There Is An Island Off The Coast Of Washington Where A Religious Cult Operates A ‘Colony’

“Shit,” I shouted.

“Come on,” Gabby yelled back and yanked my arm.

Gabby pulled me towards a small little yellow playhouse in the back corner of a small pit of pea gravel tucked in the space between two school buildings. We dove into the little thing that was not that much smaller than the cabin I lived in and Gabby quietly shut the door behind us.

In the dying light of the fall sunset, the interior of the cabin was almost completely dark. It was certainly difficult to see us from the vista of the walkways. We both covered our mouths to conceal our biggest tell, our raging breaths.

“I don’t know why they still care about us, they have to know we haven’t actually done it yet,” Gabby whispered.

“I need to tell you something,” the words that came out of my mouth pained me.

I wanted to finish, but was curbed by all four of those who donned snake masks stepping into our field of vision on the path in front of our little playground.

“Come on,” Gabby whispered.

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About the author
Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website. Follow Jack on Twitter or read more articles from Jack on Thought Catalog.

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