HIGH STRANGENESS-Tales of the Macabre

by Billie Sue Mosiman

  HIGH STRANGENESS

  TALES OF THE MACABRE

  BY

  BILLIE SUE MOSIMAN

  Copyright Billie Sue Mosiman 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, including digital, electronic, or mechanical, to include photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author(s), except for brief quotes used in reviews. This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are products of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Carnival Freak

  A Rip in Time

  Frankenstein: Return from the Wasteland

  CARNIVAL FREAK

  by

  Billie Sue Mosiman

  Copyright Billie Sue Mosiman 2012

  The sideshow audience was full and well spent. There had been so many acts and exhibits that horrified, thrilled, and awed that they were as emotionally limp as wet laundry. When the show wound down and was about to end, out walked the announcer who had changed from his carny clothes of striped pants and checked vest into a black tuxedo, white pleated shirt, and black bow tie. He carried a top hat, sweeping it below his knees as he bowed and the audience applauded the show's success. Then, he stood erect, donned the ridiculous hat, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, that was our spectacular show and we want to thank you for your diligent attention..."

  Audience members began to gather purses and stuffed animals won on the midway, bags of peanuts and half-eaten hotdogs. They prepared to rise to their feet and struggle from the makeshift folding seats to the sawdust covered center aisle.

  "...but I require you to remain where you are just another minute, if you don't mind. We have one more exhibit to offer those of you intrepid enough to indulge your deepest fears. For the price of another single admission price, we will show you something the world has never witnessed. Science denies its existence. This is our secret freak, our Freak of Freaks, our ultimate show that few have ever dared lay eyes on, ladies and gentlemen!"

  Now the audience was riveted to the seats, all scuffling silenced, all movement to leave abandoned. They gaped at the well-dressed announcer, blinking with some confusion.

  "I offer you a tour down this narrow hallway to see behind a glass enclosure, close enough for you to touch, only inches away from this freakiest of freaks the world has ever seen, just for one more admission price, just for a single fiver. I can’t reveal what you will see because I cannot share that with this entire audience. I can tell you, however, that if you desire to see with your very own eyes something so astounding, so singularly disturbing, so world-shattering as what we have waiting, then I urge you to take this final, this glorious, and never-seen-by-the-eyes-of-man, tour."

  He paused theatrically, looking around the rows of seats all the way to the back of the tent, from the right and then from the left. He took off his top hat and held out his arm, indicating a direction. "Just down this hallway! Not for the faint of spirit! If you have a bad heart, please do not take this tour. We cannot be held responsible for fainting or any harm caused to the nervous system. If you want to see a Wonder of the Unnatural World, I ask you to step right up."

  He strode from the raised stage and down the four wooden steps to the sawdust floor to stand in front of his captive assemblage. "Only the bravest should take me up on this offer! Will the rest of you please exit the tent and we thank you for your patience, and hope you enjoyed the sideshow."

  He stood waiting, eying the crowd as it rose, almost as one body, and began to flood into the center aisle. In the front row, his gaze fell on a woman clutching her purse to her bosom. She came forward, her head thrust out, her eyes narrowed. "A true, real freak?" she asked.

  "Yes, ma'am, a true, real freak. Nothing you will ever see anywhere else, I guarantee."

  She lowered her purse, snapped it open and handed him a five. "I want to see," she said.

  "Of course!" He took the money and grinned devilishly. He pointed her to a side flap. "Just that way," he said. "Wait at the flap until you're instructed to enter."

  Behind her waited a dapper little man in a brown suit. "I want to go in, too."

  The announcer took his bill, and asked him to wait with the first woman.

  From out of the crowd milling to the exit, another man, this one with hard, flinty eyes, came forward holding out money. "Thank you, sir, you've made a wise choice! Please get in line."

  A third man separated himself from the exiting mob, pushing out with his hands to get back to the stage front. He asked, "You say this is worth it? It's better than the bearded lady and the alligator man?"

  "Absolutely, sir! Worth every single penny."

  "I'll be back to complain if that's a lie," the man said. He was tall, thin, with a pencil mustache. He looked well-heeled and not the sort who went in for freak shows, but those were the ones the announcer sometimes expected to see interested most in the extra show. "You won't be disappointed, sir. Please join the line for your turn."

  The tent was almost empty. At the end of the first row a young woman sat, watching, scowling. The announcer cocked his head, staring at her quizzically. "Are you of an age?" he asked.

  The young woman stood and she was tall and full of sharp angles. Her elbows stuck out of her shirt, her chest was bony beneath a white lacy blouse, and her legs were stick-like. She was money, old money at that, if the announcer was asked to guess. Her hair was professionally groomed, pulled back from her face in a blond chignon held with a pearl comb. She wore two rings on each hand, all four glittering of gold and sparkling with faceted jewels. She carried a leather bag on her shoulder and wore elegant black flats. She didn't look as if she should even be in the tent, but there was a reason--there was always a reason.

  "I'm old enough to see anything you've got back there," she said.

  "And how old is that, m’lady?"

  She had reached him and the tent was emptied except for the small group waiting at the side flap. Her voice was silky and sophisticated as she handed him a five dollar bill and said, "Old enough, I told you already, now take the money and let me see what you think you've got."

  He bowed to her, took the bill, and gestured her to get in line. Once he was sure there would be no other patrons, he joined the little group to instruct them. "One at a time, please. My assistant will come to the flap and let you know when it's your turn. Be patient. We allow everyone all the time necessary to examine this extraordinary exhibit and I assure you it's going to be worth it. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and have a wonderful time!"

  He left them standing, disappearing behind the curtains at the back of the stage. The five people who had paid to see the super freak stood looking anywhere but at one another. It was as if they were in partnership to do something unmentionable, something for which they hoped to remain anonymous.

  They waited.

  #

  The first woman to enter behind the flap found the narrow hallway created by tent fabric claustrophobic and the light much too dim. She moved slowly, reaching out to each side of her, squinting ahead. She could see a brighter light further on and began to hurry. As soon as she reached the beginning of the glass wall, she halted and gasped.

  A bright overhead light shown down on a very fine looking man with shiny brown hair, dressed in a gray suit and light blue shirt. He gave her a winning smile.

  She thought she would faint. From the shoulder of the man sprouted a second head, this one looking somewhat similar to the smiling ma
n except that this head lolled on the shoulder, eyes closed, mouth agape, hair thinning and in disarray.

  "God," the woman breathed.

  "Hello, dear. So happy you've come to see me."

  And me.

  She had stepped a few feet closer to the glass, centering herself before the two-headed freak. She now glanced around because there was a second voice, but she had no idea where it had originated.

  "What?" Her voice was a squeak and she could feel her heart booming in her chest.

  "I said, hello, happy you're here," said the smiling head.

  And me. I am the not-so-pretty head. I have other talents that make up for my grotesque appearance. You are hearing me in your head.

  "WHAT?" The squeak was nearly a roar. She began to shake and her legs felt rubbery. Was the lolling dead head speaking to her?

  Of course I am, you silly woman. Now let's get down to the grit of you because we have so little time. I can tell you are a Black Widow.

  The woman began to back from the window.

  The smiling head said, reaching out elegant hands toward the glass, "Oh, come now, and don’t be afraid. He can't get to you. You're safe beyond this glass, dear. Don't go before the secrets are told!"

  "He's...he's...talking to me?"

  "Oh yes, he is, dear. It's the only way he can speak at all. Now listen...if you really dare."

  You are the freak. You're on your third identity and third husband. You poisoned the first two and will poison this one as well. The insurance money is so tempting, isn't it? You think I'm the freak, you think WE are the freaks. You are the freak, Mrs. Goffried. You actually like committing murder. It thrills you. That's the real secret you hide deep in your soul. You LIKE killing.

  "Dear Lord." The woman backed away until she hit a tent pole behind the opposite wall of fabric in the hallway.

  You will never meet the Lord. He has no use for the likes of you. Your soul is a pit, Mrs. Goffried, and it's so dark down there you don't even know there are snakes writhing and rats running through your veins.

  "How do you know all this?" Now she was shrieking, but it was so high-pitched it was almost a whistle lingering in the air, leaving behind the memory of words.

  "He knows everything, doesn't he?" The smiling head grinned wider and began to look as freakish as the lolling, slobbering dead head. "He knows you down to the bone, dear. He's showing you the freak inside. Isn't it beautiful?"

  Mrs. Goffreid turned and ran for the exit at the end of the long hallway between tents. Behind her she heard derisive laughter but never knew if it came through her ears or her thoughts.

  #

  A beautiful girl in a tight, red sequined dress came to hold the flap aside and gestured the next in line, the little man, to enter the hallway to view the exhibit. He smiled nervously and glanced back at the others, shrugging his shoulders. The flap closed behind him. He could smell odd scents--an antiseptic, hot cotton candy swirling in a metal tumbler, sauerkraut, and Old Spice aftershave.

  He was very sensitive to scents and brought out a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nostrils. He walked down the hallway toward the lighted exhibit without fear. What was to fear? This was just another freak in a mildly entertaining sideshow. Nothing to be afraid of...

  He came up on the glass enclosure and almost ran away. He saw the two-headed man and his mouth tightened into a thin line of disapproval. "What in the world?"

  "I assure you we are of this world. Nothing alien about us," the smiling head said, giggling and nodding his fine head. Next to his cheek the dead head hung chin to chest, drooling spit down the nice suit, the orbs of the eyeballs rolling behind closed lids.

  Hello, my fine freak friend. Your name is Harvey. In your church they call you Deacon Harvey. And the people you burgle call you a black-hearted thief. You live a dual life to make up for how little you were born and how big you mean to make yourself, isn’t that so? Or do you not understand your motives?

  Harvey's hand lowered the handkerchief from his mouth. He stared wide-eyed at the creature before him. "What are you saying?"

  "Oh, that's my brother. He does rattle on so, doesn't he? He knows all your secrets and I know none. I got the looks, he got the brains, what can you do?"

  Harvey glanced at the smiling man and winced with instant understanding. "You're inside my head."

  "Oh no, no-no, not me. It's him." He jerked his head to the side, touching foreheads with his brother.

  He's right, you know. He got the looks, I got the gift. I have to be fed and half of what is on the spoon falls out of my mouth. I have no life except what's in my head. It's a vast landscape I roam all alone despite how close I am with this beast who carries me around on his shoulder. But let's talk about you, Harvey...

  "What a godless, unholy thing you are!" Harvey said, backing from the glass, preparing to scamper down the hall and away from the monstrosity.

  I am godless? I am unholy? You pretend to be a devout Christian. You pretend to be a good, upstanding citizen. You pretend everything, Harvey. You are so full of deceit it oozes out of your skin like sweat. You climb through windows in the night, you pad down hallways and up stairs that do not belong to you. You go through ladies' jewel boxes and then you go through their underwear drawers. You are a despicable little man. You are a weasel and a liar of the first order! I, on the other hand, pretend nothing. I am an abnormal aberration of nature, a mistake locked onto a silly body with my ignorant brother for all of my days. Yet...yet I can see into YOU. I see how sneaky and dark your intentions, how disreputable you are; I am the one being on earth who knows what a sham you are and always will be.

  "God help us!" Harvey ran for the exit fast as his short legs could convey him. At his back he heard the laughter trail him like a ghost with a wild dog baying at its side.

  #

  The assistant lifted the flap and gestured in the third patron, a man with shifty, angry eyes and a tic that caused his upper lip to lift and drop, lift and drop.

  This man wore workman's clothes, dark blue pants and a short-sleeved shirt with his name in white script: Jerry.

  Once this man reached the glass, he almost turned away in order to run down the hall to find a way out, but the smiling man's voice stopped him. He waited, shivering, hunching his shoulders.

  "Oh, dear, don't be that way, don’t be so afraid! Now you've hurt our feelings. Hasn't he hurt our feelings, brother? And I wore my best suit tonight!"

  Petty criminal.

  "What the hell did you say?"

  The smiling man put out his hands in apology. "I said nothing, friend. I expect that was my brother."

  Jerry stared hard at the inanimate head that hung on the shoulder, a horrible thing that only a demented God must have created. "I'm a mechanic," he protested. "I'm no damn criminal."

  Mechanic, my ass. You're a petty criminal these days, lifting purses from old ladies and their Social Security checks like the coward you are. But you were a big time criminal at one time, weren't you, Jerry? You escaped jail after sentencing before they could ever transport you to prison. Disappeared twenty years ago. You killed your landlord, stabbed him with a butcher knife when he tried to throw you out of the building. Since then you've kept on the move and changed your name a dozen times.

  "You're a liar! Get out of my head!"

  I know how you're going to end up, too, Jerry. Do you want to know? Are you brave enough to listen to what the future holds for you?

  Apparently not. Jerry high-tailed it down the hall as if he were on fire.

  "Oh, don't be that way!" called the smiling man.

  #

  As the flap closed behind him, the tall thin patron sauntered down the hallway full of confidence and expectation. He had not been amazed or awed by the original sideshow freaks and hoped there was something grand, something extreme, or something horrific waiting behind the glass enclosure he saw lighted halfway down the narrow tented hall.

  He stopped before the glass and his mind slipped
gears. He thought of two-headed calves and two-headed frogs. He could not think straight enough to take in what he was looking at behind the glass.

  "Hello, there. We are so glad you've come to see us."

  The thin man stared first at the smiling, handsome head and then the dead-looking head with the rolling eyeballs moving behind the closed lids like fat ball bearings pushing and straining behind wispy cloth.

  You are a mad man, but you know that, don't you, Davenport?

  Davenport flinched. He knew immediately this voice came from inside his own head. He frowned and growled low like a tiger going to ground, ready to leap.

  I know what you’re thinking, but no, you can't get to us. This glass is impenetrable. There's a labyrinth between where you stand and where we are enclosed. If you tried, you'd never find us before we disappeared.

  "I could try," Davenport said. His eyes had gone cold as a stony beach in winter. "How are you talking to me in my head?"

  Never mind that. You should be used to voices, Davenport. You've followed so many for so long. They helped you escape the loony bin, after all.

  "Mental facility," Davenport corrected.

  Have it your way. The voices helped you do the research necessary and they taught you the techniques of faking medical degrees so that you could pass yourself off as a physician. Quite an intelligent accomplishment for a mad man, Davenport!

  "Who told you all this?"

  "He knows everything." The smiling man grinned idiotically.

  Davenport didn't even spare him a glance at the interruption. He kept his attention on the slobbering, blind head.

  "Answer me, who told you these things?"

  God? The Devil? Fairies under the fairy bridge? What do you care? I know you, that is what's important here. I know about the syringes of air you give to sick patients of other doctors on staff at Bradbury Hospital. I know all about the satisfaction you get from your death-dealing. It enlarges your madness, it feeds it, and it makes you, day by day, year by year, into a proper monster.