The Devils You Know

by M. C. Atwood

  Towering above me, two elephants rise up on their hind legs, lifting the four or five women standing on them as well. One woman points to us and laughs. “Step on the little mice, Gunther,” she says loudly, and I hear a loud crack as the elephant comes down and slams into the railing near us.

  We don’t wait around to see what happens next. We run up the ramp. Tusks skewer a wood wall to the left of us, right over our heads. Splinters and wood pieces rain down.

  “Run faster!” Paul yells and we all dig in. Gretchen has Ashley by the hand, pulling her, as she runs on her bandaged feet, to go faster, and Paul pushes me from behind. I stumble a little and almost run over Dylan in front of me, and then we turn another corner of the ramp, moving fully into the room.

  Music starts playing and I remember this room suddenly. I remember the nightmares I had after I saw it as a little kid.

  The room holds what looks like a huge traveling caravan with ornately carved gold fixtures. A circus caravan. Inside are about 50 mannequins dressed in something like army uniforms with scary rubber masks of different faces on each one. They hold instruments like tubas and drums, trumpets and clarinets and cymbals. More circus women stand on the caravan, dressed in belly dancer outfits, just like the women on the elephants.

  Worse, on the other side of the caravan, is another large band, this one seated like an orchestra. The men and women wear cheesy ’80s evening clothes and hold flutes, violins, cellos, and French horns. Their masks range from presidents—Nixon, Bush, Clinton—to Planet of the Apes masks to normal mannequin faces.

  When we run into the room, every single one of them turns their head and looks at us.

  If my count is right, there are over 100 angry, restless people-shaped people who want to kill us.

  Gretchen says, “Oh. My. God.”

  I’m not a believer, but right then, I pray to whatever might be listening, too.

  Part V

  There are some who visit Boulder House who understand. They walk through the House with eyes wide open, staring at its inhabitants, feeling the seething rage and despair boiling underneath and staring out of the eyes of the inanimate objects—the mannequins, the animals, the dolls. Some people refuse to even go in.

  Over time, the legend turned to story and the story turned to whispers, but still the whispers survived, winding through the countryside, told late at night as a warning to scare children, as a ghost story around a fire.

  The whispers said this: that the House comes alive when Maxwell Cartwright Jr. wants it to. They say that during certain times, when the dark magic is just right and the rage boils over and the stars cut the right angles through the sky, Maxwell Cartwright Jr. rises from the unknown. He rises in his true form, with a face made of nightmares, and looks around his creation, his curse. And, through the darkest of arts, he brings those souls he wants to him, to the House, to his game. Bending the very nature of the Universe to his will. To punish the world for its selfishness. Its abandonment.

  They say Maxwell Cartwright Jr. never tires of playing.

  _________________________________________________

  Excerpt from pp. 206, The Collections of Maxwell Cartwright Jr.

  GRETCHEN

  There is a moment when nothing and nobody moves. The figures in the room stare at us. We stare back. Then, faintly, from far away, I hear that clown-of-my-nightmares laugh again. And then glass shattering.

  And then all hell breaks loose.

  An elephant bellows again and for whatever reason, the band with the cellos starts playing. They play a fast, circus-y song, tapping toes and moving heads. A guy at the piano says, “All right!” and goes to town on the keyboard.

  A tusk breaks through the caravan from the other side, raining down more wood on us.

  And we, like idiots, are just standing here. I grab whoever is next to me and pull and start running like my life depends on it. Since it does.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tiger jump at one of the marching band guys and start ripping him apart. Screams fill the air. Other band members get up and try to wrench the tiger off, but an elephant foot crashes down on the caravan and crushes half of it. Three women topple off, screaming, and I see masked band members wiggling like pin-stuck bugs underneath the crushed part.

  The music starts to get more dissonant, notes thrown here and there. We are running straight to the part where the orchestra band is. The people—or whatever they are—begin throwing down their instruments and standing up, pointing at us.

  The clown laugh sounds behind me and then an elephant back foot steps down in front of me, knocking Paul into the wall and sprawling Violet and Dylan farther up the ramp. I fall back on my butt and something grabs my hair and pulls me up, turning me around at the same time. My head screams in pain. The mini bombs I have smack me in the leg and clink together.

  Right in front of my face is the clown’s face. He laughs in front of my eyes and his teeth show, jagged and pointy, exactly like a shark’s, like the demon’s.

  I scream.

  He leans in to bite me. I squeeze my eyes closed because I have never been more terrified in my entire life.

  With a half-laugh, half-squeal, the clown drops me. He backs up and feels his side where a bloodstain blossoms on his white jumpsuit, bleeding over to one of the pom-poms. Ashley stands next to me with a bloody sharp stick in one hand, her chest heaving. The clown looks up from his bleeding side and his eyes narrow, making the painted lines around them land over his eyebrows like devil horns.

  “Fuuuuck,” yells Ashley and grabs my hand and we turn around to run. The elephant’s foot is gone now, but the ramp is splintered and one minute too late I realize we have to jump over the indentation. I try to stop myself in time, but I land in the indentation and feel my ankle twist. Ashley stops in time and waves her arms like a cartoon version of someone falling in, and behind her, I see the clown run at her, fast. Like supernaturally fast.

  “Ashley, behind you!” I scream.

  Ashley, in some sort of crazy martial arts move, bends down and turns around, putting her arms up so that she just catches the clown on his thighs and vaults him over her.

  Right onto me.

  I see white, red, and pom-pom coming toward me, but I am yanked up by my shoulders right before the clown hits. He smacks facedown on the splintered wood and torn carpet and doesn’t move. Ashley jumps over him and the pile of wood in one fluid move.

  Girl’s got some moves. Even on her hurt feet.

  Paul lets go of my shoulders and says, “Are you all right?” But we’re interrupted by Violet’s screams.

  President George W. Bush has her by the hair with one hand and has another arm around her neck, squeezing hard. I see her face turn red.

  I always knew he was an asshole.

  Dylan fights with a Planet of the Apes guy farther up. More orchestra people are trying to climb up the pit at us. The elephant steps on another part of the ramp farther down and a split in the wood and carpet rips up to the very top of the room, right by the exit. The clown begins to move in the hole.

  Paul is already rushing at the Bush mannequin. He reaches Violet and takes the stick he managed to hold onto and hits the guy squarely on the head. The guy releases Violet, who turns around and punches him in the stomach.

  Ashley sprints toward Dylan and I limp forward. My ankle hurts like a sonuvabitch. But I look back at the clown, who is now getting up on his knees, and I swallow down all the pain because no way I’m getting caught by that nightmare again.

  The piano guy jumps in front of me, and without thinking I rack him and he crumples to the ground. Dylan has stabbed the Planet of the Apes guy and we all reach him at the same time. He reaches in the towel still tied to my belt and grabs a mini bomb. With one hand, he grabs the lighter out of his pocket and lights the bomb fast. He throws it in the orchestra pit.

  Nothing ha
ppens.

  “Run!” He yells at us. The 60 millionth time one of us has yelled it at each other. And probably not the last.

  We sprint up the ramp, Ashley pulling me along as I hobble, my ankle screaming in pain with every move, and we make it to the exit. I search the sides of the wall, my ankle throbbing. Panic bubbles up inside me. “There’s no door,” I say. “No door!”

  More orchestra members are climbing out of the pit and now the clown is completely standing up, laughing and pointing at us. Band members are working themselves out of the caravan, too, mauled by tigers or not.

  The clown climbs over the hole he was in and then starts running at us, faster than humanly possible.

  I grab onto the person next to me—Ashley—and turn around to run.

  And then the bomb goes off.

  DYLAN

  I have never run so fast in my ever-loving life. My lungs hurt. My arm hurts from the puncture wound from the whale room, which was, like, a century ago. My side hurts from where the Planet of the Apes dude punched me. My face hurts from whatever shit flew into it. I have blood streaming in my eyes from something. But that clown won’t stay down forever and that clown ain’t clowning—that’s one scary motherfucker. And there’s no door.

  So, we, like, run. Again. Always. Gretchen hobbling next to me, her face pale, sweat running down it. Baby’s in pain.

  We run past cases of old guns that I look at longingly. But I know—just know—they would be too hard to get out and we don’t have enough time. And there’s no guarantee they’ll work. So. We run.

  Past more hallways, these with glass cases of ancient Mayan shit. Some more puppets that move and clack and chatter at us as we pass by, their faces grotesque masks made for scaring.

  We run until we get to the knight room. The one I thought was so cool because it had these kickass knight scenes with knights doing knight-y stuff. Three glass-encased areas take up the room. One on each side and then a hallway that leads to the right. One of the scenes is just armor, but I see it start to move anyway.

  The other two scenes are gonna blow. One has a knight and a scary-looking horse near a dragon that has been slain. Thank God for small mercies—a slain dragon, yo. The other contains two knights having a duel. When we run into the room, they start at it like they had never stopped.

  But the knight with the horse stares at us intently. He scowls, then puts his face armor on. And begins throwing himself against the glass.

  Paul yells, “Run through, run through,” because I am slowing down to watch this knight.

  I speed up and we run past a case of jewels and replicas of the crowns of England. Ashley full-on stops at one of these and I almost run right into her. I stop just in time.

  “Pretty,” she says, and reaches her hand out.

  “Cliché much?” says Gretchen, who grabs her arm to get going. Almost like old times. I hear a crash and then the clown laugh. This laugh makes me almost pee my pants. I run closer to Gretch and Ashley as they turn the corner.

  Violet goes first, then Gretch and Ashley, then Paul, then me. Any minute, I expect that fucker of a clown to grab me. That’s some Stephen King It shit. Not cool.

  We run until we hit the next door. Then we all stop straight up. Through the door are the doll carousels. The other figurines. And the four horsemen.

  Behind us are murderous band players and the creepiest soul-sucking clown you could ever imagine. And whatever else managed to follow us.

  This, ladies and gentlemen, is being stuck between a rock and a hard place. We all sense what comes next.

  I see Ashley look back and forth between what’s behind us and what’s in front of us. “Fuuuuck,” she says.

  Yep.

  We look at each other.

  Violet is crying, silent tears rolling down her face. Ashley’s face is dead white, mascara and blood trailing down like sad rivers. Gretch’s face is set and determined, but there is something else there, something sad-happy-calm all at the same time. Paul’s eyebrows are furrowed and he looks back over his shoulder.

  Ashley says, “I don’t know why you’re so freaked. This is so easy. We’ll be back on the bus in just a minute, with some great stories.” Then she laughs, but it turns into a hiccup-sob.

  We all know that’s not true.

  We hear the clown laugh get closer. Hear a spiderwebbing crack of the knight cases.

  A voice calls out, “Hey, there you guys are.” Around the corner comes the wizard. That tiny fucking dude followed us the whole way. “I lost you all in that hubbub back there. Man, you guys are fast.” He stands next to me and says, “Whew. What a scene, huh?”

  Violet says, “I want you all to know . . .”

  But then the clown comes around the corner, its laugh echoing through the corridor.

  We run through the door.

  PAUL

  I am going to die without having kissed Violet. And this, more than anything, makes my blood boil.

  The minute we run into the huge room, it’s a mess of movement. Dolls start swinging from the carousels; there are swooping things, screams, neighs, yells . . . All the while, slow carousel music plays.

  “Dylan!” I yell, “Bombs!”

  He grabs a bomb from Gretchen’s makeshift satchel, lights it, and flips around in midair to throw it at the clown. It hits the clown on the head and bounces off. The clown is knocked to the ground and the bomb lands by him. We run up the ramp of this room, right by the carousels, and the bomb goes off.

  I feel something land on my head.

  A doll.

  I wrench it off, but just as fast, another one jumps on me, this one poking a finger in the gash on my forehead. I yell loud and yank that one off and throw it at a crowd of dolls gathering on the carousel. Just as I do that, another bomb goes off. The smell of burnt flesh and hair fills up the room. So does smoke.

  I can’t see anyone.

  “Violet!” I yell. “Dylan, Ashley, Gretchen!”

  I hear their screams from somewhere up ahead of me, but then something slashes my back. I feel air on my back and then the pain hits.

  I turn around and a knight stands there with a sword, my blood on the tip of it. He must have just scraped me. But that hurt enough. He swings sideways again and almost gets my stomach, but I jump back just in time.

  I jump right on a doll and my legs get knocked out from underneath me. The knight looms over me and raises the sword straight up. I put my hand up to block it and feel someone pulling me from behind, just as something jumps into the knight, knocking him forward. The thing stands on top of the knight, its horn slightly chipped at the top and stained red with blood. A bent pole on either side of his back and belly. A bite mark on his neck.

  “Sparkles!” I yell. He whinnies at me, and the person who grabbed me helps me up. Violet. She has blood dripping down her forehead, into her bangs, down her neck. Her face is painted with ash. She is a goddamn beautiful warrior goddess. I think I love her.

  Captain Tidbittles canters up and stands next to Sparkles, putting a hand on him. Millie trots up next to him, carrying a doll arm that she uses like a baseball bat to smack another doll that jumps at her.

  “Nice to see you, young sir. The battle goes on.” The captain winks at me and points up. Angels sweep back and forth yelling banshee screams. I hear an elephant bellow somewhere and a tiger roar.

  I feel a swoop of air and Violet yells, “Ow, you piece of . . .” but whatever she was going to say gets interrupted by Gretchen’s scream up above us.

  Violet’s ear is now bleeding hard again, but she runs straight up the ramp and through the smoke, elbowing flying dolls as she goes.

  A goddamn beautiful warrior goddess. Who is this girl?

  I follow her, ducking dolls and angels. An angel manages to get my hair but I twist its arm away. A doll jumps on my back, right on the sword slash a
nd I grunt in pain. Reaching back, I grab the doll’s hair and fling that little shit far away from me.

  I stop for a second. My back. The sword.

  “Violet!” I yell, but it’s no use. So I turn back around to the knight still on the ground. Captain Tidbittles and Sparkles aren’t around and the knight is trying to get up. The sword lies by his hand. I am running so hard that when some doll lays down right in front of me, before I can stop, I go flying. I land right by the knight, the sword by my thighs.

  A literal iron fist pummels into me, right into my kidney. The aching pain takes over everything and the sides of my vision start blacking out. I roll over just in time to avoid another hit. The knight can’t seem to get up, but it can sure as hell still hurt. I get up on shaky legs and grab the sword.

  “Fuck you,” I say, and then add because I always wanted to say this out loud, “you cad!” and am about to plunge the sword into the knight’s face when something smacks against my head. An angel.

  I’ve had about enough of angels now.

  When it swoops by again, I stick the sword up hard, right into the neck of the angel.

  Angel this, you dirty dogs.

  I’m thinking in Shakespeare and for one moment I feel the shame that shoots through me like it usually does, but then I realize that I actually don’t care. It’s what I want to think like. It’s who I am.

  I’m a badass knight for the good, motherfuckers. And yeah. I own a jerkin.

  I spring up the ramp again, this time swinging the sword from side to side. I manage to get at least three dolls. The smoke is starting to clear and I get a better view of the top.

  Gretchen is on a landing near a replica of a huge church, and she’s fighting the clown, one half of his face blown-off and cavernous. Ashley is covered in dolls. I swing my sword around and cut dolls in half, left and right. Violet is almost to Gretchen, and I am almost to Violet—but before we can do anything, the clown plunges a stick in Gretchen’s side. Blood spreads around the wound immediately. Her eyes go wide.