
09 Aug The Faith Molecule
βThe Faith Moleculeβ
Written by Edward Greenberg Edited by N.M. Brown Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
β° ESTIMATED READING TIME β 16 minutes
βDr. Annelise Fowler,β
βAnnie, no one calls me Annelise.β
βAlright then, Annie.β
βYou can call me Dr. Fowler.β
Agent Romero slips a cigarette out of his pack, βYou mind if I smoke, Doctor? Would you like one?β
βI would mind, and no, I would not like a cigarette. Letβs just get on with it.β
He sighs, slipping his pack into his jacket pocket, βSure thing, Doctor.β
Dr. Fowler is tired. Her eyes are red and swollen as she asks, βHow much do you know about what happened on Cora Island?β
βWeβve spoken to a few people; we need your help to get a fuller picture of the events.β
βDo you know enough to believe what Iβll tell you?β
βWeβre here to listen to whatever you have to say, Dr. Fowler.β
βWhatβs even the point? Do you really think you can build a case against Lotus? Itβs aΒ joke. How do I know youβre not working for them, just playing with me, seeing if Iβll talk?β
βWe work for the United States government, Doctor. If youβd like to see our credentials again, weβre more than happy to comply. We donβt hold the interests of private corporations.β
Annie laughs at that, βAll right, boy scout. Do your supervisors even know youβre here?β
βState police called us at the Washington State FBI office and requested assistance. Once weβve finished our investigation, weβll report our findings to the Assistant Director.βΒ AgentΒ Romero looks sheepish, slightly guilty.
βSounds like a no. Well, thatβs a good thing, Agent. Iβll tell you what happened, just make me a promise? Promise you wonβt hand over everything? Just make some copies of our testimonies, of photo evidence, donβt let them bury it.β
βItβs standard procedure to duplicate and backup all records from an investigation.βΒ Agent Romero says emotionlessly.
βWell, where should I start?β
βFrom the beginning. You hold a Ph.D. in religious anthropology, correct? What were youΒ doing at a biological research facility?β
Annie lets out a deep breath, βDr. Randall and Lotus Incorporated invited me. It was a spectacular opportunity; the chance to work with Dr. Randall was tantalizing. His work in neurology and pioneering efforts in brain mapping technology changed his own field of study and others. Why, it wasnβt until his first few published papers on neurotheology that I foundΒ some small vindication among my peers.β
βAnd why is that?β
βWell, my field, broadly stated, is a comparative study of world religions through history and how religion has affected developing culture. Itβs nothing new. As soon as humans found the means to travel far enough to encounter multiculturalism, we have seen clear through the veil of magical thinking. Xenophanes, the Greek writer and thinker, observed that the gods of Ethiopians were inevitably dark haired with flat noses while those of the Thracians were blond with blue eyes. So as humans, we create our gods, not the other way around. Naturally, the most respected work in my field has always concerned the intersection of religion and other important institutions that affect our lives, such as politics and art. My focus has always been on religious ecstasy; I think most of my peers thought I was chasing rabbits down holes.β
βReligious ecstasy?β
βIt concerns trance-like states that people achieve through effort in rituals or inadvertently through exposure to and acceptance of religious or magical thinking. It can range from church congregates speaking in tongues to great thinkers and artists producing their best work while claiming to be guided or influenced by the Gods. Most of my peers considered it no more than a placebo effect until Dr. Randallβs work confirmed that there is something unique happening in the human brain during these experiences. In that way, our interests and work have always been compatible. I had been elated to learn that he wanted my assistance in his work. It would elevate my career. Not only would I get to expand myΒ hypotheses on the fundamental biological need for religion, but Iβd have my name on papersΒ that would influence the fields of neurology, anatomy, and evolutionary biology, and Iβd get the respect of the medical research field or as my father always said, βreal doctors.ββ
Annie smiles painfully at her sentiment, βLotus would be funding the research. It would be done at aΒ private research facility on Cora Island. They said it was to protect their interests in the project; they wanted all the research to remain private until they were ready to publish. With Dr.Β Randallβs history in developing new tools for brain mapping, it only made sense that they wanted to protect any potential patents to arise from the work. It was all very hush-hush. I wasnβt even exactly sure what weβd be working on at the facility. They only used the vaguest terms toΒ describe it, βresearch into the evolutionary biology of neurotheology.β But I did do some research into the island itself before traveling there. Cora Island has a strange history. Do you know aboutΒ it?β
βYes, there was some sort of hippie cult there in the β70s, but they abandoned the place.Β Wasnβt there some big shot author that used to be part of it?β
βHe wasnβt part of the community, he just visited, and he wasnβt just some big shot author. The man won the Nobel prize for literature. Heβs not the only great mind to have spent time on Cora Island with the unnamed community, or the βhippie cultβ as you called them. The people that lived there didnβt just abandon the place. They disappeared and so often, in fact, that many question if they ever existed at all or are simply just a myth. I didnβt believe it at first. All the quotes from those that visited the island during that time are second-hand; theyβve never spoken on record about it. They all remarked on the music. Apparently, the community on CoraΒ Island played the most beautiful music. More than one person called it βimpossible music.β But no recordings exist, just the rumor that it either attracted great thinkers or inspired them.β
βIβm sorry, Doctor, but that sounds a little outlandish.β
βCertainly, and as I said, thereβs no proof it ever happened. It could just be a myth about an Island cult, an old legend with some basis rooted in reality. The Island has been host to many religious communities and grotesqueries throughout its history. The earliest records ofΒ Cora Island relate to a small sect of Christian extremists in the mid-18th century. They were aΒ group of βholy rollersβ who achieved a sort of religious ecstasy through violently rolling on the ground. They were left alone for some years before they started converting a few lost souls from the mainland. When friends and family would visit and observe the fleshy canvas of bruise and blood that their loved ones had developed, they decried the rollers and forced them to evacuate the island. Next came a series of grisly murders reminiscent of the Donner Party, where a group of sailors was lost at sea and sought refuge on Cora Island. What remained of the crew were found in the coastal cave system. No one knows why they all went in, presumably to seek shelter from the weather, but the forensic evidence was clear. There were prominent teeth marks on the bones. They had resorted to cannibalism, real macabre stuff.
βI had written off the strange location for the facility as being relatively cheap land to purchase as a result of its history. However, now that I think about how much money Lotus was willing to spend at every turn of our research, it seems less likely. No, I think that Dr. Randall had wanted that Island specifically. Exactly why that is, I canβt tell you. I can only hypothesize that it has to do with the collective unconscious, that he believed it would affect the research. It was another variable in his experiments. As for the facility itself, well, youβve seen it; itβs unique. The architecture was so strange. I remember walking from my living quarters to the laboratories like a rat prancing merrily through a maze, salivating for my reward. This, too, I think, was intentional. Dr. Randall often asked me about the history of labyrinths, as theyβd been used in meditation, religious practices, and covered mythologies since well before the Greeks.
βWhen I first met Dr. Randall, I was immediately reminded of my father, he was stern,Β unapologetic and fiercely intelligent, yet his charisma was undeniable. His passion for the work was a constant source of inspiration to us, and the way he spoke about it made you feel like you were not just a scientist but an explorer on a grand quest for the truth, and in a way, we were.Β The research itself concerned the neurological effects of religious ecstasy. Why does the brain even have the mechanisms to enable such a phenomenon? What is the evolutionary advantage of these behaviors? Of course, we were looking at the problem all wrong, but I wonder if Dr. Randall knew that from the beginning? Perhaps, but I donβt think he would have asked for my assistance if that were the case unless he just wanted one more member for his βcultββ She smiles ruefully, βthatβs what it ended up as, anyways.β
βWhat do you mean by that?β
βHe was revered. He led us. More than that, though, he performed miracles. We werenβt just breaking new ground. We were breaking the whole goddamn system of thinking! When I first arrived, I couldnβt believe it. I thought they were tricking me. Mice presenting material culture,Β singing even? Iβve heard of whale songs, but mouse songs?β
βSlow down, mouse songs? Weβll need you to elaborate.β
βDr. Randall had invented new brain mapping technology. For the first time, we could track neurotransmitters in parts per million while simultaneously measuring electrical activity throughout the synaptic connections. Agent Dr. Randall had a whole and direct view of neurological functioning. As a result, he had discovered a new neurotransmitter that related directly to areas of the brain stimulated while in states of religious ecstasy. We called itΒ βfidemine.β
βThe organic chemistry team had already synthesized fidemine in an ingestible that could pass the blood-brain barrier. A fidemine supplement resulted in the strangest behaviors in mice, including singing. Chanting might be more accurate. It was a cognitive leap that nobody had expected, and it informed the structural basis of my work in the coming months. Fidemine directly tied to evolutionary cognitive development. The brain is an incredibly complex organ. However, after seeing such extraordinary strides in the cognitive development ofΒ mice after administering fidemine, we began to believe that this singular neurotransmitter was responsible for many of the leaps in learning that define cultural development.β
βOk, so, can you bring that down a level for me?β
βThink of it like this. The first time humans created fire, it was fidemine which flooded their brain, same goes for the wheel or gunpowder.β
βSo itβs inspiration, kind of like what you were talking about before, religious ecstasy.β
βExactly like religious ecstasy, Agent. Itβs the physical stimulation that creates it. I proved that my hypotheses were on the right track, and I instantly became enthralled with the project.Β There were side effects, but we thought those would be hammered out in time.β
βWhat kind of side effects?β
βSleep loss, most notably in the mice. More side effects cropped up later with the pigs, spiders and the chimps.β
βAnd with people?β Fowler grows quiet at the question.
Agent Romero continues, βLetβs get back on track, Doctor. It sounds like the work was exciting. When and how did it all go downhill?β
βIt all went wrong because of my fundamental misunderstanding of what we wereΒ studying.β
βAnd what do you mean by that, exactly?β
βWell, as fringe as my views on religious anthropology may have been, I was stillΒ intrinsically misguided, still influenced by the core belief of my peers, that is to say, that humansΒ create our gods.β
βSo you believe that gods created humans?β
βNo, not exactly. Iβve started to believe that our cognitive evolution is a tight rope walk.Β So long as we stay balanced, we stay lofty, but if we were to fall, the writhing mass of theΒ glimmering and the grotesque would surely swallow us.β
βIβm not sure I understand.β
βIβm sure you donβt, but maybe you will. We didnβt understand. Side effects, that was all.Β We moved forward with the pigs. Again, we observed the most spectacular behaviors, the most interesting of which was basic arithmetic. Not just counting but the manipulation of numbers viaΒ addition, multiplication etc.β
βI remember seeing a video of a horse that could multiply. Howβs that special?β
βThat horse, Agent, was trained to follow a series of orders. It wasnβt doing arithmetic.β
βHow could you tell that the pigs were?β
βIt was clear that they were counting their steps while theyβ¦ danced.β
βDanced?β
βI canβt think of a better word than that. To be honest, it was closer to the spastic convulsions seen in church-goers taken over by the holy spirit or the possessions of voodoo practitioners as they communicate with the Loa, spirits and gods and keepers of the veil. The synchronization of the pigβs movements led us to observe that these behaviors were more than just seizures. The counting of their steps led us to believe that it was a routine, and they continued to develop more complex behaviors from there. Dr. Randall was excited. He demanded that we increase their dosage, although we still had a lot of research to do at the current stage. That was the first time that we broke protocol.β
βWhat happened to the pigs?β
βWell, they began rolling in the dirt in synchronization, creating sort of, mandalas left imprinted there, and then they would trample it all clean again and start over. But throughout the night, they had started toβ¦ exhibit cannibalistic behaviors, there was only one pig left byΒ the morning, and it was summarily disposed of.β
βYou said that was the first time that you broke protocol?β
βThe first that I knew of. Already the facility was splitting up into factions. Those who still saw themselves purely as scientists and those who saw themselves as more explorers on a new frontier. Willing to sacrifice some of their principals if it meant progress.β
βAnd which camp were you in, Dr. Fowler?β
βThe former. But Dr. Randall didnβt need ideologies to control me. No, looking back on it, all he needed was to show me a little care and affection, like a father figure. I loved him for that,Β briefly. He praised my work and offered guidance, bringing new life to ideas I had let fade. He defended me and my work from some of the neurologists who felt my perspective was only speculative and likely to hinder their research progress. When I found out about the rushed pig project, I was ready to ignore what were, in retrospect, obvious signs of Dr. Randallβs escalating obsession.
βAfter that, he used peopleβs conviction against them, threatening to inform Lotus Inc.of their breaches in protocol. Actions like that would not only get them kicked off of the project but would mar their name in the scientific community. No one wants to work with someone with a history of unethical research. Although, I now believe that Lotus wouldnβt have cared. It was an empty threat that Dr. Randall used to increase his control. He stepped far over the line, though, when he started dabbling in human experimentation.β
βWas Lotus Inc. aware of this?β Agent Romero inquires.
βI donβt know. I wouldnβt be surprised if they were. After everything that happened, Iβve concluded that they were surveying us twenty-four hours a day, but they never intervened in the weeks leading up to the incident. Dr. Randall and his βexplorersβ had begun the self-administration of fidemine in small amounts, and their work began to progress at spectacular rates. Many of them were coming over to my side of thinking that some part of this tied to all cognitive evolution, as opposed to a common heuristic. They also became secretive and difficult to talk to about anything outside of work discussions.β
βHow so? I imagine a group of neurologists and biochemists have great conversationsΒ outside of work.β
βVery funny, Agent. It wasnβt like that. They just wouldnβt stop talking about their dreams.Β At the cafeteria, in the gym, always talking about dreams. If you brought up a book you were reading, they would tie it back into their dreams. Everything was about them, their work and their dreams, nothing else. If you let them go on about their dreams for too long, they would goΒ into a kind of trance state and start babbling in nonsensical gibberish for a moment beforeΒ snapping out of it and going back into detail about their experiences.β
βWhat was the nature of these dreams?β
βThey were just dreams, like any other. Some of them were incredibly mundane. Others were outlandish. It was just like anyone else telling you about a dream they had, but there was one thing about it that I found interesting. None of them had dreams with loved ones, friends or relatives present. The only people ever-present in their dreams, if anyone, would be other people from the facility. Of course, that could just be a subconscious effect resulting from our isolation from the outside world. Still, I found it odd.β
βDid you know that they were experimenting on themselves?β
βI was made aware by Dr. Randall in the beginning. I advised against it, but he convinced me that he had it under control.β
βHow did he manage that?β
βHe revealed that he had been self-administering fidemine for some time, that the process was safe and that it had improved the quality of his work. I was worried… extremely so, but Dr. Randall had this way about him. It was so difficult to question his decisions, like a childβs complete faith in a parent. I felt that he must know whatβs best. I refused to participate in the study. Though I must confess, I quickly ended up wishing I had. Despite their odd talk of dreams, the rest of the group had shown incredible improvements in their projects. They were smarter than us all of a sudden. I wasnβt alone in my envy, others had taken notice too, and one by one, Dr. Randall incorporated them into his group of explorers. There were holdouts, ofΒ course, those who refused to join until all the proper precautions and studies were executed andΒ conducted before human testing should happen, maybe even a few that were unaware anythingΒ was happening.β
βAnd you were one of the holdouts?β
βFor a time, but I did eventually join the study. As an anthropologist, I felt that I needed first-hand experience of what was going on. I needed to study the phenomena from all angles. One cannot simply publish a paper about the influence of hallucinogenic mushrooms on early shamanistic traditions without having tried hallucinogenic mushrooms themselves.β
βWhat was it like, the fidemine?β
βThe effects werenβt immediately noticeable. I felt the same. My thinking was the same. I quickly found out, though, that I fell into trance states quite easily.β
βWhat do you mean by that?β
βHave you ever been solving a puzzle, like a crossword or a sudoku, and all of a sudden you slip into a kind of flow, and the answers begin to pop out without much thought? Or have you ever been driving somewhere, like to the bank or to work, and when you get there, you find that you have completely forgotten the drive? Not even forgotten, it feels like you just werenβt conscious for it?Β It was like a mix of those, a kind of out-of-body, flow state. These trance sequences lasted longer and longer as time went on. After two weeks, it felt as though I spent most of my waking hours in a trance-like state. My sleep had become invaded by the most vivid dreams, and honestly,Β it felt great. I never felt lethargic or unmotivated. Everything flowed so smoothly and just made sense, even though a part of me knew it didnβt make much sense at all. Everything felt very easy, and that started to make me nervous. So, in a brief moment of clarity, I decided that I would stop taking the fidemine supplement.β
βJust like that? You were out of the study?β
βNot exactly, because it wasnβt really a study. It wasnβt sanctioned. It didnβt follow its own guidelines. At this point, it really had become a cult, it was really difficult to see any of this through the haze of my experience, so it wasnβt until I stopped taking it that I noticed. IΒ accepted my daily doses but would secretly throw them out. I went through a very low-level withdrawal phase. The fidemine hadnβt done any damage, my brain reverted to how it operated before without harm, only I hadnβt felt things outside of trance for so long. I wasnβt used to it.
While taking fidemine I never got tired. I knew exactly when to sleep and went to sleep exactly then. I didnβt get hungry, but I knew that I had to eat and exactly when, so I would eat. All these normal sensory feelings like weariness and hunger were coming back to me, and it was a little overwhelming. The strangest lingering effect was that I would wake up at precisely three in the morning every day and would feel an urge to get out of bed and go for a walk. The first few nights, I tried to ignore it and get myself back to sleep, but eventually, the pull was too great. I gave in and followed my feet.
βThe corridors of the residential area were dark, I didnβt have any particular destination in mind, but it just felt right to be walking in the direction I was heading. The whole place was a maze. Even during the bustling daylight hours, I sometimes would get anxious finding my way through its halls. I wasnβt nervous now, though. My mind was given over to a sort of reflex. IΒ knew exactly where I was going, like Iβd made this walk before. It wasnβt long before I heard something, a faint choir of whispers echoing down the darkened, sterile walls. My instincts pulled me towards the noise, and then the noise itself pulled me onwards. It was absolutely beautiful. As I drew closer, it defined itself in human voices, all singing in tones Iβd never imagined to be possible. The notes penetrated deep into my consciousness. I crept up to aΒ doorway leading to a large surgical theater and realized the singing was coming from within. I peeked my head inside.
βThe theater met full capacity; probably two-thirds of the facility staff were inside. They stood along the observation deck, all of them entranced and singing, their voices rising louder now. It was so divine, but it was getting louder and louder. The sounds they made went from instilling an unexpected peacefulness into something overwhelming and unbearable, like a soft light getting brighter and brighter until the illumination presented itself as blinding and painful. Dr. Randall was lying on the operating table. His voice was the loudest of all, resonating from what looked like his unconscious body. His voice grew so loud it started to break, his body started to convulse and it was doing something else too.β
βWhat, exactly, Dr. Fowler?
βWell, it looked like his body was bubbling, like something was trying to get out from inside him, bumps rising and falling, getting larger and larger, until some of them split, creating huge lacerations. When the swelling receded in that area, the wound would seal rapidly. It was like his body was boiling from the inside out, bursting into wounds, and then the laceration would seal itself back up, but not heal completely. Before long, his body had become scarred,Β bruised, and reddened everywhere. His exposed torso looked like a topographical map. The pain must have been excruciating.
The singing had turned into something else now, horrible though still awe-inspiring. The choir had started convulsing. They werenβt going through the same sort of metamorphosis that Dr. Randall was, but it was terrible all the same. It was a great, writhing mass of seizures and screaming. However, the movements and sounds, as grotesque and horrible as they were, still denoted some sort of organized collaboration, clockwork perfection in chaos.
βI turned and ran as fast as I could. By the time I reached the end of the corridor, I heard splintering wood and looked back to see Dr. Randallβs explorers crashing out of the surgical theater. They acted with the urgency and violence of a trapped crowd trying to escape a burning building, all rushing the door at once, clawing, trampling and attacking at one another to get out, gouging aimlessly. I saw one womanβs eye speared through, as a Doctor I had once shared lunch with dug his finger deep into her skull before forcing his way forward. Once they managed to make it out, they moved ahead at full bore. Their faces were a contorted mess of frenzy and murder. I didnβt look back again. Not because I didnβt want to, but because I quickly became lost. Fear had taken over, and I was running aimlessly. I could still hear the grotesque choir echoing through the halls. Then they must have reached the resident area because new, more-human screams added themselves to the chorus.
βI found a room facing the exterior of the building and climbed out of a window. A fleet of vans was pulling up to the facility. Armed men and women were pouring out of them. They didnβt have any sort of police or swat uniform, though; they were Lotus. They seemed too prepared for this, prepared for a violent outcome and speedy response. That scared me, so I concluded that the safest thing for me to do was to lay low for a while, at least until the sounds of gunfire stopped. I presume that the noise is what led to the police showing up some time later. Once I saw the sheriff, I left my hiding spot along the tree line and begged him to get me off that fucking island.β
βHow is it possible? What happened to Randall?β
βI couldnβt tell you, not for certain. I would hypothesize that his prolonged exposure to what was, most likely, increasing doses of fidemine raised him to a higher level of consciousness. This potentially came with an incredible amount of awareness and control of bodilyΒ processes that we can normally only perform unconsciously, like the cellular regenerative healing of an open wound, for instance.β
βSo then, what was he trying to do?β
βI donβt have enough information to give you an opinion.β
βWas Randall alive when you last saw him?β Agent Romero asks.
βYou havenβt found a body, have you?β
βAnswer the question, please, Doctor.β
βLogically, I canβt imagine a body undergoing that type of violent metamorphosis without it being fatal, but I felt that he was alive just the same.β
βDo you know where he is?β
βHow would I know that, Agent?β
βDo you have any ideas?β
βWhy would I tell you if I did?β
Agent Romero takes a deep breath. βBecause Lotus went in there and swept the place. Weβve got no leads. Maybe you donβt trust me, but the fact is, Lotus is almost certainly lookingΒ for Randall if they donβt have him already, so if you have any interest in Randall facing justice,Β give me something to use.β
Annie studies Romeroβs face for a long while, her eyes preening each nuance of his expression. βHeβd go somewhere like Cora Island, with a history. The collective unconscious of a place is important, the terroir de lβesprit, as he once put it. Heβll also need access to followers and certain ingredients for the organic synthesis unless he already has a stockpile of fidemine.Β Iβm going to need a budget, nothing crazy, but I will need some money for the research. SomeΒ protection, obviously, and access to everything you know.β
βExcuse me?β
βConsultant. Talk to whoever it is you need to talk to and get me on the team. Letβs find Dr. Randall.β
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by Edward Greenberg Edited by N.M. Brown Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/Aπ More stories from author: Edward Greenberg
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Edward Greenberg:
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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
I loved this story – engrossing and thought-provoking. Can’t wait to read the sequel.