Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know?

by Heather Graham

  “The Empress of the tarot,” Tina murmured, looking at Montana. “The card… it’s your card.”

  “My card? Is she some kind of an evil card?” Montana asked.

  “No, no—and cards aren’t evil. None of the cards are evil, not even death. Death can merely mean one door is closing,” Tina said, sounding distracted. She kept studying Montana. “The Empress is a very good card. Usually, she is all about femininity and fertility, love and hearth and home, all good things.”

  “Usually?” Montana said. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear good things or bad things.

  Either would be a lie!

  Tina smiled. “Even inverted, it’s nothing bad. It’s just…” She broke off “… you know, it’s not a bad thing to be dependent on other people, and have other people dependent on you.”

  “Of course not!” Montana said.

  She wondered suddenly if she’d spoken too quickly.

  Sometimes, she was afraid. She really, really, really loved Max. She worried that she loved him more than he could possibly love her. She worried that she was a musician. A pretty good one, yes, and she wasn’t bad to look at, but…

  Max was beautiful; tall, broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw and handsome features, dark eyes and dark hair, a full and generous mouth, and a killer smile. He was always confident, always in control; he could laugh so easily, but take charge of any situation in a heartbeat…

  But she had already lost out once. Lost out to another time when she had really loved someone, when she had dared to live with another person. Have another man so entangled in her life that life itself was nothing without him.

  Tina reached for Montana’s fingers, ready to finish the handshake that had never happened. She’d been about to smile or laugh.

  But then…

  It was simply uncanny. Eerie. Montana was convinced that the woman had a buzz-shock toy, or something else in her hand. When their palms connected, it seemed that a jolt went through Montana, a sizzle of lightning throughout her.

  Then Tina spoke swiftly, earnestly. “He needs you as much as you need him. But, tonight…call for him! You will need him. Don’t hesitate; it’s not a joke. Do it.”

  Montana jerked her hand back. Instinctively, she went for the card on the floor again, trying to pretend that nothing had happened, nothing at all.

  Somehow, she refrained from stomping on it. She caught the card firmly between her fingers and handed it the tarot reader.

  “Not to worry—we’re just out for a fun evening at a family place,” she said. “And, actually, we’d better get going! Thank you all—thank you. Brenda, let’s head on out,” Montana said.

  “Yes, thank you—” Brenda began.

  Montana had her arm. She was determined. She had Brenda out of the shop, down Chartres, heading for the car.

  “Hey!” Brenda protested. “She’s really nice—and good! You should listen to her. We should go back. She seemed to be concerned.”

  “Oh, Brenda, come on! She makes her money that way! I have nothing against anyone making a living, really, but I’m not going to fall into that kind of… bull! We need to get going, really. I’d like to be there when Max and Dale arrive. You’re going to like Dale; he’s a great guy.”

  Brenda had fallen silent. “Whatever,” she said after a moment.

  When they reached the car, she was still quiet.

  As they neared Monster Manse she turned to Montana to speak. “You had a bad deal, but that was five years ago now. You have a great guy. Let it go; let it be. Open your mind—you don’t have to believe in any of this, but, at the least, you can be polite.”

  “I wasn’t rude!”

  “She said something about depending on people and you went ballistic. The Empress! There’s good in the card, too, you know.”

  “It’s just a card! It isn’t good or evil.”

  “No, the card isn’t good or evil. And I don’t think that I believe in telling the future, either. The future is what we make it—that’s what you’ve always said, and it’s what I feel, too. But, sometimes, something like a tarot deck and a good reader can beat the hell out of hours with a shrink. The cards can make us see things in ourselves. Hey, that particular Empress even looked like you.”

  “Brenda!”

  “Gorgeous! Really, she has a stunning deck. And the Empress is gorgeous!”

  “Flattery will not get you anywhere,” Montana assured her.

  Brenda smiled, but her smile faded quickly. “I’m afraid,” she said softly. “I’m afraid for you. You’re not scared?”

  Scared? She was miserably terrified. Damn, but she hated fortune-tellers, palm readers…

  And tarot cards.

  “We’re going to a haunted attraction—we’re supposed to be scared.”

  Brenda threw her hands up in the air. “All right. Okay, forget it all. Yep, fun. We’ll have some fun. Eek! Creepy fun. Yeah, that’s the ticket! Good old creepy, bloody, ghoulish fun!”

  *

  Max and Dale were about to leave for the day and head out to the manse when Sergeant Jeffries came in and asked everyone to stay for a quick meeting; actually, they weren’t so much asked as they were told—the meeting was mandatory.

  The whole precinct seemed to have gathered for a meeting; not just the detectives, but every officer who wasn’t on the street. Lieutenant Deauville had gathered them and he had a PowerPoint on the screen, showing them crime scene photos from Baton Rouge and Houston.

  “They’re calling him the Halloween Horror,” Deauville said. He was a lean, fit, hard man with a bald head, a man who was great in a leadership position. He had the ability to wield firm authority—but do it with complete courtesy. “I think you all heard about the attack in Houston a week ago. But, this is just in from our fellows over in Baton Rouge. His last attack was at Jumpin’ Jack-O-Lantern’s there; he hid out with the automated Halloween displays. He managed to take down a store manager to kidnap a young woman; she was later found dead in the river.” Images flashed on the screen. “Prior to that,” Deauville continued, clicking a button that brought another image up on the screen, “he struck at a costume shop in Houston; three dead, slashed to death in the animatronic monster session—which is where he earned his media moniker. Here’s the thing: he’s in Louisiana, folks. And he likes big cities. He might have headed to Mississippi, or even back Texas way. But he might be here.”

  He might be here. Here. In NOLA. And Max’s family owned the Monster Manse, a perfect venue for the sick son of a bitch!

  “We have to go now,” he said quietly. He was standing next to Dale, his partner since he’d joined the NOPD, a man who made up for his medium build and stature with long hours at the gym and the shooting range. They were friends as well as partners; there was no one else he’d rather have guarding his back.

  “What?” Dale, frowning with his concentration on what they had been seeing, turned to look at him.

  “Now, now, we have to get to the manse. I’m going to call Ethan; stop the opening until I can get there.”

  “Oh, hell, yeah. I’ll tell the sergeant why we’re slipping out!” Dale said.

  While Dale moved around the precinct room, Max slipped into the hall, dialing his brother’s number.

  “Hey, where are you?” Ethan asked him. “Montana and her friend are here. She’s so amazing, by the way. We had to cut the ribbon for the season and start. Montana led the way in.”

  “No, no, Ethan,” Max said. “Get everyone out… there’s a killer on the loose.”

  “A killer?”

  “The guy from Texas—the guy who killed the people in the costume shop in Texas,” Max explained quickly. “He struck in Baton Rouge now,” Max explained quickly.

  “That’s Baton Rouge—”

  “About a two hour drive! Ethan, a haunted house like ours is perfect for this guy. They haven’t caught him; he moves quickly. Please! I’m on my way with Dale. Get everyone out. Get them all out, now. Please!”

  *


  Okay, it was going to be great, ghoulish, creepy, bloody fun!

  Max and Dale were running late. That happened. They were cops.

  Montana didn’t mind. She loved Ethan—he was a great brother to Max. And she loved the attraction. There were a number of costumed “ghouls” running around, mainly to keep people in order as they went through the house—and through the little café/bar and gift shop.

  And so—in her creepiest voice—she welcomed people to the first night of Monster Manse for the season, cut the ribbon, and walked in first.

  Ghouls cut the others off right behind her—including Brenda. She was to be swallowed up first—and then the others could enter in groups. A grand opening was always a good idea. And it was also important that they keep crowd control if the motion-activated monsters were going to have their desired effect on the guests. But, as the door shut behind her, she found herself hugged by one ghoul—Sydney Hold, with whom she’d gone to high school—and then another, Tracy Latham. They laughed and chatted for a minute, and then a very tall vampire—a new hire, a young man Montana hadn’t met—urged her to start on through and get some of the noise makers going as they opened the doors.

  “Hey, Connie Levine is halfway through!” Tracy told her. “She’ll be thrilled to see you.”

  “Great!”

  Montana hadn’t thought that she could be really frightened; she’d been to the manse dozens of times. In fact, she’d gone with Max and Ethan on one of their buying trips out to Hollywood, California. She’d discovered that she loved “Monsterpalooza” where Ethan often shopped for makeup and fabricated pieces or creatures. She was not frightened by the fake.

  But there was fog whirling around in the corridors. And out of the fog, a giant werewolf suddenly lunged at her, growling and snapping its teeth.

  She jumped. High. And a scream escaped her. The thing was in an alcove and it was really, truly scary.

  She kept walking. Imps, demons, devils—scenes of ghoulish torture surrounded her. She went through the dining room where the mummy and friendly ghosts and skeletons sat down to dine together. The next room was geared toward the rougarou—a Louisiana swamp creature—and in the next, cackling witches worked around a bubbling cauldron.

  It wasn’t until the next room—which had Rue Morgue emblazoned in red on the identifying sign above the door—that she found Connie Levine. Her friend was standing in a little statuary niche, just inside the door. She was dressed in a maid’s uniform a-la The Rocky Horror Show. Her head was down; her little white maid’s cap dipped low on her forehead.

  Connie seemed to be indicating the rogue’s gallery before her that included Jack the Ripper, H.H. Holmes, Charles Manson and a few of his family members, and--swirling around to stare at her with an evil smile as she entered the room--Countess Bathory.

  Montana smiled. The animatronics weren’t half as frightening, she thought, as Connie Levine—and the way she stood in the niche… just waiting to move, too.

  Jack the Ripper let out a frightening whisper of sound.

  “My dear… a moment of your time! Only a moment!” He raised his knife.

  Montana hadn’t known that the animated characters spoke. Eerie music played throughout, and sometimes, a voice over.

  Nothing like the whisper of this Jack!

  She looked back; she was still ahead of other people. She could risk a minute to say hello to Connie before hurrying on to allow her friend to scare those on their way.

  Connie’s head was bowed; her neck was twisted eerily to the side—that indicated that they had, indeed, reached the rogue’s gallery!

  That was surely for show. Even in high school, she’d been the consummate performer. Now, Montana was certain, Connie could look up suddenly and scare the bejesus out of someone!

  She felt her phone buzz in her pocket as she headed toward Connie.

  She’d turned off the sound for the grand opening, before making her show of boldly and bravely entering the house.

  It was Max. But, even as she answered it, she smiled. She heard delighted screams as others came in behind her.

  “Hey! Get here!” she whispered. “The place is nuts—fun nuts!”

  “Montana, get out. Get out now. I’m on my way. Get out of the house.”

  “Max, this is me, Montana—”

  “I’m serious; I’m begging you. I’ve told Ethan to get everyone out. No joke, Montana, no Halloween prank. A killer in Texas moved on to Baton Rouge. That was last night. This is the perfect venue for him. Get out, please. I’m almost there… just a few minutes. But, get the hell out—now!”

  She had reached Connie. Her friend still hadn’t lifted her head; hadn’t moved.

  “All right; I’m actually with one of the actor-slash-guides now,” she said. “Connie. Come on, Connie, look up, quit with the scare tactics—it’s just Montana!”

  She touched her friend’s face.

  She felt something sticky and then smelled the coppery scent around her friend at the same time. It took only a moment to realize that she was dead. That her throat had been slashed ear-to-ear.

  “My dear! A moment of your time, only a moment!”

  The whisper came again.

  Montana turned.

  Jack the Ripper had spoken.

  He had come down off the pedestal.

  He was standing in front of her, and his knife was dripping blood.

  Real blood.

  Montana let out a shriek—and ran.

  *

  Max reached the place just as Ethan was trying to make his way through the crowd that was spilling out of the house.

  “Where is she? Where is Montana?” he asked his brother.

  Ethan looked like hell. He shook his head. “Someone said that they heard her screaming, shouting for everyone to get out. And someone else said that one of the creatures was coming after them, and Montana tripped the creature. I don’t know what’s true, I don’t… I’m trying…”

  “Has anyone been hurt or killed—seen anyone? Anything weird?”

  “It’s—it’s a haunted attraction!” Ethan said. “Seen anything… weird? Like what?”

  “She’s in there!” A young woman suddenly shouted, beating on Max’s arm. Max looked at her, distracted.

  “I’m Brenda—and she’s in there,” the young woman said. “Montana is in there! You’ve got to get her… she’ll die, oh, God, the tarot card… said that she’d need you, she needs you… get the hell in there!”

  “We can’t reach two of our employees on the radio system.” Ethan said.

  “Get the lights on!” Max told his brother.

  “I can’t! Someone messed with the fuse box. I’ve been trying!” his brother told him.

  “The card! The tarot!” Brenda moaned.

  He didn’t need any tarot card to tell him what to do; nor did he need Montana’s hysterical friend. He needed to find Montana.

  “I’m behind you!” Dale shouted.

  Max barely muttered, “Excuse me!” as he made his way through the people pouring out. A lone girl—shrieking her head off—raced by him, and then he was alone in the vestibule. He pushed open the door to the gauntlet of rooms that stretched out before him. The music was silent,

  He knew the rooms—and he knew the creatures. Ethan had apparently turned off the fog machines, but fog still whirled low around the floor. He raced through one room and a werewolf jumped out at him, fangs glistening, a roar of sound coming from him. He passed through the dining room where creepy creatures gathered for a meal.

  “Montana!”

  He shrieked her name. Nothing.

  And then, he heard her call his name.

  “Max!”

  She was ahead, past the dining room, past the rougarou… in the room where the witches stirred away at their cauldron.

  He burst into the room just in time to see her.

  She was fighting with the Jack the Ripper motion-activated character.

  Except, of course, it wasn’t any kind of
a machine or fabrication; it was a man, a real man, dressed up in a Victorian frock coat and a tall hat.

  And carrying a very real knife.

  He drew his weapon and shouted out a warning. “Stop! Let her be!”

  The fighting pair swirled around; he couldn’t shoot. He could hit Montana.

  He raced toward the two of them. The man held a knife high. Montana was holding her own, fighting, kicking, writhing, trying to escape the madman’s grasp. But the man seemed to have the strength of a zillion tons of adrenalin.

  Max caught his arm.

  The arm that wielded the knife. Montana shrieked, breaking free, and then… the knife was turned toward Max. And despite his shouts for Montana to get out, she wasn’t doing so. With a scream of rage, she hurtled herself back on the man with the knife. To Max’s astonishment, the knife went clattering to the floor as Montana bit the man’s arm, hard. But still, the madman seemed to have the strength of a dozen men. And with that one arm, he flung Max across the room.

  He was flying, and he knew it. Still, he drew out his gun. And he fired. His aim was good.

  The “Jack the Ripper” wasn’t a rougarou, a machine, or any kind of a monster. He was a man, and Max’s aim was true. He saw the man take the bullet dead center in the chest.

  And go down.

  Then, Max sailed right into the wall—as if he’d been hurtled like a rocket into space—and stars burst before his eyes.

  Then there was only darkness.

  *

  She hadn’t been hysterical through any of it; she’d been, Montana thought, logical, at the least. Terrified beyond imagination, but not hysterical.

  But, then…

  There was Max. On the floor. Crumpled in a ball.

  The lights were finally back on; Dale was there, on his phone, getting help, getting back-up, getting ambulances… shouting out that it was a crime scene. Then he was on his knees by Montana, and he was searching for a pulse, some sign that Max was alive.

  Montana couldn’t even care that Dale was there—or that anyone was there. “No, no, you can’t… you can’t die on me. You can’t save me—and then die on me!” She said.