When he was done with his male conquests in particular, he liked to feel as if he had achieved a state of total domination. True domination required not the just breaking of the body, but the mind as well, and this boy seemed like he didn’t possess much of either, quite unlike that delicious young man he had enjoyed just two nights prior. Now that boy, he was a fighter! It was a shame that he eventually had to bind him up one final time, and watch him sink quietly into the Cambridge Reservoir. Even after scalping the teenager, he heard the boy struggling to breathe as he placed him into the large construction grade trash bag.
Thinking of that beautiful young face brought a philosophical tear to Carl’s eye. He knew he was a true sociopath as well as psychopath, and would never feel any real remorse for anything he had done. He would have enjoyed keeping that boy and breaking him over and over again, but the Mistress needed his services and had always paid well, and on time. Carl was just a working man after all, and as most true blue workers, he had taken great pride in his reputation. The fact that she was a great piece of ass as well was another reason he continually strived to keep himself in her good graces. “Yes,” he mused, “for you Carl, life is truly a smorgasbord of pleasures.”
As he entered the main lobby he was a little surprised to see no one there. “Hello, anyone home?” he called to no one in particular. He saw that the rope that sealed off the counter to the register was up and latched, and that the door leading up to the second story apartments was closed. A sign hanging from it declared “Employees Only.” The museum traditionally closed at 9PM, and seeing as how it was already 9:13 Carl shouldn’t be too surprised to find no one in the lobby. Usually the process of tidying up after business hours took at least half an hour. Realizing that he had exhausted all but one He decided to head into the museum proper.
In the world outside, Carl knew without a doubt, he was a brave man. To be involved with the people he associated with and employed him, he had to be. Yet he always hated walking through this place at night. Even with the air on in the summers or heaters on in the winters when the tourists left, it was unnaturally quiet. Mona said she had purposely arranged her rooms and displays that way. Her museum was not just a wax museum, after all, but a gallery full of masterpieces. And like the Louvre in Paris, the Met in New York, or the Vatican museums in Venice, she insisted on maintaining as serene an environment as possible. What Mona found serene, he found creepy.
He entered first into the Hall of the Americas. Within were displays of some of the great colonial leaders. Adams and Jefferson were debating over some bill or other with supporters and loyalists alike showing signs of concern and/or distress. Civil War buffs would be in awe as they could see Lee surrendering to Grant in front of the Appomattox Court House. There were several more historically significant moments on display which interest didn’t Carl, so he proceeded to the hallway that would lead him to the next section of the museum. As he left, he had the suspicious feeling that a particularly lifelike figure of J.F.K. was watching him walk by. He hoped he found Mona soon; this place gave him the willies.
Shaking off the creepy feeling by reminding himself that nothing here was real, well really breathing in any case, Carl decided to turn down the hallway displaying a sign with an arrow announcing that the Chamber of Horrors, Hall of Heroes and Storyland Station were all located just ahead. It dawned on him that of course that’s where she would be! She’d sent him on his errand specifically for a new project she was working on the in the Hero room. He would just have to move on through the Chamber of Horrors and be there in a snap. While the figures themselves made Carl a little uneasy, that room in particular always had a different effect on him. Filled with thought provoking methods and special tools he only dreamed of, Carl had actually spent more than a few hours daydreaming about situations he’d enjoy finding himself in. Returning to his usual state of relative ease, Carl continued down the hall towards the Chamber of Horrors, No wait, Chamber of Pleasures, he considered as a sinister smirk made its way across his face.
After traversing the short and dimly lit hallway leading from the Hall of the Americas, he entered into the Chamber of Horrors. The room was darker than the rest, with studio quality lighting professionally placed to create both focal areas for the pain found on the faces of the unfortunate along with menacing shadows and crevices where undoubtedly more insidious devices and monsters waited to jump out at unsuspecting victim! Carl took a sort of grim satisfaction in knowing there were truly terrible things that went bump in the night, and he was one of them. Believing that Mona was here somewhere, he called for her as he entered the room. “Heya Sweet-cheeks, come out come out wherever you are! I’ve got something packaged special and it’s waiting just for you! Oh, and I got your order too! “
Receiving no response, Carl decided to take a look about the room. There were two displays where he felt the lighting had a particularly gruesome effect. The first and largest of them was the two-story “Hell on Earth” arrangement This particular exhibit displayed not just people, but demons and animals as well interacting with one another in different states of debauchery, depravity, and ultimate violence. Some of the participants had expressions of the purest ecstasy, while others looked to be in the throes of agony.
The second was The Trial of Christ . Located in the center of the gallery, this exhibit alone was responsible for at least half of the wax museum’s notable popularity. On one side an angry mob dressed in biblical robes looked to be cheering on three Roman soldiers. One stood vigorously, arms crossed with one hand resting comfortable upon the hilt of his sword. He was watching the crowd, daring anyone to approach. A second soldier stood in a similar fashion, yet the look on his face was one of pity. He seemed to be staring into the eyes of the pitiful and pathetic creature with outstretched arms tied at the wrist to an ornate table. The third soldier was the most interesting to Carl. He wasn’t sure how Mona had done it, but she had captured a look of maniacal glee on the face of the man delivering lashes with a barbed cat o’ nine tails. He knew that look, was sure he had worn it on one or more occasions when on his “errands.”
There were two other Romans positioned behind the standing guards, but they seemed either disinterested or in a state of disappointed acceptance. He looked at the focal point, the naked and bloodied shell of what had obviously been a beautiful man. The confusion and acceptance in its eyes rang true of the victims of such atrocities. Mona had even given loving attention to the long, gore crusted hair hanging in matted tatters around the Messiah’s head. He remembered the MIT student he had collected it from and smiled.
As Carl stood admiring the scene before him, he got an even stronger sensation that was indeed being watched. Scanning the room again he noticed something in the Hell on Earth exhibit he had inexplicably not seen before. How had he missed it? It was spectacular!
In place of the thin, robed, traditional skeletal reaper used to stand, there was something entirely new. Black wings stretched out six feet to either side of a pale skinned, angelic figure that was crouching on one knee. With golden eyes that seemed to glisten randomly from beneath a beautiful mane of hair darker than the deepest midnight, Carl saw the mannequin’s eyes turn to focus directly on his. It was then that Carl realized there was strange music coming from the hallway leading to Storyland Station. What was going on here? Had Mona finally taken his advice and gone electronic without telling him? He hadn’t actually been in this part of the property in months, but he was sure he would have seen the workers coming and going. Those kinds of upgrades not only took a great deal of money to get started, but time as well. Mona would probably have needed to shut the place down while it was happening, and he had heard of nothing like that at the museum.
Curiosity got the better of Carl and he decided to investigate this wonderful addition to the display. He was just about to reach the velvet rope barrier designed to keep out the tourists when he suddenly felt as if he wanted to vomit. An explosion went off in his mind, followed by a voice off
ering a warning. “Only a fool presents oneself to the Angel of Death before he has been summoned. Continue down the chosen path, knowing well we shall meet again.”
Confed and nauseous, Carl dropped the package and decided he no longer wanted a closer look at the angel. He no longer wanted to be in this room. Truth be told, he wanted nothing more now than to be out of this fucked up place. Fuck Mona, fuck the package, fuck it all; and yet ,the sound of a sad, slow waltz coming from the room ahead seemed to beckon him forward and he found himself heading towards the next gallery.
As he entered another hallway leading from his current gallery to the next, Carl noticed a light green mist on the floor around him. He tried to get his feet to turn him around, and realized he couldn’t. Panicking, he yelled for Mona. “Jesus Christ, you fucked up bitch what the hell are you doing to me? This isn’t fucking funny! I’ll fucking kill you!”
He entered the Storyland Station gallery and saw Mona standing in the center of the dark an empty room. Standing underneath a red spotlight Carl saw that she had what looked to be long green wires attached to the back of her head, her wrists, knees, and small of the back. Her arms to her side and forearms positioned so that her hands were covering her face, the woman seemed to be laughing at him. “I’ll kill you, you cunt, I’ll fuc--”
Carl stopped mid rant as a piercing pain exploded just inside the fleshy part of his jaw. Something had entered from underneath his mouth and lodged itself beneath his tongue. A taste like rotten food mixed with copper began to fill his mouth and he gagged. When he tried to open his mouth to spit out the blood, he found he could not. “I will not be broken!” he tried to say, but could not. More strings like the ones that seemed to be supporting Mona descended from directly above him. He found himself involuntarily raising both of his hands and spreading his fingers and thumb wide. Fresh agony introduced itself as two of the phantom strings bored their way through the backs of his splayed hands, bonding solidly to his palms when they had finished pushing through.
Carl tried to scream again and found that he couldn’t. He was facing Mona now. She had an odd mix of expressions on that pretty, miserable face of hers. For one, her green eyes were wide with the shock and confusion of the horror she had just witnessed, tears streaming down her makeup muddled cheeks, and yet her head was tilted at an angle which suggested she was trying to look coy. Her lips were pulled back tightly in a smirk.
Carl started going through the traditional rationalization process as more of the strings attached themselves to his body. When one dug itself into his spine he told himself that none of this was real, it couldn’t be. He would wake up soon to find out it was all just a dream. When two strings needled their way through the top of his knees and out through the joints behind, he rationalized that he was on a bad high. When the final string dug into the back of his head, Carl found himself trying to give in to the demands of his body and go to sleep, only he couldn’t.
***
A small, elderly gentleman with bushy white eyebrows and a stern look on his face appeared from the mist. His eyes were aglow with the same ghostly green color as the fog and as he approached the couple, Carl noticed that he was pulling a large wooden wheeled trunk behind him. Stopping at the woman first, he checked her bindings, appeared satisfied with the way they appeared, and continued on to Carl. The old man then grabbed the human marionette’s hand roughly, pressing firmly around the entrance wounds, and then proceeded to check the remaining bindings in the same fashion. When he was finished with his inspection he returned to the trunk.
Vitale reached into his coat pocket for the key and unlocked the latch to open the lid. Looking upon the burattino inside, he took a moment to admire he most recent creation. He said, “Precious Piccino, you were not deserving of a fate such as this.” He reached down into the trunk and carefully extracted the exquisitely crafted and detailed marionette.
“You know” Vitale said to the man and woman staring terrified in his direction, “I haven’t put onna de show inna years, might be a’needing somma volunteers! “
An unseen hand pulled on the strings attached to both Mona and Carl, and Vitale clapped. “Thanka you, thanka you! It’s always nice having sucha’ captive audience!” Carl and Mona then both put one hand on their bellies and started laughing. “But first, I shalla’ introduce de star of tonights’a performance, everyone give’a de big round applause for Nicholas!” He looked at the puppet, put a hand over its face and released the enchantment keeping the boy asleep.
***
Carl watched in renewed terror, knowing that the puppet was modeled after the young man he had raped, scalped, and watched drown earlier in the week. How did the old man know? How could he have depicted the boy in such a lifelike manner? His attention to detail had been astounding. The eyes! He could clearly remember those same eyes expressing shock, anger, and pain. He delighted in it then, and yet the only emotion he could feel now was fear. Had he made a mistake when getting rid of the body? He never had before. He had made double sure that the trash bag he disposed the body in had disappeared out of sight in the deepest part of the reservoir. He had made double sure to secure the construction blocks he had used to weight down the body with industrial wire, the same wire he used on all of his victims. Carl tried to move his body, any part of his body. He couldn’t.
***
Nicholas awoke to see his captor looking at him as his grandfather used to before he got sick. He stared into the old man’s eyes and realized that the man was speaking directly to him. “If’a you can hear’a me boy, then nod’a your head.” Believing this to be another twisted game Nicholas just sat and stared blankly into the man named Vitale’s face. “I know you have’a very good’a reasons not’a to believe’a me, but’a try you must. Your mind will soon’a be clear.”
Vitale stepped back away from Nicholas and proceeded behind the two living marionettes. He began to tell a story of an evil woman and a sadistic man who felt they were above the laws of human decency. The marionettes acted out the scenes as the man narrated a sad story of sex, greed, depravity and murder. The man was a special kind of sick, for he delighted in the taking of young men and boys against their will and breaking their spirits and bodies into nothing. The woman didn’t mind the use of the man’s special talents in either the bedroom or in his ability to provide her with the purest of materials for her museum. She pretended that since she didn’t active take part in the deeds that she should be absolved of any guilt.
When Vitale began to describe the last murder, Nicholas began to remember. He remembered wanting to walk to Leo’s Pizza as he always did on Friday nights. He remembered seeing a man in distress asking if someone would help move his dog. It had just been hit by a car and the man said he hadn’t wanted to try to move the poor thing without help. He remembered being led to a mostly abandoned lot with a motionless mound of fur next to a brown van. Watching the story unfold before him Nicholas remembered starting to walk away and then getting hit on the head. He remembered coming to, not knowing where he was, scared, and in pain, cold and naked. He remembered pleading with the man, the same man hanging now from the green, glowing strings, to just let him go. He wouldn’t tell anyone, he promised. He remembered the man removing his own clothes, and he remembered the worst of it. In the beginning Nicholas fought back, and he fought back hard. Eventually the man tired of it and broke one of Nicholas’s arms. Nicholas was too injured, too tired to fight back any more. That’s when the man truly violated Nicholas. When he was finished he pinned the boy’s head down using his knee, reached for a sharp blade he had stored in a bag, and took Nicholas’s scalp.
After the macabre presentation, Nicholas stood up on his wooden legs and rummaged through the craftsman’s trunk until he pulled out a saw and a screwdriver. Afterwards he quietly closed the lid and approached the still hanging man and woman. Fully intending to take advantage of the opportunity for vengeance, Nicholas was surprised to find he truly hadn’t wanted to kill anybody. He dropped first the
saw, then the screwdriver. “What would be the point?” He announced to everyone. “I’d just end up a monster too.” For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Nicholas realized this.
“Did’a you see my friend?’ Vitale exclaimed to seemingly no one. “I’a told you, una speciale!”
The pale man appeared to manifest suddenly from the surrounding darkness. “Una special indeed,” he said as he continued towards the puppet. “Are you prepared to return home?”
“Home” Nicholas repeated slowly. “I think I’d like that.” Stepping towards the old craftsman he said, “I don’t understand what has actually taken place since this all began. Part of me still believes it’s been a dream or really a nightmare. Either way I feel as if I should thank you Mr…”
“If you want to truly thank him, call him by using his proper name, isn’t that right Signore Geppetto? Geppetto smiled. “Be’a you on you way now! I have work to do. Arrivederci,” said the pale man as he ushered the boy into the shadows.
The old man looked back at the couple still hanging in their ghostly prisons. He picked up both the saw and screwdriver that Nicholas had dropped upon the floor. Returning them to the case, he considered for a moment. Reaching back in, he pulled out a carving knife. He looked towards Mona and Carl and smiled. No, he thought, he would have no shortage of inspiration for some time.
Never Fear Page 29