of Timmy and plunged his knife into the earth at his feet, pulling out what looked like a small stone.

“This was a Native burial ground,” explained Greg in a reverent voice. “The bones are still so fresh, you can pick them out of the ground.”

The boy with the stone was now whispering rapidly in Latin, and as it began to glow white Timmy realized that this was bone itself, not stone. “Hold out your hand,” said the boy, his voice commanding. Timmy held it out before he knew what was happening, and with a quick stroke of the knife and a searing pain, Timmy’s blood began dripping on the bone. He cried out, but there was no one to comfort him as tears began to fall earnestly from his face. The older boy was still whispering quickly, now joined by almost every child standing in the clearing. An residual sound was forming in the woods, deep and hallowed. It was cut by only one thing: 

“Let me go, you freaks!” yelled the voice of Adam Collinsworth over the haunting echo. 

“Dad?” cried Timmy. “Dad!” 

It was indeed Adam being dragged into the clearing by two Varsity football linemen who had clearly not taken him in peacefully. As Adam came face to face with his son, he asked desperately, “What’s going on here, Timmy? Please, tell me! Let him go!” he shouted to his captors. “You take me but you let him go right now!” 

“Silence,” said the older boy. He placed the bone in Timmy’s blood soaked hand and held the hilt of a knife towards his other. “You know what to do.” 

A chanting began as night fell much earlier than it ought to have, and Timmy realized he did know what to do. He met his father’s eyes, so lost, so afraid, and he felt it deflect off of the black shield around his heart. He was a Celestial now. He controlled this town and its people. It was a simple nod from Greg and the knife was buried in his father’s throat. He pulled it out quickly and replaced it with the bone covered in Timmy’s own blood, and surprisingly the wound sealed right back, leaving a characteristic scar. Adam popped to his feet and then kneeled down, saying, “Thank you for blessing me.” 

Timmy knew not what to say. A great clamor shut out intelligent thought as the Celestials welcomed their newest member. Part of Timmy was deeply sad and stricken by what he had done, but that part was away now, floating away into the endless night. He was a Celestial, and he belonged. He smiled and raised his bloody hand into the sky, causing a roar from the crowd and a distant smile from the creature which had once been his father.