by Alan Spencer
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my father, who always told me every good horror flick has a high body count.
Prologue
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am Gideon, your guide to grand illusion! Tonight, you will be shocked and awed. I won’t patronize you with gags from kids’ books. This is a real stage. What you see is what it is. No tricks of light, no diversion tactics, I won’t pull rabbits out of hats, juggle fire, tear newspapers and reconstruct them, and I won’t saw anyone in half because that’s been done to death. But we do have a showgirl!”
Matthew Bard, a security guard at The Comedy Tavern, watched the show on amateur talent night with limited enthusiasm, as did the audience. He recognized Bunny Anderson on stage. She was the blonde adorned in a purple sequined outfit that revealed her long silky legs. She smiled and waved to the crowd of regulars, pretending to live up to a higher standard of showmanship. Gideon paid her thirty dollars to take the night off of her barmaid gig to be his helper. “Stand up there and look good,” he’d overheard Gideon instruct Bunny at rehearsal. “When I call the audience up to the stage, usher them right to where I point. Easiest thirty bucks you’ll ever earn, darling.”
Gideon was dressed the part. The magician wore a loose purple silk shirt and black leather pants. A ridiculous Abraham Lincoln top hat rested on his head. His cheeks were pocked with acne scars, and around the eyes, dark saucers lent the performer a strung out sheen. The gray hair on his chin was shaved into an upside down triangle. The overall attempt was ill-realized but good enough for amateur night.
Playing up the crowd, Gideon waved his nine-inch wand, gesturing as he spoke. “This is real magic, ladies and gentlemen. I am an oracle.” He cupped his ear. “What is an oracle, you might be asking? It’s what the Romans called those who could speak to the gods. But I cannot cure diseases and save lives. I use the gods to entertain and delight. I have access between the living and dead worlds, you see, ladies and gentlemen. They’ve taught me magic beyond any illusionist’s ability. I am a medium between the spirits and living world.” Extending his arms as if to give the crowd a hug, he announced with startling vigor, “I am Gideon.”
“So do something, Gideon!”
“Yeah, it’s been five minutes—what the hell?”
"This is a magic show, right?”
Matthew smiled at the ribbing. The man was being heckled before he’d even started.
“I see you’re ready to be amazed!” He shuffled to the left side of Bunny and then pointed his finger in the direction of the crowd. “I’m going to call out twenty people from the audience to sit in these chairs behind me. Any brave volunteers?”
Matthew watched the chairs, curious as to their function. He’d helped place them hours ago for ten bucks. He recalled the cool touch of Gideon’s handshake through his silk gloves—like a piano man’s—and the soft treble in his voice, the purr of a male lion. “Ten bucks says you can help me set up my stage. What do you say, my good man?”
Gideon selected twenty volunteers from the audience, and Bunny escorted them to their places. Three minutes later the audience participants were seated and ready for the trick to unfold.
The performer dragged two metal poles on stage, from one of which a purple curtain was unrolled, and he clipped that curtain to the other pole by two hooks. He reappeared from behind the veil, the audience members onstage hidden by the fabric. “I will make these twenty people disappear. They are not paid, nor have ever seen me before. We are all strangers under this roof. I will invite you to walk on stage and double-check my claims.” Hamming up his act, he boasted, “I, Gideon, will make them vanish and then reappear!”
The crowd’s interest heated up. They begged to be entertained. Hands clapped, while those at the bar walked in closer for a better view. There were about one-hundred and thirty people in The Comedy Tavern, including the ones on stage, each with faces ready to be dazzled.
“I will count to three, and with the wave of my wand, I will make them vanish.”
The club’s floors shook with the stomping of feet. Whistles pierced the air. Drinks were refilled and cigarettes lit. Gideon absorbed the skeptical comments before continuing the show.
“I’d like to see the asshole pull it off.”
“This bar’s too small for disappearing acts.”
“Amateur hack is going to embarrass himself.”
“Dork sure looks like he believes in magic.”
The performer closed his eyes and extended his arms up to the ceiling, prepared to disprove their doubts. “I ask you to count to three, audience.”
The audience responded with a boisterous shout: “ONE!”
“I call upon you,” he whispered to himself, channeling a greater force. “I call upon the gods, make them disappear.”
“TWO!”
The shuffle of many chairs at once, Gideon peeled back the curtain the split-second he knew the gods had acquiesced upon his wishes.
“THREE!”
The stage was revealed. The chairs were empty as many of the chair legs rattled the floor and then momentarily settled. The audience clapped, but then abruptly stopped when they noticed certain members in the crowd had disappeared as well. The bartender went missing in a blink; the shot glass and bottle of scotch in his hands dropped and shattered against the floor. The audience was less than half of what they were before the show began. A mix of worry and concern sent nervous chattering throughout the club. Matthew wasn’t sure how to react himself, standing rigid and unconfident. His beefy size couldn’t fight tonight’s problem. He surveyed the people in their seats again, remembering those who’d been sitting one moment, and the next there was nothing, only the sharp scuffle of chairs.
Gideon addressed the audience. “Ah, the gods heed me. I will make them return. Let’s hear it. Clap for me! You’ll see my magic. It’s real. I promise you, all is well. All is well!”
Bunny stood still on the stage unnerved, squinting throughout the audience to check if this was really happening. She drew back the purple curtain at his request, though hesitantly, afraid helping the man would make matters worse.
The audience didn’t cheer this time, but Gideon understood why.
He too was concerned.
The magic had worked too well tonight.
Stumbling on his words, he spat out to the uneasy crowd, “I will count to three, and the gods shall place the audience members back into the living world. I am Gideon. Heed my magic.”
He waved the wand back and forth (the action meaning nothing, and Gideon knew it too) and closed his eyes. “I call upon the gods. Return our visitors from the world of the ghosts and spirits to the living.”
Gideon counted aloud since no one else joined in.
“One…two…THREE!”
The curtain was drawn back by Bunny. Instantly, the chair legs scuffed the stage’s floor. Gasps rocked the club. Tables were knocked over and screams issued with alarming intensity. Patrons battled to escape the club, barreling into each other, shoving, and pushing, and fighting and cursing the horrible spectacles busying the bar and seating area.
Gideon buckled to his knees, taking in the horrors. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way!”
Matthew closed in on the stage, though he was hesitant to enter the morbid carnage.
His life was in danger too.
The audience members on stage did return, but they were altered. Eyes had switched sockets, the orbs bleeding from the exchange. Legs and feet were mismatched. One body was only a torso with an arm replacing the head. Fishnet clad legs jutted from a man’s big-bellied torso, the connection sealed by tangles of melded-together flesh and bone. A man’s head was attached to a women’s body, the pink dress sodden in cri
mson from the throat’s strange flesh graft stitching. The twenty people were blended together, not a single one owning their original parts. They writhed in horrid agony, twitching, and bleeding, and screaming in terror, their inflictions unimaginable.
Those that weren’t dead upon returning were soon thereafter. The club was silent and near empty. Bunny retreated out the back exit, the final person to escape. The other security officer, Sam Wilks, was calling the police from the back room, his expression petrified and so pale.
Gideon wept on stage, curled in a fetal position and babbling. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. They promised they wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again. They promised. They promised me they’d be nice.” Snarling as spittle flecked out of his mouth, he shouted, “And look what they’ve done!”
Matthew avoided numerous puddles of blood, treading closer to the grief-stricken man. The stage was a macabre scene, and he did his best to avert his eyes. Raising his voice, he attempted to re-claim control over the chaos. “Come with me, Gideon. You’re under arrest. It’s over. Now come along quietly.”
He wasn’t a cop, but it was the best thing he could muster in the situation. Gideon didn’t move or resist. Matthew removed his cuffs from his belt, afraid to touch the man. How safe was it to be near a person like Gideon? Would his limbs be switched out too?
The magician’s mouth was an open maw. Sorrow affected his words. “It wasn’t me. They promised to be good. I should’ve learned from the first time. They deceived me again. I should’ve known.”
“Don’t move,” Matthew instructed adamantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m taking you to the police. You can explain it to them, okay?”
He forced Gideon’s hands behind his back, sucking up his fears and putting the man in custody.
The man sobbed, “This wasn’t my illusion…it was theirs.”
Matthew fastened the cuffs, ignoring the man’s cryptic confession. “Let’s just let the police handle—”
Once he lifted the man to his feet, Gideon vanished.
Chapter One
1
“I have to destroy everything—they’ve cursed it!”
Ned Ryerson watched his brother level the axe into the large wooden box. He split it in half with four crude swings. James dragged the pieces to the front yard and set them on fire with charcoal fluid and a match. The water fountain surrounded by smiling concrete cherubs blazed red in the shadows of the rising flames. “Don’t try and stop me, Ned. I have to do this before more people die. The club was my fault. It’s only been less than an hour, and I still feel them watching me. They want to cause mayhem. My magic killed those innocent people.”
Ned wasn’t sure how to react to his brother’s ramblings. Tonight was supposed to be his brother’s career comeback, but Ned had witnessed the horrible scene at the bar. The guilt for leaving James behind was counteracted by the faces of the screaming dead. The sight of the man sitting next to him at the bar with a woman’s head replacing his own was enough to compel him to retreat—and what had happened to the man’s original head was a damn good question. Somehow, James escaped the club and beat him to the house. How James returned so fast, there was no time to ask. It was impossible, and yet there he was setting things on fire.
James continued to dump out his trove of magic items: straight-jacket, the magic disappearing box, a box for the classic “Zigzag” trick, bronze rings, dozens of silk kerchiefs, supplies for the Indian Rope Trick, but before he could unload anything else, police vehicles sped down the front drive. Five vehicles bombarded them at once, matched with ten officers pointing guns at them.
A bullhorn blared: “Both of you put your hands up now! James Ryerson, give yourself up.”
Ned did as he was told, but James refused. He looked at Ned, the rage in his features turning into a frown. “You must destroy everything that’s inside, Ned. I’ve unlocked something horrible. I’ve plunged my hands into the afterlife and they taught me magic, magic beyond what anyone has ever seen. The dead play with illusion. They turned it against me. I have no control over what they do anymore. Burn everything, Ned—BURN IT!”
James stormed back into the house, cursing under his breath.
“I SAID FREEZE!”
Ned begged his brother to hear out the authorities. “Do as they say. This is a misunderstanding. Give yourself up. I believe you didn’t do anything, and so will they!”
His brother charged back outside clutching an Orion film projector. “The spirits of the dead are inside it! I can feel them. I know they’re in there—those bastards! They refuse to be snuffed out. But I’ll show them!”
“You’re stressed,” Ned reasoned, balancing his distraught brother’s actions against the guns aimed in their direction. “There has to be a logical explanation. Cool down. We’ll sort this out. Nobody else will get hurt this way.”
“No! Everything must be incinerated or else expect more deaths.”
James was about to heave the projector into the fire when he tripped and rolled into the flames that doubled the moment he fell into them. James’s body was instantly vaporized by an unknown force.
The projector didn’t touch the flames.
“This is all yours, boy,” Ned Ryerson announced to his nephew after giving the young man the grand tour of the house. “It needs repairs, and I’ve got a house twenty-five miles from here in Hayden City to deal with already. I can’t use this property. I can’t sell it either. Nobody wants the ‘infamous’ Ryerson house.”
Andy Ryerson pondered the two-story house, post-tour. It wasn’t anything fancy considering the run-down aesthetic. The place was more of a haunted house attraction. Brambles and vines crawled up both sides of the house and concealed the closed shutters. The gutters were slipping from the roof’s edge, many of them hanging by a single nail. The majority of the shingles were loose enough they flapped in the wind in jarring unison. The white-painted wooden panels had flaked down to bare grain. The fountain beside the gravel drive was colored by algae muck and pelted with blue jay droppings. More eye-catching was the large semi-circle of blackened earth near the fountain. He’d read that’s where James had burned his magic items the night his magic show caused so many deaths.
Thinking about death, he looked at what was wrapped up in the hollyhock bushes around the east side of the fence. A length of yellow police tape was tangled in the bushes, partially buried by fallen leaves.
“How long ago since everything happened with James?” Andy asked.
“Been about eight months.” Ned removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, exhausted by the smallest mention of his brother. The man had gained thirty pounds in the last year. He was fifty-four, and he’d retired early from managing a textile shop. “The police combed the place, roped it off with crime tape, and then finally let me have it back—not that I wanted it. I packed up everything of James’s except a few items. I’m not sure what the hell to do with it now.”
“Nobody’s buying the place, huh?” Andy asked. “Have you tried hiring a real estate agent?”
“I’ve tried everything, believe me. No one wants it. It’s only been eight months, but I’m sick of it. The murders have contaminated this place. I honestly haven’t had a decent wink of sleep since James’s death.”
“But it wasn’t really determined that he murdered anyone,” Andy argued. “I’ve studied many newspaper articles on the case. There’s no way he could’ve removed those victims’ limbs and mismatched them. It’s impossible. Over fifty people died that night. Someone must’ve been in on it. No single human being could’ve done it.”
His uncle cast his eyes to Black Hill Woods in resignation. “What happened that night was unbelievable, yes, Andy. James had his hands in something strange, some shit nobody understood. I think back to that night, and I remember when he returned from that gig and immediately started burning all of his equipment. He claimed they were cursed. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Investigators searched the plac
e up and down, and the police think he’s alive, but I saw him go up into smoke. No one believes me. Maybe someone took his body. God knows enough weirdoes have snapped pictures of the property or broke in to hunt for ghosts. I’ve caught groups of people with weird flashlights and beeping devices skulking about this house trying to find paranormal activity. I sent them out on their asses. But everyone lost interest when nothing else conclusive came of the investigation. Authorities have nothing on James.”
Andy wanted to inject something positive into their conversation. “Why did James change? He was always fun at our annual family fish fries. He’d do card tricks and make Aunt Marta’s poodle levitate, and I still don’t know how he did that. Oh, and one time, he made Grandma Louisa’s potato salad vanish and he didn’t bring it back—and nobody complained.”
Ned laughed at the potato salad story as he walked Andy up the front concrete steps and back inside. “That was back then. A lot can change in a short amount of time. But I need a drink. How about you, Andy-boy?”
“Yeah, why not?” Andy checked his watch. It was early afternoon, but he didn’t mind an afternoon perk. “I’ve just come off a six hour trip from Iowa. I just graduated, and I’ve already got my first job.”
“Film student, right?”
“Yeah, but this gig doesn’t involve shooting movies, it involves watching films and writing commentary. A professor of mine dug up some gems from his personal collection, and he gave me dozens of reels to watch.”
Ned raised a brow. “What kind of films?”
“B-horror movies.” Andy guffawed, expecting a strange expression on his uncle’s face, and getting one. “You know, you’ve probably heard of Blood Farmers from Space, or how about Caretaker of the Zombies? Maybe The Mallet Killer, or what about Slug-Creature Meets Octopus Man? If you’ve seen those, certainly you’ve watched Attack of the Sludge, or Chainsaw Charlie, or even Escape from Cannibal Clinic and Hitler Drinks Blood? ‘Forgotten gems’ is what Professor Maxwell called them. He’s going to make a bundle re-releasing them. They were filmed between the nineteen fifties and seventies. Supposedly, there’s social commentary in them. I’m all for a job, though. I can’t say I’m a fan of bad horror movies, or any horror movies, really. But we’ll see, right?”
