The Food Criminals

We got word that there were devil worshipers meeting in a beautiful house on Midland Street. The leader was said to be a respected Little Rock psychiatrist named Dr. Jerry Henton.

We dispatched some guy to investigate…to crouch around in the bushes, peek through windows and see what he could see. (Two weeks before, this “Mystery Agent” managed to infiltrate the heavily guarded Kroger store before it opened. Perhaps he could do the same with the cultists on Midland Street.)

As night fell, our man approached from the back alley. He peered through the windows but saw only vague shadows of men stirring about. He moved in for a closer look…

He was spotted! Dr. Henton and another man spilled from the house to confront him.

Angrily, the doctor snarled “What are you doing here!”

Our guy calmly replied “The devil-cult sent me to get some pictures for the newsletter.”

Dr. Henton stared at him for several seconds and said. “…Next time use the front door. And hurry up then, we’re about to get started.”

Our agent was about to witness a rare, dark rite. These men were more than just devil cultists, they belonged to a little known mysterious subculture within the cults. These men were food criminals.

They were to brew a queer, forbidden concoction dating from the 1500s called Cock-Ale. It’s beer made with sundry exotic ingredients, but with one truly exceptional component…an old rooster.


The old rooster’s bones must be crushed. The dark rite demands it.


The men muttered a prayer to their strange gods. It seemed somehow familiar:

“O thou who rejoicest in the baying of dogs and spilt blood, who wanderest in the shadows and who bringest terror to the mortals, Gorgo, Mormo, thousand-faced moon, look favorably upon our sacrifice!.”

The rooster was placed in a bag and then viciously beaten again. (This sort of violent food crime starts with the young… cupcakes being thrown, tomatoes being violated, and eventually the ritualistic beating of poultry.)

The bagged rooster was put into a liquid concoction, which leached the vital living essence from the marrow.

The liquid was put into a bucket to ferment in a dark corner of the doctor’s house.

This bag contains the shattered rooster carcass. They climbed into Dr. Henton’s Prius and sped away to throw it off the I-30 bridge. The River has it now.

Beware, Cock-Ale.

When the Mystery Agent gave us his report and these photos, we thanked him for his service. Afterward, He nodded politely and whispered:

“O thou who rejoicest in the baying of dogs and spilt blood, who wanderest in the shadows and who bringest terror to the mortals, Gorgo, Mormo, thousand-faced moon, look favorably upon our sacrifice.”

We told him it was time to go home.

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