Fantastic Tales of Terror

by Eugene Johnson

  “I just want to go home, Buzz.”

  Armstrong turned and exited the hatch. “Houston, do you copy?”

  “Roger, we copy.”

  “Clear channel?”

  A pause.

  “Copy. This is private.”

  “First part of the mission is done, Houston.”

  “Roger that. You’ve done an invaluable service for your country.” When Armstrong didn’t answer, Houston broke in again. “Is everything okay, commander?”

  “It could be. If we try.”

  “It’s done, Houston,” Aldrin broke in. “It’s a mess up here. I don’t think we can clean it or cover it.”

  “Roger that. We’ll be back. Apollo program’s not done yet. You just get ready to make history and come on home. And if you can get some samples of biological—”

  “Hell no,” Aldrin growled. “Not on my watch. This mess stays here. We spoiled it. Not even here a day and we spoiled it. It’s a mess down there, Houston. We brought the same mess with us. It’s gotta stop.”

  “Is the mission compromised?”

  “Negative, Houston,” Armstrong let out a sigh. “Look, we’re done. We’ll get your soil samples and do some readings, and that’ll be it. Let’s get it back on public channels and finish this.”

  “Copy that.” A pause. “Proceed.”

  “I’m at the foot of the ladder. The LM footpads are only depressed in the surface about 1 or 2 inches, although the surface appears to be very, very fine grained, as you get close to it. It’s almost like a powder. Down there, it’s very fine.”

  Armstrong looked to his left one last time at the bloodied remains of the lunar monsters.

  “I’m going to step off the LM now.” As he drifted down to the moon, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the ever-shrinking speck of Sokolov, bounding into the inky blackness.

  “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.”

  THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS AND THE SHOWGIRL

  JOHN PALISANO

  Even from up high, the green smell of the jungle overpowered them. The helicopter blades cut the air and thumped––Chop! Chop! Chop!––mirroring her nervous pulse. She held on tighter to the leather loop suspended from the roof of the cab, exchanging a glance with one of her steely-faced escorts.

  You know how to do this. You can perform. You can be Marilyn. The country needs you.

  She thought about her husband, back home, stewing because she answered the call to sing for the troops, cutting their honeymoon brutally short.

  I just wish I could tell him it’s bigger than anyone knows. It’s a secret. They need my special electricity, they say. My magic stream. He’s here, in the jungle, and they can’t find him. And he’s making all this bad stuff happen. Like he did before. But I can call him out.

  She pictured a shiny, glistening worm at the end of a hook, a microphone dangling not far away, the worm’s lips painted red like hers, a cheap blonde Marilyn wig on its head, bought from the Woolworths. She laughed to herself at the absurdity. Who’d have ever thought little old Norma Jean Baker could sing in front of so many troops one day? Someone out there believes in me.

  The fight at home had escalated just as she was leaving. Of course it had. It always happened the same way. He didn’t want her to leave. She didn’t want to leave. She had to. Things were bigger than both of them. The situation had left her feeling caught between two masters, protected by none, and immeasurably lonesome. Her insides felt lighter than air, and her stomach seemed as though it wouldn’t be able to hold onto anything. Such was her destiny. She left an angry husband to help fight an angrier war.

  It was more, of course. So much more.

  Dressed in impeccable military uniform, his haircut tight and high, the chaperone sized her up. She could feel his judgment. He thinks I’m ditzy. They all think I’m the airhead blonde just because I’m thinking. They don’t know. They really have no idea what’s behind all of me, do they?

  She knew, too, that they didn’t suspect her real purpose. How could they? My only existence to them is as a plaything. A Showgirl. A confection. Something to look at, a picture pinned to the wall. A sex symbol, of all silly things!

  Her image had been curated perfectly by the agents and producers back in Hollywood. That she had so much more was lost on most everyone. She carried a book with her everywhere. As much as she enjoyed the attention, she loved being a student of the world more.

  They’ve got no idea how smart you have to be to play it so dumb and make it seem real. Can’t be too dumb as to be ridiculous, but you can’t come off too smart as to be no fun at all. You’ve got to be able to know when to bring that intelligence out, at just the right moment, stab the moment, and then pull it back in nice and neat like a knife slipped into a hidden sheath inside your vest.

  Her acting teacher’s words imprinted on her.

  We’re all acting, every single one of us, every day, whether we like to admit it or not. We’re all portraying ourselves the way we wish to be seen, aren’t we? People put on their costume and makeup, and they rehearse their lines in their heads. Everyone’s an actor. We’re always on stage. Even and especially to ourselves.

  The helicopter descended, fast and abrupt. She imagined it was a safety precaution to avoid detection. The troops didn’t know she was coming. Not yet, at least. She had business to take care of before then.

  The base sprouted up in the midst of the jungle, reminding her of a child’s set of blocks come to life. The camouflaged rectangular tents were hard to spot until they were close.

  She’d fixated on the mechanics of it all as they landed on the helipad. Their voices and commands blurred into the background. She thought instead about how they’d managed to breach a foreign country and set up shop, and have food and water and bathrooms. She made a note to herself to ask questions once they were settled. How did the whole thing work? How did they do it? How were they not just run out?

  As soon as she deplaned, she heard Sergeant Richards. “Miss Monroe? Thank you for coming.”

  Always ‘Miss’ and never ‘Missis.’ She’d been married almost a year, yet, no one seemed to take her seriously.

  She put on The Smile. “Wonderful to be here, darling. Where are we headed?”

  “We’ve got a room for you all set up,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

  “I try not to eat before I perform,” she said. “You understand.”

  “Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  She didn’t feel comfortable in the jungle. Not one bit. Grasping the diamond on her ring finger, she felt a sense of control and ease she hadn’t earlier. For the first time since leaving the States, she felt aligned and all right; she had a purpose again.

  ***

  The show went off without any issues. The pickup four-piece band knew her material backward and forward. The acoustics were great, strangely, and she was glad to see film cameras recording.

  Speaking to the men serving after the small set of songs, she was struck by how normal they were. Even though she was the only woman they’d seen in God knew how long, they all remained respectful and engaged, and warm.

  I wish they were all home with their families. Maybe they will be soon. If I do things right.

  ***

  As everyone drifted to sleep, she kept awake. By small lamp, she read several pages of Kerouac. She enjoyed the cadence of his writing, imagining his voice.

  I wish you were here with me now.

  Carry me into the jungle.

  She looked over to the handsome sergeants guarding the doorway, their hair perfectly combed and black as coal, their faces chiseled and strong, and thought any one of them could have been Kerouac himself. Any one.

  Take me.

  They would.

  She wouldn’t have her privacy until she made it back to the ship. That was part of the deal.

  One of the Sergeants came, hours later, in the deepest night. Her heart raced as she was led from the tent an
d into the adjacent thick jungle.

  You’re going to be okay. You were born for this. Your real job.

  No. I’m an actor. A singer. A performer.

  What did Stella always say?

  We are being our best selves when we are not ourselves, darling. When we are being what we think we should be in our mind’s eye.

  So who am I?

  Clear yourself.

  Clear your head.

  Channel. Focus.

  Be.

  She turned to find herself alone. The tough soldiers were gone, hiding behind tanks and guns and helmets and helicopters and camouflage.

  She had no camouflage

  The war would not be ended by hiding.

  So she stood, waiting in the clearing just outside the camp. There are poisonous snakes out here. Bugs. Monkeys that will rip your face off. Maybe a spy patrol. They’ll catch me and torture me, more if they recognise me from the pictures.

  Shutting her eyes, she touched her ring. Be strong. You can win this.

  “Good evening.”

  The voice startled her, even though she expected it.

  She looked around and saw nothing.

  “Hello,” she said, using her best high speech.

  “I know who you are,” said the voice, “and I know why you’re here.”

  “Well, it’s good we understand each other,” she said, again using her very practiced tone. I know who you are.

  The voice roared. “Then you understand I’m going to peel off your pretty pink flesh and eat you from the inside out.”

  Her heart raced. Of course it did. But she steeled herself, taking in a breath and imagining a string holding her upright as though she were a marionette—it was a method she’d learned through her acting classes. Step into it. Be Marilyn. Be larger than life. Be sure of yourself. The jungle no longer smelled of banana leaves and dirt, but had become foul and fetid, as if the earth had opened and released the stench of a thousand rotting, liquified corpses.

  “What I understand is that you and I have unfinished business,” she said. Her mouth went dry.

  “It’s all your fault, you realize,” said the entity. “You called me forth.”

  “We both know that’s not true, Vanek. Not true one penny.”

  The ground shook. He knows I recognize him.

  She had trouble keeping her balance.

  Do the soldiers hear this? Do they know? They probably think it’s a bomb.

  Vanek stood before her, only he was no longer the form of the old man she’d met before. He’d taken David Lee Roberts. One of the great loves of her lives.

  He still looked a lot like the David she’d known; he still had his charm and refined looks. He’s not David anymore. Not really human. Something has taken him over. David’s face looked the same, only filled with dark lines, as though they were tattooed. His jet black hair swept up in a wave, his skin was tanned and reddish, his eyes yellowed with fire. His arms stretched out just a little too long, his fingers uncoiled to twice the length they should have been. Their tips sharp and blackened.

  His top lip curled back. A small group of albino flies escaped from his mouth, buzzed toward her, then disappeared into the jungle.

  He’s one of the Conflicted Ones. Don’t forget it.

  “Your circus tricks don’t scare me, Vanek,” she said. “And neither do you.”

  “You see what I can manifest,” he said, swooping his arms around to showcase the area around them. In the sky, a munition flashed. Another example of his showboating, she was sure. “This is from me.”

  “This is from men who listened to you,” she said. “I am not a man.”

  At that, Vanek’s tongue prodded out, its tip as dark as his fingertips. He rolled it around his lips. “Oh, you are every bit the woman. You are the woman of all women. So many men . . . ” he put his bony fingers down toward his middle, down toward his–– “ . . . have touched themselves hoping they were being touched by you.”

  He inched closer to her, his eyes steady, his rotten stench gaining. She wanted to put up a hand, but kept strong. She didn’t want him to see her flinch.

  “They could have made me out of anyone,” she said. “That has nothing to do with why I’m here.”

  His face lit up. “You came for me. You couldn’t resist.” Vanek swayed. His face felt inches away; she smelled his breath. “I just want one hour with you to do with you what I want. Then all of this will go away. I’ll make it happen,” he continued, “ . . . for . . . just . . . a . . . little . . . taste . . . of the one they’re calling Marilyn. What I’ve always wanted. Since I was a man of flesh.”

  Her heart raced. Find your strength. She thought back to the helicopter. Don’t call him David, even though he’s in his body. Don’t think of him as anything other than Vanek.

  Chop!

  Chop!

  Went the blades.

  Beat!

  Beat!

  Went her heart.

  “How do I know you’re good on your word? You haven’t always been,” she said.

  He recoiled, just a bit. “That’s not. The terms . . . changed . . . because the . . . situation . . . changed. Not my fault.”

  “One has to honor their word, or it becomes meaningless,” she said.

  He hollered. His arms fanned out. “My word is as good as any. How dare you?” He pointed up. His long, black-tipped fingers twitched. “Would you rather believe them? They’ll have you old and haggard in a blink, your body bones and dust before you can enjoy it. Your beauty won’t be able to summon demagogues for long, my love. Your power will soon wane. Soon enough. Soon enough.”

  Calming himself, Vanek asked, “Wouldn’t you want to look like this forever?”

  She laughed, then. “I will.”

  “You won’t!”

  “I have my own . . . methods,” she said.

  “Is that so?” Vanek smirked. “Do tell.”

  “You took someone from me,” she said. “Someone I loved. You’re in David’s body. So you owe me.”

  Vanek roared and the jungle shook. “How can I owe you anything?”

  “You promised you wouldn’t touch him, Vanek,” she said.

  “I did not,” he said.

  “You broke David’s back and climbed inside,” she said. “You took over him.”

  “I was desperate,” Vanek said. “My other home was gone and I needed another right away.”

  “You broke him in a half,” she said. “He was my love. Sent away to the war you stirred, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you killed him.”

  Vanek lowered his head. Then he raised his face, his expression sullen and remorseful. “Am I not still the face you love?” For a moment, she glimpsed David within the entity. Remembered the nights they’d shared on Malibu Beach. How he’d made her laugh. Then how he’d been stolen from her and whisked away as soon as the Conflicted Ones found out.

  Don’t believe a word he says. These dark entities are all at their best when they’re lying. It’s what they’re made for. Spinning these traps to catch us off guard.

  “So what do you come to the jungles for today, Norma? Normal. Norma. Doesn’t have the same ring to it as Marilyn. That’s just as phony as anything, isn’t it?” He didn’t look like David anymore. Just a shell being animated.

  She shook her head. “Not phony, idealized. She is me. I am her.”

  “Yes. The sex symbol that brings a million little deaths a day. All that wasted energy,” he said. “What . . . do . . . you . . . want?”

  “I want you to leave this world, and stop this war. Stop the needless dying. Clarify the minds of the men fighting this war,” she said. “Do it for me. You took David. You had your war . . . the blood and pain you have fed on for years to keep you all at bay . . . that was our deal . . . you made me a promise in return . . . to keep my David untouchable. You went back on your word. Now it’s time to make it up to me.”

  Vanek sized her up. “The world doesn’t know what’s in your h
ead. I do. I know you’re not the ditz you play, and yet the world won’t take you seriously. So why should I? Why shouldn’t I just bend you over, belly over back, like I did to him? I can do it in a blink. I can snuff you out, right here. Why won’t I?” He hovered over her again, his fingers threateningly close to her face.

  “You’re not the only one,” she said. “There are others. I’ve spoken to all of them. The Conflicted are everywhere. And they all love me. And if anything were to happen to me, they’d know. They’d know so fast, and they’d take action so fast, and you know you’d suffer the hell of a thousand hells for it.” She straightened her back. “So, Vanek? You owe me. You’ve fed off this war long enough. You’ve taken what you’ve asked for. So go away quietly. And I want your word on it, this time.”

  “I’m supposed to have another five years,” he said.

  “You took David,” she said. “I think it’s a fair deal.”

  He stood back, thought for a moment.

  “If I don’t?”

  “The Conflicted have asked me to offer you this deal,” she said. “They are tired of this war as anyone. It’s time. They will come and ask for themselves if you don’t agree, and we know that won’t end well for you.”

  “You won’t end well, either,” he said. “Your time is limited. They’ll be coming for you, too. One day, you may be sleeping, or walking along, and something that looks like something else will take you out. You can’t last forever, either.”

  “Only in the hearts and minds of men,” she said. “My legacy is sealed, no matter how I end. Now, will you concede?”

  He looked at her and she went cold. He’s going to strike me down. Yup. This is it.

  But his eyes softened. “Can I have one more year?”

  She thought for a moment. “I will ask them,” she said. “It seems . . . reasonable.”

  “We wouldn’t want the war to end too suddenly,” he said. “Doing so might reveal the puppet’s strings.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That makes sense.”

  “Then we have a deal?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” she said. “I wanted something more than your word, as that seems to be questionable.”

  He smiled at this. “Oh? A romp in the jungle? A kiss? You cannot stop thinking about it, can you? Me instead of that dried up old husk of a husband.”