Panorama: Britain's forgotten cults

[bramblefoot]

the camera cuts to a large, burly man sitting awkwardly on a chair. his eyes zip around the room, as if expecting insurgents to pop out of the woodwork, and his knuckles have the heavy calluses of a man who fights and wins. he begins his tale.

"it all started one day when a little dog came down to my farm, barking his head off in the rain. i was working on me tractor, as the bloody thing wouldn't start, but i heard the noise and i'd be damned if i wasn't a little curious why a dog was barking, when me farm is 10 miles away from the nearest township. so i finished up me repairs, and tromped over to the gate, where i see a scraggly mutt at the gate."

he pauses, to take a swig from a glass of water, and continues.

"so the dog leads me through a little deer trail. i grabbed me double-barrel and me slicker, as lord knows what's out there in the woods, and blimey, the little dog leads me straight to an old compound. so i enter, and there's just dead people everywhere. now i'm ex-military, and these deaths were prolly poison, maybe cult. so i find a phone, and dial the emergency services line, and the operator sends the whole cop shop out to see whats up. i give 'em my side, and then i get taken to the station to give a debrief, and then nothing for twenty-odd years. then, just this morning, i get a call from you chaps. i say sure, lemme make time in my day to come down"

he sighs. "anything else, chaps? i'm gonna need a stiff drink after this"