Happy Little Horrors: Freak Show

by David Reuben

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A pretty long time,” I answered.

  “Is that why you’re dressed up like a cowboy?” she asked.

  To the uneducated, I might slightly resemble a cowboy. In all actuality, I hated cowboys. Many of my gunfights were with the rowdy cowboys who were always looking to make a name for themselves. I was out in the West ... sure, but not as a cowboy. I’ve never in my life done a single day of cowboying. I was a gunfighter. I wore black boots, black trousers, white shirt, black vest, and I believe I already mentioned my thigh-length coat. I had half a mind to tell her off, but I chose not to on account of her having been through enough.

  “That’s my era, but I’m no cowboy,” I replied in as gentle a voice as I could, which wasn’t very gentle.

  “You’re wearing a cowboy hat.”

  “It’s a short-brim hat,” I said. It’s what we wore in cities and towns. Cowboys wore a wide brim hat.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know much about the Old West. My brother was the expert. Don’t suppose you met anyone famous back then?”

  “You might say I have.” I answered. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

  “What’s your name, by the way?” she asked.

  “Jacob,” I answered.

  “Jacob what?” she asked.

  Here it comes.

  “Jacob Butcher,” I said.

  “Jacob Butcher … Jacob Butcher ... why does that name sound familiar?”

  “I’m sure it’ll come to you,” I answered.

  I offered up my hand, she took it and the two of us walked out the door, down the hallway and met up with the staircase before we heard Serena doing her thing.

  “I feel tingly,” said Shelly.

  “You’re been called forth by a psychic,” I answered.

  “What do I do?”

  “That’s actually up to you. Being called forth by a psychic is one of the few exceptions allowed. You can choose to speak to your relatives or we can continue to leave.”

  “GRRRRRRRR!”

  The growl caught me off guard. I almost jumped. It seemed to be coming from somewhere downstairs. The Death Compass vibrated out a warning for me, but I didn’t need to open it to know what kind of a warning.

  We had a demon!

  We also had a newborn ghost who had just been startled enough to remember how she died.

  “It’s back,” said Shelly. “It’s back. It’s been after me for so long. I don’t know why it keeps hurting me. It bites me and pushes me and scratches me ... it won’t go away. Nobody believes me ... I ... I had had enough. I thought if I went to the lake and ... and ... and ...”

  Shelly was a suicide. Suicides always end up as ghosts. The demon had harassed her until she couldn’t take it anymore and decided to end her life. Serena being here and conducting the séance must have brought it forth once again.

  Things just got interesting.

  “Go back to your room,” I said.

  I took the stairs about four at a time. I pulled out two Schofields from my shoulder rig, one for each hand. As quick as I could, I darted to one side of the doorway to the séance room. I only saw the breathers. I slipped my goggles down over my eyes once again. Still no demon. I willed myself invisible; now even ghosts and demons wouldn’t be able to see me.

  Serena shifted her gaze to my doorway. She was good alright.

  “Jacob, is that you?” she asked, before explaining to the other five people that I was a sort of friend of hers.

  “We have a problem here, Serena,” I said. “You just woke up a demon.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she said. “What about Shelly? I sensed her here earlier.”

  “The girl’s fine,” I said. “I’ll take care of her. You need to get the skin bags outta here.”

  “What about the demon?” she asked. “Why’s there a demon here?”

  “I don’t know yet, but it drove Shelly to suicide.”

  A cold chill entered the room. It was invisible to the breathers, but they still sensed it. I saw the fear contort their features. It felt a lot like dipping your veins in ice water. It made you want to leave the room. A demon could even affect ghosts.

  The breathers may not have been able to see the beast that just entered the room, but I sure as hell could. My goggles made it as clear as day as they whirled and clicked to the demon’s signature. Through the blue tint it took the form of a whirling gray cloud which filled up a good corner of the room.

  Serena was telling everyone to be calm and quickly leave the house.

  They weren’t fast enough.

  There were two doors to the room and both of them slammed shut before the breathers even got out of their chairs.

  I heard a scream and phased my way inside. It was dark; the candles had blown out.

  “Tell you what,” I said to the demon. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  “Is there a Marshal in this room,” said the demon in a voice too deep to have ever been human.

  I willed myself visible and stared at the whirling cloud with both pistols in hands.

  The demon in turn took on a human form. The cloud twisted and turned until it was the basic outline of a man, then the cloud dissolved and before me stood a short man in a black suit. His long hair was even darker than his clothes and from a severe part in the middle of his head fell all the way to the floor and spread out on either side of him. His hands and feet were bare with yellowed nails sharpened to points.

  “I’m Jacob Butcher,” I said. “This is my jurisdiction.”

  “Ah, the Butcher himself,” purred the demon. “Well Mr. Butcher, I claim the soul of the recently departed.”

  “You can’t have her.”

  To be frank, I’m not big on small talk when I’m in a potentially dangerous situation. In my experience, those trying to engage in small talk are often doing so because they lack the courage to act. Small talk can get you killed.

  I shot the demon in the forehead.

  It howled out in pain and collapsed on the floor. Ectoplasm sprayed the walls behind it. The doors released immediately. A bullet in the forehead can break even a demon’s concentration. Serena jumped at the sound of my pistol, but quickly regrouped and ushered everyone out of the room and out of the house.

  I walked over towards the demon. I had barely taken three steps when it sprang to its feet and picked me up off the floor by the lapels of my coat. Ectoplasmic blood was oozing down its face as it smiled at me.

  Then it threw me across the room. As I flew through the air, I shot it multiple times with both pistols. It howled out in agony and ran for the stairs.

  I could have easily phased through the walls instead of hitting them, but I didn’t want to lose sight of the demon. It was a mistake on my part. I hit the wall so hard I ended up half way buried in it.

  I wasn’t dealing with a weak demon, which is what I was really, really hoping for. This thing was old and powerful. Normally a bullet in the head from my gun was the end of a fight. At least I could hurt it.

  Even though my body wasn’t flesh and blood it could still be injured. Not from slamming into a wall mind you, even though it rang my bell. There was something else wrong with me. The beast had torn out great chunks of my chest with its claws when it had grabbed ahold of me.

  I rapidly scanned the room for an electrical outlet. Bingo. I crawled over to it, reached out my hand and drew forth the electricity straight into my fingertips.

  In less than five minutes, I was back up on my feet. I quickly broke open each gun to expel the spent rounds and reloaded as I ran up the stairs.

  The demon hadn’t waited for me and after a rapid search of the upstairs I realized that it had also taken Shelly.

  Now I was pissed.

  I pulled out my Death Compass to get a lock on the demon. The map twirled and stopped on some rooftops. I floated up immediately and phased through the ceiling in pursuit. I checked the Compass again and saw the same
rooftops; this time, however, it also pointed an arrow in the direction that the demon had fled.

  I bolted in that direction. I can move pretty fast when I want to and it wasn’t long before I ran out of houses to jump on. I checked the Compass; I was still heading in the right direction. So I jumped thirty feet out into the night sky and took to the air before I even began my descent. In moments, I was flying over a bridge that connected the suburbs to the city and landing on the tallest building in the area.

  The demon was there waiting for me.

  It held Shelly by the neck in one hand and grinned at me like it didn’t have a care in the world, right before the fires of hell erupted from behind its yellow teeth and I had to roll behind an air conditioning unit to avoid being scorched. I came up with both pistols and punched about four holes in its head.

  The demon screamed, staggered, and released its hold on Shelly before opening its mouth impossibly wide for another eruption of fire.

  I drilled two shots down its throat just for the audacity of it.

  The demon wasn’t smiling anymore. It dove off the roof into the crowded streets below. I was about to dive down after it when Sweeny coughed behind me.

  “Don’t chase it anymore,” said Sweeny. “We have other matters to attend to.”

  “Like what?” I grumbled back as I looked over the edge of the building.

  “Like figuring out why a demon as important as Malfador wanted this young lady over here.”

  I looked over towards Shelly. She seemed shaken up, but otherwise just fine.

  “What kind of a name is Malfador?” asked Shelly.

  “Well Madame,” said Sweeny. “I’m not sure how you managed to grab his attention, but Malfador is a very high-ranking demon. His name literally means ‘hatred of the souls.’ He doesn’t normally go for harassing mortals and he won’t be happy that our friend Mr. Butcher over there shot him full of bullets. I doubt we’ll be lucky to catch him unprepared again. I think the pistols were a bit of a shock for him. He comes from a time way before firearms and I doubt he’s paid much attention to recent developments in weapons.”

  “Then why don’t I finish him off before he has time to adjust?”

  “Because I don’t know what he’s after just yet. Demons like him don’t come forth unless they can accomplish something catastrophic. For all we know, he could be a part of something much, much bigger than a simple soul taking.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “For now at least, we sit and wait for him to make the next move. It’s not the most acceptable idea I’m sure, but it’s all we can do.”

  I wasn’t happy, but what could I do?

  “Well at least the girl’s safe. Do you want me to call in the BRD or can you handle it?”

  “Better keep her where she can be most protected,” said Sweeny. “For the time being, consider her your new partner.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I growled. “I don’t know how to handle a newborn. What am I supposed to do with her?”

  Sweeny didn’t mean to, but he took an involuntary step back.

  “Look Jake ...”

  “Jake the Butcher?” said Shelly.

  Here we go; the cats are out of the bag.

  “Are you really Jake the Butcher?”

  “It was a long time ago. Don’t get excited,” I replied.

  “Jake the Butcher was a killer in the Old West. My brother says you were the deadliest gunfighter ever. He says you even killed innocent men, women, and children. At least until you were shot down by ... by ...”

  “My wife,’ I snarled. “It’s a long story and I’m not in the habit of telling it.”

  “He’s also on the side of righteousness now, my dear,” said Sweeny. “It’s all a part of his ... shall we say penance?”

  “Good enough for me,” I snapped.

  “Look ... Jacob, I wanna be where it’s safest and if half of the stories about you are true, then I can’t see how this BRD would be nearly as good. Besides, you can teach me how to defend myself in case that ... that thing comes back after me. I’ve been in fear so long. I don’t want to ... I don’t want to ...”

  She couldn’t continue. She couldn’t speak through the sobs.

  “Well,” said Sweeny. “I guess that settles things. Take care of her, Jacob. It may be that she will be very important in the near future.”

  Sweeny then pulled out a small brass whistle and blew an eerie little note into the night sky. Almost immediately, the black carriage descended from behind a passing cloud and landed on the building between us.

  “I’ll be in touch,” said Sweeny as he entered the carriage.

  I stared after him as the horses thundered across the night sky. Eventually, my gaze drifted back to the girl. She was sitting cross-legged in a patch of gravel, still sobbing.

  “Damn,” I muttered under my breath as I walked over to help her up.

  IN THE NAME OF SCIENCE

  By Michael Robertson

  Alice pressed her fork down on her steak. The soft meat leaked a pool of blood that spread over her white plate, soaking into the potatoes and broccoli. A slow heave lifted in her throat, and she gulped several times to combat the excess saliva gushing through her mouth. She could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. “How was the–” another heave rose up, and she cleared it with a cough that echoed through the sparse room. “How was the lab today, John?”

  A thick frown furrowed John’s brow. This was his usual response to most questions. Everything was an irritation. Such banal conversations were light years behind his vast intellect. He ejected the word as if even the thought of speaking was below him. “Stressful.”

  The rejection sent a sharp stab through Alice’s stomach. Despite receiving a similar response from John countless times, she never got used to it. Constant rebuffing from someone she looked up to was never easy to take. With no idea what to say next, she sat with her face on fire and chewed her lip.

  John flashed a grin of wonky teeth that threw shadows across his angular face. It took all of Alice’s strength not to flinch at the ghastly sight. “I must say though, it’s been made a little easier by Wilfred having to make me this meal.”

  A deep breath filled Alice’s sinuses with the smell of disinfectant, the smell she associated with John. Having spent decades studying bacteria and disease, his cleanliness now bordered on obsessive-compulsive. A frown darkened her view. “What did you say the bet was?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Looking into his sharp blue eyes, Alice waited for him to say more.

  He didn’t.

  Looking first at the man, dressed in his white lab coat, she then looked around at his white, minimalist penthouse apartment. Everything had a place, and everything was necessary. There were no ornaments, unless you counted the beakers and test tubes that were a permanent feature on the work surfaces. Photographs wouldn’t even make it through the front door here. This was no place for sentimentality.

  Alice squirmed in her seat as the silence gathered. John was the only person that could make her writhe in her own skin. It happened every time they were together. Before the atmosphere overwhelmed her, she spoke, her voice coming out as a weak croak. “So, what was the bet about?”

  “An experiment. I predicted the correct result.”

  It was like talking to a machine. Try as she might, Alice couldn’t fight the frown that dipped over her eyes.

  “Oh, do pull yourself together, woman,” John scolded. “You’ve got to learn to stop being so sensitive.”

  The resentment had been backing up for months. Every time he’d humiliated her during a lecture, every time he’d not let her finish her point, every time he’d selected her to clean the lab at the end of the day. A deep breath wasn’t going to hold her retort back, and she regretted her words before they’d even passed her lips.

  “How about you learn to stop being so insensitive?”

  Flicking a bony hand in her direction, he said, “It’s these emoti
onal fluctuations that take away your ability to be objective. That’s why men make better scientists.”

  “And terrible companions.”

  Peering over his glasses, John continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “They can leave their baggage at the door.”

  For the second time her face smouldered. “You left your baggage in the delivery ward, John. Maybe your sociopathic detachment serves you well in the world of science, but it doesn’t equip you to deal with the real world. Without science, you’d be stranded.” Her vision blurred. Why did she have to cry every time she got angry?

  John sighed and shook his head.

  Looking down at her dinner, Alice prodded the soft steak. Maybe a scalpel would be more appropriate than the wooden-handled steak knife in her hand. Feeling John’s beady scrutiny boring into the top of her drooped head, she cut into the steak.

  The sheer amount of blood turned the meat slick. It sat like jelly on her tongue. Unable to chew it, she took a deep gulp, but the piece of steak was too large. It stuck in her throat like it was barbed. Her heart rate exploded as metallic juices slithered down her oesophagus.

  John watched on, his expression unchanged.

  With her pulse sounding in her skull, she held her neck and wheezed, “Help me.”

  It took several heavy pulls to swallow the meat. Once it was down, Alice leant on the table and gasped. Adrenaline gripped her body. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand to stop her mascara from running, she looked up to see John watching her with his usual blank expression. Why didn’t he help her?

  Alice flinched every time her cutlery hit the porcelain plate and the sharp chink bounced around the quiet room. After she’d cut everything up, she stared at her food. Her throat was still tight from choking; the sweet red wine helped only a little.

  She gasped when she looked up and met the sharp blue eyes of her host. Had he been watching her the entire time? Glaring at her like he had when she was choking? Asking him why he hadn’t come to her rescue was pointless; she already knew the answer. He wasn’t the type to pander to weakness. Crying, choking, illness… as far as he was concerned it was all in the mind.