"Not what you expected, is it?" he asked, his voice smug. "No," I admitted. "No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs... what a disappointment this must be for you," he continued slyly. I ignored his teasing. "It's so light... so open." He was more serious when he answered. "It's the one place we never have to hide." The song he was still playing, my song, drifted to an end, the final chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last note hovered poignantly in the silence. "Thank you," I murmured. I realized there were tears in my eyes. I dabbed at them, embarrassed. He touched the corner of my eye, trapping one I missed. He lifted his finger, examining the drop of moisture broodingly. Then, so quickly I couldn't be positive that he really did, he put his finger to his mouth to taste it. I looked at him questioningly, and he gazed back for a long moment before he finally smiled. "Do you want to see the rest of the house?" "No coffins
It was the dawning realization that if the space- ship and flood predictions were wrong, so might be the entire belief system on which they rested. For those huddled in the Keech living room, that growing pos- sibility must have seemed hideous. The group members had gone too far, given up too much for their beliefs to see them destroyed; the shame, the economic cost, the mockery would be too great to bear. The overarching need of the cultists to cling to those beliefs seeps poignantly from their own words. From a young woman with a 3-year-old child: I have to believe the jlood is coming on the twenty-first because I've spent all my monEY. I quit my job, I quit computer school. ... I have to believe. (p. 168) From Dr. Armstrong to one of the researchers four hours after the failure of the saucermen to arrive: I've had to go a long way. I've given up just about everything. I've cut every tie. I've burned every bridge
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