Gleefully Macabre Tales

by Jeff Strand

  He held open the curtain and beckoned with his cane. The boy walked through the opening and the barker followed, letting the curtain close behind them.

  "Not afraid of the dark, are you?" asked the barker, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  "No."

  "A brave boy. Don’t worry, the freaks will be well illuminated. You won’t miss a thing."

  They walked forward through the complete darkness for a moment. "Stop right here," said the barker. "Are you certain you’re ready for this?"

  Silence.

  "If you’re nodding, I can’t see you in the dark."

  "Yes."

  "Good. Behold…the freaks!"

  The lights came on. They were surrounded by cages, four on each side. Most were occupied. The boy quickly turned in a circle, looking at all of them, and frowned.

  "Those aren’t freaks!"

  "Is that so?"

  "They’re just normal people in cages! There’s nothing scary about them!"

  "Ah, but you’re wrong." The barker walked over to the first cage, which contained a grey-haired middle-aged man sitting in the corner. The barker tapped the cage with his cane. "This man has not spoken in six years, not since his wife put a handgun in her mouth and pulled the trigger in front of him and their five-year-old daughter. They say that suicidal women rarely use violent means, preferring pills or poison, but his wife was an exception. God only knows what thoughts ravaged his mind as he watched her brain matter stain their kitchen wall, and God only knows what thoughts ravage his mind at this very moment."

  He tapped the next cage, which contained a young woman trembling in the corner. "This fine specimen has a fear of snakes. Having dozens of them slither all over her naked body was more than her fragile psyche could handle. She continues to brush at imaginary serpents; refuses to speak for fear that one might slide into her open mouth. One can only guess what reptilian horrors lurk in her dreams during her rare moments of sleep."

  The woman looked at the young boy and then hid her face.

  "Next in my gallery of freaks is this gentleman," said the barker, tapping the third cage. "An empty husk of a man. Lobotomized, though his hair has grown over the scar. He lives, and yet he does not live." The barker twisted his head at the young boy and smiled. "Imagine that. To be physically alive and conscious, and yet see nothing, feel nothing. Does that frighten you?"

  "I want my money back!"

  "I delivered what I promised. You expected physical deformities and grotesque mutations, but I gave you something infinitely more chilling! Why see a bearded lady when you can see a man haunted by bloody acts of violence he doesn’t even remember? Why see a two-headed cat when you can see a woman who cries endlessly over the death of a son who never took his first breath? Why see the human spider when you can see a human whose grip on reality was lost for absolutely no reason at all? I have given you the freaks of the mind!"

  "This isn’t any fun!" said the little boy. "This isn’t what I paid for!"

  "It’s rarely fun to catch a glimpse of your own future."

  "I want my dollar back."

  "There are no refunds."

  The little boy turned and ran back the way they’d come. The barker smiled with satisfaction, and then rapped on the cages a few more times just to torment the occupants.

  ««—»»

  What a rip-off. And now he didn’t have enough money left for a funnel cake. The little boy scowled as he continued walking through the carnival. His mom would probably find out that he’d played hooky, and he’d get in trouble without even having seen anything good.

  As he walked through the carnival, he thought about his grandfather, who had gotten that disease where you couldn’t remember anything, not even to feed yourself. In the last few months before he died, Grandpa had shouted a lot and called him by the wrong name.

  Grandpa had been really nice before that.

  Normal.

  The little boy quickly headed for the exit, wondering if it was just his imagination that the bright lights of the carnival seemed to have dimmed a bit.

  Secret Message

  Gzqudx eqnvmdc zr gd nodmdc sgd kdssdq. Otqd fhaadqhrg. Vgzs vzr sghr, z bncd?

  Gd zkvzxr dminxdc rnkuhmf sgd czhkx bqxosnfqzl hm sgd mdvrozodq, ats gd’c mdudq gzc nmd lzhkdc sn ghl adenqd. Sgdqd vzr mn qdstqm zccqdrr nm sgd dmudknod, itrs z knbzk onrslzqj. Hs vzr oqnazakx nmd ne ghr atcchdr okzxhmf z injd.

  Vdkk, gdx, hs lhfgs ad etm. Gd bgdbjdc ghr unhbd lzhk (mn ldrrzfdr) zmc ghr d-lzhk (mnsghmf ats rozl), sgdm rzs cnvm zs sgd szakd zmc vdms sn vnqj.

  Sgd gzmcvqhssdm kdssdq ehkkdc sgd dmshqd rgdds ne ozodq, ats sgd vqhshmf vzr udqx kzqfd zmc hs nmkx rddldc sn ad nmd rdmsdmbd knmf. Sgzs vntkc lzjd hs z ahs lnqd cheehbtks, rhmbd rnkuhmf z bqxosnfqzl cdodmcdc nm hcdmshexhmf ezlhkhzq ozssdqmr ne kdssdqr, ats sgd czhkx mdvrozodq gzcm’s rstlodc ghl rhmbd ghfg rbgnnk zmc mdhsgdq vntkc sghr.

  Zesdq z bntokd ne ezkrd rszqsr, gd ehftqdc nts sgzs mns nmkx vzr hs z rsqzhfgsenqvzqc rtarshstshnm bhogdq, ats hs gzc z rhlokd ozssdqm: dzbg kdssdq qdoqdrdmsdc sgd kdssdq chqdbskx zesdq hs. Gd pthbjkx adfzm ehkkhmf hm sgd qdrs ne sgd ldrrzfd...zmc qdzkhydc vgzs hs rzhc adenqd gd’c dudm ehmhrgdc.

  "Vghkd xnt’ud addm cdbnchmf sghr, xntq bzs gzr addm rteenbzshmf hm sgd eqddydq."

  Gzqudx bgtbjkdc. Gd chcm’s gzud z bzs, nq zmx odsr. Hs vzr itrs ghlrdke zmc ghr rhwsddm xdzq-nkc cztfgsdq Shmz.

  Ghr vhed vzr knmf fnmd. Sgdx’c knbjdc sgzs orxbgn to enq fnnc vgdm Shmz vzr itrs entq.

  Ne bntqrd, Knthrd gzc knudc sn bzkk Shmz "lx khsskd jhssdm..."

  Gzqudx gtqqhdc sgqntfg sgd jhsbgdm hmsn sgd fzqzfd. Gd chcm’s dudm sghmj Shmz bntkc ehs hm sgd bgdrs eqddydq, ats ghr otkrd vzr qzbhmf zmxvzx.

  Gd sgqdv nodm sgd khc.

  Shmz vzrm’s hmrhcd.

  Mns zkk ne gdq, zmxvzx.

  Zkk ne sgd ennc gzc addm qdlnudc. Kxhmf nm sgd anssnl ne sgd eqddydq vzr zm dxdazkk. Mdws sn sgzs, z gdzqs. Zmc sgdm z snd. Ehmzkkx, rodkkdc nts hm hmsdrshmdr, vzr sgd vnqc "jhkk."

  Dxd gdzqs snd jhkk.

  Gd gdzqc Knthrd’r ezlhkhzq bzbjkd eqnl sgd nodm cnnqvzx sn sgd jhsbgdm, rzv sgd atsbgdq jmhed hm gdq gzmc, zmc pthbjkx chrbnudqdc sgzs sgd ldrrzfd vzr, hmcddc, pthsd zbbtqzsd.

  Mr. Sensitive

  Aw, jeez, don’t let her start bawling. Jake Triben watched Melissa’s (or was it Margaret’s?) eyes start to well up with tears. He’d almost successfully made it out of her bed and now he was going to have to deal with this crap.

  "I thought this meant something," Melissa/Margaret said, pulling the blanket up over her breasts as if he hadn’t already seen them from every conceivable angle.

  "Look, I didn’t say it wasn’t fun," Jake insisted. "Let’s just not make this into more than it is, okay?"

  "You said you loved me!"

  Something about the pathetic tone of her voice made Jake grin. Maybe he could get some entertainment value out of this. "Okay, let me share a little secret with you. When the words ‘I love you’ are followed by ‘Oh, yeah, baby, do it just like that,’ they aren’t necessarily sincere."

  She angrily wiped a tear from her cheek. "You said it before we even slept together."

  "Right. Well, pre-coital ‘I love you’ doesn’t count, either. But if I come a second time and then say it, hey, I might mean it."

  I need to save that line for future use, Jake thought, quickly getting out of bed. Toying with a recently deflowered virgin’s emotions was enjoyable, but he didn’t want to push it to the point where his penis became a target of violence.

  She just stared at him silently as he pulled on his underwear. "You have nothing to be ashamed of," Jake told her. "You did damn good for your first time, aside from that little gagging incident. Now that the cherry popping is out of the way, you can make up for lost time."

  She had a lot of lost time to make up for. Melissa/Margaret (or was it Maggie?) had still been a virgin at twenty-five, which was seriously messed up. Jake had practically gone through a woman a week since he was sixteen, and he was twenty
-nine now.

  He finished getting dressed, ready to make a run for it if she suddenly went nutzo, but she just continued to stare at him, sniffling. "I’ll let myself out," he said.

  "Jake?"

  "Yeah?"

  She gave him a sad look. "You should really be more sensitive."

  "I’ll work on that and get back to you."

  Jake left her apartment and walked down the hallway, whistling. He’d gotten laid and showed some needy bitch who was boss. Another great Friday night. He wondered if he could go back, beg for forgiveness, do her again, and then dump her again…but no, even he probably couldn’t pull that one off.

  He went home and got some much needed sleep.

  ««—»»

  Jake got up just before noon. His only plans were to hit the clubs late that evening, so he sat around in his underwear and watched cartoons on television most of the day. He kept waiting for Melissa/Margaret/Maggie to call, but she never did. Of course, he’d given her a fake phone number, but sometimes these chicks could turn into stalkers. He probably should have checked for somebody tailing him on the drive home.

  As he watched television, he absent-mindedly scratched his balls.

  They felt…weird.

  Immediately concerned, he checked them out individually. The right one seemed okay. So did the left one.

  It was the new one in the middle that made him nervous.

  He gasped and sat up straight. What was it? A tumor? Could this be cancer? He played with his balls all the time…how could a lump like this appear without him noticing?

  Now in a state of panic, he called his doctor for an emergency appointment.

  ««—»»

  Dr. Nicholas McLaughlin entered the examination room, frowning as he looked at his clipboard. He shut the door behind him, sat down next to Jake, and sighed.

  "Is it bad?" Jake asked.

  "Ummm, I’m really not sure how to tell you this," said Dr. McLaughlin. "The good news is that it’s not cancerous."

  "Oh, thank God."

  "It is, we believe, a third testicle."

  "It’s what?"

  "A third testicle."

  "How the hell did I grow a third nut?"

  "It seems unlikely that you grew it, so to speak. You’ve probably had it all along and just didn’t notice."

  "Didn’t notice? Didn’t notice? Doc, I may not notice somebody’s new hairstyle or new dress, but a third nut I’m gonna notice!"

  "My guess is that this third testicle simply hadn’t descended into your scrotum until now."

  "So where the hell was it hanging out? My belly button?"

  "A third testicle in males is not an unheard-of occurrence. However, we’ll want to do more studies."

  "Studies? You mean like studies where I appear on the cover of one of those science magazines? Jake Triben, the Amazing Three-Nut Boy?"

  "I understand that you’re confused and upset. Rest assured that we’ll have it removed with no risk to—"

  "Whoa! You’re not removing a damn thing. No scalpels near there. If I have to be a three-nut mutant, I’ll be a three-nut mutant, but no way are you cutting me open."

  Dr. McLaughlin shrugged. "I don’t see any danger in retaining the third testicle. But I do recommend that you undergo further tests, just in case."

  Jake shook his head. "You said it’s not cancer, and that’s good enough for me. Go poke somebody else’s gonads. I’m outta here."

  ««—»»

  Jake didn’t much feel like hitting the clubs, so he stayed home and watched more television. Maybe he should let the doctor do some kind of nut-removal surgery…after all, he didn’t want the ladies thinking he was some kind of freak, did he?

  Still, what if the surgery went terribly awry? What if the doctor slipped with his scalpel? What if he removed two testicles by accident? What if Jake awoke to find himself completely penis-free? Or what if the doctor filmed the entire surgery? Dr. McLaughlin would gain fame and fortune for discovering this medical marvel, and Jake would have to go live as a hermit to escape the shame of being a tri-balled aberration.

  Woe and misery.

  Misery and woe.

  His social life was over. There’d be no more sex with regular women. He’d have to start dating fat chicks, or transsexuals, or girls with three tits.

  He walked into the bathroom, stripped out of his underwear, and stared at himself in the mirror. Actually, just standing here like this, you couldn’t really tell that he had fifty percent more testicles than a normal human being. As long as the ladies didn’t do too much manipulation down there, he might be okay.

  He gently rolled the bonus testicle between his fingers. It was just as sensitive as the other two. Maybe it would bring him to heights of sexual pleasure that he’d never before imagined. Maybe it was truly a blessing. Maybe he was a god among mere mortals!

  No, it was a freaky-ass third ball, and it creeped him out.

  He went back into the living room and watched some more television, but he wasn’t able to concentrate. He searched the TV listings for an infomercial about an easy-to-use third testicle removal spray, but didn’t find one. Depressed, he went to bed.

  ««—»»

  He dreamt of being crushed by a giant boulder. He woke up in a cold sweat, lay awake for about three hours, and finally went back to sleep, where he dreamt about being crushed by a giant marble.

  ««—»»

  Jake woke up around six in the morning, which was normally when he’d be staggering back home. He immediately touched his scrotum, praying that the third testicle had sucked itself back into his abdomen or wherever it had been hiding before it decided to descend.

  Nope, still there.

  Along with a fourth one.

  Jake let out an audible gasp. That wasn’t possible! A recount was in order.

  One. One was good. That was expected. He was happy to find the first one.

  Two. The perfect number of testicles. This was just how he wanted it. Two was great. Two eyes, two ears, two arms, two legs, two nuts. That was nature’s way.

  Three. Three sucked, but it was the same degree to which things had sucked yesterday. He could live with three if he had to. Three was okay.

  God, please don’t let there be…

  Four.

  He had four freakin’ balls.

  ««—»»

  "I have four freakin’ balls!"

  "Jake, please, calm down," said Dr. McLaughlin. "I assure you, there’s a reasonable explanation."

  "Like what? Aliens gave me a testicle implant? What’s wrong with me, Doc? Why is this happening?"

  Dr. McLaughlin sighed. "I wish I knew. Spontaneous generation of testicles is a medical impossibility. The only thing I can tell you is that you must have had two undescended extras."

  "What if this extra pair of balls is from a partially formed twin brother I was supposed to have? Do you think that’s possible? Aren’t there stories about people who have arms poking out of their back or extra eyeballs in their leg from a twin?"

  Dr. McLaughlin frowned. "I wouldn’t rule out anything at this point, but I’m guessing ‘no’ on that one."

  "I’ll be okay, right? I’m not going to die or anything, am I?"

  "You’re not going to die. If you get kicked in the groin, it will probably hurt twice as much, but apart from that I don’t see any health risks."

  Jake sighed. "But you can remove them?"

  "Yes."

  "Safely?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you swear that you won’t slip and slice off my dick?"

  "You have nothing to worry about. Just think of it as a slightly more involved vasectomy procedure."

  "Okay, that’s not even one little bit reassuring."

  "Again, I don’t see any health risk, so you’re welcome to take the time to think about it."

  "I’m gonna take the time to think about it."

  ««—»»

  Usually when he was feeling bad, like if he missed a chance t
o score with a hot blonde because her jerk boyfriend was dancing with her, Jake drowned his troubles in a nice thick chocolate malt from Mr. Milkshake. Using chocolate to make one feel better was supposed to be strictly a chick trait, so he never admitted to this activity, but it did work.

  Usually.

  Not today.

  In fact, as Jake sat in the booth sucking on the straw, he felt like he might cry. He sniffled, his shoulders began to quake, and then the tears began to flow. Humiliated, he wiped his eyes with his chocolate-stained napkin as he let out an involuntary sob.

  A cute brunette with cute breasts looked over at him. Jake forced a smile and turned away.

  Great. Here he was bawling in an ice cream shop. This is what his life had become. He looked out the window and tried unsuccessfully to make the weeping stop.

  "Are you okay?" asked the brunette, who looked about 21, as she slid into the seat across from him.