by Robert Price
Bunny stared off into space listlessly. He answered without realizing it. “Perhaps they are.”
The white pillars of the fabled city of Carcosa cast long shadows on the marbled floor of the ballroom. Banners embroidered with the yellow sigil, three interlocked jagged spirals, adorned the walls. The soft waltz faded slowly as the assembled guests removed their masks, one by one as dictated by imperial custom, at the end of the masquerade ball. The lone dissenter stood in the center of the court and watched as the guests herded closer to the ivory throne huddling together for protection.
The Stranger stood motionless, defiant. He kept his back towards the camera allowing only the flowing, tattered yellow robes that seemed to ripple with power to be seen. Slowly the shot panned up towards that back of his head hidden by the hood shaped in the form of a lonely crown. When he nodded slightly, the frightening edges of the ivory mask teased barely into frame. Ed never imagined that Bunny could project such fearsome menace. He almost believed that the Stranger would snap the neck of the first interloper to dare confront him.
Paul Marco, standing as brave Thule, strutted between the princess Camilla and the Stranger. “Beware the price of standing too close to those above your station without the courtesy of identification.”
Ed noted with some satisfaction that Paul performed his role brilliantly. Valda Hansen didn’t have as much to do as Camilla except fill out her sheer white dress magnificently and that she did in spades. “He does not speak. Who would dare to refuse such an order?”
Naotalba, the high-priest of Yhtill and adviser to the queen, pointed accusingly toward the Stranger. He leaned forward and stage-whispered in his booming stentorian voice. “See how this stranger dares to mock our tradition? What does that say of the power of the throne?”
Ed shifted the camera’s perspective over the Stranger’s shoulder towards Queen Cassilda to capture Griswell’s daunting performance. His friend dropped his usual stoic mannerisms and disappeared into the role.
Queen Cassilda grimaced, tightening her lips angrily. Her hands were held firmly upon her hips. Ed hadn’t been certain of casting Dolores Fuller, as their breakup hadn’t been completely without rancor, but he knew from experience that the actress could project anger better than any woman outside of his mother. She breathed slowly, trying to catch the last of her bravery. “You fail to play the game, sir? Will you not identify yourself?”
The Stranger did not deign to answer. He stood before the crowd motionless while silently judging them. Cassilda turned to her guard, the mighty Castellan, and nodded.
The bald giant with white eyes snarled. Ed knew that Tor would be perfect in the role and was not disappointed. The wrestler had been a mainstay in his movies for years and knew exactly how to growl at the screen to make the audience shriek with fear. “I would know the name of a man that I must kill.”
The Castellan opened his meaty hands and reached for his enemy. The giant took a menacing step towards the Stranger and froze. He opened his mouth to scream, but his face spasmed and his throat constricted and quivered in a fashion Ed never imagined possible. Tor flipped onto his back with a loud thud. His hands shaking as blood dripped from his nose and mouth.
It was only when the Castellan collapsed onto the floor dead that the Stranger decided to speak. “If you must place a name upon the terror before you, I name myself the Phantom of Truth.”
Queen Cassilda stepped forward grandly, offering her own neck in place of her court. “What truth do you speak of?”
“I speak of the truth at the end of all light. The terror of knowing the secret ways of the world where black stars hang in the heavens and the shadows of men’s thoughts lengthen in the afternoon when the twin suns sink into the lake of Hali.”
Cassilda gestured to the rest of the guests. His fingers were little more than bones with sickly flesh pulled over them. “You, sir, should unmask.”
The Stranger, the so-called Phantom of Truth, refused to move. The camera slowly shifted to catch a glimpse of the pallid mask in shadow. The ivory bone seemed to snarl hungrily as black veins snaked down the hood. “Indeed?”
Cassilda shook her head eagerly. “Indeed it’s time. We all have laid aside our disguises but you.”
The Stranger merely shrugged. His eyes bore down upon her. “I wear no mask.”
Camilla, terrified, turned aside to Cassilda. “No mask? No mask!”
“How might this be possible?” Queen Cassilda asked.
The Phantom of Truth stepped closer as though he were a lost lover returning to embrace her. “There is much about the truth that you do not know.” His robes extended like bat wings and then enveloped Cassilda. “We will experience this truth together.”
Queen Cassilda opened her mouth to scream. A horrible high-pitch screech of terror assailed their ears. It seemed to linger in the air as though it would last forever. Ed waited several beats and then yelled into the megaphone. “CUT!”
Dolores continued to scream as though her very soul burned. It was no longer a role she played as Cassilda. Ed yelled again. “CUT! Who the Hell do you think you are?”
“The King in Yellow.” He stood slowly allowing the terror to properly escalate and then turned towards the director. Dolores wept softly to herself on the floor. There was no sign of Bunny Breckinridge in the figure that stood before him. He pointed towards Ed with a skeletal hand. The ivory mask had melded into his face with a hideous deathly grin. “You are but my catspawn in this play. You will obey my will in this. This film will be my new avatar, my new window to your world. You will ensure that this happens.”
Ed clutched at his chest. It was as though cold fingers gripped onto his heart. He gritted his teeth and smiled as best he could sensing that supplication was the only route to survival. “Yes, sir! I understand completely. I just need to set the next scene. You want to continue the movie right?”
The eyes of the King in Yellow glowed yellow like fire from Hell. “This is my will.”
“Sir, I need to breathe to make the movie,” Ed protested weakly.
“Continue.”
Ed felt the release of his heart and breathed a great sigh of relief. “Actors prepare for the next scene.” Tor was slowly starting to stir on the floor. A number of the extras helped drag him to the side of the stage. Paul quickly swept Dolores into his arms and whisked her away from the King in Yellow. “Prepare for the next scene! I’m going to my office to grab some notes.”
“Ed! We can’t keep at this!” Paul protested as he handed Dolores a cup of water.
Ed waved off his concern before the King in Yellow could zap him into submission with hoary magic from beyond the grave. “You think this is the first time a star threw a fit on a Hollywood set?”
“You saw how he dropped Tor!” That guy’s a big time wrestler and I’ve never seen him knocked out cold,” Paul protested. “Something evil’s possessed Bunny!”
“I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be the first time that was the case in Hollywood,” Ed said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. “Everything will turn out alright! Everyone just set the next scene!”
The King in Yellow nodded approvingly then spoke in a booming voice. “Do as the director says if you wish to live.”
Ed nodded thankfully, retreating quickly to his makeshift office.
Ed paced the length of the office smoking a cigarette. Kathy opened the door quietly and slipped in. “What are we going to do Ed? Bunny is keeping everyone hostage!”
“We can’t call the cops! They’d never believe us.”
“Can’t we snap Bunny out of it?”
“I could barely get myself out of there. I can’t help them. He can look into everything I’m afraid of.”
Kathy kissed him on the forehead and opened the closet. “You need something to give you confidence.” She pointed to his beloved Angora sweater. “A knight needs his armor.”
Ed quickly did as she suggested and instantly felt better. He knew it wouldn’t last, but he would take the respite
. “How can we fight this thing? It’s like it isn’t even real. It’s a story.”
“Can you tell a better story?”
Ed looked up over his writing desk at the poster of Bela Lugosi as Dracula. “What would Bela do?”
“If only he were here.”
Ed smiled. “I think I have a better end for Act Three.” He leaned close and whispered, “This is what I need you to do.”
Ed stood before the trembling cast proudly in his sharp pencil skirt and wonderfully comfortable Angora sweater. It felt like fuzzy heaven at the edge of hell. “There are things undreamt of in the shadows that defy the imagination and tempt the soul. I’ve seen the worst of the world in the muck and the blood and still managed to find the gumption to spit right in the eye of despair. I fought the Battle of Guadalcanal while secretly wearing a lace brassiere and panties beneath my Marine uniform. I lost most of my teeth and a good chunk of my leg fighting for my country so I figured I deserved to take what comfort I could.” Ed cringed at the fear in their eyes, desperately wishing he could signal to them that he had a plan. “Okay gang, we’re going to skip ahead to Act Three!”
Paul Marco raised his hand trembling. “That’s the mass death scene!”
“Yes, yes! The mood is right and we can use that as actors.” Ed nodded to Kathy who was fiddling with a projector at the end of the room behind the cameras. “We’ll cover the seduction and terror of Act Two later.”
“The movie will continue!” The King in Yellow commanded.
“That’s right!” Ed agreed. “We’re shooting out of sequence so we’ll need all of the actors tomorrow. Living. You understand?”
“Blood must be spilled!”
“And that will show on the screen, but we need the actors for the scene tomorrow.” Ed urged. “We want to make sure we get all of the shots so the movie sparkles. You need it to be perfect, right? Or it won’t be your avatar, right!”
“Proceed.”
“Places everyone! Remember to act as though your life depends on it. It just might!”
The King in Yellow pointed to Dolores. She tried to pull on the mask of Queen Cassilda but failed due to her trembling hands. “Do you feel the pull of the black stars in your soul?”
Dolores quivered. Her throat constricted. Ed signaled and Kathy turned on the projector.
Bela Lugosi flickered on the wall twelve feet tall, mighty and young. He hissed towards the camera. “It turns out the role you want was already taken by a man with more class that you could ever imagine! He’s the star of many nightmares and beloved the world over.”
The King in Yellow turned towards the image and roared. “A dead man that died alone.”
“And beloved by children of all ages across the world. Something stronger than you can imagine.”
The King of Yellow laughed, a hollow mocking sound of broken dreams. “You think this can frighten me?”
“Works as a diversion.”
“What?” The King turned back towards Ed. The film dailies were on fire in the trash can. He screamed and rushed forward. “You dare to burn the great work!”
“People always forget that I was a marine. Diversions kill. You said yourself that the play was your entry into this world. No movie, no entrance.”
“You will suffer for this.”
“I might be a hack, but I’m my own man.” Ed pulled on his sweater. “Now get out of my friend you sick son of a bitch!”
The mask dropped to the ground, shattering into dust. The robes billowed wildly until the hood dropped revealing a tired Bunny Breckinridge. He stumbled a bit before lowering himself against one of the marble pillars.
Ed and the crew crowded around him checking each other to ensure that they had survived intact. “What happened?” Bunny asked after a long time.
“Well, Bunny, it’s a little complicated but I think you were possessed by the spirit of the King in Yellow and I forced it to leave this plane of existence by setting fire to the film.”
Bunny blinked. “But you shot my best side, yes?”
“You fought him. I think that’s why he couldn’t kill any of us.” Ed knelt down and hugged Bunny close. “We caught the best of you.”
The wrestler Tor blinked and pointed at the burned footage. “What will we do now?”
“The play’s too dangerous. We’ll have to destroy it all,” Ed sighed, thinking of his pile of unpaid bills.
“We have the warehouse for the next month and we’ve already paid for everything,” Paul protested. “This could ruin us.”
“You know, I do have a script that I’ve been saving. Night of the Ghouls, what do you think?”
“You never do give up, do you?” Paul asked.
“That’s why I love him,” Kathy said, kissing him.
FEARS REALIZED
BY TOM LYNCH
Bill Thomas cracked himself on the head climbing up the stairs out of the bomb shelter. “Sweet Jesus!” he yelled, clutching his throbbing skull. It was times like this that he got really angry stocking it for an attack that would never come. Fitting his six foot five inch frame through the low doorway of a ten-by-twenty paranoia space was never easy, and he almost never remembered to duck far enough.
“Honey!” he growled, walking through the back door to the freezer for the ice pack. “Do we really need that thing out there? If something were coming, don’t you think the university’d know? My department keeps tabs on stuff like this.”
“The university, Bill?” began his wife from the pantry. “If even the government knew about all the attacks then they’d have known about Pearl Harbor! But nobody did! Nobody was prepared! My brother is dead because they weren’t prepared. They didn’t know. I’m going to make sure we are prepared, and that my children have a future.”
He knew once that argument came out, he’d already lost. He should have learned by now, but he always shot his mouth off when he’d gotten hurt. He sighed. “Sorry, honey. I just wish they came in extra-tall.”
“Oh, no, Bill! Not again,” she said, rushing into the kitchen. “Let me see.”
Bill ducked down so his five-foot-two-inch wife could see the top of his head. “No broken skin. Just keep icing it. Sit down, while I get the rest of the cans in from the garage.”
Nora, Bill’s wife, was a nurse. She’d served in that capacity during the war, while Bill stayed stateside in the lab. He was currently assigned to a top secret facility in the Nevada desert, but his wife was under the impression that he taught college physics. They were far enough from the coast that a bombing run was unlikely, and he was reasonably sure the Soviets didn’t know anything specific about his particular lab.
He leaned back and stretched out his legs, pulling a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket, and lighting it with his engraved Zippo. The lighter had been a birthday gift from Nora. It read ‘To the Light of my Life.’ Corny, yes, but he liked it. He chuckled, took deep drag, and dropped his head back, closing his eyes. The ice and nicotine helped to ease the pain of his injury, and the rest helped his bruised ego.
He heard a thud from outside. Opening his eyes and knitting his eyebrows, he turned toward the window. He couldn’t see out into the night, so he tossed the bag of ice into the sink and peered out the back door.
Bill couldn’t see clearly past the pool of light on the patio into the yard. There was movement out there. “Hello?” he called. He reached into the cabinet drawer and grabbed the flashlight, and shone it out into the night. There looked to be someone lying on the ground by the back fence. Bill stepped forward slowly, calling with every other step. No response.
Finally, he got to the form lying on the ground. There was a man, lying in the grass, and he appeared to have steam rising from him. Bill shone the flashlight all around, scanning the area, but he saw no one else, or any signs of a scuffle. The back of his yard was surrounded by a six foot wooden stockade fence. Bill could easily see over it, but most could not. The ground beyond the fence didn’t show footprints. The morning’s thun
derstorm would have left the ground wet enough for tracks to be obvious, so where did this fellow come from?
Bill looked back to the man lying in his yard.
“Bill?” Nora called from the back door.
“Out here, Hon.”
“What’s the matter?” she asked, hearing the tension in his voice.
“Can you grab your bag?”
“What? Are you hurt?”
“It’s not for me…please come quickly.”
A few moments later, his wife bustled over and gasped, almost dropping her medical bag when she saw the stranger lying in the grass. She recovered in a flash, and went into medical emergency mode. “Bill, put hot water on, and bring me a bowl of clean, fresh water.”
“Right.” And Bill hustled inside.
By the time he got back, Nora was holding the flashlight in one hand and wiping grime off the stranger’s face with the other. He had a slight build and appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent. While Nora cleaned him, Bill looked through his clothing for identification in his pockets.
Rather than find a wallet or billfold, all Bill found was oddly cut clothes. He realized this was no ordinary set of clothes. He didn’t recognize the material or the cut. In fact, all he did recognize was the color: black. He found no pockets either. Puzzled, he continued to examine the stranger’s clothing. It had no buttons, hooks, or zippers, but it closed and opened where needed. It was only after realizing this that Bill pulled on other sections of the fabric to see if pockets opened, but they did not.
“Okay, Hon, I’ve cleaned him up and dressed the knot on his head,” Nora said. “Did you find anything?”
“Not a thing.”
“What now?”
“I guess I carry him inside, and maybe call the cops. Might be that someone reported him missing?” Bill pondered.
They carried the unconscious form in and placed him on the couch. There, in the light Bill saw more details about the odd clothing. In addition to being oddly cut and closed, there was a glitter to the black fabric. Sparkles were visible as the material moved.
