I think I cried out then, but my voice was not strong enough to carry over the din. I watched helplessly as the puppy was placed in the guillotine, its neck fitting in the curved groove while the top bar was lowered, effectively trapping it in the contraption. The puppy, as if finally realizing it was in danger, began to squirm and yelp, tiny barks of desperation that got lost in the tumult of the cheering crowd. I looked around and saw a bloodlust in the eyes of everyone in attendance. They wanted to see the puppy killed. It was why they had come.
The blade of the guillotine was held up by a thin rope that was tied to a hook in the contraption’s side. Massimo fingered the rope, teasing the audience with the promise of what was to come. The puppy’s barking increased in pitch, and the crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. With a dramatic flourish, Massimo released the rope and the blade came slicing down. With a meaty thunk, the puppy’s head was severed from its body, landing on the floor in front of the table. Blood poured from the poor animal’s neck like some grisly waterfall, pattering onto the stage, splattering the thing’s head. A head the continued to bark.
While I watched in frozen shock, Massimo bent and plucked the puppy’s head from the stage. He held it up for the audience to see, the decapitated head continuing to bark, the eyes continuing to move from side to side. The crowd’s roar was deafening, an avalanche of sound that filled the tent and reverberated through the space. Seeming to inflate with the praise of his audience, Massimo hooked a finger and scooped out one of the puppy’s eyes. I heard it release with a wet pop, and then Massimo placed it in his mouth and bit down. Juice spurted onto his chin as he chewed the eyeball and swallowed.
I began bucking wildly, kicking the woman in the collarbone. I tugged on her hair until she cursed and practically flung me to the floor. I turned to run from the tent, but the last thing I’d seen before the woman had removed me from her shoulders was Massimo biting into the puppy’s head like an peach and I wasn’t likely to forget it.
* * *
Tarantino smiled down at me indulgently, a condescending glint in his eyes. I had come to his trailer to share with him my concerns about Massimo, ill-formed as they may be. I told him about the animals, about the almost hypnotic sway he held over his audience, finishing with what I considered the most damning piece of evidence—the fact that he ate the animals’ heads when he was done.
I wasn’t sure what kind of a response I’d been expecting from Tarantino. Outrage, perhaps. Shock. Disgust. Anger. Instead, all I got was that smile. “Peewee,” he said, “did you see the crowd gathered for Massimo’s show?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And have you ever seen a crowd that large in all the years you’ve been with us?”
“No.”
“Massimo’s act is the most popular attraction in the carnival’s history. We’re making more money than I ever dreamed we could. At this rate, I’ll be able to buy new, more modern trailers for everyone, maybe even add a few more rides. Massimo is the best thing that has ever happened to our family.”
“But, sir, there’s something…wrong with him.”
Tarantino just looked at me for a moment then snorted out a soft laugh. “I think I understand what is going on here, Peewee. It is jealousy talking.”
“Jealousy?”
“Of course. The Hall of Freaks has long been our most popular attraction, and now that you’ve been eclipsed by Massimo, you are feeling resentful and envious. The old green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head.”
“No, sir, that is not it at all. You should go and witnesses that ghastly show for yourself so you can—”
“I’ve seen it.”
This stunned me into silence, but I don’t know why I should have been surprised. Of course Tarantino would never allow a new member to join the family without first observing the act firsthand. Still, I had trouble believing Tarantino would allow such atrocities to take place in his carnival, no matter how high the profits.
“Sir,” I said finally, my voice even tinier than usual, “have you seen the part with the guillotine?”
“Of course. That’s his showstopper, after all. People love it.”
“But it’s horrible.”
“It’s just a show, Peewee.”
“But those animals are real, he really kills and eats them.”
“I know he does; that’s what makes it so impressive.”
Again I found myself at a loss for words. This was not the Tarantino I knew. The man who had practically raised me had a respect for all life and would never knowingly allow any animal to be harmed. Something was very wrong here at the carnival, more than just Massimo. It started with the dark magician but was spreading, infecting all those who came in contact with him.
“Peewee,” Tarantino said, ushering me to the door of his trailer, “I appreciate your concern, but it is unwarranted. Massimo is a valued member of our family now, and jealousy has no place here.”
Before I could say anything more, Tarantino closed the door in my face.
* * *
The next night, Massimo came to me. It was well after midnight, and I had gone to use one of the Port-O-Potties. When I came out, I was surprised to find the magician standing only a foot away. As if he was waiting for me. The light from one of the nearby trailers shone behind him, making him into a dark silhouette, but I could clearly see the wicked smile on his face.
“Hello, Shrimpy,” he said with a throaty laugh.
“I told you, the name is Peewee.”
“Why are you up so late? Having trouble sleeping?”
I said nothing, afraid to speak, not wanting him to hear the fear I knew would be in my voice.
“I saw you at my show last night. Did you enjoy it?”
“Not really,” I said truthfully.
“Ah, not to your taste?”
“Too grotesque for me.”
“That’s funny, coming from a freak.”
Massimo leaned forward, so close that I could feel his fetid breath wafting over my face, and stared at me with those hard, cold eyes. I wanted to turn away—hell, I wanted to run away—but I refused to back down. I held my ground and stared right back at him.
“Fascinating,” he said softly, straightening back up. “You are one of the rare few immune to my influence.”
I frowned up at him. “What are you saying?”
“Oh, it happens from time to time,” Massimo went on conversationally. “Not often, mind you, but on occasion I run into people who are beyond my powers. People with wills too strong, minds too sharp. Who would have guessed that a dwarf would be one of the few not susceptible to my influence?”
My heart was beating in my chest like a caged animal, desperate to break free. “Hypnotism? Is that what you’ve done to everyone around here, hypnotized them?”
Massimo’s laughter echoed throughout the carnival, loud and mean. “Hypnotism is merely a parlor trick, and I don’t do parlor tricks. I have real power.”
“What do you want here?”
“The same thing I want everywhere. Adoration, praise. And ultimately, corruption.”
“I won’t let you hurt my friends,” I said with a bravery I didn’t feel.
“How cute, the dwarf fancies himself a hero. What are you going to do, punch me in the ankles? I could go from trailer to trailer and slit the throats of everyone here, and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop me.”
I looked around desperately, praying for someone to come along, hoping someone had overheard, wishing for an ally.
“Not to worry,” Massimo said. “I’m not going to do that. Wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as what I’ve got planned. And I’m not going to harm you, either.”
“And why should I believe you?”
“I have no reason to harm you. As I said, there is nothing you can do to stop me. No one you tell will believe you. You are the only one here that I’m incapable of influencing; everyone else is under my spell. You are alone, dwar
f.”
With that, Massimo turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the nearest trailer. He left me standing there in front of the Port-O-Potty.
Alone.
* * *
Despite what Massimo had said, I tried to tell others, tried to convince them that the magician was up to no good. And just as Massimo had told me would happen, no one believed me. Not even Jorgan. Nate actually became so upset that he threatened to beat me up if I didn’t stop badmouthing Massimo. Is there anything more humiliating than having physical violence threatened upon your person by a six-year-old? Perhaps the knowledge that he could do it.
I was becoming frantic. Although I didn’t know Massimo’s exact plan, I knew he was concocting something nasty that would possibly hurt the people I loved. I couldn’t just sit idly by and allow that to happen. But what could I do when no one would listen to me? How could I protect my family?
I thought about calling the police but wasn’t sure what I would tell them. That Massimo was going to do something bad—I just didn’t know what or when it would happen. Even without being under Massimo’s influence, the cops would probably just think I was crazy.
I could always report Massimo for decapitating the animals on stage. I was sure there had to be some law against that. Of course, the police would need to come to the carnival to witness it, and they would just end up under the magician’s spell like everyone else. Everyone but me. Of course, there was always the chance one of the cops would be like me, untouchable by Massimo’s influence, but even I recognized how anorexically slim that chance was.
I was on my own. If anyone was going to stop Massimo, it would have to be me. It was David and Goliath all over again, and me without my slingshot. Not only was Massimo over twice my size, he also wielded powers I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Just because I was immune to those powers didn’t mean he couldn’t use them to enchant others into forming a mob against me.
Still, I had to try. The carnival was my home, its workers my family. I had to do my best to protect them.
* * *
I’d like to say I came up with some great plan, a clever scheme that would expose Massimo, rob him of his powers, and free everyone from his hold. I’d like to say that, but I can’t. I’m not a smart man; I have no formal education, and my life has been sheltered in the carnival. I could think of nothing with which to combat the magician.
Still, I could not do nothing. The following evening, I did not even go to the Hall of Freaks to take up my place on the stool. I headed directly for Massimo’s tent. I had no idea what I meant to do, what I could do. For the first time in years, I lamented my lot in life. I would have given anything at that moment to be a normal man of normal stature, to have physical strength. I felt so weak, so impotent, incapable of fighting the evil that had come into our midst.
But I did have some strength, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to resist Massimo’s influence. What had he said? “People with wills too strong, minds too sharp.” I may have been a small man, but I had a strength of will more powerful than those around me. If only I knew how to use that against the magician.
When I reached his tent, I saw Tarantino, Edwin, and Jorgan standing out front, as if guarding the entrance. It was only then that I noticed how deserted the rest of the carnival was. No one attended the rides, no one walked the midway, no one waited in line at the refreshment stands. It seemed everyone—including all the carnival workers—was attending Massimo’s performance.
I approached my three friends, expecting them to stand in my way, to challenge my right to enter the tent, but I was surprised when Jorgan smiled and said, “Peewee, we’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?”
“But of course,” Edwin said, his lips spreading in a wide grin. The smile looked out of place on Edwin’s usually gruff features, and I could see a glassy sheen to his eyes that suggested he was not behind the wheel. “We saved a seat for you.”
“Right up front,” Tarantino added. “Best seat in the house.”
I was immediately on guard, but I knew of nothing else to do so I allowed the three to lead me inside the tent. All heads swiveled my way. The tent was packed far beyond capacity, people practically sitting on one another’s laps. The atmosphere was oppressive, and though I had never been claustrophobic before, I suddenly found it hard to breathe. It was hot, and the air smelled unpleasantly of sweat and madness.
A quiet murmur swept through the crowd, but it ceased immediately when Tarantino clapped his hands and said in a booming voice, “Make way for Peewee.”
People began shuffling to the sides, opening up a narrow aisle down the center of the tent, a pathway straight to the stage. People were pressing against the sides of the tent, and I was sure from the outside it was bulging out, looking like a balloon about to pop. I looked back and Jorgan ushered me forward. Reluctantly, I began to walk slowly up the aisle. It was only then that I noticed people lying on the ground, others standing on top of them. I could tell by the blankness of their eyes and the angles of their necks that these people on the ground were dead, apparently trampled. I did not see anyone I recognized, but I mourned them nonetheless.
Massimo awaited me on the stage. The guillotine sat next to him, but this wasn’t the one I had seen before. This guillotine was larger, though still not full-size. Apparently the magician had moved on to bigger game. I hesitated when I realized that my neck would fit perfectly into the contraption.
“Come, dwarf,” Massimo said, beckoning me closer. “You will not be harmed. I simply want you to have a good view for my final performance.”
“Final performance?”
“Yes, you are getting your wish. After this performance, I will be leaving your little troupe.”
I knew then that something terrible was about to happen. There was no way Massimo was simply going to give up, concede defeat when I had not even put up a fight. He was planning something awful, I had no doubt.
And yet, even knowing this, I was still unprepared for what followed.
Massimo turned and gestured behind him, and Nate stepped up onto the stage. He moved without fear or hesitation, a smile on his lips. He stopped next to Massimo and took his hand, beaming up at the magician.
I knew immediately what Massimo had in mind, and while I knew there was little I could do to stop it, I also knew that I had to at least try. Screaming the boy’s name, hoping by sheer volume I could snap him out of it and make him realize the danger he was in, I made a leap for the stage. Suddenly hands were on me, holding me back. Those around me, strangers and family alike, were keeping me back. It was a bit excessive; at my size, one person could have incapacitated me, but I guess Massimo was taking no chances. They weren’t hurting me, they were just preventing me from moving. The magician wanted to make sure I witnessed his final trick.
With only minimal prompting, Nate walked to the guillotine and placed his neck in the groove, laughing even as the bar was lowered, locking him into place. He began to sing “You Are My Sunshine,” and the sound of his sweet, pure voice nearly broke my heart. I screamed as loud as I could—incoherently, beyond words at that point. My throat soon felt raw and my voice began to fail me, but I continued to scream.
I tried to look away, but hands grabbed my head so that I could not turn it. I could have closed my eyes, I suppose, but I saw Nate looking at me and his eyes held me. I watched as Massimo unhooked the rope and sent the blade slicing down. At that last instant, just before the blade struck flesh, I saw a change in Nate’s eyes. It was like the shade had been drawn on a window and he could suddenly see clearly. Realization came into his eyes, as well as fear. His singing turned into a scream that was cut off when his head was severed from his body.
Or should have been cut off. But like with all the animals before Nate, the boy’s voice continued on even after death. The head rolled to Massimo’s feet, the eyes still locked on my own, the mouth open in a wide O, his screams filling the space. The hands released me, but
still I could not move. I knew that the crowd around me was cheering and applauding, but I heard it only distantly, as if my ears had been packed with cotton. The only sound that was clear was Nate’s screams, but even they eventually faded.
Massimo picked up the boy’s head, a predatory grin on his face. He looked my way and licked his lips. This time I did close my eyes, but I could hear the crunching and I could all too well imagine what was happening. When I opened my eyes again, Nate’s head was gone and the magician was licking his fingers, which were stained red with the boy’s blood. I could have killed him then, and I think I would have tried, despite the knowledge that it would be suicide, but Massimo chose that moment to release the crowd. Although I was immune to Massimo’s influence, I could still feel the change in the air, something lifting and dissipating like smoke.
It was suddenly deathly quiet in the tent, to the point that I could almost believe no one was even breathing. Then, near the back, there arose a piercing wail, a howling of soul-sucking anguish. Viola, the boy’s mother, fought her way to the front, kneeling down by the headless body of her son—a son she had just watch be murdered and had cheered. She was joined by Horace, her husband. His eyes were dazed, not because he was under the magician’s spell anymore but because he wasn’t. I could see that he knew exactly what had happened, knew what part he had played in his passivity, and the knowledge was threatening to crush his sanity.
“You bastard!” Viola shouted at Massimo. “You are a monster!”
Massimo laughed softly, but the sound carried throughout the tent. “Silly girl, I did nothing you did not want me to.” He turned to the crowd. “All of you, you could have stopped me, but instead you stood and cheered. You encouraged me to do it. And you loved it. Even now, you cannot deny the pleasure you felt when the boy’s head fell to the stage. An orgasmic thrill like nothing you’ve ever known, or ever will. You can try to deny it, but it is there and will be all the rest of your days. You will dream about this night, and wake up after a sexual release. You may be ashamed of your feelings, but you cannot change them.”
Tales From the Midnight Shift Vol. 1 Page 21
