A God in the Shed

by J-F. Dubeau

  Right in front of him, getting dusted off by an impossibly muscular six-and-a-half-foot man with an old-fashioned handlebar mustache, was a popcorn machine. The same one from his father’s picture. He could almost see Stephen Crowley standing in front of it with the young woman and the strange little boy. There was no doubt in Daniel’s mind that this was the same contraption. It even seemed to have been installed in the exact same place.

  A wave of nausea washed over the boy. His steps became sluggish as he moved toward the machine, as if he were walking through a vat of honey. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and his back. Halfway to the popcorn machine, a voice snapped him out of his reverie.

  “You won’t find what you’re looking for here, son.” The voice was old, tired, and in control.

  Daniel turned to face the person who had addressed him. He was an aged gentleman, wearing a clean but tattered old gray suit accented with a crisp, new, bright red vest. “Huh?” said the teenager.

  “No need to badger me with your razor-sharp wit, son; I’m telling you the truth.” The stranger held up both of his hands in mock surrender. “There is nothing here for you.”

  “How would you know what I’m looking for, sir?” asked Daniel. “I think I’ve already found it.”

  “This?” The old man walked over to the popcorn machine, gently laying a hand on the grease-stained glass. “I doubt that’s what you’re after. No, you’re looking for answers, but they aren’t here, Mr. Crowley.”

  “How do you know my name?” asked Daniel. He looked down to make sure he wasn’t wearing his grocery store name tag.

  “I know your father, and he looks just like you. Or at least he did.”

  “If you know my dad, then maybe you can help me.”

  “We’ve been through this, Mr. Crowley. Your answers are elsewhere.”

  “Let me ask and then we can see if you’re right.”

  The old man scratched at his chin. There was something impish about his grin as he considered the question.

  “Fine, but I’m going to ask something in return.”

  “Depends what it is,” Daniel answered, trying to be cautious.

  “Oh, nothing much. I just want you to deliver a message for me. A summons, if you will.” The old man cracked a small smile that was paradoxically creepy and comforting. “Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  By virtue of his father’s work, Daniel knew everyone in town and could easily find the old man’s friend. “Sure,” he said. “I’m looking for a man called Cicero.”

  “The proprietor of this fine organization? I warn you, he’s a busy man, especially on a day like this when so much needs to get done.” He winked. “And he’s likely to ask you something in return.”

  “So you’re him?” deduced Daniel.

  “Sharp lad. I am indeed Nathaniel Joseph Cicero, at your service.” The old man bowed deeply, with a grace belied by his wrinkled frame.

  “You say you know my father,” Daniel said. Cicero confirmed this with a nod. “Then do you remember him visiting your circus?”

  The old man stared into the distance, a look of regret in his eyes. “He was here when last the circus was in town. That was almost two decades ago.”

  “Do you remember who he was with?” pressed Daniel, eager to discover the identities of the woman and child in his father’s photograph.

  “Let me think, Mr. Crowley. Two decades is a long time.” Cicero looked around. Perhaps he was absentmindedly supervising the assembly of his circus; perhaps he was looking for something to jostle his memory. “Ah yes. He had his family with him.”

  “His . . . family?” The dizziness rushed back to Daniel’s head and he reached out to steady himself, his hand landing on the popcorn machine.

  “Yes. His lovely wife, Marguerite, and their son.” Cicero frowned, then smiled. “Well, their other son, I suppose.”

  “‘Other son’?” Daniel had to take a moment to compose himself. It had been difficult enough to deal with the revelation that his father was in a cult, but discovering that he had an older brother was an almost traumatic blow. It seemed like every day since Sam Finnegan had been arrested, another part of Daniel’s life unraveled.

  “I . . . ,” he murmured, scrambling to form the next question on his mind. But there wasn’t just one; there were dozens. Most of which he should be asking his father, not a worn-out old stranger.

  “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Crowley?” inquired the old man with obviously feigned concern. “Perhaps these were not the answers you were expecting? Dustin!”

  A large man with a serious demeanor but kind eyes approached. He wore overalls, carried a clipboard, and appeared vaguely bothered by the interruption.

  “Yes . . . ?”

  “Dustin, would you be so kind as to get this boy some water?”

  Dustin sighed loudly, but turned on his heel to obey the request.

  “I . . . I’m fine.” Daniel took a steadying breath. “Maybe I can change the subject for a minute?”

  “For the span of one question, Mr. Crowley. I have things to attend to.”

  “Fine, fine.” Daniel was more than happy to leave the circus now. There was a lot of thinking to be done. “I just want to know: Why were you a suspect in the Saint-Ferdinand killings?”

  Nathaniel Cicero’s face turned to stone. “A rather rude line of questioning, Mr. Crowley. You are your father’s son after all.” His frown deepened. “I was from out of town, and there were several disappearances during my stay. But no charges were ever brought against me. To your father’s great disappointment, I’m sure.”

  “Disappointment?” It was a strange word to use to describe his father’s professional attitude.

  “Don’t you know, Mr. Crowley? There is no love lost between me and your family. You and I, we’re supposed to be enemies.” Nathaniel’s face melted once more into a pleasant visage. “You look like a good kid. You don’t have to inherit this little war between your father and me, but that’s a choice you’re going to have to make yourself.”

  Daniel nodded, already drawing up a list of questions for his father.

  Dustin finally returned, carrying a plastic water bottle. Before he could get within arm’s length, however, the old man waved his employee away. Dustin sighed once more and, throwing his hands in the air, walked back the way he came, water bottle still in hand.

  “As you can see, Mr. Crowley“—Cicero indicated the bustling activity going on around him—“I really am quite busy. Shall we discuss that little errand you owe me?”

  VENUS

  “THIS ISN’T WORKING.”

  Penny was sitting cross-legged on Venus’s bed, bent over a bundle of fur and limbs. Strewn around her were wads of stuffing, scissors, and most of the contents of Grandma McKenzie’s old sewing kit. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt that served as a nightgown, cartoon horses printed on its front.

  Venus stood at the bedroom door, marveling at what she was seeing. After her beloved pet had been stripped of its skin and fur and then brought back to unnatural, gruesome life, Venus had finally sought her friend’s counsel. She explained everything she had discovered in the last week, ending with poor Sherbet’s terrible resurrection.

  Penny had taken the news rather well. She was fascinated with the flayed cat, fawning over the animal as if it were an adorable kitten. She had also grilled her friend with questions about the thing that was locked in the shed, begging to be allowed to see it. It was creepy, but at least her friend seemed to have forgotten their previous altercation.

  Venus was embarrassed that she’d been charmed and seduced by a devil clothed in shadows. Being able to confess had taken her all the way back to her rational self once more.

  But Penny’s calm acceptance of the situation had Venus worried. It was one thing to take an unusual circumstance in stride, and another to treat a reanimated jumble of muscles as if it were a cuddly pet.

  “Penny?” Venus said, nearly dropping a plate piled high with sandwiches. “W
hat are you doing? Is that Captain Mittens?”

  Captain Mittens was one of Venus’s favorite plush toys, a gift from her paternal grandmother before she had passed away. From what she could see, the stuffed cat had been eviscerated, its eyes plucked out, the stuffing removed.

  “This isn’t working at all,” Penny said, appraising the squirming thing she held in her hands. Clad in the remains of Captain Mittens, Sherbet was doing his best to escape the failed disguise attempt.

  Venus burst into laughter. Penny’s handiwork hung loosely from her cat’s flayed frame. The poor thing could barely see out of the eyeholes Penny had cut, and seemed extremely uncomfortable having its limbs trapped in the furry sleeves. Despite the grotesque yet hilarious result, Venus could see the potential of the idea quite clearly.

  “Oh my God, Penny,” she said, catching her breath. “That is the single most ridiculous act of genius I’ve ever seen. The execution, though . . . “

  Penny frowned and put the struggling cat down. Clumsily, it hopped and hobbled to the foot of the bed, where Venus picked it up. She removed the makeshift fur coat, leaving Sherbet to wander the room in his unnatural state. The sight still made Venus uneasy. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, putting the plate of food between herself and Penny.

  “We can probably fix this so it actually works,” Venus said, examining the small costume. “It just needs to be tightened in a few places.”

  “It’s just a prototype,” Penny answered, taking her creation back. “Sorry about your toy.”

  “It’s all right. Besides, it’s for a good cause.” She picked up a sandwich and took a bite. “Did you call Abraham?”

  “Yeah.” Penny grabbed a sandwich of her own. “I didn’t tell him anything. I figure he’ll see it when he sees it.”

  “So, uh . . . how are you coping today?” It was a question she asked often, trying to gauge her friend’s emotional state. Penny wasn’t particularly difficult to read, but Dr. Hazelwood had told her that getting more than surface impressions was important.

  “Not bad. I can go a few hours without thinking about it, but then out of nowhere I’ll feel all empty inside and start bawling my eyes out. I am getting better, though. Tomorrow I’m probably going to start talking with Dr. Hazelwood more seriously about what to do next.”

  Venus hesitated. She had just come back from meeting with Dr. Hazelwood and Inspector Crowley to discuss her uncle’s possible involvement in the murder of Gabrielle LaForest. Penny had reacted to the news of Randy’s arrest with disquieting calm. She’d called bullshit on the supernatural part of the story. Of course, Venus had kept secret some of the more intimate details of her encounters with the god, but after showing her friend Sherbet’s state, the outlandish story became a lot easier to believe. Venus had gone so far as to show her the captive thing through the monitor on her computer. Even though it was an unsatisfying scene, the monster still hiding in shadows and darkness, the older girl had been fascinated. Between that and fawning over Sherbet, Penelope was almost back to her old self.

  “So when’s he getting here?” Venus asked between bites.

  “Abe? I told him eight, so he should be here any minute. You were gone awhile, Aphrodite.”

  Venus frowned in jest. Penny usually called her by the annoying nickname for fun, which was probably a good sign. If she was able to tease her friends, then she was probably on the mend.

  They chatted for a while about a few mundane things, like the television shows Penelope had been watching to keep her mind busy. She’d gotten hooked on reality television makeover shows, and she detailed how the two of them should subject Abraham to something like that. It was refreshing to enjoy subjects that didn’t revolve around murder and monsters, loss and fear.

  But always at the back of her mind, Venus was keenly aware of what she had in her shed. What she was planning to show her friends later that night. It was both important and dangerous, like stumbling upon an atomic bomb in the woods. If that happened, though, it would be much easier to get the authorities involved.

  Once they finished their dinner, Venus moved to take the dish, but Penelope snatched it from her hand unexpectedly.

  “I’ll take care of that!” she said, and smiled. “You made the sandwiches—seems only fair I let you spend some time with your zombie cat.”

  Penny’s sudden cheerfulness surprised Venus. Was there such a thing as recovering too fast from tragedy? How would she react if her own parents were taken away in such a brutal fashion? How long would she mourn them? Would she be able to put on a brave face? Smile and joke to distract herself? She wasn’t as close to Paul and Virginie as Penny had been with her mom, but she did love her parents and would be devastated if they were killed so suddenly. How was her friend able to stay so upbeat?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise at the window. The familiar sound of a pebble hitting glass and rolling down shingles. Abraham. The large farm boy seemed to think he lived in a Mark Twain story instead of a semi-modern village where doorbells were common.

  “Use the front door, you idiot!” she yelled out at him as she opened the window and looked down.

  He’d obviously not bothered to change after working the fields all day. His overalls were filthy, and his T-shirt was stained with sweat. There was no doubt that he would have a ripe odor about him, but he didn’t seem to care one bit.

  “On second thought, stay there.”

  “Hello to you too!” He waved, flashing his usual warm and naive smile. “So what’s it that you wanted me to see? Something in your shed? Got some critter you need me to remove?”

  He started toward the padlocked door at the back of the yard. Night was falling, and the shadows of the trees made the twilight darker and more forbidding than it should be. A blanket of panic enveloped Venus’s mind.

  “It’s locked!” she shouted, and a good thing it was. Venus didn’t want her parents, her friends, or any random stranger to innocently walk in on the creature she was keeping prisoner. Seeing what it had done to Sherbet and the other animals made it clear what the shadow god was capable of.

  “I know the combination!” Abraham yelled back, getting ever closer to the shed, still smiling, not knowing what he was approaching.

  “Stop!” Venus screamed.

  Before Abraham could open the padlock or even reach the door, Venus threw herself out of her bedroom window. This wasn’t a completely new way of exiting the house for her. She’d carefully crawled out of her bedroom once or twice to hang out with a friend late at night. Not that her parents would have cared about her leaving the house, but like any teen, there were meetings she didn’t want her parents to know about. This wasn’t one of those careful, controlled descents, however. Venus slipped on the shingles beneath her window and slid down, face first, toward the gutters. Failing to stop herself, she rolled off the roof, landing flat on her back onto the lawn.

  “Veen!” Abraham ran to where his friend had fallen.

  Venus lay on her back, letting out a soft moan of pain and embarrassment as she stared at the darkening indigo sky. The wind had been knocked out of her, but she didn’t seem to have broken any limbs. Wiggling her toes, she silently counted herself lucky there were no rocks hidden beneath the overgrown grass.

  “Venus? You okay?” Abraham knelt next to her and grabbed her arm. “Don’t move. I’ll get your parents.”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She smiled at him warmly, glad for his concern but more so for getting him away from the shed.

  The big teen helped Venus get up, and she dusted herself off. Her entire back felt bruised, and her right arm was raw from scraping against the shingles, a thin layer of skin having been sanded off. It hurt, and she expected it would hurt even more the next morning. She began admonishing herself for such a stupid action but stopped, realizing she would have gladly broken an arm, or worse, to keep her friend from opening that door.

  “Damn, Venus, what the hell is in there?” Abraham’s usual nonchalant grin was
gone. In fact, she’d rarely ever seen him this concerned.

  “You won’t believe me when I tell you.”

  “Must be pretty bad if you’re throwing yourself off roofs about it.” A shadow of his goofy smile returned.

  “Oh yeah, it’s bad. Very bad.” Venus took a deep breath. “It’s . . . I think it’s a demon? Yeah, it’s probably more of a demon.”

  The farm boy didn’t blink or flinch. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not, but it didn’t matter. She intended to show both him and Penelope tonight.

  “A demon?” he finally said, a sprinkle of doubt in his voice.

  “You should see what it did to her cat,” said Penny from the side of the house, adjusting her shirt.

  Despite their topic of conversation, Abraham’s face lit up. He hadn’t seen Penny since the day her mother’s body had been found, and it was obvious he had been worried about her. The two friends embraced. Penny, who was usually the first to complain about Abraham’s lack of grooming, seemed perfectly happy hugging her filthy friend for as long as possible.

  “Ahem,” Venus interrupted, uncomfortable with the situation. “So? You guys want to see it?”

  The two teenagers let go of each other, an awkwardness falling between them.

  “Absolutely,” answered the older girl, pulling away from the big farm boy. “What do we need to know?”

  “Not much. Keep your backs to the wall, just like I do. It can’t get at you there, but don’t do anything that’ll mess with the camera and don’t, under any circumstance, agree to anything with it.”

  “What’s with the camera?” asked Abraham. They were both treating the situation very matter-of-factly, as if they dealt with death gods on a daily basis. In a way, simply by living in Saint-Ferdinand, they had.

  “It’s under some kind of curse or spell. It can’t move outside of the camera’s line of sight. And I don’t think it can move when it’s being observed.”

  Abraham nodded slowly. Hoping they both understood, Venus went to work on the padlock. It was a simple combination, the date of her late grandmother’s passing. Yet her nervousness made her fumble the correct numbers so that it took her several attempts to open the lock. She turned back to look at her friends and realized, even if they did seem to believe her, they had no concept of what they were about to see.