Horror-Ween (Krewe of Hunters)

by Heather Graham

  She sat in one of the several make-up chairs that faced mirrors.

  Brian was a big man with big hands—and long fingers. She thought he was about fifty, a bit grizzled around the edges with a graying beard and scruffy mustache, but a man who was good at his task; the lines he created on her face vividly gave her the look of a doll.

  An evil doll.

  “Amazing!” she told him. “I’ll never do so well, but I did watch . . .”

  Her voice trailed. Belinda had brought Joe in. He was now in a suit, white shirt, red vest, and swinging cape. His hair was brushed back.

  “Ah, just a bit of lightening up his facial features and adding some color to his lips . . .” Brian stepped forward, offering Joe his hand. “Great to have you on board. You look fantastic already.”

  “Thanks.” Joe studied Brian’s work on Keri. “You’re . . . creepy!” he told her.

  She grinned.

  “Beautifully creepy,” Brian said, proud of his work.

  “Evil seductress, yes, perfect,” Belinda said. “So, fix the count—let me get the two of them to their places at the Murder House.”

  Brian quickly worked on Joe; he made a great Count Rapier.

  When he was done, they both thanked them.

  “I get to see you every day. Change in the costume room—and come here for make-up,” Brian said. “You do your own from now on, but I’m here to help and for any problems.”

  They thanked him again and then hurried out with Belinda, who was impatient and worried. “You need to see who else belongs at the mansion,” she told them. “We don’t allow costumes among those who come in,” she continued. “Way too much liability in that. I mean, you know—all our employees know it’s a strict rule—you don’t touch anyone, right?”

  “Right. Of course not,” Joe said.

  Belinda nodded her grandmotherly approval.

  “And here we are. There’s a back entrance, but we’ll head straight in so that you can see it all.”

  Keri knew it was a prefabricated dwelling that went up—and down—easily. But it was still impressive.

  An expansive porch gave way to the entry to the Murder Mansion. Naturally, the house was crawling with spiders and webs on the outside—the inside as well, she imagined.

  She wasn’t proven wrong.

  Every corner of the place seemed to offer more spiderwebs, as did many of the furnishings within it. The front door opened to a large “mud” room, a place where guests gathered until their turn to enter the main house.

  French doors opened to the main house. First, a large formal “parlor,” where a skeletal couple sat on a Victorian sofa, and even as they looked around at the dead flowers in the vases on the tables, a giant Jack-in-the box popped up, and a red-nosed clown with evil eye markings—similar in appearance to many a movie evil-clown—jumped out, lunging at them.

  He was startled and laughed and stepped back.

  “Hey, sorry. I’m Marvin. I mean, my real name is Marvin Williams. My creature is Jack, of course. Welcome—I heard new blood was coming in tonight, no pun intended! Oh, maybe pun intended,” he said.

  “Marvin, get back in your box and let me show these folks the rest of the house. Joe will be down here with you, but Keri is upstairs in the kids’ room. We kind of need to move.”

  “I’m back in. Hey, guys, by the way, we all go to a place right outside here, once we’re done for the night and out of costume and make-up. It’s called Sam’s Shrimp Shack, and they stay open until 2:00 A.M., enough time for us to get a wind-down, and not enough time for any of us to get too drunk. Hope you’ll join your fellow monsters and freaks.”

  “Sounds great,” Keri assured him.

  “Marvin, fill Count Rapier in the best you can; people will be coming through soon. Joe, that’s your coffin standing over there,” Belinda said, indicating the bottom half of a standing coffin near the fabricated hearth. “People come through in groups; jump at whoever in the crowd looks like they’re the most easily frightened. You can talk about drinking blood and all that . . . it’s mainly improv. Okay, come on Devilla Dolly, we’re running out of time.”

  Keri looked back at Joe as she hurried up the stairs with Belinda. Joe was watching her.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  He looked worried. She gave him a thumbs-up sign and moved faster to keep up with the surprisingly fast granny-like Belinda.

  She was to haunt the playroom with Silly Skeleton—a tall, thin, young man in an excellent skeleton, black besides the bones and a leering, toothy grin; and a stuffed puppy, a girl who looked all warm and cuddly until she worked the lever on the jaw and showed she had jagged, dripping fangs. The skeleton quickly introduced himself as really being Lance Devin, and the young woman was introduced as Gail Aubrey.

  “Purgatory Puppy or Gail Aubrey.” She offered a paw, and then said, “Why, what the hell, honey, this is Louisiana,” and gave Keri a welcoming hug.

  “I’m Lance, by the way. Lance Devin. Hey, you should come with us after hours.” The skeleton said. “We all get together at Sam’s Shrimp Shack.”

  “And whine about awful kids,” Gail said through her puppy dog head.

  “I heard,” she said.

  “Ah. The Jack-in-the box downstairs,” Lance said sagely.

  “Right.”

  “Help her out tonight,” Belinda said. “I’ve got to get back. Someone could need me—ripped paws, bones, or whatever,” she added dryly. “Honestly, Susie should have brought you and Joe out, Keri, but she had a list to write up for Boss Man, so . . . you two help out. That’s your doll stand by the bed, Keri, and just . . . be scary.”

  “Scary Keri,” Lance chortled.

  “Ah, right,” Keri murmured.

  Belinda quickly left them.

  “We’d better get into position—it’s after five,” Lance said. He hurried over to blend against the wall. As he did so, Gail took a position on the daybed in the playroom and she hurried to her stand, draping her arms over it.

  Keri heard screams and scared laughter downstairs; the first group was in.

  Soon the group was up the stairs.

  It wasn’t difficult work; she let her arms dangle off the stand, then lifted her head and took a step off it when a girl came over to inspect her more closely.

  The girl screamed and jumped back.

  The guide took the group on into another room.

  There was a story, of course, that went with the house. Benedict Clark had made a deal with the devil, not knowing he’d condemned his family to the portals of hell. He failed to give the devil his due, and thus he’d been sent to hell, and the house had been given over to Count Rapier.

  His wife had become a doll—Devilla Dolly—while his children had become Silly Skeleton, Jack-in-the-box, and Purgatory Puppy.

  The other rooms contained motion-activated creatures, and thus they were scary because it turned out they weren’t motion-activated, but real.

  She played the part, grateful they had started on a weeknight.

  Five hours; she only had to endure five hours.

  Five hours of moving just a little. Moving suddenly, startling and scaring people . . .

  She could hear Joe downstairs upon occasion, his voice booming and rich as he welcomed people to the house . . . and commented on the beauty of the veins at their throats.

  Finally, it came to an end.

  She was beyond exhausted, and while the rest of the “cast” might sleep in the morning, she knew she and Joe would be looking at lists of names, trying to find any pictures, going through her research—and heading into New Orleans to see Jillian and try to see what else she could tell them.

  If anything.

  And what about the Revolutionary soldier who had come to Jillian in Massachusetts? Was he still with her? Or . . .

  She didn’t know the answers.

  “So! Sam’s Shrimp Shack?” Gail asked her.

  She’d removed her puppy dog head, and Keri could see her face for the first
time. She had very light blonde hair—all but plastered to her head from the costume. She was young, barely into her twenties, Keri thought, and had friendly hazel eyes and a big smile.

  She wanted to go and curl into bed, but she knew it was going to be important to get to know their co-workers.

  That’s why they were here.

  “Sure, I think. I just have to check with Joe.”

  “Great. We’ll meet Joe,” Lance said. “Though we’d meet him anyway—we all head to costumes from here. Come on downstairs—we’ll show you how we slip around out back.”

  “Wait! Let me shrug out of the paws,” Gail said.

  She did so; Lance then led the way downstairs.

  Marvin was out of his box; he and Joe were there talking, waiting for them.

  “They’re joining us,” Marvin said happily.

  “Well, of course, they’re among the obnoxiously horrible now,” Gail said, grinning.

  “You know, that puppy costume is hot as hell, I imagine, but you’re lucky, kid, you know that?” Marvin said to her. “This get-up . . . well, in truth, I have learned how to get out of the get-up. Come on, folks, back to costumes. We’ll see who else is joining us.”

  Marvin headed back through the house, pointing out a place where one of the security personnel always stood—clad completely in black—but ready to step in if there was to be a problem. “There’s this place—Murder House—and the haunted graveyard and the haunted hayride. Those are the only attractions with live actors. Oh, a magician walks around. And a fortune-telling gypsy. And on Friday nights, we have a horse and a headless horseman,” he explained as they walked. He grinned. “Gordon Bentley does double-duty as a magician and the horseman. You’ll like him—great guy.”

  Keri glanced at Joe. He was watching her. She smiled and cast her head slightly to the side.

  Yes, Sam’s Shrimp Shack. A place to meet and mingle.

  He nodded and caught her hand as they stepped out into the night by the back door.

  “See,” Gail said. “We have a straight shot back to the costume area, behind the rides and game booths and all. Just in case some lingerers are hanging in, though security gets them moving out once it’s ten during the week or midnight on Friday and Saturday nights. Of course, you’ll only be here a few weeks. Guess it’s a good thing that Boss Man likes to stay open two weekends after the actual holiday, huh?”

  “Yep. It’s great. We need the work,” Joe said.

  They soon reached the tent where other actors were shedding their costumes and mostly just grabbing make-up removal wipes quickly to get out. A tall man in a suit, dark-haired and handsome and perhaps forty, was just stepping out from one of the little curtained changing areas Keri headed for. He smiled and said, “Wow! Devilla Dolly! Great to meet you. I’m Gordon Bentley. Magician by day—horseman by night. On Fridays and Saturdays.”

  “Nice to meet you. Keri. Keri Johnston,” she said.

  “Hey,” Joe said from behind her.

  “Wow. Much better Count Rapier than we’ve had,” Gordon said, stepping around to shake Joe’s hand. “Are you joining us at the shack?”

  “Sure,” Joe said.

  “Great. See you there.”

  In the confusion of all the actors changing and grabbing make-up wipes, they still met the rest of the regular live actors: Janice Markle, Steve Jenson, and Rowdy Cornwall, of the hayride, and Connie Perkins, Laura Perry, and Justin Roberts, all from the haunted cemetery.

  Justin, Connie, and Laura had little children at home; they only joined their co-workers on weekends. Rowdy Cornwall had an audition for a future project in the morning and started to beg out as well, but the others convinced him he needed to get to know the newcomers.

  Belinda moved busily about, making sure the actors all hung up their costumes or set them in their places.

  Brian handed out make-up wipes and closed his “repair” station.

  “You got a car?” Marvin asked Joe.

  “We do,” Joe assured him.

  “Then just follow the road to the west. You’ll see the shack right there on your right side.”

  They thanked him.

  As they walked out to the parking lot, Keri turned back.

  She could see that Detective Coley was still there.

  He stood near the entry, watching as they all left.

  He watched . . . for people. He tried to make sure everyone was out. And if everyone was out, how did the killer manage to remain? It might well be easy for an attendee to hide because there really wasn’t a mechanism that would count how many had come in with how many had gone out.

  But if the detective was watching the employees . . .

  How would the killer manage?

  She didn’t know how. But she knew he would damned well try.

  Chapter 5

  It was late, but as Joe expected, Angela answered the phone when he called as they drove.

  He wondered how the hell she did all that she did. They had agents out around the country most of the time, and she always seemed to be available when needed. When she wasn’t available, her calls went through to her assistant, a tech genius named Gigi, which meant, of course, they all called her Gigi the Genius.

  But Angela answered, and with the phone on speaker, Keri gave her the names of those they had met thus far, saying, “I’m assuming we’re safe with those who live here and have little children—if they don’t travel to different Halloween theme parks.”

  “I could be wrong, but I’m not seeing this killer as having little children. But then again, I could be wrong. The fellow who became known at the BTK serial killer was a family man. Still, logistically speaking, I think you’re right. But don’t let your guards down, ever. I’ll get right on these names.”

  They thanked her.

  “And this killer is male,” Joe murmured.

  “Maybe.”

  “I think you need a male for that kind of strength. Trust me—I know women can be strong. But there was a lot of heavy hauling done, so . . .”

  “I think you’re right,” Keri said.

  “Maybe there may be more than one killer, but that makes the statistics even more difficult to fathom. Two people trying to avoid all else as the park closed for the night—along with the chosen victims.”

  “We’re here—Sam’s Shrimp Shack,” Joe murmured, finding parking. It was a wooden structure decorated with various nautical pieces, a ship’s helm, a fisherman perched on a boat holding the sign that showed them in glowing neon they had come to the right place.

  They arrived just behind the others and were welcomed in a friendly manner.

  Sad. Most of them were probably good, decent people, enjoying their work and one another. They didn’t suspect a killer walked among them.

  Gordon Bentley directed them to empty seats.

  He sat on one of the benches at the wooden tables that lay haphazardly around Sam’s Shrimp Shack.

  Joe liked the place. It had a casual, warm feel.

  Their friendly waitress evidently knew the group. She was ready and able to give them separate checks and chat about the fact she was off on the weekend and planned to bring her kids to the park. She was cheerful and quick, leaving Joe and Keri to order last so they could study the menu. Joe realized he was damned glad they had food; it had been hours since they had eaten, but he hadn’t even thought about it until he’d sat down.

  Keri was at his side; Gail was next to her on the other side. Marvin had taken the end of the table by him while down at the other end, Gordon Bentley had taken a seat. Across from him, Lance Devin was on the bench, and at his side Janice, Steve, and Rowdy.

  Janice looked to be in her mid-twenties, a pretty girl, tall and athletic, with short red hair and amber eyes. Steve was about the same age, blond, about six-foot even, with an engaging smile. The two seemed to like each other—above friendship. They made a pretty couple.

  Rowdy Cornwell was a stocky man with a sandy buzz-cut and large gray eyes, a friendly manner,
and a grin and a shrug for Janice and Steve.

  “So, cool that we get you here!” Janice said enthusiastically. “You were doing a play—and it just ended?”

  Joe was surprised when Keri jumped right in. “Yes, we were doing a modernized version of Hamlet. The run ended and we’re signing on to be extras—if we can’t get roles—in a movie about to be filmed in Virginia, starting up toward the end of November. When we heard about openings here, it just sounded like so much fun.”

  “How did you know about the theme park needing people?” Rowdy asked.

  “I came here as a kid,” Joe said. “But that wasn’t how we found it. I did a search online. And there were openings and . . . here we are.”

  “Cool to have you. I wasn’t upstairs, so Keri, I’m going to assume you were great,” Marvin said. “Our Count Rapier here . . . what a great voice. Had the ladies jumping all over the place and giggling at being scared. It was a great night.”

  “Devilla Dolly was spectacular,” Gail said.

  “I’ll bet she was,” Gordon said. “But you’ll be heading back to the main stage.”

  “Hey, who are you to talk? You’re off all the time,” Gail said. She smiled, explaining, “Gordon loves to travel. This is his first year with us, but you’re staying on as crew until they open up for the Christmas thingy Jenkins is going to open this year, right?”

  “Right,” Gordon said. “I’m going to be out in this area most of the time, but when we close down the Halloween thing, I’m taking a vacation in NOLA. I’m going to stay right in the French Quarter and do all the tourist things . . . and maybe spend a day or two as a living statue on Jackson Square . . . make a bit of money to imbibe in tourism that way!”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Joe told him.

  The man was tall and evidently strong—and this was his first year at this park. That didn’t mean he was a killer.

  It did mean he was a suspect.

  “So, what do you do the rest of the year?” Keri asked him casually.

  “I see the country. I’ve worked in Vegas as a wandering magician, in Salem, Mass, as a Pilgrim at a living history facility . . . I get around.”

  “Massachusetts, beautiful state,” Joe said.