Carny - October 23

Welcome to my serial Carny!  I hope you enjoy this little Halloween treat.  New episodes will appear every day through October.

Step right up!  For just a dime see wonders beyond imagining!

And maybe we'll let you leave with your soul...

Start here for October 1

October 23

Copley bought a newspaper at a little drug store in Crallwell. He read the headlines with nervous anxiety. The goddamned Russians appeared to be going ahead with their plans. They’d shot off almost a bomb a day and were still planning their blockbuster at the end of the month. Some British scientist was warning that the bomb might set the air on fire and destroy the world.

Copley tried to imagine that, the whole world burning up. He’d had some practice with miracles lately and guessed anything might be possible, even the end of the world. Where would people be then?  Heaven?  Hell?  He had some personal, recent evidence of devils, but angels seemed unlikely.

He finished his lunch and walked down a brick street to the lot where Big Mike and the boys were finishing the set-up. Buddy greeted him from the bally of the magic show. “Willy is still pissed,” the dwarf warned him. “Says he had to pay the sheriff a hundred bucks just to set up today. Said the cop called it insurance and warned him that, if the girls don’t keep their clothes on, he’ll roust everybody.”

“Just too much good news,” Copley said, pushing into the tent. He had the devil skin hanging on a headless clothes dummy behind the stage and Andre was waiting there. “You try it on?” Copley asked.

“Waited for you. How’s this trick going to work?” Andre said. Buddy hung around and listened too.

“It’s a quick switch. We put the skin in the box. You’re under the stage. When I close the coffin and start my spiel, we’ll have music and I’ll talk loud to cover any noise you make. You climb up through the stage trap. You know where it is, right?”

Andre nodded.

“You’ll be inside the box then and you’ll have less than five minutes to put the skin on. It goes on like a cape with a hood.” He handed Andre a latex mask that he’d molded himself, a crude, brutish face with a curving nose, angry brows, and a goatish beard. “Wear this too. When I finish the spiel and open the box, you come out like a mad bull, glare at the tip and make a lunge at ‘em, like you’re going to leap off the stage. The lights’ll go out then and you go back down through the trap to hide while we work the blackout. Got it?”

The devil skin hung on the headless dummy beside the stage, looking more than ever like a living thing, even though Copley had pulled all the stuffing out of it. He noticed the way Andre kept staring at it and he wondered just what was going on inside the guy who’d been a girl. He felt a stab of guilt at what he was about to do, but he knew in his heart, it was the right thing.

Copley didn’t even have to ask if Andre was ready. He knew. He stepped to the back of the stage and lifted the skin off the clothes dummy, held it for a moment looking at it. Copley saw him shudder, but Andre was game, as ready for this as Copley was.  Andre slipped the skin around his shoulders. Copley saw his hands were shaking.

It fit him. Copley had known it would. Andre put on the rubber mask and pulled the horned cowl up. The latex visage filled the hollowed out place where the satyr’s face should have been. The effect was about as perfect as Copley had hoped. He needed to figure out a way to make hoofs and maybe some gloves for Andre’s hands, but in a dark tent, just before the blackout, Andre would appear transformed.

Copley took the skin back, thinking that Andre seemed almost reluctant to relinquish the shaggy black pelt. “Get under the stage,” he said, “and we’ll run through this. Keep the mask on. That’ll save time.”

Andrew obeyed him, the latex fright face hiding any feelings he might have revealed. Copley climbed onto the stage and closed the coffin.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, addressing Buddy. “Here in my hands I hold the very heart of darkness, the skin of something unspeakable. Some say it’s the devil’s skin, but who knows? It was found long ago on a mountain in Germany…”

He opened the box and hung the skin inside it as he rambled on. After Copley closed the door, he heard Andre climbing up through the trap but in a crowded tent with the PA and the phonograph playing mood music – Copley was thinking, maybe that Bald Mountain piece – no one would hear him. He spieled for a few more minutes, talking about sin and punishment and how the devil was lord of the world in this season of autumn. He’d have to see how the spiel played before he’d refine it, but he could talk about damnation better than most preachers.

“And…tonight, the devil has returned to claim his skin…”

Copley swung the box open, looking down to be sure the door cleared, so the first thing he saw were Andre’s feet.

“The fuck?” he thought. “Where’d the hooves come from?”

On to October 24

Copyright 2011 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

 

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