SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

by Rumours of the Grotesque (v1. 0) [lit]

  "Where's Mr. Costello? Is he still the janitor?” Joey scanned the audience. “Can we get someone to clean that up?” More laughter rippled. “Now that's a sharp sword.” Joey turned to the little open door through which Laura's dress could be seen.

  "It goes through tomatoes pretty easily,” he aimed the blade for the target, “but how about prom queens?"

  Suddenly, he rammed the blade through the hole. Laura's dress ripped, blood jumped from the tiny open door, and the tip of the sword came out the back of the cabinet. The audience reared back in their seats, gasping in horror. It wasn't real, it couldn't be. But it was so convincing.

  "How about that?” Joey smiled as Misha turned the wheeled cabinet for all to see. Then he knocked on the door by her face. “Laura? You in there?"

  "Uh-huh,” the muffled voice replied.

  Joey placed his hands on the hilt and began to tug, but the weapon was stubborn. He then lifted his leg, put a foot firmly against the cabinet, and tugged harder. The sword instantaneously sprang free, complete with a pair of panties dangling from the tip. The audience roared with laughter.

  Grinning, Joey stood tall and bowed from the waist. Applause erupted for him as he wiped his head with the pink underwear, then tossed them to Scotty. Misha unlocked the cabinet and helped Laura step clear. The accolade grew louder as the audience witnessed her untouched, bloodless dress. Dazed, Laura let the moment sweep her in, and she took a shy bow as well.

  "Thank you, Laura,” Joey said into the wireless headset microphone. “Your husband has your underwear."

  She blushed, realizing he had actually removed her panties while inside the cabinet. As Laura took her seat next to Scott, she grabbed the underwear from him. They were wet with Scott's sweat; his forehead was soaked as were his armpits and shirt.

  "Now, for my finale.” Joey gestured to Scott; the magician's eyes narrowed over his surgically-enhanced nose. “Your turn, big man."

  Terror froze Scott to his chair. Joey's long arm was extended, fingers curling seductively, eyes burning a hole in his skull. In his chest, his heart beat like an engine. Firing, popping, firing, sucking blood through ventricles and forcing it through to the rest of his body. Scott's veins pulsed in high relief, sweat drenched his collar, and a pinch of dark pain snapped his left hand.

  "No, really...” Scott declined with a wave of his hand.

  "C'mon, Scotty, you're not afraid are you?” Joey's fingers rolled.

  The crowd took up a chant:Scotty, Scotty, Scotty . Just like in high school, Scott thought. They all counted on him, looked up to him, depended on him to do what they all wanted to do but couldn't. Even if it meant teasing the Magnificent Nothing until he cried with humiliation.

  Reluctantly, Scott rose to his feet. He reached for a napkin and wiped his face before letting Joey take him to the second cabinet. Misha attended the coffin-like box and pulled a small stepstool from the side table.

  "Go ahead, Scott,” Joey instructed, “step up and lie down in the box."

  Misha extended her creamy, lithe hand to Scott and helped him up the stairs. Then, she assisted him as he stretched out in the box before snapping the lid shut. After that, she followed through with a game show model refrigerator-sweep of the hand.

  "Let's hear it for Scotty Frank.” Joey instigated a round of applause. He collected two swords from the table. “Misha, my dear, can we see if Scotty's okay?"

  Silently, Misha rolled the box to center stage and began to pump a small hand-crank. The cabinet slowly rose to a 45-degree angle. It was then that the audience could see a small door over the head. Misha flipped a latch and revealed Scott's harried, desperate face. His eyes danced like jittery chorus boys, back and forth—back and forth. And drops of perspiration beaded in his heavy, thick eyebrows.

  "Scotty, you okay?” Joey grinned at the audience. “Got enough room in there? How about another round of applause for Scotty?” The audience responded enthusiastically. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to see the utter fantastic."

  Joey circled the cabinet with a sword in each hand. “This won't hurt a bit.” He turned to the audience and winked obviously. “I promise."

  Scotty's heart rammed the walls of his chest, leaping to burst from his skin. Every beat was hard and difficult, and the shining swords dangling above him did not help his condition.

  "This is my greatest feat as an artist, and you'll all be the first to see it."

  Then, Joey squared his shoulders with the cabinet. He took one step and raised the swords like hammers. Scotty's eyes dripped, a mixture of tears and sweat, as the tips inched closer to the opening. He could see Joey's eyes blazing with the anger of a decade. Joey took two more steps and nestled the tips in grooves just to the side of Scotty's ears. That was the first time Scotty noticed the space between the boards running the length of the cabinet. A channel hidden by fancy paint that stretched from ear to foot, a perfect path for each razor-sharp sword.

  Suddenly, Joey grinned and threw his weight against the hilts of the swords. They sank past Scotty's ears, penetrating the wood. As the silver tips burst out the back side, the audience screamed excitedly, and Joey and Scotty were nose to nose.

  Joey spoke in hot whispers that his mike did not catch. “How does it feel, huh?"

  "C'mon,” Scotty panted, “let me out. I don't feel right."

  "You should have thought about feeling right a long time ago.” Joey gripped each sword tightly. “No extra points for you, Mr. Hero."

  With that said, Joey glanced at Misha. She had inconspicuously moved closer to one of the flashpots. Conroy was no longer on the stage, and that meant he was no longer in the building. Joey confirmed that through his headset. Joey Normknuckle, the great Dragon, smiled wickedly. Then, he simply let his legs collapse, and his body weight began to pull the swords through the cabinet.

  "No!” Scotty screamed, heart leaping and skipping beats.

  Blood ruptured from the fissures as Joey sank lower and lower. The swords passed Scotty's neck, thumping chest, expanding beer belly, hips, thighs, arthritic knees, and feet. Just like Laura's trick, the blood oozed out of the cracks and onto the stage, causing the audience to gasp in horror before exploding into boisterous applause.

  At the bottom of the trick, Joey sprang out of his crouched position, executed a half-turn in mid-air, and struck an instantaneous bow upon landing. The audience boomed. Inside the cabinet, Scotty Frank swam in sweat. The pinch of pain in his arm ignited and consumed his arm. Similar, excruciating pain took his leg and traveled upward. Suddenly, three huge shocks rocked Scotty. His heart gave one feeble pump, then fell dark.

  Taking another bow, Joey stepped back by Misha who was simply standing proudly, beautifully, waiting for him. They stood together for a moment, kissed, took a final bow, and the flashpots exploded. When the smoke and fire cleared, the audience stood to their feet in riotous applause, but Joey Normknuckle and his exquisite wife had vanished.

  CUE CURTAIN

  FADE TO BLACK

  Braincoat

  The fields have grown over now, years since they've seen the plow ... is it really him or the loss of my innocence ... Like strawberry wine ... my first taste of love....

  "I've prayed to the Lord and been to the River.” Velma was such a sensible woman. Quiet and God-fearing—with the stump of a surplus, gimpy leg hiding beneath her skirts. “But I'm still at a loss."

  "Calm down Velma,” said Judd Parker as he sat at the head of a folding banquet table in the front of the grimy, tiny diner. “This is an open council meeting. Y'all can bring anything to us."

  Velma Vesper, nothing more than a churchmouse in a housedress, wrung her nervous bird-like hands. “It's my daughter, Lurleen. I don't know what to do with her. No amount of beatin’ is gettin’ her to act right. She's done gone wild. Y'all all know what a time I've been havin’ with her."

  Judd Parker sighed his fifty-year-old Boss Hog sigh and looked at the rest of the board members. He knew this day would come, the day when th
e modern world pushed the tiny Appalachian hamlet of Parkerville, Tennessee too far. For so long they had kept the evil of the outside world at bay. No television, no phones, no blasphemous modern education. The very precious few modern conveniences they did have were deemed acceptable by the Town Board. Things like Shamus Parker's tractor, Velma's washing machine, and a gas generator to keep the Coke machine running.

  It was a fatal mistake letting Velma take Lurleen to the big city of Pigeon Forge in the East. Poor girl, only 15 and no man in sight. The boys in Parkerville thought she was strange, and honestly, she was a little like her daddy. That was the poorest soul of all, taking to drinking like he did. Another evil of the outside that the riverfolk had to deal with.

  Like a disease, the modern world—with all its vices and evil ungodly ways—had attached itself to poor Lurleen. She hadn't stood a chance against those city boys in snakeskin boots and pickup trucks. They were so good-looking and young. They listened to devilish music on the radio, the kind that would make Kitty Wells scream bloody murder. Nashville had surely changed, worse than Memphis when Elvis hit town.

  The town of Parkerville was sheltered along the Tennessee River; the hills and water provided all that it needed. The Lord made sure of that. Parkerville had no use of anything from the outside. They educated their own children, devoted their lives to the River and the Lord, and kept secretly to themselves. No stranger's blood mingled in their veins; it was pure to the land and the river.

  Judd could tell that the other elders, the town's leaders, felt the same. Enos Parker, great-great grandson of Chapman Parker who founded Parkerville in the late 1700s; Nate Vesper, Velma's grandfather; Martin Vesper, Velma's great uncle; and Walter Parker, Judd Parker's only brother. Walter used to be wild just like Lurleen, but they were able to save him from the evils of the outside. He looked kindly upon Velma, hoping to save his sister—who also happened to be his second cousin through incest.

  "Velma, can we have a minute to talk ‘bout this?” Judd motioned for her to leave.

  "I love my girl, but I cain't control her anymore,” Velma said laboriously before literally collapsing out of the diner's bent aluminum door.

  Judd waited until the door was closed before opening the floor to discussion. “Poor, Velma. She's beside herself with grief."

  "I'll say,” commented the oldest member of the board, Enos. “I feel for her, I really do."

  "Lurleen'll have to be dealt with,” inflected Nate. “She cain't be bringin’ outside ways to Parkerville. We better pray ‘bout what to do."

  "Prayin’ nothing!” shouted Martin. “I know she's my own kin, she's all of our kin some way or another, but we cain't let her get away with it. We got family traditions to uphold. First thing you know, she'll marry some boy from the outside. She's just like her daddy. I told you outsiders are no good. He tainted Lurleen's blood. One of us shoulda been her papa."

  "Martin,” Judd said, “we'll take care of Lurleen. We just got to do right by Velma. Lord, I feared somethin’ like this would happen after Lewis died. Without a man in that house, I knew Lurleen would go wild."

  Martin, the hothead of the bunch stood. “I vote we take her out to Shamus's barn before she causes a heap of trouble."

  "It'd kill Velma if we took Lurleen to Shamus's barn."

  "What's wrong, Judd?” Enos spoke again, his ancient voice cracking. “You goin’ soft? Remember the last time the outsiders started messin’ with our kids? I love this town and I love this River. I ain't about to let some outsider take it away. I second the notion to take her to Shamus's."

  Judd sighed; he could tell it was a losing battle with this group of men. “Anyone else?” It was unanimous. “All right, but we all got to be there for Velma. Well, go tell her to come back in."

  An anonymous young inbred boy with excessive birth defects went and fetched Velma from the concrete stoop of the diner. Outside, the spring rains pounded without mercy, swelling the mighty Tennessee just a mile down the road. Velma was soaked to the skin. Her frumpy house dress clung to her chicken-wire body in defeated fashion, outlining her mutation with wet cloth.

  "Velma,” Judd stood, jowls swinging and flopping against his flannel. “we've come to the unanimous decision that Lurleen be taken out to Shamus's barn."

  "Shamus's barn?” Her words echoed. “Lord, I prayed you wouldn't..."

  "We got traditions to protect,” Martin barked like a dog. “She's done gone wild. We got to protect ourselves."

  "But what about Lurleen? She's my baby.” Velma's tears flowed harder than the rain outside.

  Judd attempted to be the voice of reason. “I'm sorry, Vel. We got to think of the young ‘uns. We cain't have Lurleen actin’ like the devil. It's for the best. She's got a stranger's blood, we should have given her back to the River when she was born.” He motioned for the young boy to open the door. “This meeting's over. Go get your brother and the others. Take Lurleen to Shamus's, and spread the word there'll be a meetin’ of the riverfolk there tonight at midnight."

  Martin and Nate Vesper went to collect their relatives. Velma was a rag-doll, unable to stand on her own feet without assistance. It was hard on them, too. Lurleen was once their favorite, and they feared she'd some day go wild. Now she had, and once the decision was made, there was no turning back. Martin kissed Velma gently as they took her away. Lurleen should have been his spawn with his own kin, not the offspring of some stranger.

  "This is what's come of you marryin’ outside the family."

  * * * *

  Midnight brought a break in the rain as well as the clouds. Light from the waning moon could be seen through cracks in Shamus Parker's enormous barn. The structure was divided into two sections, a smaller front portion that housed ancient tractors and hay-bailing equipment and the large inner cavity full of hay, livestock, and stalls.

  Five burly teen boys held a demure young girl by the hands. The youngest of the group, an unusual paring of Parker/Parker mating, had a gimpy extra ear and the small bud of a surplus nose. The others displayed birth defects in varying degrees from decades of inbreeding, but little Lucas was the first to have such extreme features.

  All the adults were inside, talking in hushed whispers by lamplight. The horses stirred, the cows mooed, and the stench of unclean stalls permeated the entire area. Lurleen hated the smell; it was the perfume of a bumpkin. She wanted so desperately to be different, to be something but a hillbilly from Parkerville. She'd been spared the bane of wide-set eyes or an extra tongue by being sired with a stranger's seed. The only evidence that she was a Parker girl was her supple, creamy extra breast nestled securely between her two normal breasts. But, because she was a Parker girl, she kept them under strict control so the boys wouldn't go wild on her—that's what her mama always said. Boys like a girl's bosom, especially when there was an extra helping.

  Then, one day in Pigeon Forge, while shopping with her mama, she met a bunch of boys from Knoxville. Mama wouldn't let her talk to anyone and kept her from making eye contact. It was a rarity that anyone from Parkerville strayed to the outside world. But the cotton was bad last year; the River chose to flood the land instead of bless the people. They needed fabric to make clothes for the kids. Someone had to go, so they sent Velma.

  She was such a sensible woman. Velma didn't know, though, that Lurleen had witnessed her mother's secret longing for the outside world. Late one night, by the light of candles, Lurleen had peeked through the keyhole of her mama's bedroom door. Patsy Cline drifted from the old a.m. radio as Velma painted the toenails on her third leg. Who would be seeing that? Who knew? Lurleen thought her father must have seen that appendage, but he still loved her anyway. Maybe he sucked on those toes, kissing her passionately until they both twisted in ecstasy.

  Lurleen was a hillbilly up until the minute Velma went to the bathroom and left her standing across from the record store in a Pigeon Forge strip mall. Lurleen loved the way the boys looked at her and the way they smelled. They had different-colored hair, ea
rrings, and they wore snakeskin boots. Backward ballcaps and big silver belt buckles like saucers. And instead of old bluegrass, they listened to new redneck Nashville. God, how she loved to look at them. They drove a shiny blue pickup truck, and they had beer. And even though she had no makeup or clothes that fit, the city boys talked to her. She was gorgeous with long blonde hair and brilliant green eyes that could be seen even through the densest mountain fog. All it took was a smile from one of the boys, a kind word, a beer, and a joint.

  When Velma was reunited with Lurleen after 24 hours of separation, it was obvious the girl had been shamed by the outside world. She was drunk, and she quoted lyrics from Deana Carter. Strawberry Wine, she wouldn't stop singing the tune...

  The fields have grown over now, years since they've seen the plow ... is it really him or the loss of my innocence ... Like strawberry wine ... my first taste of love....

  Lurleen heard that particular tune, over and over in her mind. It was there always, calling to her with anthems.