Crampton

by Thomas Ligotti

  SHOPKEEP

  Sure thing, officer.

  Helen hands him the receipt.

  HELEN

  Can you tell us who made this purchase and what they bought?

  The shopkeep looks at the blank receipt, then back up at the agents with a suspicious smile.

  SHOPKEEP

  You're kidding, right? There ain't nothing on this. Don't look like they bought anything.

  HELEN

  All the same...

  SHOPKEEP

  Well, I guess I could check the back. I keep copies of my receipts for taxes. Don't want to get in trouble with the Feds, right?

  The shopkeep winks, jots down the receipt number and disappears through a tattered curtain into the back.

  While they're waiting, Helen checks out some of the magic trick kits on display: "Glass Box Penetration," "Smashed Watch Gimmick," "Nest o' Balls," "Bloody Needle Gag."

  Brady is goofing around with a miniature guillotine. He sticks his index finger through the slicing hole and SLAMS the plunger down. The small but razor-sharp blade appears to pass right through his finger. Brady wiggles his finger and smiles.

  The shopkeep emerges from the back with another slip of paper.

  SHOPKEEP

  This must be your lucky day. I found your receipt. I'd say it's about four years old.

  He shows the merchant's copy of the receipt to the agents.

  SHOPKEEP

  Looks like they bought a gag gun. You know, the kind where you pull the trigger and a little flag pops out, "Bang!"

  Brady takes the receipt. On it, above the words "Gag Gun, one," in the same oddly ancient handwriting as the map, is an address--222 Main Street, Crampton, Ohio.

  HELEN

  Why didn't this address show up on our receipt?

  SHOPKEEP

  Did you try this?

  He takes the original receipt from Helen. Producing a lighter from his shirt pocket, the shopkeep places its flame near the paper. Brown lettering fades into view: the address ... the words "Gag Gun, one" ... and, at the bottom, "If you really want to know."

  SHOPKEEP

  Invisible ink. Hokey as it gets.

  HELEN

  That doesn't make sense. Forensics tested the paper for chemicals. They would have found traces of the ink.

  The shopkeep lights another cigarette.

  SHOPKEEP

  That's why they call it magic, toots.

  The shopkeep starts to hand the original receipt back to the agents, then notices the map on the back, with the words "Yellow House." A cunning smile splits his face.

  SHOPKEEP

  Yellow house, huh?

  BRADY

  Does this mean something to you?

  SHOPKEEP

  It's probably nothing, but there's this saying among magicians ... not all of them, just certain magicians, the ones that are a little kooky, if you know what I mean.

  HELEN

  What kind of saying?

  SHOPKEEP

  "I never want to live in a yellow house."

  BRADY

  What does it mean?

  He takes a long drag off his cigarette, blowing the smoke out his nose.

  SHOPKEEP

  Dunno. I'm not that kind of magician.

  Brady and Helen take back the receipt and head for the exit. As they pass the wall of dummies--

  DUMMY'S POV - in the FISH-EYE, we see Brady turn to Helen.

  BRADY

  I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to think this might be more than a loose thread after all.

  HELEN

  (pulling out a cell phone)

  I'll call Washington and see if we can get on a redeye flight to Ohio.

  SHOP

  As he turns back to the door, Brady is nearly knocked over by a CLOWN, its face made up into a smile of torturous proportions. For a moment, they are practically nose-to-nose.

  The clown mimes brushing itself off before heading into the shop. Brady and Helen step outside. Brady is visibly shaken.

  HELEN

  You're not one of those people who's scared of clowns, are you?

  Inside the shop, we see the clown turn towards the closing door. Slowly and very deliberately, it jams a finger way up into one of its clown nostrils. It is almost an obscene gesture. The door closes.

  BRADY

  I am now.

  CUT TO:

  INT. AIRPLANE - NIGHT

  Most of the passengers are trying to sleep, including--

  BRADY

  --sleeping between two overweight passengers. His face twitches, his eyelids quiver.

  DREAM SEQUENCE - a HAND-HELD CAMERA stalks the halls of an old, dark house. It looks into rooms empty but for tipped-over furniture or moldering cardboard boxes.

  AIRPLANE - CU ON BRADY'S FACE

  Beads of sweat have formed on his brow.

  DREAM

  The HAND-HELD climbs a flight of rickety stairs and explores a few more abandoned rooms. We begin to hear that ROARING SOUND, starting low but rising.

  AIRPLANE - CU CLOSED EYES

  Beneath their lids the eyes are rolling like crazy.

  DREAM

  Through a door into what might have been a master bedroom, empty now. One wall is covered floor-to-celling by a tattered curtain. The ROARING GETS LOUDER as we approach the curtain, close enough to touch it now. It is NEAR DEAFENING as the curtain is drawn aside--

  AIRPLANE - CU CLOSED EYES

  The eyes open wide and the sleeper jumps. It is Helen, not Brady. She looks shaken, pale. The ROARING sound becomes the WHINE of airplane engines.

  PILOT (OVER INTERCOM)

  Uh, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we've got some rough air underneath us. We'd appreciate it if you'd just sit tight, make sure any loose items are stowed in the space under the seat in front of you. We should be on the ground in Cincinnati in about twenty minutes.

  Gradually, the plane's passengers all start to wake. The plane trembles some as it hits the turbulent air. Through the windows, we see the sun is starting to rise.

  Helen looks over her shoulder at Brady, sitting three rows back on the other side of the aisle. He, too, looks pale, shaken. He mops his sweaty face with a handkerchief, then notices Helen looking at him. He flashes her a weak thumbs-up.

  INT. AIRPORT

  Helen is talking on her cell phone, holding her hand against her other ear so she can hear better.

  HELEN

  ... I'm sorry, could you say that again? ... Okay ... Right, I'll tell him ... What time?

  (she looks at her watch)

  ... Sure ... Thank you, sir.

  Brady walks up with two coffees and two individually-wrapped muffins. Helen snaps her phone shut.

  BRADY

  (handing her a coffee and a muffin)

  For you. All they had was poppyseed. If it makes you feel better, they're mostly preservatives--completely negates any nutritious content.

  HELEN

  Thanks.

  BRADY

  What's the word from Washington?

  HELEN

  Well, my phone kept breaking up, but what I got wasn't good. You know that terrorist thing they fed to the press?

  BRADY

  (through a mouthful of muffin)

  Uh huh.

  HELEN

  I guess there was some kind of assassination attempt on the Syrian ambassador. They think it could be in response to the attack on Larry Johnson.

  BRADY

  Oh, shit. How are the Syrians taking it?

  HELEN

  Not good. There's rioting outside the U.S. embassy in Damascus. They're calling in the Army to secure the place.

  BRADY

  Why don't they admit they made it up, or call it a false lead or something?

  HELEN

  It's too late for that. If they back out now, how's it going to look? "Gee, sorry we almost got your ambassador killed." They're not going to retract the terrorist story until we've put the Johnson thing to bed, so
they can put whatever spin on it they have to.

  BRADY

  Then let's get moving.

  HELEN

  Wait ... there's something else.

  BRADY

  Hm?

  HELEN

  Those magician guys, your snitches ... somebody killed them.

  BRADY

  What? Both of them?

  HELEN

  Both of them.

  BRADY

  Aww, man. I guess that was bound to happen one of these days, they rip off the wrong guy and end up shot in an alley or--

  HELEN

  Their heads were out off. The bodies were dumped on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

  BRADY

  Jesus Christ! Who the fuck would do something like that?

  HELEN

  I guess you're supposed to find that out when we get done with this.

  Brady just stands there, stunned.

  HELEN

  Come on, one case at a time.

  She grabs his arm and leads him away.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. ROUTE 7, OHIO - DAY

  Route 7 traverses a particularly drab section of the already flat and featureless terrain that is Ohio--mile after mile of cornfields, mom-and-pop gas stations, and farmhouses one hard shove away from falling down.

  INT. CAR - DAY

  Helen driving, Brady in the passenger's seat looking sullen.

  HELEN

  You always this chatty?

  (no response from Brady)

  Look, are you okay? You seem to be taking this snitch thing kind of hard. You weren't...

  BRADY

  (after waiting for Helen to finish her sentence)

  Weren't what?

  HELEN

  You know. There wasn't something ... going on with you three, was there?

  Brady looks at Helen to see if she's serious. Helen holds a straight face as long as she can, then cracks a smile.

  BRADY

  Oh, fuck off, just fuck right off.

  HELEN

  Seriously, you going to be okay?

  BRADY

  Yeah, I'm going to be okay. Back in Detroit, It seemed like weird shit would happen all the time. I mean really weird shit. I learned that the more out of hand things get, the more important it is to just put your head down and treat it like any other situation. That's the only way to work through the really weird shit.

  HELEN

  (pointing out the windshield)

  Hey, do you see that?

  Brady's eyes follow where Helen is pointing. With the flatness of the land, they can see miles in the distance. Ahead, apparently on this same road, is a house.

  BRADY

  It's a house.

  HELEN

  It's a yellow house.

  Brady squints at the house.

  BRADY

  What, our yellow house?

  HELEN

  I don't know. Get the receipt out of my briefcase.

  Brady pulls the briefcase out of the back seat and takes out the receipt, still in the plastic baggie. He examines the hand-drawn map on the back.

  HELEN

  (also looking at the map)

  Is it the same house?

  BRADY

  I don't know. There aren't any landmarks or anything on this, but I suppose it could be the same one. Maybe our luck is changing after--

  HELEN

  Shouldn't we be getting closer?

  Brady looks up. Though heat waves coming off the asphalt distort the view, the house appears to be in exactly the same place, several miles farther down Route 7. They don't seem to have closed the gap at all.

  BRADY

  (squinting)

  Aren't we?

  HELEN

  (also squinting)

  I don't think so.

  BRADY

  Speed up or something.

  HELEN

  I'm already doing ten over. We should be at least halfway there.

  BRADY

  Maybe ... maybe it's an optical illusion. You know, like when concrete gets hot and it looks like there's water on the road?

  Their car passes through a copse of trees--a rarity in this barren area--and for a moment, the house is out of their view.

  HELEN

  That's got to be the dumbest--

  They emerge from behind the trees. The yellow house is right in front of them.

  Helen STOMPS on the brakes. Brady is slammed against his seat belt. Everything from the back seat is thrown into the front seat. The car comes to a SKIDDING stop in front of the yellow house.

  For a few seconds, Brady and Helen sit silently, catching their breath, looking at the yellow house.

  BRADY

  I guess we'd better check it out. (Beat) Right?

  He looks at Helen, his eyes saying "say no."

  HELEN

  Right.

  BRADY

  (resigned)

  Right.

  EXT. YELLOW HOUSE - DAY

  The yellow house is small, but from the outside appears well maintained. The front porch is painted white, with flowery accents. Under the front door is a fancy welcome mat.

  Brady and Helen climb the steps cautiously. They KNOCK on the door. No answer. Brady tries the doorknob--unlocked.

  BRADY

  One of those neighborhoods.

  INT. YELLOW HOUSE

  They enter. The inside of the yellow house is as uninviting as the exterior is welcoming: dark, musty, and overwhelmingly claustrophobic. It looks more like a nest than a home.

  BRADY

  Hello?

  Brady nearly trips over a bunch of tin cans that are stacked near the front door, knocking them all over. He holds a can up for Helen to Bee. Its label reads, "POTTED MEAT."

  HELEN

  Yummy.

  From OFFSCREEN comes the unmistakable sound of a SHOTGUN RACKING. Brady and Helen spin to face the sound, their guns drawn.

  BRADY AND HELEN

  FBI!

  Standing in the narrow hallway, mostly hidden in shadow, is a LARGE-BODIED MAN with a bushy, unkempt beard and wild, feral eyes, shaky hands gripping a sawed-off shotgun. He has the crazed look of someone who hasn't slept in a long, long time.

  HELEN

  Drop it!

  He complies, though whether out of obedience or fatigue it's impossible to tell. A second after the shotgun hits the floor Brady has him face-down, arms pinned.

  BEARDED MAN

  Officer Wells, right?

  BRADY

  Huh?

  BEARDED MAN

  Sorry, I guess it's Agent Wells, now.

  Brady turns the man over a little to get a better look at his face. With a look of shock, he recognizes him.

  BRADY

  Ricky Smith?

  RICKY nods. Brady lets him up. Wasted and apparently exhausted, Ricky bears little resemblance to the son of a bitch from the crime-scene video.

  BRADY

  Holy shit.

  HELEN

  What happened to you?

  RICKY

  You don't really want to know.

  He drops into a chair.

  RICKY

  What brings the FBI out here, to the middle of nowhere?

  HELEN

  It's Larry Johnson. He's dead.

  Ricky smiles wryly.

  RICKY

  Lucky bastard.

  CUT TO:

  INT. YELLOW HOUSE - KITCHEN

  Another squalid little room in this squalid little house, decor courtesy of K-Mart, circa 1956.

  Brady and Helen have brought Ricky up to date on their investigation of Johnson's murder, and are now hitting him with a barrage of questions. Ricky's head ping-pongs between them as they interrogate him.

  BRADY

  Are you sure there's nothing you can tell us that might help us out? Something about the Mystery Line case, maybe?

  RICKY

  I'm sorry, Agent Wells. It was a long time ago.

  HELEN

  Had
you spoken with Johnson recently?

  RICKY

  My relationship with the Bureau ended six years ago. That included Larry Johnson.

  BRADY

  I heard that it ended on a sour note.

  RICKY

  Larry and I had trouble seeing things the same way.

  HELEN

  So how did you end up here? "The middle of nowhere"--your words.

  RICKY

  I like it out here, in the heartland. Once you live here you never want to live anywhere else. It's real.

  BRADY

  Compared to what?

  Brady and Helen aren't buying it, and Ricky knows it. In an attempt to change the subject, he silently stands, opens a drawer, and pulls out a pack of playing cards.

  RICKY

  Do you like card tricks? I don't care for them myself, but some people do seem to enjoy such things. Magic. Illusion. Smarmy little creeps in tuxedoes. All that nonsense.

  Ricky shuffles the cards. He fans the deck face-down.

  RICKY

  Take a card.

  BRADY

  I don't really appreciate you--

  RICKY

  Please take a card, Agent Wells.

  Reluctantly, Brady draws a card--the Eight of Spades.

  RICKY

  Now place it back in the deck. Anywhere you like.

  Brady slips the card back into the deck. Ricky mixes the pack again, using a rather theatrical one-handed shuffle.

  HELEN

  I thought you didn't care for card tricks.

  RICKY

  You pick these things up along the way.

  He fans the cards face-up and lays them on the table.

  BRADY

  (sarcastically)

  Well, I'll be. No Eight of Spades. My nephew does that trick every year at Christmas. Except he always says "Ala peanut-butter sandwiches" at the end. You stick it up your sleeve or ditch it under the table?

  RICKY

  It's in your partner's left hand.

  Helen's hands have been in her coat pockets the whole time. She removes her left hand. In her left palm she is cupping the Sight of Spades.

  HELEN

  (to RICKY)

  You put the card in my pocket.

  RICKY

  I assure you, I did not.

  HELEN

  Then it must have been there before.

  BRADY

  Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.

  RICKY

  This illustrates a very basic precept of human psychology--that, when faced with an illogical situation, the mind searches for the most logical explanation.

  And in magic, as in everything else, the most logical explanation is almost always the right one. Because there is no such thing as magic.

  Ricky pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.