Funhouse

by Aurelia T. Evans

  Ambivalence. That was the word Victor had used.

  Neve stared at the Spider’s glass of whiskey. The color reminded her of Bell’s eyes when he was turned on. “Men have wanted one thing from me most of my post-pubescent life. I escaped their worst impulses, and it’s sick that I’m actually grateful for that. I managed to stay clothed through everything they tried, but I had to fight for that. They’d get so angry at me, like I’d taken away their favorite toy, not like I’d made an independent decision about my own self, my own body.”

  “I was trained to be what men wanted me to be, to enjoy what men wanted me to be,” the Spider said. “But just because I felt pleasure and just because I was turned on didn’t mean it was what I wanted. I turned tricks that my ex called art. I was his unpaid prostitute. And I swore I wouldn’t let Bell do that to me when I entered Arcanium, but I ended up doing it to myself. I think that’s why he doesn’t push me to play his Funhouse games. I’ll pose for him. I’ll be his sculpture, but I won’t perform. I won’t do that again—not yet, and probably not ever. I thought Bell would know better than to do to someone else what was done to me, but that goes to show you never really shed all your naivete. He’s not malicious, but nothing’s beneath him.”

  Neve rested her elbow on her thigh, her chin on her fist, meeting the Spider’s eyes. The irises were black as a demon’s but warmer. There was all manner of cynicism and rue in the set of her jaw and lips, but Neve thought she’d never seen more compassion. “He wants me to perform.”

  “I know what stops me,” the Spider said. “What stops you?”

  Neve resisted the urge to tear her gaze away, to protect her vulnerability from being seen. What reason did she have to hide that from the Spider? She’d been through the same things. Worse things. She could take it.

  “It’s been reinforced time and again that men like what they see, and I can’t discard that data based on my own biases,” Neve said. “Sometimes I think I could just lift my shirt, ask for a million dollars and retire in a week. I’m the pretty thing in a glass case, and people pay money to stare because it gives them a chance to imagine having me. Bell wants me to be that pretty thing, and sometimes he wants to open the glass case to let other people play with me because I’m a pleasing shape, because I’m that fantasy for them. And now I enjoy their fantasies, whether I like it or not. I’m the perfect plaything. But I’m also a damn intelligent, ambitious woman, but do any of the people playing with me care? No. Because I’m just their fantasy, their doll, as lifeless as a sex toy, and I don’t matter. I’m a receptacle for their pleasure, something to lose themselves in, the sum not of my matter and mass but of my empty spaces. And I’m not okay with that.”

  The Spider’s lips thinned but curved in a gentle smile. “I guess we’ve arrived at the principle.”

  “Do you know how hard I worked to get good grades, to remember everything I needed to remember, to get into a good school with scholarships, to graduate then continue schooling until I got my doctorate? I’m Dr. Freaking Neve Kimble, but the only place anyone thinks Dr. Kimble isn’t my husband is at work.”

  “If it makes you feel better, all the people of Arcanium are objectified like that. It’s a consequence of the performing arts, particularly of a freak show.” The Spider shifted her second set of legs. “Just because you’re freakishly beautiful doesn’t make it any less relevant. We’re not meant to be seen as people. We’re supposed to be interesting to look at. People can decide to get to know us better, but the very premise of Arcanium is visual. It’s dehumanizing, but it’s nothing personal.”

  The Spider made to protest when Neve picked up the tumbler and took a quick swallow of the whiskey. Neve made a face, but it went down her throat hot and strong. The Spider mouthed ‘okay then’ and didn’t stop her when she took another quick drink.

  “I always wanted to be so much more, though,” Neve said. “I didn’t wear garbage bags, but I covered my body, rarely wore anything more revealing than scrubs. Never wore much makeup. But when I wore a lab coat, strangers still wanted me to put on a pair of hipster glasses to satisfy their ‘hot nerd’ fetish. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “People will always see you first. That’s something you can’t control. For most people who pass through this place, they won’t be around long enough to know you beyond what they see.” The Spider eased her tumbler out of Neve’s hand, drained it herself then put it back in the cupholder. “Believe me. I’ve been through this, darling.”

  “How do you handle knowing that all someone sees when they look at you is sex and not you?”

  “I handle it by being scary as hell.” The Spider touched the tip of her tongue to one of her sharp eyeteeth. “As someone who’s afraid of so much, it’s nice to see fear from everyone else now. The teeth, the claws, knowing I could kill them if I wanted to… People passing by me sense it, even if they can’t put a finger on why. And the Creature knows me by my own fears. Bell knows me with his magic. With all the people who pass by then forget you in the next thought, it helps to have at least one person who knows you, who will look at you and see more than just your body.”

  “I’m not the horror side of Arcanium,” Neve said. “I’m only the sexy side.”

  “Then you’ll have to find something else. If you don’t want to have random, casual sex with anyone who touches you, then don’t. But if you really have no true moral qualms about it, then you need to find something. Even if you find fucking while married to someone else to be an ethical dilemma, you still need to find something, because your sexuality isn’t going to stop just because you’re stubborn. You, Mikhail, Sasha and Bell all need to find something, if just to give the rest of us a chance to breathe.” She arched her eyebrow slightly to show she was kidding, but not really.

  “Any recommendations?”

  “I think Bell wants more from you than what he’s given. You won’t have to go looking too hard for his plan. It’ll find you eventually. It might find you like a swarm of killer bees and the taste of honey on your tongue at the same time, but it’ll find you just the same.”

  Neve was really beginning to understand why the Spider drank. “What should I do at the Funhouse? He wants me there. He wants me to be…this.”

  The Spider’s second pair of arms inside the robe bulged against the terrycloth like emerging parasites. There was something compelling about the way the Spider was clearly uncomfortable, but Neve recognized that particular form of discomfort well by now.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to figure out not what God wants, what the rest of the world wants, what Bell wants or what Mikhail or every other man wants from you,” the Spider said. “Maybe it’s time you figured out what Dr. Motherfucking Neve Kimble wants. Then figure out what you need in order to take it without regret.”

  Chapter Nine

  The cast gathered in a handful of caravan trailers, a semi-trailer following behind. Hors d’oeuvres would be provided at the venue, but the golems passed around some easy food to eat while they traveled.

  “Trust me.” Kitty handed Neve bottled water and a sandwich. “You’ll need it.”

  Neve was in Kitty’s trailer, which carried more women than men, despite the fact everyone seemed less concerned with gender separation the rest of the time.

  She still refused to be on a bed. The conjoined twins and the Spider took that honor. Neve wore her white terrycloth robe, but she still felt there weren’t enough layers between her and the intrinsic suggestiveness of a bed. Caroline, the youngest member of Arcanium—although since no one aged, it was hard for Neve to tell whether Caroline really was the youngest or just looked like it—offered to let her sit on the small dining bench, but Neve took a spot on the floor instead. She wanted to stay uncomfortable. It was a good distraction from her nerves and the vibrations of anticipation her body decided was desire. Arousal was arousal. Her body saw it all the same way.

  After about an hour, the golems pulled up to the loading dock of an empty warehouse. Nev
e was used to feeling underdressed in the circus, but the rough alley made her feel overdressed instead, and she suddenly had to worry about tetanus. She was so used to going barefoot in the circus, like many cast members, that she hadn’t even thought to bring shoes.

  “Do you meet in abandoned warehouses often?” she asked.

  “Not often, but we’ve been to this one before,” Kitty said. “It isn’t abandoned. From what I understand, it’s a tax shelter of some kind, and we’re not the only esoterica the owner hires to fill it. I think they do some other kind of urban haunted house in October.”

  “You mean we’re not the only ones who do that?”

  Kitty laughed. “You’d be surprised how often extralegal extreme horror pops up. We’re far from the only show in the country.”

  The interior of the warehouse was more or less clean as they entered through the loading bay and climbed the concrete stairs to the third floor. Dust was more of a problem than splintered crates, nails or squatters. The golems poured in first with their industrial-size mops and swept through like fairy godmothers, turning on lights, clearing dust away, hanging black tarpaulin over windows and setting up ceiling-high partitions into a winding, labyrinthine pathway. They were quiet and efficient.

  At the top of the stairs, Bell greeted a man who wore an expensive charcoal-gray business suit—hardly the kind of person Neve would have seen as someone interested in esoterica, but she knew from experience that the scene took all sorts.

  “Most of you have met Samuel Amendola before,” Bell said, “but we do have some new blood. Samuel is the one responsible for us being here today. He provides the venue, he sent out the invitations and he’s paying for our time. He’s brought with him quite a few friends—some business, some personal—for this private party. Everyone has been apprised of the rules and will wait on the second floor until we’re ready for them to ascend. We have the whole third floor to ourselves. Thank you, Samuel. We’ll see you at ten.”

  “Very much looking forward to it.” Mr. Amendola gave an officious bow that Neve didn’t like. He peered over the small crowd of performers and freaks with lust that was startlingly possessive. Neve held the top of her robe to keep his gaze from crawling anywhere on her.

  From the way the third floor was laid out, smooth concrete broken with cinderblock columns to provide structure, the ceilings and floor below were thick enough that she could barely hear the party Bell had said was going on below. If laughter and loud conversations hadn’t drifted up the open staircase, she wouldn’t have known that guests were already there.

  Still unsure what Bell had in mind for her, Neve stayed out of everyone’s way, even as the performers and actors shed their outer layers and tended to their makeup, which Neve would do if she had any idea what she was supposed to look like. Bell went with each exhibit into the maze, one by one. She thought he might be doing something to finish them off onsite, because when they left, most of them weren’t particularly horrifying. She didn’t doubt Bell was capable of making them so.

  Neve sat in a corner, watching what little she could see now that the golems had set up all the temporary walls and the black curtains that separated cast and crew from guests. She ruminated over the same things that had been running through her head since the afternoon. It certainly didn’t help that Bell had left his intentions for her a mystery. How could she decide what to do if she didn’t know what she’d be agreeing to?

  Kitty and Victor each asked whether she was all right, and she nodded to both. Because she was all right. Bell wasn’t going to ask her to literally kill someone and get off on doing it. He wasn’t going to make her do anything that was destructive or that would hurt someone—more than they wanted, which was again something she knew from personal experience. He wouldn’t make her do anything if she didn’t want to. But she was here, so she might as well at least play haunted exhibit like she did for the circus—unless Bell’s vision was just too horrible for words, and she doubted that would be the case, because he’d already know what she’d refuse.

  ‘How would you like the hands on you to do more?’

  Maybe not a shot of whiskey, but a glass of wine sounded good right about now. She sighed. That way lay madness and mind-numbing agents. It was far too easy to settle into a routine of oblivion. The empty bottles in the Spider’s trailer proved that.

  “You’re the last one, my dear.” Bell stood above her, holding out a hand to help her to stand, which she took. He wore his usual leather trousers, but also a loose, thin, white cotton shirt. Neve hadn’t thought he owned anything that covered his upper body. “I’d like to start you from the very beginning. You’ve never attended a Funhouse function before, and being a part of the haunted funhouse doesn’t quite prepare you for what we do here.”

  He eased the robe down her shoulder. She untied the knot at her waist to allow him to remove it from her like a gentleman with his lady’s coat.

  She still wore her wedding ring, which Bell didn’t comment on. She assumed that at least some of the people who would be joining them were also married—and likely not with their partners at this event, based on her unkind assumptions about people in the higher echelons of business and other power structures. But infidelity was also a powerful fetish, even when it was mere illusion. Guests to the Funhouse wouldn’t know the difference, and she wasn’t ready to take it off, even if she’d basically agreed to adultery. But at this point, that adultery couldn’t hurt her husband, which was the only reason she let Bell lead her to the edge of the black curtain that separated the green room from the rest of the floor. He pulled it back and gestured her through.

  The guests wore outfits that wouldn’t have been out of place at a cocktail party or high-end charity function. Little black dresses glittering with jet beads, long slinky backless gowns, tailored suits with silver pinstripes, shining patent leather shoes, stilettos that would make a dominatrix weep with envy.

  Neve caught sight of a few fine leather vests under suit jackets, and in some cases, corsets or harnesses. Chokers that were actually collars. Bracelets that could become handcuffs. Braided decorative belts that could become a flogger in less than a minute. Most of the guests were merely done up, suggesting little more than a fat bank account, but there were enough people displaying unconventionality that Neve was even more curious. What kind of business did Samuel run? How had he come to bring business associates into something like this? How had Kitty put it? ’Extralegal.’

  Fringe sexualities weren’t inherently shady by any means, but this whole setup was. And Neve was a part of that now.

  All seventy-five or so people turned when Bell led her through the curtain.

  The guests stared at her with expressions that varied from hard and unforgiving to indulgent, kind to lascivious. She wasn’t wearing anything under the black silk negligee that could only be called a dress in the most generous sense. Bra and underwear would have interrupted the cutout of lace that led from under her arms down to the hem, which reached less than halfway down her thighs. It was one thing to be covered with groping hands, but she felt entirely naked under these strangers’ scrutiny. It was somehow worse that they were all clearly rich. It made her feel sold.

  Bell hooked his arm through hers when shyness and a dose of fear made her hesitate, the curtain swinging against her leg.

  “You look lovely. I think we can lose this, though.” He pulled the rubber band from her hair, which flipped down from the loose bun she’d made and fell to the small of her back. Bell tousled it to drape over her shoulders and wave with its own shape.

  Golems walked through the clusters of guests with champagne on trays. Bell grabbed a flute and handed it to her.

  Samuel Amendola stood with a small cluster of other men with watches just as ugly as his, some wearing wedding rings of their own. “A charming young woman, Bell. Were you intending to introduce her?”

  “Not to you,” Bell replied, with a deliberate snap of insult that had Samuel as well as his guests laughing.
“She’s new to the circus, and I wanted to show her what we have in store for the rest of you. If you would indulge me for a little while longer, I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

  “It always is,” one of the other men with Samuel said.

  “Especially if she’s a part of it.” Another one of Samuel’s companions reached out, hooking a lock of her hair in his hand.

  Bell smoothly insinuated himself between the men and Neve, ever polite but not allowing anyone to confuse politeness with permission. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “No touching. Not yet, and certainly not without an invitation.”

  “And here I thought she was the invitation,” the man replied.

  Samuel took the man’s wrist and pulled it back. “I made it clear, Allen, that there are consequences to intemperance. If you can’t follow Bell’s rules, you might as well leave now, for your own sake.”

  The arch loftiness of his manner didn’t quite hide the tightness in his shoulders as he held Allen back. He’d encountered ‘consequences’ before, then.

  The petulant curve to Allen’s lips suggested he didn’t take Samuel or Bell seriously enough, but he yielded, his attention alone bridging the gap between him and Neve.

  “It’s a privilege to have us here,” Bell said.

  “A privilege we paid for,” Allen countered.

  “A privilege nonetheless. I agree to bring my people only under certain conditions. You may think you’re safe. You may think you can get away with anything, with your lawyer on call and a secure Swiss bank account. But once you step through that curtain, you’re in my territory, and none of the people here nor any amount of money or bribe to the law will save you from me. Are we understood?”