UnCommon Bodies: A Collection of Oddities, Survivors, and Other Impossibilities (UnCommon Anthologies Book 1)

by Michael Harris Cohen

  3

  Melvin Mitchell didn't give a fuck about people. He barely gave a shit about Ruby, and he supposedly loved her. Melvin especially loathed the pathetic townies he took to the cleaners in every city that allowed him to set up his tent. Personally, Melvin wouldn't pay a dollar to look at these filthy freaks. Fuckin' doctor should've put the birth defects out of their misery. But time and time again, the blind mice would fall in line, dropping a dollar a head, even for the kids, when they could barely afford the water to take a bath. And in this godforsaken dirty asshole part of the country, a bath could mean the difference between life and death.

  He did have reason to smile, though. Although they barely made it out of...of...shit–Melvin couldn't remember. All the jackhole towns blended together after a while. Anyway, the crew had barely gotten out of town after Ruby had gotten her cut. The kid had made a stink and before you knew it there was auth-or-itays after them with torches and rifles. They eventually outran them but at great personal detriment.

  He had wanted to keep going well into the afternoon but Ruby put a stop to that, saying, "The performers can't stay cooped up in these small trucks in this heat for so many miles, Mel. We have to stop."

  Melvin thought, You fucking bitch, Ruby! If I wasn't tied to you, I'd kill you myself.

  "I guess we don't have too much to worry about," he said. "We've been driving all night. Maybe we can squeeze in a show, get some quick cash, and get the hell outta Dodge."

  Ruby said, in her majestic voice, "Don't forget about my cut, Mel."

  "Always, darling."

  "Fuck you, Mel."

  And so it went. Mel and Ruby's eternal dialogue. They'd been together for over fourteen years. The castoffs were interchangeable. But Mel and Ruby, well, they were the constant.

  Almost on cue, the caravan passed a sign for Ransom that said fifty-five miles. So it was decided by senior management, meaning Ruby and Melvin, that an impromptu show would be added to the schedule in Ransom, Oklahoma.

  4

  The convoy pulled into Ransom and began to immediately set up shop. Melvin always insisted that erecting the tent quickly before anyone could show up to ask what they were doing was the first stake in the ground to eventually striking the deal. Melvin always said, "What kind of asshole would make us tear down the tent once we already put it up?"

  It had always been part of the "show" as a whole to never let anyone see Ruby before the entrance was pulled back and the first dollar paid. Ruby waited inside a custom constructed crate that was incredibly comfortable and transported from the truck to the tent. That was, of course, Ruby's idea, and Ruby always got what she wanted. Melvin may be the face, or the manager, of this traveling clusterfuck, but Ruby...Ruby was the brains. It was in your best interest, if you wanted to be part of Ruby's crew, to go with the flow. Word got around quickly to any new performers. And even the long timers were reminded from time to time: don't even think about pressing your luck, or Ms. Ruby's gonna take her cut.

  Ruby O'Dell was a sprightly thirty-four years old. Born in nineteen-oh-two with a devastating birth defect, she spent the first ten years of her life completely reliant on others.

  Her words.

  She couldn't eat on her own. Couldn't drink a glass of water. She couldn't even use the restroom alone. Ruby couldn't accomplish a single act of nearly any nature that normal people completed daily without a second thought.

  Ruby would often catch herself thinking about what happened at age ten that caused her shift in philosophy. It wasn't an event. No, nothing...happened. Even after she turned ten years old, she remained reliant on family and friends for those same basic needs. However, she began to look at how she asked for that assistance in quite a different way.

  And then, well, from there, in one way or another, Ruby always took her cut.

  There was no sense in lying, neither to an inquisitor or herself. She was angry. Bitter to the core. Why would God commit such a heinous act of cruelty upon her? She was innocent. Well she had been. She had accepted her "deformity" as it had been called by doctors and the life it meant for her with innocent, childlike grace. For many years she was, of course, greatly limited but happy. She was loved by her family and a few close friends. But eventually love alone wasn't able to fill the void in her heart.. As she grew older, she wanted more. More from life, and more from the people in her life.

  Ruby lay in bed one night, even now she would never forget it, and a thought came to her. That thought, like a seed it planted in her mind. And there it grew. A weed or poisonous vine that slowly corrupted her mind, then her soul, and finally her heart until it turned black and villainous as the night. She asked herself, I wonder what else I can get them to do for me? The question was answered soon enough. A mere six months later, Ruby politely asked her primary caregiver to jump from the open window of her family's twelfth story apartment.

  When she complied, Ruby screamed and burst into tears. Tears of unimaginable joy.

  She spent the next several years acting bewildered and unable to provide any explanation for the growing number of accidental falls, maimings, burns, and deaths that kept happening to her caregivers, friends, and even family. Finally, a solid connection was made and, despite the protestations of the very deformed and quite literally helpless Ruby O'Dell, she was committed to an institution for the mentally handicapped.

  The year was nineteen sixteen.

  Ruby would go on to spend eight miserable fucking years in that institution without hurting a soul. That is, until the year nineteen twenty-four, when a new maximum security orderly by the name of Stuart Brown joined the staff. You know him better as Melvin Mitchell.

  A fellow resident of the institution, while visiting the institution's infirmary for an emergency medical procedure, claimed he saw Stuart Brown carry Ruby out the front door of the hospital in the pre-dawn hours one early winter morning. When pressed about why he hadn't said anything or alerted hospital staff he merely replied, "Ms. Ruby asked me not to."

  The follow up question, ironically, for it should've been the first, was, "What the hell happened to your hand? Where is it?"

  The patient, who shall remain nameless, looked at his newly sutured right stump, shook his head, and calmly answered, "Ms. Ruby always get her cut."

  The two were never heard from or seen again.

  5

  The time was six-thirty p.m. The sun had clocked out on another soul crushing day, and the night time sky was creeping in to throw a bandage of stars over the open wound of Ransom.

  Melvin Mitchell had walked up and down Bilbrey Street with a megaphone barking, "Melvin Mitchell Presents: Ruby and Her Amazing Freakshow Friends will be open for business this evening at seven o'clock! Come one, come all! Five dollars at the door gets you a world of visual wonders!"

  Michael Wootten had waited all day for this. Yes, he was curious about the other participants, but he wanted to meet Ruby. Michael wasn't crazy. In fact, the town generally regarded him as a well-respected craftsman and handyman. If you needed him, Michael was always willing to pitch in to help. Especially after the dust blizzards. But this was something altogether different. He was captivated by this cast of characters and the mystery that surrounded them. Something about RUBY AND HER AMAZING FREAKSHOW FRIENDS beckoned him to this tent.

  He couldn't figure it out. Maybe it was simply the fact that Ransom was dead in the water, Ha! and this tent show was the only thing going.

  He turned off the lights, locked up, and headed over. It was a beautiful night. He wished the caravan had parked a little farther down the street. He'd have enjoyed the walk. However, it was a quick jaunt to the previously empty lot next door and he was in line.

  Michael's curiosity had wanted him to come much sooner but he'd waited. He hoped he didn't seem too eager. He didn't know why. He spent the next thirty minutes mingling with Mr. Billingsley, whose excitement for the show made him quite animated.

  Billingsley could probably be in this show, considering his missin
g eye. They'd likely want him to lose the patch, though.

  At precisely seven o'clock, the line of over a hundred people (not a great crowd by any stretch of the imagination but still most of the remaining residents of Ransom) went silent with growing anticipation. Rustling came from behind the tent entrance and the overly large flap was untied from within to reveal Melvin Mitchell holding a flaming torch.

  "Welcome!! Thank you all for coming this evening on such short notice. Ms. Ruby and all of our performers are very excited to be here in Ranson tonight. You're in for an unforgettable evening. Before we begin, why don't we shed a little light on the subject?"Melvin walked past the line of spectators and towards a pike in the ground about ten feet away.

  Once Michael noticed the first pike, he noticed a row of them encircling the tent.

  "All of us here at MELVIN MITCHELL PRESENTS: RUBY AND HER AMAZING FREAKSHOW FRIENDS sincerely hope you enjoy the show. Five dollars a head for everyone. Please take your time. There's no hurry!" He made a production of waving his torch around before finally touching it to the pike.

  Michael was amazed to see a chain reaction of all the torches lighting in succession, one after the other with no visible method of lighting.

  6

  Michael noticed as the line progressed towards the dwarf taking money that everyone, at least everyone he'd seen who worked for this "show," was in fact a "FreakShow Friend," regardless of whether they performed in the show or worked for it.

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" Melvin Mitchell clapped his hands a couple of times, then spoke robustly to the entering crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome once again to our show. As I said earlier, we are very pleased to be with you here this evening. You may be wondering what such a motley crew of individuals get out of this. You may secretly be hating yourself for coming. That's okay. Morbid curiosity pays for gas!"

  This drew a hearty laugh from the customers.

  "What we are really doing here, truthfully, is celebrating. Not a soul among us feels sorry for ourselves. Nor do we hate the way we look. We are all very proud of who we are. We love ourselves and each other for our uniqueness. We are a family. And we welcome you into our traveling home.

  "Now, it is true, each of us has suffered horrendous indignations and ridicule at the hands of those who refuse to understand. Those who think that if you don't have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, two arms, two legs, and ten fingers and toes, you don't belong. If you are one of those individuals who have come here tonight with intentions on shaming us or disrupting our home, kindly turn around and please leave. If you'd like, you may have your entry fee returned. All we are attempting to do tonight is show you that, even though we may be different, we are all beautiful."

  Once Michael entered the tent he immediately started scoping for Ruby.

  There! He saw her booth and attempted to go straight for it. Before he'd taken three steps, the Bearded Lady called to him from her booth. "Please, sir. Show every performer in the show equal respect and follow the natural progression."

  Her request was really a demand and her poorly rehearsed politeness fell flat.

  "I might be offended if I thought you didn't want to spend a few minutes with me, Mister."

  Michael was caught off guard by the woman, now that she was so close. He stared at her so intently, like he told himself he wasn't going to do at all, much less the first person he saw, he swore he saw her mustache grow a quarter inch.

  "I..uh..." He stammered. He couldn't bear to look at her. Why doesn't she shave? A woman shouldn't have a beard. "Yes, ma'am," was all he could muster.

  Next up, standing stoically in his booth was the "Tree Man." He stood about six feet five inches, wore a blue t-shirt and gray shorts. He couldn't wear shoes as his feet were literally two separate root systems that spiraled outward from where a normal person's toes began.

  Michael stood behind Bob Crosley's two young boys and smiled as their mouths hung agape. "Do you have to trim your toes?" one of the boys asked innocently.

  "Why, yes I do young man. It only hurts for a second before the ends heal right up." Tree Man's voice sounded...old. Ancient even.

  That's weird but he just feels old. There is no way a man is also a tree! Is there?

  Tree Man's skin was coarse and crumbly. It was definitely supposed to look like bark. "You there, my friend. What's your name?" he asked.

  "Me? Uh...Michael Wootten."

  "Michael Wootten, my name is Scott. I'd like you to have something of mine. A gift."

  "Well, I couldn't–"

  "Please take it." He reached across his body and peeled a piece of bark–skin!–off his arm and handed it to Michael. "Now don't say I never gave you nothin! Okay?"

  "Okay." Michael felt more than a little disturbed by the encounter. He debated internally about leaving but moved on to the next booth.

  There, Michael had a pleasant but brief conversation with Five Fingered Albino. Two fingers on his left hand, and three on his right. And he could juggle! From there it was the Eight Foot Giant, and then on to The Lizard Woman. She spoke with a very sinister hiss that accompanied a forked tongue that shot out of her mouth about every minute or so. She was pleasant enough, though.

  Michael relaxed and began to enjoy himself. There were many more performers to interact with and seeing Ruby last would most definitely be the icing on the cake of a really fun night. He took a few moments and looked around the tent. Smiling faces greeted him, and some insecure looks, but mostly a lot of laughing and fun.

  Families were out together, music played, although the band had no arms and all the instruments were strummed by feet, and, at least for one night, Ransom had a pulse.

  We'll take it.

  He didn't know about anyone else, but Michael felt a great deal of gratitude towards Melvin Mitchell and his cavalcade of unique and special individuals. They had truly done a great kindness to the city by stopping here this morning.

  7

  Melvin Mitchell could physically taste the shit coming up from his asshole when he had to spew that crap to these people. It had taken years of work, serious work with Ruby, before they were able to put this venture together. Going around and glad handing these losers was bad enough, but he could feel the layer of dirt on his clothes, in his teeth, and in his eye. One of these days I'm gonna pull the plug on all this freakshow bullshit and Ruby and me, we're gonna run away with the cash. Sooner than later.

  The shows typically ran anywhere from seven to ten, or eleven if it was still lively. It was nine now, and they weren't breaking down the doors, so it looked like ten it would be. He hadn't been paying attention, he didn't really, most often, but they were closing in an hour and it was time to start looking for Ruby's cut. James the Tree Jerk had probably already given his bark to the "lucky winner," and now Melvin had to scurry around like a rat, looking for the cheese.

  That tree asshole NEVER tells me who he gave the marker to.

  About ten minutes later, by sheer luck, he saw the young man carrying the bark in his hand.

  He probably doesn't even think it's real bark, the idiot.

  Melvin quickly crossed the distance between him and the young man and came to stand directly in front of him. "Good evening to you, Sir!" He said with completely false excitement. "And how are you enjoying the show this evening? Is it what you were expecting?"

  "Well, yes," said the man who appeared to be in his early twenties. "More so. I'm glad I came. I'm very interested to see Ms. Ruby. After all, her name is on the marquee. But she's the biggest mystery."

  "Oh you do have a very keen sense, don't you young man. Eh, what is your name son?" asked Melvin.

  "Michael Wootten."

  "Well, Michael, are you in for a treat. You say that Ms. Ruby is a mystery? Well, maybe you can solve her when you meet her tonight after the show in a one-on-one private meeting!" Melvin bellowed with delight as bile danced wickedly in his stomach.

  "Wow? Thanks, Mr. Mitchell! What do you need me to do?"

  "No n
eed to thank me Michael! The pleasure is all ours. If you will just kindly follow me, Ms. Ruby is waiting in a small private tent for just this very occasion."

  Melvin asked Michael to follow him down the row of performers whom he'd probably not get to see but he didn't care, past Ruby's empty booth, from which a sign hung saying, "Ms. Ruby's performance will begin promptly at 9:30," and out into the night.

  Michael saw four large torches burning brightly in the distance, casting a stunning ripple of shadows on the tent where Ruby waited for him. For a private meeting, the tent did seem rather large, though not in contest with the tent housing the carnival. He more followed Mr. Mitchell then accompanied him, and, honestly, since they'd left the main tent, Mr. Mitchell had gone silent. When they finally reached Ms. Ruby's tent, Melvin Mitchell turned back to Michael and said, "One moment please," then entered the tent.

  8

  Melvin stepped into the tent and wasn't immediately able to locate Ruby. This was not uncommon. She was adept at moving freely within the shadows.

  How does she do that? It's not like she can get up and walk.

  "I can hear you, Mel. You know I don't appreciate it when you talk about me that way." Her voice was like the sweetest song he'd ever heard. It never raised and it never lowered. Melodic in sound but deadly with intent.

  Melvin had known her a long time. Longer than anyone else had managed to. The key was to listen without listening. He would hear what she said but focus on any other thing possible. He knew, he wasn't naive, one day she'd take her cut, again, but, Fuck it! I'm gonna ride this bull 'til it kills me.

  "Mel!"

  "Yeah, Yeah! The moke is outside. His name is Michael Wootten. Try not to kill him, okay?"

  "My, my, Mel, why do you suddenly care? You never have before."