by Kyle Spencer
Understanding washes over the bear as his resistance ebbs. He glances back at me and whispers, “The murders?” I simply nod. “Oh dear oh my! I must be off I must be...I say, what is that delightful music?” The hairs on the nape of my neck stand at attention as the calliope begins its haunting music. The rhythm is different this time, though; instead of tooting the praises of cotton candy and funhouses it seems to give waltzing instructions to an eager ballroom. The bear brightens and drops his guard. “Oh! Oh! I dare say I know this one! Ah, how does it go…
In einem Bächlein helle,
Da schoss in froher Eil.
Die launische Forelle
Vorueber wie ein Pfeil.
Yes, yes, that’s it! Lovely tune.”
Susi and I stare dumbfounded at this ignorant asshole. The music has wiped away any trace of urgency or alarm in him like a flash flood washes away a house of cards. It can’t be that the music has enchanted him, can it? It didn’t have any effect on me or Susi. Maybe this guy is just an idiot.
He hums along and taps his cane to the rhythm. The music crescendos as the last orange light blinks out, leaving the street bathed in a pure white moonlight. The cold sturdy stones underpaw slowly melt into soft earth. A voice rises above the calliope,
“Ein Fischer mit der Rute,
Wohl an dem Ufer stand,
Und sah's mit kaltem Blute,
Wie sich das Fischlein wand.”
The Ringmaster steps forward. She still has the same outfit as before, but now walks with a dignity befitting a queen. Her glowing green eyes are rapt on our rich bear friend as she gracefully pads over the soft dirt path of the midway. She leaves no pawprints in her wake. Stars have appeared on the midnight blue of her suit, twinkling as she walks. Lengthen the coattails and ruffle the sleeves a bit and it might pass for a ballgown.
“My word…” Mr. Richbear breathes. Before I can reach out to stop him, he’s already halfway to her. Susi comes up besides me and clutches my leg as we stare at the surreal scene.
Mr. Richbear bows deeply and extends a paw. After a moment of faux hesitation, The Ringmaster daintily accepts and the two clasp paws and step in close, leaving no space between them. One pair of paws rises out while the other clings to their waists. Together they begin to twirl, leaving one single looping track in the dirt. The Ringmaster’s coat flutters out and now it really has become a ballgown. And we are no longer at a carnival but in a marbled ballroom that would put Aquarian’s Opera House to shame. Figures mill about near the edges. While mere shadows in my eyes, the bear beams widely at the sight of them, his face full of recognition. The calliope continues its instruction of step, spin, step-step, twirl.
“Have you seen anything like this before?” Susi whispers to me.
“Not even close.” I whisper back. And I hope to Hel I never will again.
The music ends with the bear’s back to us. The room fills with the low rustle of polite clapping and the couple in the center bow to each other. Before our unfortunate participant can turn back around towards us, the Ringmaster pulls him in close for one last embrace. As she does Mr. Richbear lets out a sigh like air rushing through a copse of trees. The Ringmaster rests her chin on his shoulder and winks at us. The ballroom ripples - a reflection on a pond disturbed by a stone - and winks out, leaving us surrounded once again by tents and lights and trees. The bear hunches forward with another sigh. The air grows thick with the aggressively sweet smell of cotton candy and caramel corn. Something splotches to the ground at the bear’s feet: a pink tumbleweed with a thin trail going up between his legs. That sickly sweet smell becomes intolerable.
Mr. Richbear falls backwards and Susi let’s out a startled squeak. A deep gash has opened up in the his stomach with long strands of cotton candy spilling out. The Ringmaster looks at the corpse gleefully, her right arm up to the elbow dripping with slick shiny candy apple coating. Her green eyes shoot up to us as she brings her paw to her lips. A long slender tongue darts out and flits around her fingers, cleaning her claws of the hardening red syrup.
“Gun gun gun shoot shoot shoot!” Susi tugs on my sleeve. I pull the first two pistols from their holsters. They feel ten times heavier in my paws. The Ringmaster smiles when she sees my weapons and steps over the fallen heap before her. As if by magic, a cane With panache she twirls it and hopsteps her way towards us with an ever-growing smile.
I fire.
One shot goes completely wide and tears a small hole in a tent off to the right. But the second shot rips through the creature’s right ear. This time it doesn’t grow back. Its tophat tilts off balance and it emits a yowl that no mortal ears should ever hear, a loud, low roar of a storm trapped in a cave or the sound a soul makes as it's ripped in two by demons. Her green eyes cloud over to red like fresh blood has been dropped into them. The carnival scene around us glimmers and ripples just like the ballroom a few minutes ago, dissolving into shapeless black void. All that remains are the three of us and the luxorbs, which have taken on the ghostly green color of faerie fire one sometimes sees hovering over gravestones late at night.
The facade has fallen. The Ringmaster streaks towards us, her clothes dripping off her like globs of caramel. The tophat washes down between her eyes, leaving thin black streaks as it melts to the ground below. Her midnight suit sloughs off in ragged chunks, revealing small pert nipple-less breasts underneath with something shiny bouncing in between them. Her pants sag like pudding off the end of a spoon and slop into nothingness at her feet. There is only flat surface between her legs where something should be. She cackles in raged pain as she zigzags towards me. Her claws stretch outward towards my throat but her eyes never leave the twin barrels of the second pair of guns trying to get a bead on her.
She’s too fast. Too agile. She rushes towards us, the edges of her body blurring into the inky blackness. I pull the trigger on both pistols while aiming where I think she’ll be. Instead of thunderous applause from the flintlocks there’s only a polite cough; the enveloping darkness is absorbing all sound as well as light. But the guns fire all the same. The Ringmaster’s momentum is slowed only a little as two holes tear into her abdomen. Slick oil drips out of the wounds and the slightly nauseating smell of much-too-old fry oil drifts towards me.
Two guns left. This part is going to suck. A lot.
My arms go limp at my sides. The Ringmaster is but a smudge of blood against a black backdrop as she streaks towards me. With arms raised high she lets out a wail that would put banshees to shame. Just a few steps away her lower jaw unhinges like a python’s to reveal a maw full of rows and rows of serrated teeth. Staring into her mouth is like staring into a living meat grinder. The sight sets my arms in motion; in one fluid sweep they pull the last two pistols from their holsters and bring them up pointing directly into the gaping hole of pointy, toothy madness. The fingers on my left paw squeeze...and fire into nothingness. A dull stinging sensation licks its way from my left wrist down to my elbow, then my shoulder.
The Ringmaster smiles, not with her hanging jaw but with her eyes. A blood red paw grips my twisted wrist. The smoking barrel of my gun rests on her shoulder. Thin tendrils of smoke writhe up through the hole in her ear as my wrist goes numb. The stench of burning fur joins the stench of sour funnel cakes invading my nose. I can’t fire the other pistol, not with her tail snaking up my right arm, forcing it out to the side. The creature laughs victoriously.
Hooray. I’m dead. Ground into monk mush.
“Let him GO!” The scream - and ensuing kick - come out of nowhere. Susi places a decent roundhouse right at The Ringmaster’s shin. Instead of going through it in a puff of smoke - like my non-magical bullets - there’s a solid thwack as her foot connects. The thing’s sharp intake of breath pulls at the fur on my face and her grip loosens. It’s not enough for me to aim my gun again, but it is enough for me to lean forward and do something absolutely insane. I bring my face closer to the thing I saw bouncing around her neck as the rest of her clothes melted away into goop.
A tiny blue vial tied to a chain.
Before my captor realizes what I’m doing I have my teeth firmly square on the stopper. A swift jerk of the head is rewarded with a tiny pop!...but nothing more. Shit. Well that’s it. Game over, dude. I close my eyes as hot breath reeking of spoiled ice cream and children’s tears washes over my face.
“Enough!” A watery slap knocks the breath away. I brave a peek to see The Ringmaster laid out and shimmering. The shimmer turns around and two colorless orbs stare into me. “I expect all the tarts for this.” Leena says.
“And then some.” I lean around Leena’s wavering form and take aim. The Ringmaster props herself up on her elbows and looks at me with pure hate. She lunges just as the pistol erupts. Her lower jaw flies off and a smoldering pit smokes in her throat. Black ichor oozes out as she crumples to the ground. Her red fur singes like the edges of paper in a fire and continues until her ashes scatter into the darkness. As the last blacked flake melts away the surrounding void fades under the orange glow of a sunrise. Wait, it can’t be morning already. An hour hasn’t even passed yet. Has it?
The soft dirt path underpaw hardens to cold stone. A chill night wind sweeps through the streets, carrying the familiar funk of the city and not a whiff of cotton candy.
There is copper tang of blood though. Lots of blood. The slumped body of Mr. Richbear lies at our feet with what is decidedly not cotton candy piled around his stomach.
“We need to get out of here. Now.” The streets around us are mercifully empty, but the smell of gore in the air will attract people soon enough. I pick up Leena’s empty vial and fiddle with it. “Umm...this is a bit awkward.”
“No.” Leena body solidifies along with her words. “And I want tart. Now.”
“Look. How about a compromise?” I wave the stopper in front of her and chuck it into an alley. The low bouncing thud draws a thin smile to the water spirit’s face. “No more stopper. But - now hear me out - I still think it makes life a lot easier for all of us if people don’t know there’s a soul-sucking water spirit in their midst.” I wince a little as what I just said finally registers.
“Hmph.” Leena crosses her arms at my poor choice of words.
“Sorry. Sorry. That was a dick thing to say. But - another point - you can always stay right here in that puddle of blood until someone else finds you.” No reaction. “…We also have ice cream back at Archy’s.” She takes a step forward and place a finger over top the vial. With an immediate sucking sound she cooly pours herself into the glass.
“Let’s go.” She says flatly.
I take two quick glances down the street and crouch down besides Mr. Richbear.
“What are you doing?” Susi asks.
“Something I’m not necessarily proud of.” I rummage through his silken pockets until my paw rests upon a soft pouch bulging with coins. “There we go. Okay, let’s stay off the main streets and stick to the alleys for as long as we can.”
“Did you - did you just steal from him?!” Susi slaps my arm as she tails me into the nearest alley.
“I told you I’m not proud of it.”
“Oh my gods! That’s awful!”
“Agreed.”
“Isn’t there some monk rule or something that forbids stealing from dead people?”
“Chapter Six of the Book of Virtues: And the Enlightened One sat with his followers under a tree and said, ‘Do not take from the dead. Seriously, guys. That’s pretty messed up.’”
“Did he really say that?”
“I might be paraphrasing.”
“But why?”
“Because I never really paid attention during lessons. Come to think of it I never really read the book either.”
“No, I mean why take his money.”
“Because we’re broke.”
“Isn’t that what the bounty is for?”
“What bounty?” I whirl around on her.
“The one for...the murderer.”
“Oh! You mean the one that fucking disintegrated into the black nightmare whence it came? That murderer?” Even in dark shadows I can tell Susi is blushing. “There’s no evidence that whatever-the-fuck that thing was even existed. And if there’s nothing to show there’s no money to be had. Archy is broke. I’m broke. And by proxy you’re broke too. I did what I had to.” I begin walking again.
The trip back to the professor’s is quiet. Susi maintains a good distance behind me, although I’m less angry with her naivete than I am with my stealing from some poor dead guy. Well, unfortunate dead guy.
Back at the shop Archy greets us with a hearty wave and bowls of steaming soup. “How did it go?” His smile wavers upon seeing our faces. I inform him of the night’s proceedings. He drops down in a chair and strokes his snow-white chin. “So we are still broke, yes?”
“Not quite.” I toss the pouch at his massive feet as Susi gives an indignant snort. Archy’s arctic eyes widen as he peers inside.
“How did you - no, wait. I do not want to know.”
I take out one of the last tubs of ice cream and gingerly pour Leena on top of the blueberry-studded dessert. A clear puddle spreads out in a thin layer over the top and very slowly the ice cream begins to simply evaporate. Tiny moans of pleasure drift upward from the tub.
“Can you toss me a few of those coins?” I ask and Archy obliges. He doesn’t ask what I need them for; he already knows. I ignore Susi’s scowl and head out the door into the night. Behind me I can hear Archy explain to her in a low whisper.
“After bad missions he goes and drinks until he forgets.”
“Forgets what?” The tiny voice asks.
“Everything.”
An Unexpected Visit
When the lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, “Come.” I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and it had the name Death; and Hel was following with him.
“Milord,” Gregor’s skeleton jangles as it bows to me. Bright green flames glow within his empty eye sockets. His voice seems to be coming up from a deep well as it echoes out of his skull, “May I present to you the great Lord Ubel von Zerfallen and his darling, intelligent, magnanimous, ravishing-”
“That’s enough dear.”
“-Wife, the Lady Isana von Zerfallen.” At the last word my guest snaps his fingers and the skeleton collapses into a heap of bone and dust.
“That was my most trusted guard.” I steel my voice against my growing rage. How dare these two come into my keep and use my servants as their playthings!
“Just be glad it wasn’t you. Although that can still be arranged.” Ubel smirks at me, his haughty voice grating against my ears. I feel a small twinge in the pit of my stomach as a tiny door clatters on its hinges. That door, deep down in my soul, houses the one thing I must never release. Long, long ago I imprisoned It down there, ignored It, starved It, until It was but a waif of a shade of its former self. But in the presence of these two, It tries to claw its way out. And if it does I am finished. No, I will make sure It stays down there, silent and invisible. There is no place for Fear in this world - my world.
“Be careful making idle threats here, Ubel, or you and your wife won’t make it out alive.”
“Hah! ‘Make it out alive’?” Both of them titter at my threat.
“My dear Aodh,” Isana opens a fan to hide her large teeth as she brings her laughing under control, “you must work on your threats. Especially when it involves necromancers.”
The Fear claws more frantically at the door.
“State your piece and be off.” I let my rage bubble to the surface, but only slightly. The two see it and their demeanors cool dramatically.
“We came only to ask one simple question.” The same faerie flame that animated Gregor’s skull lights up in their eyes. The air crackles around them and the fur on my chest and head stands at attention. Pulling in breath is like sucking in the muddy dregs of a long-forgotten swamp. The two step forward, hand in hand, their voices merged as one.
/> “Where is our daughter?”
Game Night
This die sucks. Here, let’s try this one.
- Every DnD player ever
I cough as the warm wetness of blood soaks my side. Briefly glancing down from my target I see the jagged piece of bone – not mine – jutting out from the gap in my plate mail. Not good. I'll need to fix that soon or I'll lose too much blood. I look back up at the animated skeleton before me, clutching a broken rib like a dagger in its right hand and a wicked death-grin on its face. I had forgotten that skeletons never run out of weapons. Small wonder why necromancers like them so much. The bone-fiend's eye sockets glow with a fierce red light as it shambles towards me, rib raised high to finish me off. With a roar I bring my warhammer over my head in a whooshing arc. The spiked hammer crashes on the thing's skull and explodes it in splinters of bone. The rest collapses in a heap at my feet.
“Are you okay?” Uriel calls out to me as he looses another arrow. It thwips through the skull of one skeleton, then another, and another, finally lodging in the head of a fourth one. Unfazed, all of them continue shambling toward the archer.
“I already told you, Uriel!” Ravenna, our friendly neighborhood Thermomage screams. “Arrows. Don't. Work!”
“Well, if you just made them explosive, like I asked!” Another arrows flies.
“You know damn well there's not enough spare heat around here to do that without killing one of us! Besides, we have –“ With a choking cry, Einar stumbles and collapses at her feet, shivers of ivory bone sticking out of his back like a pincushion. “Nevermind, Uriel!” I gotta do this quick! Get ready!” She turns to Brother Ishma. “Well, priest, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into! And look! The barbarian's dead!”
“Oooh! The barbarian – who literally fights everything he sees! – is dead. Who didn't see that coming?” Ishma rolls his eyes as he turns and points at two approaching skeletons. Dazzling light erupts from his fingertips and vaporizes the two creatures. “And I already said I'm sorry. I told you: I thought the necromancer was a prostitute.”