Chapter 10 - Revenge of the Autumn People - Deep Thoughts

 

                                   Chapter 10 – Deep Thoughts

Deep in the center of the Midway, a sign read “Old Wishing Well – Take a Chance at Making Your Wish Come True”. Dana sat in a folding chair trying to read a paperback titled “Cujo” by Stephen King. The crowd this morning had been steady for the Wishing Well booth. Malcomb was taking tickets and answering questions about the carnival attractions nearby and featured showtimes.

Currently Electric Jack was doing a performance in which he would allow people from nearby towns to bring appliances on stage. Jack would electrify them by simply taking hold of the power cords. In these demos, usually, when a townsperson turned on his home radio it would play or when a housewife would activate her blender it would whir. Tickets were two dollars apiece to watch the spectacle. Five if you brought your own appliance on stage for Jack to touch it, and an additional five if you wanted Jack’s autograph on a carnival poster or the appliance.

I probably should point out the operational mechanics of the Josiah Pandemonium Carnival. First and foremost, as is the case with most carnivals, it is a business. Nothing is free. Not to the public at least. Second, and more interesting, is that appearances can be very deceiving.

Take the case of “Electric Jack: The Human Live Wire”. His morning and afternoon acts are rigged. Jack touches light bulbs that are specially constructed to light up to his body heat. On warm days such as today they are kept in an ice chest lest they spontaneously light up to room temperature alone. There is a lottery before every show. Seven or eight people present in a crowd before the act begins are selected to go up on stage. They are shills. They all work for the carney and wear disguises in many cases. Their device will activate when Jack touches it because it has been rewired to do so. The electricity is provided via a battery that the shill’s activate in various clever ways.

People would not be surprised that they are being tricked. They have come to expect it from a carnival. Here is the twist. Jack really can project electricity through his body, but he is a blunt instrument. Most home appliances fry or blow up if he projects through them. He can make them explode or fizzle at will. To enhance his credibility, a real customer, not a shill but a real member of a naive audience (a mark), will be permitted on stage. Jack will touch their appliance and fry it on the spot. Then he will chuckle and say “whoops”. The mark will get a voucher that they can redeem at the gate for the cost of the radio, blender, toaster, etc., whatever was ruined. Oddly enough, most don’t want to part with their appliance. They even pay to have it autographed and happily take the souvenir, and the story of how they thwarted Electric Jack, back home with them.

His night shows are something else. Jack blows up car batteries with just a touch of his hand. He grabs 220-volt live wires and activates connected dryers and air conditioners. Professional repair men locally are invited to bring volt meters or other equipment to validate that Jack is not a fake, even though most in the crowd believe what he does is done through clever trickery. For a finale the carney blacks out the entire Midway by switching off generators and Jack lights the place up using his own power. The irony of the act is that this performance is legit. Jack is spent after that feat. Drained of real magic. Or so Dana told me later. People would be terrified if they knew the truth. They come to expect deception. They are comfortable with the belief that it all is illusion. But this carnival is unique.

A large tent surrounded the Old Wishing Well. Dana sat next to the attraction while visitors waited outside. Covered in moss and mystery, the ancient well was the only exhibit that was not brought to Carter’s field by train.  It had always been here. Few people went on the corporately owned property. The well itself was a simple stone structure that had stood for centuries. The carnival and Josiah simply took advantage of its abilities. It was at the carnival’s last stop before the Great Mist. Its magic was very powerful. It was the only thing that would be left behind. Even the powers of Josiah/The Autumn King couldn’t affect The Old Well.

Dana’s job was to babysit the customers or marks. No pictures were permitted. When the electric camera came of age, Electric Jack wasn’t the only one who could disrupt the device. The Old Well could easily make a mess of a standard polaroid instamatic or any recording device. The Well had been part of paintings from memory, however. It seemed to be able to obscure its presence from those it didn’t like. A large amount of its magic was devoted to not being discovered. Being left alone.

The Old Well was ringed by carved symbols, half eroded by wind and water.  The stones were smooth and somewhat cool to the touch. The magic was quite legitimate and ancient. The Old Well housed a playful spirit. The spirit tolerated Dana and trusted her to guard its many secrets.  One startling secret that The Old Well chose to reveal to some was that it could speak. It could speak rather bluntly sometimes.

I remember when I first met Dana and Malcomb. Tim Fury had left to peddle his wares to others in town. The old iron monger left a present when he heard that we might run up against the Autumn King, now incarnated as Josiah Pandemonium. I had stuck it in my pocket to give to Alice later.

Knuckle Butt and I rode out in his old pick-up truck. My shoulder wasn’t up to riding Patsy. Dorthy said the bouncing on the back of a Harley and the potholes of Dusk Thorne could set back my healing time. Surprisingly, the aged necromancer accompanied us on our reconnaissance of the carnival. Knuckle Butt drove us while I rode shotgun. Dorthy rode between us.

We passed two Deputy Sheriff patrol cars parked just beyond the carnival grounds. They were taking turns watching the entrances with binoculars. I could tell at a distance that one of the men was Lawrence Goodwin who was running for Sheriff this year. The other man was Deputy Sheriff Bradly Beerman.

“I imagine they are keeping tabs on carnival people heading towards town.” Knuckle Butt yelled. The weather was hot, and we were driving slowly down a Winkler County dirt road with the truck windows down. “Probably logging comings and goings. I recall they did that last time they were in town.” The old biker reasoned.

“Was Larry even old enough to vote last time this carnival was in town?” I quipped.

“Kyle, you know Lawrence hates to be called Larry.” Dorthy gave me a rare little smile. “Back then Lawrence was still in high school. His uncle Wilbert was Sheriff. And, yes, Wilbert was a cautious man around that carney bunch.”

“What is your business with them this afternoon Dorthy, if I may be so bold?” Knuckle Butt asked.

“Well, to tell the truth Grant, I think this bunch has one of my possessions. I need to talk to a friend of mine to confirm it. Been missing it for seventeen years with no way to retrieve it while Josiah’s people were hiding behind the Great Mist.” Dorthy confided.

I looked at Dorthy riding next to me. My voice took on an evil edge. “Someone stole something?  From you? They must be crazy! Don’t worry, Dorthy. We’ll help you get it back.” We pulled into the parking lot of the carnival grounds.

                                                      *     *     *

Outside the Old Wishing Well’s tent Malcomb sold tickets and advised the crowd concerning the spectacle they were about to witness.

“No more than six at a time, three minutes per person. Step on up. Tickets are five dollars. After you have had your turn move on out. No gawking.” Malcomb instructed.

“That’s pricey…why so much.” Yelled a short blonde man with acne and greased back hair.

“The Old Well is legit magic. You may never see the likes of what it can do again in your life. While you are there, nearly anything is possible. If you place a wish in the bucket, you will get something back.” Malcomb stated. “That’s a better deal than you get in some churches, I guarantee."

Just as he spoke a woman walked out with her husband. “Worth it. Every penny.” She announced.

“What did you wish for?” asked Malcomb.

“To communicate with my dead mother, I miss her so much. I wrote that on my slip of paper and gave it to the lady inside. She put my wish in the bucket and lowered it into the well. When it came back up this was in it.” She held up an envelope. “It was a letter from my mother. It is in her handwriting. I can tell you from the address. She addressed it to our old house. It somehow must have gotten lost in the mail. It is sealed and dated twelve years ago.” She was in tears.

It was true that she asked to communicate with her dead mother. The letter wasn’t the same thing, yet it was, in some ways. This was how The Old Well generally answered wishes. Although requests for lost objects often were accompanied by a suggestion of where the object might be, sometimes the actual object would be in the bucket. It worked a lot like an old claw machine at an arcade. Sometimes you got exactly what you wanted, sometimes you got something almost as good. Sometimes you didn’t get anything. Admittedly it was a gamble. It also seemed to be related to the purity of the request. Selfish requests were seldom rewarded.

People wrote their wishes down on paper outside of the tent. Inside the tent Dana read the mark’s request. Never aloud, but she was required to read it never-the-less. If it was completely ridiculous, she would tactfully tell the customer so and refund their money. But if the well gave the mark anything in return, there would be no refund.

The little man’s request was “I need to know who will win the next Superbowl Game and what the final score will be.” Dana looked up at the man with the greasy blonde hair after silently reading his note.

“I’m sorry sir. This is an attempt to gamble using inside information. That is illegal in this state as well as most states.” Dana whispered. “I will refund your money.”

“Aw come on ‘girly’, I’m the one taking the risk.” He snatched the paper from her and dropped it down the well before Dana could stop him. She gasped. The small group assembled in the tent included a woman he had been holding hands went silent as Dana’s face went white. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

She cried out “Malcomb.  We have a situation in here.”

Malcomb blasted into the tent. “Want me to get Bell?” he said. There was tension in his voice.

Suddenly there was a rumble deep down in the well. Then a voice that sounded as if it was coming from all about them said "Well polish my stones! Looks like we have a gambler in our midst.”

The small blonde man looked around a bit confused. “Me? Are you talking to me?”

“Are you Earl Washburn of 481 Monroe Street, Clod, Iowa?” Boomed the voice of the Old Well.

“That’s Cloud, Iowa!”

“Clog, Iowa?” Said the voice

“Cloud, Iowa!” Insisted the man.

“Clot? That can’t be right…Dammit…it’s a long way down here, speak up.” Complained the voice.

“No, Cloud…Cloud, Iowa!” Screamed the small man. He was nearly livid now.

“I’m coming up. Just a minute.” The voice said rather playfully this time.

There was a horrible scratching sound and scraping noise down in the well. Dana was starting to get scared.  “Malcomb! Get Bell. Now!” She said emphatically. 

Everyone seemed frozen for the moment listening to what sounded like a very large animal ascending a rock wall. Then a green scaley hand poked out of the well to rest on the edge. It waved at the small group and then drummed its slimy clawed fingers on the rim.

“Okay. Whew, I’ve got to lay off those late-night worms and pickled toads. I barely fit through this damn hole these days.” The voice boomed. The woman the blonde man had accompanied to the carnival had fainted dead away.

This is the scene that I encountered the first time I ever saw Dana Preston.

I looked at the green hand and got the impression it could see me as well. I looked at the woman on the ground and bent down as she was coming back into consciousness. I picked her up. She didn’t seem to weigh much. But my system was in overdrive, and I had an adrenal boost going on. I surreptitiously smelled her. Her body odor was emitting a confusing mix of anxiety and sex hormones.

Dorthy came up behind me and reached up as if to tap me on the shoulder then thought better of it, lest I drop the woman. She also glimpsed the scaley green hand hanging a little further now out of the well.

“Doc, I didn’t come out here to watch you pick up women. You shouldn’t be picking up anything because of your shoulder injury, remember?” Dorthy chided me.

I started to set the woman down. “This must be the ever gallant Dr. Kyle Franklin. Um, no, not there. Please set her down by my edge. I have some advice for her.” The Old Well said in a gravelly voice.

“Dorthy, how does it know my name?”  I said dumbfounded.

“That is my friend Jacob. He is the one I need to talk to. Jacob is a very old spirit. He is omniscient and it is very annoying. He knows everything that is going on for miles around here. He has more information in his consciousness than most of the surrounding libraries put together.” Dorthy shook her head. “I’ve never gotten used to it.” Dorthy adjusted her black frock and ankle length brown leather traveling cloak. In this heat I don’t understand how she tolerated so many layers.

“And he lives in this well?” I said with some astonishment.

“Don’t judge.” She said sternly. “You live in the house of a deceased gangster’s mistress.”

“Well, I suppose you might have a point.” I set the woman down. When she saw the green hand, and then an arm emerging from the well she cringed and hugged me. I put my own arm around her. Her nose twitched a bit and she turned away from my shoulder.

“Look, my dear,” The voice grew quieter as if just speaking to her. “Your name is Hester, correct?”

She simply nodded.  

“And I assume that you have a wish of your own. Perhaps to make your fondest dream come true?”

Again, she simply nodded.

“Then quit hanging out with Earl. He’s married.”

Upon hearing this her back straightened and she no longer needed my support. She broke from my grip and stormed past the little blonde man with acne. There was even a bit of a breeze that followed her as she bolted out of the tent.

“Well thank you very little.” The blonde man shouted. What did I get from this outing. Nothing!”

Jacob pointed a scaley finger at the small blonde man. “Earl, you need to reevaluate your life. Go back home to Cob, Iowa to your wife.”

“It’s Cloud! Cloud, Iowa! You slimy green bastard.” Earl threw his popcorn at The Old Well in a rage and drama-blasted out of the tent. Jacob gave him a green scaley middle finger before he left.  

I felt the ground tremble a bit. Gordon Bell stomped into the tent. “Is someone bothering you Dana?” Dana slowly shook her head. The giant assistant manager looked at me and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose. “What is that stench?” He glared at me. “You need a bath buddy. Get out of the tent this minute and air out for Pete’s sake.”

There was a moment of tension. I locked my gaze upon Gordon Bell. I felt “The Change” creep upon me. My eyes started to take on a golden shine. I growled low and loud.

Hearing this, Knuckle Butt stepped into the tent and said, “Doc no!”

Then, abruptly…

“You need to learn some manners Abomination.” Dorthy squared off with Bell.

“Who said that!” Bell growled. Then he looked down. Dorthy was practically standing on his enormous feet.  She was glowing bright red. There were trails of smoke curling from her four-foot ten-inch frame. Bell barked “Yipes!” like a dog that had just been stung on the nose by a wasp.

Her voice was gentle storm inside the head of everyone in the tent that day. Jacob seemed to be the sole exception.

“That smell is medication for his injured shoulder. Mr. Franklin is under my care. I can assure you he bathes more regularly than most werewolves. Currently he is sick. I understand you have certain high standards to adhere to in your place of business, but I find your manner discourteous and abrupt. I won’t tolerate it! Do we understand each other?”

“Alright witch. I’m gonna’ let this one go.” Bell sneered.

Dorthy stamped her cane once and thunder peeled forth from a clear sky. Bell jumped back and scowled at her.

Trying to save face, he said, “Jacob, are you alright? Better crawl back into your hole before the boss sees you.” 

“I’m right as rain Gordo!” The Old Well chuckled. The scaley green hand gave me and others a “thumbs up” sign.

“Keep the line moving” Bell shouted at Malcomb. “Everything is fine. Nothing more to see here!” Gordon Bell stomped off.

“I know I shouldn’t be so judgmental, but Hester was wasting her life with that loser.” Jacob the Well confided in me.

“Well, I guess I can see your point. You are a sentient well. People come to you for help and advice.” I replied to the green hand.

“I sorta’ see his attraction to her. I mean, did you see the cans on that bimbo?” Jacob remarked.

“Huh…I mean what did you just say?” I felt like I was not holding up my end of the conversation very well.

“Skip it werewolf.” Jabob said. “Dorthy! It’s been a long time! What brings you to Carter’s field?”

“Jacob, I hate to bother you while you are working but it is about my bird.” Dorthy looked anxious.

“Your Raven?” The deep voice replied.

“Yes. I think Josiah has stolen Peck.”

“Peck is part of the carnival now. I thought you sold him.”

“No. My friends and I are here to take him back!” Dorthy said sternly.

Knuckle Butt and I shared a look. "We might need to involve a few more friends in this endeavor." I suggested. 

Chapter 9 - Revenge of the Autumn People - Well, That Was Close

                                  Chapter 9 – Well, That Was Close!

I rose, and tried to work out a leg cramp I had from sitting on the floor. Lounging on the couch all day long was beginning to make me soft, I lamented this in my head as I answered the knock on my door.

It was Isadora and her niece Winifred. They had walked a short distance from The White Owl bookstore but were somehow the last to arrive. I first met Isadora and Winnie when we were at odds with Calvin Pryde. Their connection to me didn’t simply stop at down-the-street neighbors. They were both powerful witches and friends of Dorthy Biggs.

A month ago, Calvin had sent Naydene’s father, Cletus Tylor, to kill Alice and me while we were engaged in a motorcycle ride. Prior to that, Cletus had already transformed into a Super zombie and became a force to be reckoned with. He unsuccessfully tried to run us down with a pickup truck.  

Later, Isadora, a powerful pyromancer, had burnt Cletus alive in a final encounter at his farm. Winifred, gifted with extraordinary psychokinetic abilities, had held Cletus suspended high in the air to achieve this feat, his cremation, and ultimate end. Alice had assisted the very young Winnie’s effort in keeping the huge Abomination aloft by holding hands with the child and serving as a living battery of mystic power.

Isadora looked at me and raised one eyebrow. “Sorry we were late. I thought I spotted some people I knew on the way over. What did we miss?”

“There is a fortune in Ghost Pirate money underneath this very house.” Alice screamed excitedly.

“You mean Bootlegger money.” Naydene corrected.

“Right! And Doc won’t let us go after it.” Alice pointed an accusing finger at me.

“I see Doc has the situation completely under control, as per usual.” Isadora smirked.

Did I mention that Isadora and I had started our own version of dating? It involved watching classic movies and holding hands while on late night walks across the street at the Little Pine Cemetery. We had been seeing each other regularly up until the day I got injured.

“Who did you see on the way over?” I asked ignoring Alice and Naydene completely.

Winnie put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Chester awoke and stretched. He walked over and rubbed against the little girl’s legs.

“I’ll tell you later.” She sat down in a chair nearby that Chester had been hogging (rude cat).

Billy shyly waved at Winnie. She waved back. Isadora told me later that they were playmates and that Billy spent a lot of time in the old bookstore.

Petey noticed Winnie waving at apparent nothingness. I think I may have to tell him that the basement is officially haunted by an eight-year-old that he can’t see. Either that or leave it for him to work out on his own. Maybe Billy has a plan...I'll ask him. 

                                                           *      *      *

“Well, that was close.” Whispered Lukus.

“Why are we crouched behind a car? Lucian asked

“That woman that went into the house over there next to the large maple tree. She almost saw us.” He said as he rose and wiped some fragments of dust and dead leaves from his suit.

“What if she did?” Lucian said in a perturbed tone.

“She knows us…well me at least. She spoke to me after our act.” Replied Lukus.

“How is that possible? We haven’t even been to this little dot on the map in seventeen years?” Lucian asked incredulously.

“She attended the carnival a week ago when we were in Ruckersville. It was the little girl that tipped me off. I remember the little girl. Well, the little girl and her doll.”

“What little girl?” Lucian asked. His face was blank.

“For a vampire, you have very poor powers of observation.” His brother stated. It was hard to miss the annoyance in his voice.

“Oh my God! Not this again! Look, we are not vampires. Not really. We just embraced the culture, lore and lifestyle back in the sixties.” Lucian rolled his eyes.

“We are too!” Lukus pouted.

“I hate it when we argue. When it comes to the vampire bit, well…we are human beings. Just actors, more-or-less. It is how we make our living.”

“Do I look like a human being?” Lukus said, as he gave a wide grin. His fangs glistened in the sunlight.

“Yes! You look like a human that has had dental implants. I have them too. They were expensive.” Lucian shook his fist at the sky.

“We have hyper senses. What about that guy today in the bathrobe?”

“For the love of Mike. Yes, we could smell him from a distance. The wind was right, and he probably hadn’t bathed in a week.”

“But we live off blood. Could humans do that.” Lukus protested.

“Yes! There are several tribes in Africa that do just that. They supplement their diets sometimes with milk and other things…but yes. They totally can do that.” Lucian was now nearly shouting. “For crap sakes, we are walking around in the middle of a sunny afternoon. We are not vampires.”

Lukus stopped arguing and fell silent for a moment. “I want a gin and tonic. I’m hot.”

“Come on. There is a bar in town. I’ll drive.”

They headed for a car that was parked three blocks away.

“You know what we really are.” Lucian said, trying to placate his brother.

“Shut up.” Lukus mumbled.

“Serial killers. Good ones. Really scary ones. When people see us in the twilight, it scares the piss out of them.” Lucian grinned showing his implants.

“It does, doesn’t it.” Lukus grinned back and produced a slide blade. He flicked it open.

“Put the toy away. We’re in public.” Lucian said quietly as the Twins made their way to the car.

“Do you think we found ‘The Place’?” Lukus asked.

“Definitely.” His brother whispered.

                                                       *      *      *

The day started to warm up in Carter’s Field. Carter’s Field was little more than a barren spot about half a mile from Dusk Thorne. There at the edge of the field, a mixed conifer forest began with a few elm trees. A railway ran through it and an old switch yard with several vacant buildings used by the carnival annually had been built many years ago. It was private land and separate from the local Dusk Thorne city switchyard. There were fifty-six other such yards in the United States. All of them were owned by the Pandemonium Corporation. All of them were near small towns ranging from Dusk Thorne, Colorado in the west to Shady Bottoms, Virginia in the East.

The tracks for the Union Pacific Railroad line, that had played a crucial role in the development of this area, ran nearby. But the Storm Cloud Express had been switched onto corporation land that had been leased for years so that the carnival might have a dedicated carnival site and place for the crew to set up tents and booths. A place to camp and rest.

Dana Preston sat next to Malcomb Wiggens. Her left foot dangled from a corporate box car. A cigarette dangled from her pretty mouth. Dana had a simple and unique personal history. Think back to the days of your childhood. A common enough fantasy was one that involved “running off to join a circus”. Completely disappearing from your old childhood life and living an exotic and romantic existence with interesting and highly unusual strangers. Dana was the only person that I ever knew who had left home and joined a circus.

Not a carnival, but a circus. The distinction is simple. A circus features animals. Both wild and trained. At age fourteen, Dana was a runaway. Her parents had mistreated her to the point that any movement, save staying put, seemed logical to her.  Fortunately, Dana met a man that had been with an outfit named Branson Brothers Traveling Circus for twenty-six years.  Harvey Leitman was the assistant manager of Branson Brothers.

Harvey tried to paint a realistic picture of what daily circus life was like for Dana. He tried to persuade her to return home. She refused to tell him who her parents were for years or where she came from. He eventually dropped the inquiries and became Dana’s protector and mentor. He started out in the business as a horse trainer. This is where her started Dana as well. He introduced her to the Branson Brothers head trainers.  A couple named Martin and Sylvia Albrecht. They eventually became her surrogate parents and taught her their trade. Although she became somewhat of a Jack (or Jill) of all trades, her primary love of horses and the circus in general held her interest for over a decade.

Dana was with the Branson Brothers for eleven years. Then the business went bankrupt. She had signed on with Josiah Pandemonium’s outfit two circuits ago (each with 17 years behind the Great Mist). Malcomb was a relative newcomer from South Dakota. A drifter with no prior carnival or circus experience. He was rather loud and recently had learned to turn his volume down when he was around management or the Twins. He was the only person that had less seniority than she did except for “the new guy” who had just hired on about a month ago. He was, in a word, “creepy”. There were a few more that she avoided like “Electric Jack the Human Battery”, real name David La Fleur, a featured act on the Midway, and The Shadow Eater (no one knew his real name), another featured act. Additionally, she never interacted with the Twins. But nobody did. They had some kind of mojo that made everyone uncomfortable, plus they somehow had gained the favor of the “Boss”, Josiah Pandemonium himself. You really had to watch what you said around them. They were a information pipeline to Josiah.

Malcomb was okay guy, despite being a bit clumsy. He was a hard worker. They had just transferred the livestock from the oddity’s cages down to the carnival grounds and then meticulously scoured their living quarters. These were not trained beasts.  They didn’t perform. They were exotic animals. The public would pay good money just to look at them, however. Part of Dana’s job was to periodically watch certain oddities exhibits. She made sure people kept their distance and followed the carnival protocols when looking at the oddities (no sudden noises around some of them, no flash cameras, and absolutely no reaching through bars or into tanks).

She wasn’t certain how much longer she might decide to work for the Pandemonium Carnival. She missed her old life when her coworkers were more like family. This was not her beloved Branson Brothers Circus.

“Here comes Bell,” said Malcomb.

Most of the work of the day was completed and, say what you will about Josiah Pandemonium’s right-hand man, he gave credit where credit was due. About an hour ago he thanked each employee for a hard day’s labor. It was done quickly and with little favoritism. Predictably, he had returned to dictate his expectations for tomorrow.

Bell quickly outlined the next day’s tasks. It was like having a conversation with a mountain. Bell even politely asked to bum a smoke from Dana. She held out the pack and withdrew a cigarette for him.  Gordon Bell had exceptionally large hands. It limited his abilities to perform fine motor tasks. Dana handed the cigarette to him, and he placed it behind his immense ear. He would smoke it later.

Mr. Bell was exceedingly reserved in his private life and didn’t relate to many of the other carnival workers socially. Bell did have your back when it came to townspeople. Dana had seen Bell quickly react to drunks and rednecks that occasionally tried to hit on her or accuse other booth personnel of cheating. She always felt safe doing her job with him around.

Bell parked his huge frame on the edge on the oddities box cars that Dana and Malcomb rested on.

Malcomb attempted to make small talk. “Last Hurrah before the end of the line, eh.”

Bell just nodded and stared off towards the distance. Qwan Chang, the carnival mentalist and telepath, had told Dana that he had tried to read Mr. Bell’s thoughts when Bell was staring into space. Chang said that there was nothing in his head. Zero thoughts. Not even imagery. It had unnerved the little performer.

“Going behind the Great Mist once again. It will be a relief.” Bell volunteered.

“Never been there. Everyone, even old timers, is a little anxious about that.” Malcomb mused. He had a couple of wildflowers he had picked that were already starting to wilt from the heat cradled in his right hand.

“How so?” Bell replied.

“Well, it is a little like dying I should imagine. The only other thing I can liken it to is the times I needed my tonsils or appendix removed.” Malcomb continued tossing one of the wilted flowers aside.

“How do you mean?” Bell’s face scrunched up as if trying to make connections. Clearly, for him, there was some data missing.

“Well, they knock you out when they do surgery. It is like…well, everything goes dark.” Malcomb tried to explain.

“And that bothers you?” Bell said slowly, trying hard for an empathic moment. “You see, I’ve never had my tonsils removed. I’ve never really had surgery. Oh, I’ve seen it performed on others. Takes me back a bit.”

“Remind us.” Dana politely requested. You were born quite a while ago.

“The first century of my life I followed the Hittite army. We fought the Sea People (Philistines). Then other armies. You can read about it in ‘The Book’.” Bell referenced various Old Testament accounts of battles as simply “The Book”. He didn’t bother to reference by chapters or version of the bible. He specifically knew he was born around the 14^th century B. C.

“There was an entire company of Nephilim. Most of us were mercenaries. Back then if you were seriously wounded, they rarely did surgery. We were nearly indestructible compared to humans. That is why the generals wouldn’t march into battle without us.”

“They did have ‘Healers’ then. Some of them were very powerful. If you were wounded, like a deep cut a 'Healer' could sometimes help you. But if a 'Healer' couldn’t help you, then maybe you had a limb cut off and cauterized. You wouldn’t die, but you lost status. You weren’t as useful in a fight anymore. If you were one of those sorts of wounded, well, they carried armor and pulled wagons. They were treated more of less like livestock.”

“So,” said Malcomb trying to circle back. “It’s the blacking out and coming to seventeen years later that is making some of us a little tense.”

Dana admitted she was a little tense about the situation. “My first time I was nervous. This time as well.”

“Never thought about going behind ‘The Mist’ from the human viewpoint.” Bell said in a rare moment of perspective taking. “It doesn’t age you. Time is different when you are there. But is it the lack of awareness that is buggy? Interesting.

“I think maybe the vulnerability and loss of control bothers some.” Dana offered.

“What was war like back then?” Malcomb said in a rather excited tone.

Bell squinted at him. “See that?” He pointed down to wilted, mangled wildflowers the Malcomb had discarded effortlessly, without thought, while he was talking.

“Imagine those are human bodies. An entire field full of beings that used to be alive…but no longer. You killed them for amusement. You killed them because your commanding officer told you to. You killed them so you could say that you deserved supper that night. But mainly you killed them because you could. You wanted to.”

Bell looked different now. As he spoke and remembered the wars, he looked less like a grouchy foreman. He looked more like he really belonged to some other place in history, long ago.

“Do you read ‘The Book?’” He asked suddenly. “Most don’t nowadays.”

“I have read the stories, yes” Malcomb answered.

“Lot of mysteries are in ‘The Book’. Makes you wonder about the stories. Do you know the one about Cain and Abel?”

“Yes, I remember that one.” Malcomb said cautiously.

“What I always wondered is, why Cain, after killing Abel, stopped then and there? He couldn’t farm anymore, nor raise animals. That was more-or-less his brother’s thing anyway. God cursed his handiwork. He had ‘a mark’ on him. People were forbidden to end his life. Why didn’t he just go on killing?”

A chill shot up Dana’s spine. Malcomb stared down at the flowers he had killed.

“Well, thanks again for the smoke. Bell touched the brim of his derby and lowered himself off his perch on the box car.    

Chapter 8 - Revenge of the Autumn People - The Autumn King

 

                                               Chapter 8 – The Autumn King

The next day the Widow Biggs came over and stood in my living room. Despite her small stature she could be a rather imposing figure. I provided her with some black tea. She examined my shoulder and applied her ointment to the bite area. Some of the tissue had grown back. It itched like crazy now.

Then we discussed my health. She focused upon diet, indicating that I needed more protein intake and suggested that I steer towards turkey and fish with lots of green vegetables.  We also touched on a new issue, emotional well-being. Dorthy believed that there might be an important connection between suppressed anger and my inability to summon and sustain “The Change.”

We talked while Knuckle Butt and Tim made no small amount of noise. They were attempting to install a weathervane on my very steep roof. Billy had glided through the ceiling and down to the first floor four times to tell me that they were almost through, only to vanish each time before I could reply.  It was beginning to make me tense. I was starting to grind my teeth.

Dorthy glanced at me and suppressed a smile. “You need to relax a bit today, I think.” She said in a playful manner. “When was the last time you ‘actualized your other nature’?” she asked. She wanted to know when I had last transformed.

“When Big Mary and I fought Cletus Tylor.” I replied.

“So lately the reason for changing your form has been to fight or protect someone else?”

“Frankly, yes.”

 Could emotional problems interfere that strongly with my physiology?” I mused.

“I’m a necromancer by training, so I’m no expert in psychiatry. I’m qualified to treat your wound because it was inflicted by one of the undead. Emotions are not my specialty area.  However, I’ll do some research, and we might ‘kick it around’ next time.” She replied as she sipped her tea. “When was the last time you ‘actualized your other nature’ to just go for a run or chase rabbits Kyle?”

“Quite a while ago. Before we came to Dusk Thorne.”

                                                          *      *      *

The noise on the roof continued. It was nearly midday after Knuckle Butt and Tim Fury had installed our new weathervane and free lightning rod on the north side of my old blue trimmed Victorian house.

Dorthy, dressed in a floor length black frock that looked like it was from the 19^th century, had finished her tea and now leaned on her oaken cane and cleared her throat. She stood by two of the living room windows. The rest of us were seated on the floor or on various pieces of furniture. I had parked myself next to Knuckle Butt, who seemed to be the only one in the room (besides Dorthy) that could tolerate the odor emanating from a fresh application of her balm for my shoulder.

The room grew silent. Alice scooted closer to Joe who kept glancing at his wristwatch. She gave him a quick shot in the ribs with her elbow. He winced and stopped. Admittedly, even I was getting annoyed by the delay. We were all waiting for one last member of the group to arrive. Suddenly and with absolutely no fanfare, he just appeared. I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess maybe I assumed he would just knock or ring the doorbell.

First his large feline eyes floated into view. Then his mysterious smile, and finally his large black furry body. His tail twitched a bit as he materialized in full. The Wampus appeared in full and sat before us in my house.

“Freaky.” Muttered Naydene.

Alice giggled and clapped her hands as if The Wampus was doing sleight-of-hand tricks at a children’s party. Naydene overcame her astonishment and stuck her fingers in her mouth and blew a shrill whistle. With that, the rest of us spontaneously applauded. The Funerary God took the group’s applause in stride. He once more flashed a friendly grin and lowered his shaggy head for a moment as if taking a bow. Chester, laying on Joe’s lap, never even looked up.

Billy floated next to me and pointed at the spectacle. He was in full view of Petey, but the kid was still the only one of us that couldn’t see him. Joe had been in the house for about ten minutes last night before he was able to see Billy, first as a blur but then later he said that Billy looked completely solid. I scratched my head over the discrepancies. He still looked transparent to me. Go figure. The room got quiet once again.

Dorthy Biggs began. “This is an old tale that I first heard in Britian centuries ago. Perhaps it is as old as time itself. It is about an entity called ‘The Autumn King’. “The Autumn King was an ancient and unknowable power reborn every year with the thawing frost of early spring. He ascended to full majesty when the oak leaves turned gold. His very presence was a signal of the change of seasons.”

The Wampus continued the story. "It is true. He is a metaphysical being. He can be in several places at once and even take human form. I have seen him in human form before, but although he looked like a man, it was only an illusion. He is no mere human. Most of the time, to my eyes his skin is like the bark of the oldest trees on the great isles of the Old Country. His hair is a tangle of vines and crimson foliage. But I am a god. My vision is not like yours. When last I saw him in his true form he wore a robe spun from the leaves of a thousand autumns embroidered with gold and copper filigree. When he moved, the air filled with the scent of dark earth and bonfires.

“Dang! Sounds like royalty to me.” Knuckle Butt exclaimed.”

“Indeed,” said The Wampus. “When I last saw him in his true form, it was centuries ago right before the first snow. At this time of year his fierce eyes only shimmered like the last ember of a dying fire. They held all the secrets of the previous seasons. All the old secrets of nature. But this was the way of things many years ago.

In the Old Country, he was born anew each year, and each year gracefully returned to the earth to die and yield control of the world to the powers of winter. Somehow, when your ancestors came to the New World, this place, they brought their beliefs, traditions and a few living legends with them, albeit in altered form.

Somehow now, in the New World, the Autumn King is only born every seventeen years. His presence in this area is heralded by the emergence of cicadas. He now seems to be fond of taking human form and has possessed many local humans over these years.”

Dorthy continued. “The last host he possessed was a thirty-year-old man named Josiah in the early summer of 1892. Since this Josiah/Autumn King being now exists beyond the Great Mist and only travels this earthly plane every seventeen years, he has only aged five years since he took this new human body.

Then Dorthy looked at me. “Kyle, you need to know that Josiah Pandemonium went by the name of Warner, Joe Warner. Joe Warner was a greedy, foul individual who made a bargain with the spirit of the Autumn King. The deal was immense power and wealth for Warner in exchange for immortality for the Autumn King. This was not the first bargain the Autumn King had made with a human for longevity.”

When Josiah (or Joe) finally grows old, the spirit of the Autumn King will abandon his old body and make a bargain with yet another younger host. In doing so over the centuries the Autumn King has remained immortal but didn't surrender his personality…his ego, or sense of self, if you understand my meaning. No longer is he ‘born anew’ only to die with the coming of winter each year."

The Wampus finished the tale. “However, in his new type of immortality provided through taking many human forms, he has tainted himself with the all-too-human weaknesses of greed, envy, lust and pride. He fears death now because he fears loss of ego…loss of sense of self. He fears oblivion. The Void.

“Couldn’t he just exist beyond the Great Mist and remain ageless?” I asked.

“Yes werewolf, but he has had a taste of what it is to live with all the joys and pleasures of a human being yet none of the physical limitations of aging. That creates an unnatural situation that defies certain rules that I am not permitted to speak to the living about.”

“It’s like having your cake and eating it too!” Naydene suggested.

“Hmm.” The Wampus looked thoughtful. “Similar on the surface perhaps. Stick a pin in that one young human.”

 Alice spoke up. “Sounds like existence must be somewhat slow living behind the Great Mist.”

“Time is relative, Existence is what you make of the time you have on this side.” The Wampus winked at her. “Dorthy, you should tell Kyle about this house.”

“Kyle, this house used to belong to a gangster and bootlegger during prohibition.”

“Yeah, ‘Fat Vinnie' Roma.”

“Who told you that, Connie?” Dorthy looked puzzled. Connie Bradford, now deceased, wa. my realtor when I purchased the old house.

Annie came in from the kitchen and was delighted to see people sitting on the floor at nose level. She made a bee line for me and licked my ear.

“No Phil Marr at the Mar-Fill-Us Mart grocery store gave me the info when we first got into town.”

“Yes, he bought the house for his mistress Sally Guterres. Vincent Roma was part of the Denver Cosa Nostra. You also need to know that Sally had another business partner and lover besides Fat Vinnie Roma. His name was Joe Warner.” Dorthy studied the look on my face.

They made a lot of money together back during Prohibition. The basement of this house was used to stockpile liquor and move it for transport. There are tunnels between this house and Little Pine Acres cemetery across the street, the motel property and even Isadora Browning’s bookstore.

“The Ghost Pirate money is bootlegger money!” I said wondering what else this might imply.

“It was money that Josiah used to start up his traveling Carnival.” Dorthy explained.

Alice said, “We found some of that money in the basement. Petey’s and his bike club knocked down a wall down there. There are two passageways with doors barely ajar. Doc wouldn’t let us explore them yet.”

“Whoa!” Petey spoke up. “That money belongs to, a former bootlegger that was seeing Fat Vinnie Roma’s mistress. He was like an old timey mob boss...like a Godfather! Imagine the ‘balls’ on that Warner dude. And now he is some kind of…what? Immortal evil carnival owner operator?”

“With all the powers and privileges of the ancient Autumn King!” The Wampus declared.

                                                            *      *      *

Ralph Green shuffled out of the front door and moved beyond his current residence, the Old Baily place. Even though this was a Saturday he hadn’t slept in. Sleeping was a problem now for Ralph. It began as a bout of insomnia that lasted a week or two. During these episodes, Ralph would fall asleep easily enough but wake around three o’clock in the morning, unable to sleep for several hours. He would doze off again, but needing to be at work by nine o’clock, he would have to hustle to make that deadline. Ralph was a financial advisor at First National Bank of Dusk Thorne.

The lack of sleep had backlogged on Ralph, leaving him exhausted in the mornings. The insomnia came and went. Whenever it returned it was now accompanied by odd dreams. Ralph was seeing a psychotherapist in Denver every two weeks now for his problems and taking Prozac for, what his doctor believed were symptoms of depression. He was supposed to be keeping a dream journal. Whenever Ralph began to write about his dreams in the morning, he seemed to lapse into a fugue state and wake somewhere near Jerry Paloma’s house.

In a daze, Ralph shuffled down Oak Street towards Jerry’s house once again. In a word, he looked “bad”. Ralph hadn’t bathed or shaved in two days. He had felt poorly as of late, and had waved off work, calling in sick. Ralph clutched a letter he wouldn’t remember writing. He was dressed in pajama bottoms, a T-shirt, slippers and an old house coat that was flapping open. He shuffled past a pair of strangers without even looking up at them.

“What about that one?” Lucian pointed at the shuffling figure. The other shook his head in disgust.

“Can’t you tell it is sick.” Lukus said discreetly out of the side of his mouth. You can smell it from here!  It’s gone ‘off’…passed its expiration date. Besides we aren’t cruising for brunch. Stay on the ‘mission’.

The two look very much out-of-place in Dusk Thorne but would have drawn attention even in a large metropolitan setting. They looked like bookends. Both figures were the same height and weight. Both wore pinstripe suits, and while not identical, the clothing looked as if it came from the same British fashion magazine. Expensive and well-tailored.

Both sported shoulder length blonde hair and had porcelain complexions. Although they were simply referred to as “The Twins” by those that worked in Josiah Pandemonium’s carnival, Lucian was a year older than his brother. They easily passed for identical twins to most seeing them for the first time, walking side-by-side.

To the public, they introduced themselves as associates of Josiah Pandemonium and were knocking on doors and handing out complementary tickets to the grand opening of the carnival. But, make no mistake, they were dangerous predators on a manhunt.

                                                               *     *     *    

Alice turned to me with frantic eyes. “Doc, we’ve got to open up those doors to the passages. There could be a fortune in Ghost Pirate money…I mean Bootlegger money down there.”

I rolled my own eyes and began to explain once again why this would be a very bad idea. Billy turned to Alice and emphatically said “No.”

“Why the fudge not?” Alice retorted. She folded her arms and tried to stare Billy down. Joe pinched the area between his forehead and nose again.

I shot a look over at Petey who appeared to be baffled. He still acted as if he could neither see nor hear Billy.

I have a rather inquiring mind, so I took a chance and spoke to Billy in front of Petey. “Billy, why not?”

“Because of the Giant Head!” Billy blurted out trying to not make eye contact with Alice's glare.

“Come again? Is there a Giant Head down in the passages? Alice said slowly.

“Careful how you answer that question Billy.” I cautioned. I didn’t want to deal with Alice’s reaction to yet another basement mystery.

“Yes, that is why I’ve been staying down there. To protect Petey.” Billy confessed.

“What are we waiting for!” Naydene whooped.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.