Oliver Crum Box Set

by Chris Cooper

  An acoustic crooner belted “The Times They Are a-Changin’” from his perch on the edge of a stone fountain. Anna and Oliver stood on the periphery of a small crowd gathered around the singer.

  “Makes me wish I’d gone to college,” Anna said. “Spending nights out like this with cool friends, fancy cocktails, and music. What was it like?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he replied.

  Oliver felt out of place—even old—next to the cluster of sharply dressed art students. His college experience had been nothing like this since he’d spent most of his time hunkered in windowless computer labs, poring over textbooks and computer models.

  They stood and listened for a moment until Anna spotted a restaurant across the street.

  “How about that place?” she asked.

  The front window of the storefront held a row of colorful pizzas sitting under a flickering neon sign.

  “Pizza?” Oliver asked.

  “And Bourbon Bar. Read the sign.”

  Oliver shrugged and threw a buck into the singer’s open guitar case.

  The shop was unassuming—just two flour-coated men, two large pizza ovens, and a few empty high-topped tables.

  “What can I get for you?” one man asked while the other slipped a pie into the large pizza oven.

  “Bourbon, please,” Anna replied without hesitation.

  The man sighed. “Take the stairs next to the bathroom.” He pointed toward the far end of the room.

  Anna thanked the man behind the counter, and she walked with Oliver toward the staircase. “Ooh, a speakeasy. How exciting.”

  As they climbed the steps and rounded the corner, a social buzz filled the air. Though the building was three floors high, the owners had ripped out the separation between the second and third floors, leaving a tall ceiling and a stunning view of the city below. Tables and chairs sprinkled the room, and chatty occupants filled them all to capacity. The bar was easy to identify from across the room since it had been backed by thick wooden paneling extending to the third-floor ceiling. Glass shelves lined the wood, and the bottles of bourbon sitting on top of them were backlit by recessed lights.

  “I think we’ve found the place to be in Amberley,” Anna said.

  Oliver had grown used to large crowds when he lived in the city, but much time had passed since he’d been in a place filled from wall to wall with people. The crowd seemed to pulse, and he was somewhat overwhelmed. He backed toward the staircase, but before he could escape, Anna grabbed him by the arm and pulled him through a narrow pathway toward the bar.

  “Come on,” she said.

  “There’s no place to sit.” He peered at the bar ahead of him.

  “Just follow me. That couple’s about to get up. They’ve just paid.”

  Sure enough, a man and woman rose from their seats as they made it to the bar, leaving two vacant barstools behind.

  Anna rushed in and grabbed the seats, mean-mugging two girls who approached from the other side.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  Oliver gave an apologetic smile to the girls, but they had already set their sights on two other seats across the room.

  “Come on, sit down,” Anna said. “You’ve got to be aggressive, or you’ll be standing all night.”

  “You sure fit in here awfully well for having spent your entire life in Christchurch.”

  “People are the same everywhere. Sometimes, you have to assert yourself. And just because I live in Christchurch doesn’t mean I’m a shut-in.”

  After looking through the extensive binder of drinks, they both settled on Manhattans, which arrived with delicately spiraled orange peels and toothpicks with smoked cherries.

  “What do we toast to?” Oliver asked.

  “You’ve been in Christchurch for nearly a year now, right? How about that?”

  “All right, to one year in Christchurch,” he replied, lifting his martini glass and clinking the edge against hers.

  “And to a successful day at the flea,” she added, clinking his glass once more.

  The bourbon burned Oliver’s throat, and he tried hard not to make a face as Anna took a drink of hers without so much as a shudder.

  “So, your mommy issues aside, do you still like it in Christchurch? Are you getting tired of us yet?”

  “Are you kidding? The last year has been a blast. Plus, I could never leave Pan behind,” he said.

  “Hey!” Anna feigned offense and kicked him under the table.

  “I’m just joking! I love it at the bakery with you two. Never thought I’d end up here, but I’m happy I did.”

  He still thought of Briarwood often when he sat out back and looked upon the forest that housed the invisible village. Simon’s son had never popped up in Christchurch, and Oliver hoped he’d found a place to call home far away from the small cell that had held him for so long.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Any big plans on the horizon?”

  “You’re looking at them,” she said, tipping her glass toward him.

  Deep into the second Manhattan and a few slices of pizza, Anna looked at her watch. “I think two drinks is enough for me. What’s next? It is a Saturday night, after all.”

  Oliver thought for a minute and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I saved one of these from last week. We still have twenty minutes to make it to Pearl’s House of Dead Things, or whatever it’s called,” he said sarcastically. “Could be entertaining.”

  “The dead-bat puppet show? We have to!” Anna tipped her glass back and finished the rest of her drink.

  Chapter Five

  The temperature had dropped several degrees since the sun sank behind the Amberley skyline. Anna and Oliver walked the block in search of the church Ruby had mentioned the week before. Once they spotted the steeple in the distance, they traced the streets until they found the church’s main entrance. After that, they circled the building until they found the mysterious venue listed on the flyer.

  The destination was easy to spot, thanks to a sign reading The Parlor hanging from a lamppost at the base of the steps. A Ouija-board planchette was etched underneath the name, with an eye watching from the circular letter window. The building itself sat slightly recessed between the two neighboring homes as if trying to conceal its secrets from passersby. Thick crimson drapes hung in the front windows, making it impossible to see inside. The building trim was painted black and the brick a dark green, in odd contrast to the colorful houses around it.

  Oliver had seen plenty of houses like this before, but all of them lived on-screen in the macabre movies he would force Izzy to watch, and all of them contained monsters.

  He gripped the handle of the wrought-iron fence and pushed, and the hinges let out a loud squeal as they entered the front courtyard. They climbed the brick steps to the large carved wooden door, and he tugged at the antique knob, but the entrance was locked tight. He looked back at Anna, second-guessing his eagerness to see whatever waited on the other side.

  “Ring the bell,” she said, gesturing for him to go ahead. “This has to be the place.”

  He pressed the black button on the doorframe, and a low-pitched chime echoed through the house. The door opened immediately, causing him to jump as a lanky girl returned to her stool on the other side of the door. Her black velvet blouse with white collar and black ribbon reminded Oliver of an old schoolgirl uniform. The smell of burning sage wafted through the doorway.

  “Here for the show?” she asked in monotone.

  “Absolutely,” Oliver replied.

  “You’re just in time. That’ll be twenty for each of you,” she said as if she’d said it a thousand times before.

  Oliver peered into the room ahead of them. The light from the dim wall lanterns flickered off the dark wallpaper, and several skeletal bats hung from the ceiling over the entryway, posed in midflight. People were gathered in the room next to them—a room lined with framed taxidermy, obscure artwork, and jarred oddities.

  “It in
cludes a discount on a reading too,” the girl added as if it would push him over the edge.

  Oliver reached for his wallet and pulled out two twenties. When Anna saw this, she pushed by him.

  “No, no. I’ll pay for myself,” she said, pulling cash from her purse and giving a cheery smile to the girl at the door.

  The girl handed Anna and Oliver two pins, fashioned to look like the planchette on the sign. “Wear these while you’re here. They showed you’ve paid. Welcome to the Grim Menagerie.” She gave a lackluster wave toward the room ahead.

  They followed a trail of people to the lounge next to the entryway. A group gathered around a bar, where a man with a long brown ponytail poured samples of a pear-colored liquid into fancy shot glasses. Others walked the walls, taking in the obscure framed artwork and dead dioramas.

  Anna gave Oliver a hard jab in the rib. “Look at that!” She pointed up at the ceiling.

  They were standing directly underneath a large chandelier made entirely of bones. The piece was massive, with rows of what he hoped were animal leg bones dangling freely. Hip bones formed decorative flowers at the ends of each radial column, and each bloom held a flickering candle.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s gruesome,” he said.

  “But oddly beautiful,” Anna added. “Must have taken forever to build.”

  Anna wandered to the other corner of the room. “I think I found a gift idea for Izzy.” She pointed at a taxidermic cat, which had been outfitted in a baker’s hat and apron. The animal was carefully balancing a small pie on top of a serving tray.

  As Oliver leaned in for a closer look, he realized the small object sticking out of the pie was the rear end of a mouse, its squiggly tail twisted into a curlicue.

  He noticed the price tag hanging from the chef’s hat. “It’s for sale. Bet Izzy would never speak to us again if we brought this home.”

  “Just hope kitty died of natural causes,” Anna said.

  “An unfortunate run-in with a car, actually,” someone said from behind.

  Oliver and Anna turned to see Ruby leaning over them.

  “Good to see you again—Oliver and Anna, right?”

  “You’ve got a good memory,” Anna replied.

  “This business requires that I maintain excellent relationships with both the living and the dead,” she said with a smirk. “So, would you like to take Midnight here home with you?”

  “Midnight?”

  “She was a lovely cat—always hung round the alley next to the shop. It’s a pity, really.”

  “You stuffed your pet?” Oliver asked.

  “She didn’t belong to anyone. She was her own cat. And what better way to honor the dead than to immortalize them?”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond, but fortunately, the man serving drinks at the bar was waving to get Ruby’s attention.

  “Got to run,” she said. “Hope you enjoy the show.” She paced out of the room and into the hallway.

  “If I could have everyone’s attention, please!” the man shouted. “My name’s Caleb, and I’m happy to welcome you to the Grim Menagerie. The show is about to begin. Please follow our lovely guide, Jen, to the stage.”

  Jen, the same person who’d enthusiastically greeted them at the door, gave a half-hearted wave and steered the crowd toward the back of the house.

  The hallway led to a large open room, and the crowd shuffled to fill several rows of chairs in the back. A wooden stage sat at the front, bordered with several large boxlike shapes concealed under thick sheets. A hexagonal wooden table sat in the center of the stage, complete with a perfectly polished crystal ball in the center. A large panel draped with a forest-green curtain served as the backdrop for the table scene.

  “This ought to be interesting,” Oliver said.

  Once the crowd had settled in, Jen pulled a curtain over the doorway and approached a record player at the back of the room. Instead of setting the needle on the outer edge of the black vinyl, she set it at the center. The room filled with the sound of the needle scratching against the end of the record, bouncing back and forth against the hard stop.

  “That’s my favorite song,” Oliver joked, but before he could see Anna’s reaction, the room went black.

  Several audience members gasped, and even Anna, who wasn’t scared of anything, shuffled in her chair.

  “The dead are always speaking,” Ruby said from the back of the room. “But only a select few have the ability to hear them.” As she spoke, she walked to the stage, her thick heels thunking across the floor. “And even fewer can serve as a conduit between the worlds of the living and the dead—can permit ordinary souls to hear the other realm. Fortunately, you happen to be in the presence of one of these select few.” She took a seat at the table, directly behind the crystal ball.

  “So, I’ll ask: are there any spirits who have a message for us this evening?”

  Anna was looking at Oliver out of the corner of her eye.

  A low moan emerged over the record-player static.

  “Looks like we have a taker. Sometimes, we have to give them a medium, like a tone or sound. Kind of like dialing in a radio station. Once we’ve found a spirit, we can channel them through the crystal.”

  The scene might have been a rehearsed act by an experienced huckster, but ever since Oliver had seen the death and destruction caused by the Briarwood Witch, any mention of supernatural phenomena made his stomach churn.

  “Do you have something to tell us?” Ruby asked.

  The gleam was subtle at first. A light from the center of the crystal sphere cast a dim glow on her face. As the groan from the record-player speakers grew louder, so did the pulsing light.

  “Do you have a message you would like to share?”

  The groan grew louder, and the table began to shake.

  “She’s probably just doing that with her knees,” Anna whispered, almost in the form of a question.

  Suddenly, the table shot up from the floor, rising several feet above Ruby’s head.

  The crowd gasped.

  “Control yourself!” she commanded. “What do you have to say? We are listening.”

  The table came crashing to the floor, barely missing Ruby, although the woman sat confidently in her chair without so much as a flinch. The crystal ball hung in the air, and the sphere gave off a white-hot burst of light as the record-player groan grew to a full-blown scream.

  “Help me!” The voice blasted from the speakers, and the crystal exploded into sparkling glass-like confetti. The needle scratched across the record as the room went dark again.

  The shriek was too much for one of the audience members behind Oliver, and she let out a scream of her own.

  The house lights rose, illuminating Ruby on the stage, but the table and crystal ball were now firmly back in place as if nothing had happened to them.

  The terrified woman in the audience stood plastered against the back wall of the room as her date tried to comfort her. As the crowd turned to watch the hysterics, their attention proved too much for her, and she bolted through the closed curtain into the hallway.

  “Some are not ready to hear from the other side,” Ruby said. “Better she leaves now since it only gets worse from here. My, the spirits are loud tonight.” The crowd gave a nervous laugh. “But what if we could do more than hear the spirits of the dead? What if we could see them, even bring them back to visit?”

  She crossed the stage toward one of the covered rectangles.

  “Before zoos, there were menageries—small collections of animals assembled and maintained by rich aristocrats. As these menageries grew in popularity from the seventeen hundreds to eighteen hundreds, a few savvy entrepreneurs started their own traveling shows, and these eventually morphed into the circuses we know today. But not all cared about the creatures they held in captivity. Many abused animals, which often died from malnourishment and mistreatment. When we constructed our own little menagerie, we decided to celebrate those unfortunate souls th
at were victims of their times.”

  With a dramatic flourish, she ripped the curtain away from one of the containers. A red glow flashed across the gallery. The container appeared to be a glass aquarium filled with a phosphorescent liquid.

  Oliver’s heart dropped. He had seen this color before, and he still had nightmares about the one-eyed witch who’d come with it. The tank was filled with the blood of the boy who’d escaped to the woods a year before, the same blood that had flowed above the atrium in the Briarwood town hall. This blood could heal wounds, rejuvenate aged bodies, and apparently bring animals back to life, and it belonged to Simon’s son.

  Anna grabbed his arm.

  Several skeletal fish crisscrossed the tank, gliding through the swirling reds and oranges.

  “The Hindus believe animals have souls, too, and we wondered if we could call an animal’s soul back to its body.” Ruby reached for the curtain on the next tank and pulled it loose, letting the fabric slowly cascade to the floor. The tank was tall, taller than Ruby, in fact. The tree inside the display looked as if someone had taken a massive oak and shrunk it down. The branches were barren, and blood submerged the entire scene.

  Instead of fish, this display featured birds. The skeletal figures hopped from branch to branch—little zombie parakeets in an undead aquarium.

  “Unfortunately, they don’t sing like they used to.”

  Ruby beckoned for Jen at the back of the room. She joined Ruby on stage and helped push the large covered backdrop forward until it came within a few feet of the front row of seats. She angled it down at the audience.

  “And you may think this display morbid, but aren’t we all just walking skeletons? Spirits-to-be?”

  With a snap at the back of the sheet, the curtain fell to the floor, revealing a massive mirror underneath. The surface reflected the audience, and Oliver saw his own likeness looking back at him. But instead of being peach fleshed and full of life, the reflection was that of a corpse, skin dull and shrunken. The entire audience, for that matter, looked like zombies.