Richard Davis (ed) - [Year's Best Horror Stories 02]

by The Year's Best Horror Stories II (epub)

  "Christ, oh Christ…" murmured the boy with the medallion.

  It seemed extraordinary that on November 12th, the day of the funeral, the garden should be full of roses. The mild autumn had produced a massive second flowering. The flagged terrace was drenched in their scent. The Bishop trailed up and down after Sophie, listening to her rose-talk and thinking about the service he had just taken. Faulkner had driven straight back to a farming conference at Oxford. What a tower of strength the man was!

  "I hear the Colonel did everything that could be done." Sophie snipped a fat, dew-logged Zephrine Druin with her secateur. "Well, you know what Robert is," she answered loyally. "He's only sorry that he got there too late…"

  8: Robert Block - The Animal Fair

  It was dark when the truck dropped Dave off at the deserted freight depot. Dave had to squint to make out the lettering on the weather-faded sign. MEDLEY, OKLAHOMA-POP. 1134.

  The trucker said he could probably get another lift on the state highway up past the other end of town, so Dave hit the main drag. And it was a drag.

  Nine o'clock of a hot summer evening and Medley was closed for the night. Fred's Eats had locked up, the Jiffy Super Mart had shut down, even Phil's Phill-Up Gas stood deserted. There were no cars parked on the dark street, not even the usual cluster of kids on the corners.

  Dave wondered about this, but not for long. In five minutes, he covered the length of Main Street and emerged on open fields at the far side, and that's when he saw the lights and heard the music.

  They had a carnival going in the little county fairgrounds up ahead-canned music blasting from amplifiers, cars crowding the parking lot, mobs milling across the midway.

  Dave wasn't craving this kind of action, but he still had 80 cents in his jeans and he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. He turned down the side road leading to the fairgrounds.

  Like he figured, the carnival was a bummer. One of those little mud shows, travelling by truck; a couple of beat-up rides for the kids and a lot of come-ons for the local yokels. Wheel O' Fortune, Pitch-a-Winner, Take a Chance on a Blanket-that kind of jive. By the time Dave got himself a burger and coffee at one of the stands, he knew the score. A big fat zero.

  But not for Medley, Oklahoma-Pop. 1134. The whole damn town was here tonight and probably every red-neck for miles around, shuffling and shoving along the carny street. Dave had to do a little shuffling and shoving himself to get through to the far end of the midway.

  And it was there, on the far end, that he saw the small red tent with the tiny platform before it. Hanging limp and listless in the still air, a sun-bleached banner proclaimed the wonders within, captain ryder's Hollywood jungle safari, the banner read.

  What a Hollywood jungle safari was, Dave didn't know. And the wrinkled cloth posters lining the sides of the entrance weren't much help. A picture of a guy in an explorer's outfit, tangling with a big snake wrapped around his neck-the same joker prying open the jaws of a crocodile -another drawing showing him wrestling a lion. The last poster showed the guy standing next to a cage; inside the cage was a black furry question mark, way over six feet high. The lettering underneath was black and furry, too.

  WHAT IS IT? SEE THE MIGHTY MONARCH OF THE JUNGLE ALIVE ON THE INSIDE!

  Dave didn't know what it was and he cared less. But he'd been bumping along those corduroy roads all day and he was wasted and the noise from the amplifiers here on the midway hurt his ears. At least there was some kind of a show going on inside, and when he saw the open space gaping between the canvas and the ground at the corner of the tent, he stooped and slid under.

  The tent was a canvas oven.

  Dave could smell oil in the air; on hot summer nights in Oklahoma, you can always smell it. And the crowd in here smelled worse. Bad enough that he was thumbing his way through and couldn't take a bath, but what was their excuse?

  The crowd huddled around the base of a portable wooden stage at the rear of the tent, listening to a pitch from Captain Ryder. At least that's who Dave figured it was, even though the character with the phony safari hat and the dirty white riding breeches didn't look much like his pictures on the banners. He was handing out a spiel in one of those hoarse, gravelly voices that carry without a microphone-some hype about being a Hollywood stunt man and African explorer- and there wasn't a snake or a crocodile or a lion anywhere in sight.

  The two-bit hamburger began churning up a storm in Dave's guts, and between the body heat and the smells, he'd just about had it in here. He started to turn and push his way through the mob when the man up on the stage thumped the boards with his cane.

  "And now friends, if you'll gather round a little closer-'

  The crowd swept forward in unison, like the straws of a giant broom, and Dave found himself pressed right up against the edge of the square-shaped, canvas-covered pit beside the end of the platform. He couldn't get through now if he tried; all the red-necks were bunched together, waiting.

  Dave waited, too, but he stopped listening to the voice on the platform. All that jive about Darkest Africa was a put-on. Maybe these clowns went for it, but Dave wasn't buying a word. He just hoped the old guy would hurry and get the show over with; all he wanted now was out of here.

  Captain Ryder tapped the canvas covering the pit with his cane and his harsh tones rose. The heat made Dave yawn loudly, but some of the phrases filtered through.

  "-About to see here tonight the world's most ferocious monster-captured at deadly peril to life and limb-"

  Dave shook his head. He knew what was in the pit. Some crummy animal picked up secondhand from a circus, maybe a scroungy hyena. And two to one it wasn't even alive, just stuffed. Big deal.

  Captain Ryder lifted the canvas cover and pulled it back behind the pit. He flourished his cane.

  "Behold-the lord of the jungle!"

  The crowd pressed, pushed, peered over the rim of the pit.

  The crowd gasped.

  And Dave, pressing and peering with the rest stared at the creature blinking up at him from the bottom of the pit.

  It was a live, full-grown gorilla.

  The monster squatted on a heap of straw, its huge forearms secured to steel stakes by lengths of heavy chain. It gaped upward at the rim of faces, moving its great, grey head slowly from side to side, the yellow-fanged mouth open and the massive jaws set in a vacant grimace. Only the little rheumy, red-rimmed eyes held a hint of expression-enough to tell Dave, who had never seen a gorilla before, that this animal was sick.

  The matted straw at the base of the pit was wet and stained; in one corner, a battered tin plate rested untouched, its surface covered with a soggy slop of shredded carrots, okra and turnip greens floating in an oily scum beneath a cloud of buzzing blowflies. In the stifling heat of the tent, the acrid odour rising from the pit was almost overpowering.

  Dave felt his stomach muscles constrict. He tried to force his attention back to Captain Ryder. The old guy was stepping offstage now, moving behind the pit and reaching down into it with his cane.

  "Nothing to be afraid of, folks; as you can see, he's perfectly harmless, aren't you, Bobo?"

  The gorilla whimpered, huddling back against the soiled straw to avoid the prodding cane. But the chains confined movement and the cane began to dig its tip into the beast's shaggy shoulders.

  "And now Bobo's going to do a little dance for the folks right?" The gorilla whimpered again, but the point of the cane jabbed deeply and the rasping voice firmed in command.

  "Up, Bobo-up!"

  The creature lumbered to its haunches. As the cane rose and fell about its shoulders, the bulky body began to sway. The crowd oohed and aahed and snickered.

  "That's it! Dance for the people, Bobo-dance!"

  A swarm of flies spiralled upward to swirl about the furry form shimmering in the heat. Dave saw the sick beast shuffle, moving to and fro, and to and fro. Then his stomach was moving in responsive rhythm and he had to shut his eyes as he turned and fought his way blindly through the mu
rmuring mob.

  "Hey-watch where the hell ya goin', fella."

  Dave got out of the tent just in time.

  Getting rid of the hamburger helped and getting away from the carnival grounds helped, too, but not enough. As Dave moved up the road between the open fields, he felt the nausea return. The oily air made him dizzy and he knew he'd have to lie down for a minute. He dropped into the ditch beside the road, shielded behind a clump of weeds, and closed his eyes to stop the whirling sensation. Only for a minute-

  The dizziness went away, but behind his closed eyes he could still see the gorilla, still see the expressionless face and the all-too-expressive eyes. Eyes peering up from the pile of dirty straw in the pit, eyes clouding with pain and hopeless resignation as the chains clanked and the cane flicked across the hairy shoulders.

  Ought to be a law, Dave thought. There must be some kind of law to stop it, treating a poor dumb animal like that. And the old guy, Captain Ryder-there ought to be a law for an animal like him, too.

  Ah, to hell with it. Better shut it out of his mind now, get some rest. Another couple of minutes wouldn't hurt.

  It was the thunder that finally woke him. The thunder jerked him into awareness, and then he felt the warm, heavy drops pelting his head and face.

  Dave rose and the wind swept over him, whistling across the fields. He must have been asleep for hours, because everything was pitch black, and when he glanced behind him, the lights of the carnival were gone.

  For an instant, the sky turned silver and he could see the rain pour down; then the thunder came again, giving him the message. This wasn't just a summer shower, it was a real storm. Another minute and he was going to be soaking wet. By the time he got up to the state highway, he could drown, and even if he made it there, chances for a lift looked bad. Nobody travelled in this weather. Maybe he could find some kind of shelter, he thought.

  Dave zipped up his jacket, pulled the collar around his neck. It didn't help and neither did walking up the road, but he might as well get going. The wind was at his back and that helped a little, but moving against the rain was like walking through a wall of water.

  Another flicker of lightning, another rumble of thunder. And then the flickering and the rumbling merged and held steady; suddenly, the light grew brighter and a sound rose over the hiss of wind and rain.

  Dave glanced back over his shoulder and saw the source -the headlights and engine of a truck coming along the road from behind him. As it moved closer, Dave realised it wasn't a truck; it was a camper, one of those two-decker jobs with a driver's cab up front.

  Right now, he didn't give a damn what it was, as long as it stopped and picked him up. Before the camper came alongside him, Dave stepped out, waving his arms.

  The camper slowed, halted. The shadow in the cab leaned over from behind the wheel and a hand pushed the window vent open on the passenger side. "Want a lift, buddy? Get in."

  The door swung open and Dave climbed up into the cab.

  He slid onto the seat and pulled the door shut behind him. The camper started to move again.

  "Shut the window," the driver said. "Rain's blowing in."

  Dave closed it, then wished he hadn't. The air inside the cab was heavy with odours-not just perspiration but something else. Dave recognized the smell even before the driver produced the bottle from his jacket pocket.

  "Want a slug? Fresh corn likker. Tastes like hell, but it's better 'n nothing."

  "No, thanks."

  "Suit yourself." The bottle tilted and gurgled, lightning flared across the roadway ahead, glinting against the glass of the windshield, the glass of the upturned bottle. In its momentary glare, Dave caught a glimpse of the driver's face and the flash of lightning brought a flash of recognition. The driver was Captain Ryder.

  Thunder growled, prowling the sky, and the heavy camper turned onto the slick, rain-swept surface of the state highway.

  "What's the matter, you deaf or something? I asked you where you're heading."

  Dave came to with a start. "Oklahoma City," he said.

  "You hit the jackpot. That's where I'm going."

  Some jackpot. Dave had been thinking about the old guy, remembering the gorilla in the pit. He hated this bastard's guts and the idea of riding with him all the way to Oklahoma City made his stomach churn again. On the other hand, walking along in a storm in the middle of the prairie was no great stomach soother, so what the hell?

  The camper lurched and Ryder fought the wheel. "Boy-sure is a cutter! Get these things often around here?"

  "I wouldn't know," Dave said. "This is my first time through. I'm meeting a friend in Oklahoma City. We figure on driving out to Hollywood together."

  "Hollywood?" The hoarse voice deepened. "That goddamn place!"

  "But don't you come from there?"

  Ryder glanced up quickly and lightning flickered across his sudden frown. Seeing him this close, Dave realised he wasn't so old; something besides time had shaped that scowl, etched the bitter lines around eyes and mouth.

  "Who told you that?" Ryder said.

  "I was at the carnival tonight. I saw your show."

  Ryder grunted and his eyes tracked the road ahead through the twin pendulums of the windshield wipers. "Pretty lousy, huh?"

  Dave began to nod, then caught himself. No sense starting anything. "That gorilla of yours looked like it might be sick."

  "Bobo? He's all right. Just the weather. We open up North, he'll be fine." Ryder nodded in the direction of the camper bulking behind him. "Haven't heard a peep out of him since we started."

  "He's travelling with you?"

  "Whaddya think, I ship him airmail?" A hand rose from the wheel, gesturing. "This camper's built special. I got the upstairs, he's down below. I keep the back open so's he gets some air, but no problem-I got it all barred. Take a look through that window behind you."

  Dave turned and peered through the wire-meshed window at the rear of the cab. He could see the lighted interior of the camper's upper level, neatly and normally outfitted for occupancy. Shifting his gaze, he stared into the darkness below. Lashed securely to the side walls were the tent, the platform boards, the banners and the rigging; the floor space between them was covered with straw, heaped into a sort of nest. Crouched against the barred opening at the far end was the black bulk of the gorilla, back turned as it faced the road to the rear, intent on the roaring rain. The camper went into a skid for a moment and the beast twitched, jerking its head around so that Dave caught a glimpse of its glazed eyes. It seemed to whimper softly, but because of the thunder, Dave couldn't be sure.

  "Snug as a bug," Ryder said. "And so are we." He had the bottle out again, deftly uncorking it with one hand. "Sure you don't want a belt?"

  "I'll pass," Dave said.

  The bottle raised, then paused. "Hey, wait a minute.' Ryder was scowling at him again. "You're not on something else, are you, buddy?"

  "Drugs?" Dave shook his head. "Not me."

  "Good thing you're not." The bottle tilted, lowered again as Ryder corked it. "I hate that crap. Drugs. Drugs and hippies. Hollywood's full of both. You take my advice, you keep away from there. No place for a kid, not anymore." He belched loudly, started to put the bottle into his jacket pocket, then uncorked it again.

  Dave saw that the captain was on his way to getting loaded. Best thing to do would be to keep him talking, take his mind off the bottle before he knocked the camper off the road.

  "No kidding, were you really a Hollywood stunt man?" Dave said.

  "Sure, one of the best. But that was back in the old days, before the place went to hell. Worked for all the majors- trick riding, fancy falls, doubling fight scenes, the works. You ask anybody who knows, they'll tell you old Cap Ryder was right up there with Yakima Canutt, maybe even better." The voice rasped on, harsh and proud. "Seven-fifty a day, that's what I drew. Seven hundred and fifty, every day I worked. And I worked a lot."

  "I didn't know they paid that kind of dough," Dave said.

>   "You got to remember one thing. I wasn't just taking falls in the long shots. When they hired Cap Ryder, they knew they were getting some fancy talent. Not many stunt men can handle animals. You ever see any of those old jungle pictures on television-Tarzan movies, stuff like that? Well, in over half of 'em, I'm the guy handling the cats. Lions, leopards, tigers, you name it."

  "Sounds exciting."

  "Sure, if you like hospitals. In one shot, I wrestled a black panther, like to rip my arm clean off. Seven-fifty sounds like a lot of loot, but you should have seen what I laid out in medical bills. Not to mention what I paid for costumes and extras. Like the lionskins and the apesuit-"

  "I don't get it." Dave frowned. "Costumes?"

  "Sometimes they need an action shot close up and the star's face has to be in it. Well, of course they can't use a real animal, so if it was a fight scene with a lion or whatever, that's where I came in handy-I doubled for the animal. Would you believe it, three grand I laid out for a lousy monkey suit alone! But it paid off. You should have seen the big pad I had overlooking Laurel Canyon. Four bedrooms, three-car garage, tennis court, swimming pool, sauna, everything you can think of. Melissa loved it-"

  "Melissa?"

  Ryder shook his head. "What'm I talking about? You don't want to hear any of that crud about the good old days. All water over the dam."

  The mention of water evidently reminded him of thirst, because he reached for the bottle again. And this time, when he tilted it, it gurgled its last. Ryder cranked the window down and flung the bottle out into the rain.

  "All gone," he muttered. "Finished. No more bottle. No more house. No more Melissa."

  "Who was she?" Dave said.

  "You really want to know?" Ryder jerked his thumb toward the windshield. Dave followed the gesture, puzzled, until he raised his glance to the roof of the cab. There, fastened directly above the rear view mirror, was a small picture frame. Staring out of it was the face of a girl; blonde hair, nice features and the kind of smile you see in the pages of high school annuals.