This story imagines the Rev. Jim Jones as a sixteen year-old boy as he explores his hometown of Lynn, Indiana, with his unwitting, younger victim, Archie. It is something of a meditation on Jones’ road toward megalomania, and is based on factual, biographical information. And it’s creepy, as you might well imagine.
Flash Fiction Magazine published this story on June 15, 2019. It can be read below, or by going to the publication HERE
The Promise of Fancy Cheese
by
J. Edward Kruft
Long before Jonestown—before his final earthly order to serve the punch that would kill nearly a thousand of his blindly devoted—Jimmy was a boy of sixteen.
“Where we going?” asked his younger companion, a boy Jimmy knew from church. His name was Archie and he was as blond as Jimmy was raven, and as short as Jimmy was tall. Jimmy walked ahead in the moonlight, toward the outer edges of Lynn, Indiana.
“Have you read Mein Kampf?” Jimmy asked the boy.
“Mine what?”
“Mein Kampf. It means ‘my struggle’ in German. Adolph Hitler wrote it about what he called the ‘Jewish peril.’ I don’t share his views, but it’s fascinating to see how his mind worked.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said Archie. “Say, where did you say we was going?”
“We’ll be there soon enough,” Jimmy assured. “You see, I go to the lending library at least twice a week and take out a new book as soon as I’ve finished the last one. You have no idea how much knowledge lives on those rows of shelves. You can read philosophy or religion or law or about men like Hitler or Karl Marx or Mao Zedong or Stalin or Gandhi.”
“I guess you sure do read a lot, then. I guess I think about it, whenever I see you around town, you always do have a book under your arm.” Archie stopped. “Look, Jimmy, I don’t think I want to go any more. We’re getting a long ways from home.”
Jimmy didn’t skip a step. “Not much further now.”
~
When they arrived, Jimmy told Archie the story of how he came to discover the broken lock on the backdoor. “It started raining bullets one cold night, just as I was passing. A voice said to me try that door, James, and you will find shelter. Sure enough,” he said, opening the door to a smell of sawdust and the blackness of sin.
“Whose voice was it?” asked Archie.
“God’s.”
Jimmy turned on his flashlight and entered, but Archie stayed back.
“I don’t want to,” said Archie.
“Listen, son,” said Jimmy, shining his flashlight on Archie’s face. “Would I steer you wrong? Don’t we attend the same church? Don’t we love and fear the same God?” Archie nodded. “Then you have nothing to fear but fear itself. And—I tell you what—you trust in me, and when we get back, I’ll buy you a piece of fancy cheese. How’d that be?”
“What’s a fancy cheese?”
“What’s a fancy cheese? Only the finest example of God’s goodness there is. The creamiest, butteriest, tastiest cheese in the world!”
Archie screwed his mouth and kicked at the ground, and then followed Jimmy inside.
Jimmy shined his flashlight on the sawdusted floor and then to a row of pine coffins up on sawhorses, quietly awaiting their forever cargo. “Come,” said Jimmy. “This way.” He opened the lid of one coffin and then another. “Which one do you want?” he asked, again shining the light on Archie’s twisted face.
“Where are we? What is this?”
“This is the All American Coffin Factory of Lynn, Indiana,” said Jimmy.
“Coffins? You mean, like for dead people?”
“Here,” offered Jimmy. “I’ll help you get in.”
“No way!” cried Archie, on the brink of tears.
“Archie!” Jimmy said sternly. “You said you trusted me. Now don’t be mendacious, son. This is the real test! Don’t you realize what an opportunity I am offering you? To feel, first hand, what it will be like when we have passed on and are awaiting the resurrection of our imperfect souls!”
Archie was shaking, but not knowing what else to do, he took Jimmy’s hand and allowed him to help him into the box. Lying flat, Jimmy took Archie’s trembling hands and placed them across his chest. “Close your eyes, and be very still, very quiet.” Jimmy climbed into the coffin next to Archie’s, crossed his chest and closed his eyes. It was quiet but for the sound of Archie’s legs shaking against the pine.
After a long while, Jimmy finally spoke in a calm, measured voice: “Tomorrow, I am presiding over a funeral for a cardinal I found dead. It will be on my front porch at noon. You must come. I am gathering all the children to come. The cardinal is the state bird of Indiana, you know.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Archie, shakily.
“There is much for you to learn,” said Jimmy.
“I’m ready for my fancy cheese, now, Jimmy.”
Jimmy didn’t answer.