The Howling Trilogy

by Gary Brandner

  “Okay,” he said. They smiled at each other.

  “One thing, though,” the boy added. “We’re still booked here for tonight and tomorrow. I’d like to stay and do those shows for Mr. Styles.”

  “He is important to you, isn’t he?” she said.

  “I never knew my real father. I would have liked him to be like Bate.”

  “All right,” Holly said. “I’ll take a motel room in town. Maybe I’ll come down and watch your act.”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Don’t do that.”

  “Not if you don’t want me to,” she said.

  “I’d rather you wouldn’t. This is a different part of my life. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “Then I’ll just stay in my motel room until you’re ready to go.”

  “Thanks, Holly,” he said, relieved.

  “Well,” she said brightly, “we have a couple of hours to kill. What would you like to do?”

  “Let me show you around the carnival. We can go on the rides free, since I work here.”

  “That sounds like fun,” she said “Shall we try the Octopus?”

  * * *

  When Malcolm came back to the tent for the ten o’clock show he found Bateman Styles sitting on the front of the stage with his legs dangling. Beside him was a bottle of Old Overholt and a plastic cup from the food tent. The showman seemed to be studying the shine on his shoes.

  “Hi, Bate,” Malcolm said cheerily.

  “Hello.” He did not look up.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?”

  “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

  Styles poured rye whiskey into the cup and swallowed it. “No, Malcolm, I’m not mad. I always knew you had a life of some kind before I found you, and I’m not surprised that it would catch up with you someday and pull you back. You are leaving, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Styles hopped down from the stage and came over to stand beside him. He clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. During the summer Malcolm had grown an inch taller than the showman.

  “I want to wish you the best of luck, my boy. If you have something to go back to out there, I don’t blame you. The carnival is no place for anybody who has roots. We did have a good season together, didn’t we?”

  “A good season,” Malcolm agreed. “Bate, I want to finish out the date here. I’ll do tonight’s show and tomorrow’s.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I imagine you’re anxious to get going with your friend, the doctor.”

  “I want to do it,” Malcolm said. “You can pitch it as a farewell appearance and jack up the admission price.”

  A smile spread slowly over Styles’ ruddy face. He began to laugh, then subsided in a coughing fit. When he recovered his breath he said, “Malcolm, my lad, you are beginning to sound like a real carnie. Go and get yourself ready while I step out front and turn the tip.” He laughed again. “Farewell appearance. I’m proud of you.”

  Malcolm stepped behind the curtain and changed into one of the sets of cheap shirts and pants Bateman had bought for the act. There was no sense wearing anything good, since when his body changed it pushed right out through the clothes.

  Lately the change had seemed to go further each time before he could reverse it. It had begun to worry Malcolm, and he was glad to be going with Holly. If there really was help for him, he knew Holly would find it.

  As he buttoned up the shirt and tucked it down into the pants, he heard Styles warming up to his spiel out in front.

  “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, tonight and tomorrow are absolutely the last and final opportunity you will have to see the Ninth Wonder of the World! The sensational what-is-it that people all over the country are talking about! The inimitable, the incomprehensible, the indescribable… Grolo the Animal Boy!”

  Malcolm smiled. Over the weeks he had built a real affection for the showman, and he sensed that Styles liked him, too. In other circumstances he would be glad to stay with the carnival as long as Bate wanted him, but his future was too uncertain. What they were doing might be just a fun-scary show to the marks, but Malcolm knew. They were playing a deadly, dangerous game.

  “Yes, my friends,” Styles continued out in front, “tonight and tomorrow are absolutely and irrevocably the farewell appearances of the Animal Boy! Never again on this continent or any other will you have the opportunity to see this amazing metamorphosis! Therefore, my friends, since you will be witnessing something no one will ever see again, the admission for tonight and tomorrow’s shows will of necessity be slightly higher, a still very reasonable five dollars! And if any of you think you can get a better buy today for five dollars, please tell me and I’ll go with you!”

  Malcolm heard the crowd laugh with Styles and he knew the showman had them in his pocket. He was glad that Bateman would make a few extra dollars these last two days. It would be partial repayment for the happy time this summer that Styles had given him.

  He finished dressing and entered the old chimpanzee cage. Styles had talked about getting a more elaborate cage but had not got around to it. Malcolm had developed a feeling almost of affection for the cage. The door in the back was never locked, of course, and when the power of the beast flowed through his body he could have easily ripped it apart. The marks did not know this, of course.

  He sat on the stool and listened to the babble of voices beyond the curtain as the crowd streamed in.

  When the tent was full, Bateman slipped in through the rear and winked at Malcolm. “Everything all right, lad?”

  “Everything’s fine, Bate.”

  “Good. Let’s give ’em their five dollars’ worth.”

  Styles stepped through the curtain for his introduction speech. He was in masterful form, and he had the marks howling for action even before the curtain was pulled aside. Malcolm smiled happily.

  “And now the moment for which we have all waited…” Styles intoned. “And paid our five dollars for,” somebody in the crowd added.

  “I give you, for the very last time, in his farewell appearance… Grolo the Animal Boy!”

  He pulled back the curtain and Malcolm assumed the puzzled and rather embarrassed look they had perfected over the summer. He sat on the stool, hands folded in his lap, and tried not to smile as he thought about rejoining Holly Lang.

  “Well, what’s the matter, Grolo, off your feed tonight?” Batmen said in his tone of mock anger. “Surely this is not what the good people paid to see.”

  The crowd joined in enthusiastically.

  “Yeah, what a phony!”

  “Do something, stupid!”

  “What is it, a wax dummy?”

  “Give us our money back!”

  “Look, he’s even smiling!”

  Malcolm left the stool and walked in a crouch to the front of the cage. There he clutched the bars as he always did and stared out at the people hurling insults at him. He tried, as he had taught himself, to summon up the hateful, painful things that had been done to him in the past. But tonight, try as he might, all he could think about was going back with Holly and maybe… just maybe finding a cure that would make him normal, like other boys.

  After several minutes of no action the tone of the crowd changed. Where the insults and jeers had been good-natured, a part of the act, they began to turn ugly as Malcolm stood gazing out over their heads with a half smile on his face.

  “Come on, we haven’t got all night!”

  “What’s the matter with him? I thought he was supposed to change into an animal.”

  “Hell, he’s not doing anything!”

  “We’ve been robbed!”

  “Come on,” a burly tattooed man yelled, “let’s pull him out of there and make him do something!”

  Bateman Styles, who had been watching Malcolm anxiously, turned quickly to the crowd when he heard the last comment.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m very sorry, but the
Animal Boy is not feeling well tonight. He will be unable to perform.”

  “Bull! It’s part of the act.”

  “I assure you, young man, this is an unscheduled interruption. If you will kindly file out, I will personally hand each and every one of you a pass to tomorrow’s show.”

  “Pass, hell, what if there ain’t no show tomorrow?”

  The crowd shifted, looking as though it might advance on the stage.

  Styles said quickly, “You’re absolutely right. Your money will be refunded out in front; each and every dollar will be returned with my sincerest regrets.”

  “You can stuff your regrets,” somebody said. “Just give us our money.”

  The crowd laughed, and the ugly moment had passed. They trooped out of the tent and Styles followed with the cash box. As he passed through the entrance flap he turned for a long, sad look at Malcolm, then continued outside to return the money.

  When the showman returned Malcolm had left the cage and was sitting slumped in a wooden chair behind the curtain.

  “I let you down, Bate,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nonsense, my boy, nonsense,” boomed Styles. “You could no more help yourself than I could jump over the Ferris wheel.”

  “I tried. Really I did.”

  Bateman pulled the stool out of the cage and sat next to him “I know that, Malcolm, and I think I know why it didn’t work. You’re happy, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess so.”

  “Of course you are. I could see it in your eyes when you came out and saw that Dr. Lang tonight. You like her a lot, don’t you?”

  Malcolm nodded. “Holly was a friend when I needed one. Like you, Bate.”

  “Thank you, my boy. I appreciate being included in that company. However, as they say, sometimes friends must part, and I guess this is the time for you and me, right?”

  Malcolm swallowed hard. “I guess it is. Holly’s a doctor, and she’s going to try to cure me. Make me normal.”

  “Unquestionably a worthwhile endeavor.”

  “If it works out, and I’m just like everybody else, I’d be no good to you, would I?”

  “Utter nonsense, my boy. You are a natural for the carnival life. Anytime you want to come back, just look up Bateman Styles and we’ll work something out.”

  “Sure, Bate. Thanks.”

  Styles lit a Camel and coughed into a handkerchief. “I’d better go clean up out front. Will you be staying in the trailer tonight?”

  “If it’s all right. Then I’ll leave tomorrow with Holly.”

  “Of course it’s all right. I may be in a bit late myself. I’ll try not to wake you.”

  Styles pushed through the curtain and eased himself down off the stage. He started for the front of the tent, slowing down when he saw a man standing in the entrance flap.

  “Sorry, bud, the show’s over. No more shows tonight.”

  “I know,” the man said. “I saw the last one.”

  “What’s the problem? Didn’t you get your money back?”

  “I don’t want my money back. I have a proposition for you.”

  Styles looked more closely at the man. He was not big, but he was wiry and seemed charged with nervous energy. His hair was slicked back, his eyes bright and a little too close together.

  “What kind of a proposition?”

  “First let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Wayne Pastory.”

  22

  It seemed to be his day for meeting doctors, Bateman Styles decided. The first had taken away his livelihood; now this one was offering him a proposition. Holly Lang appeared to be authentic, but Bateman was inclined to be skeptical about Wayne Pastory. He had known too many self-proclaimed ‘doctors’ who used the title as part of a scam. And this wiry man had the over intense look of somebody not playing with a full deck.

  “You say you have a proposition, Dr. Pastory,” Styles said carefully.

  “Yes, I think it might be of some interest to you. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “Right here is as good a place as any.”

  Pastory looked back doubtfully at the entrance. “We won’t be disturbed?”

  “There won’t be anybody coming in,” Styles told him. “The rest of the shows have been canceled.”

  “Ah, yes, so I understand. That rather undercuts your income, I would guess.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Perhaps I can make that a little easier for you.” He looked quickly at Styles. “I don’t know what your relationship has been with this, er, Animal Boy, but I assume he is of no further use to you.”

  “The relationship has been a professional one,” Styles said slowly. “And no, it doesn’t look like we’ll be performing again.”

  “All right, here’s my proposition––I’ll take him off your hands.”

  “Off my hands,” Styles repeated.

  “Exactly. We both understand he has no future with you. Oh, I expect to compensate you, of course, but in as much as he is worth nothing to you now, I wouldn’t think we’ll have to do a lot of haggling over the price.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so,” Styles agreed. He tilted his head to one side and stared down into Pastory’s bright little eyes. “May I ask, Doctor, precisely what your interest is in the Animal Boy?”

  “I don’t see as that is of any importance to our transaction.”

  “Call it curiosity.”

  Pastory sighed and spoke rapidly, like a man who knows he is talking over his listener’s head. “I am a researcher in psychobiology. The, er, phenomenon of the boy’s physical change is of great interest in my field. I want to complete a series of experiments that will shed greater light on his condition.”

  “And maybe make you a few dollars?”

  “I am a researcher, Mr. Styles. Monetary gain is not important to me.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Forgive me.”

  Pastory nodded brusquely. His eyes flicked hungrily up to the curtained stage.

  “But as you saw tonight,” Styles continued, “this phenomenon, as you call it, is not so reliable.”

  “There are laboratory methods of triggering the process,” Pastory said. “Shall we get down to business?”

  “I’d like to hear more about these laboratory methods,” said Styles.

  “I don’t think they would be of much interest to you. Highly technical, you understand.”

  “That so? What makes you think these methods of yours will work?”

  “Because they have before.” Pastory was losing patience. “I assure you it is nothing you could duplicate here. The boy was in my care for a short period about a year ago and I was making significant progress until an interruption by outsiders brought my experiment to an end.”

  “What a shame,” Styles commented.

  “Yes, yes, but that’s not important now. I can pick up where I left off. How does a hundred dollars sound for transferring the boy to me?”

  “A hundred dollars. My, my.” Styles rubbed his nose thoughtfully.

  “I’ll make it two hundred just because I am eager to resume my work with the boy.”

  “You must be.”

  “That’s cash, of course.”

  Pastory reached for his wallet. He opened it and slipped out four fifty-dollar bills. He was careful not to let Styles see how much more he was carrying.

  Bateman took the money. “Ah, yes, two hundred United States dollars.” He held the bills up one at a time to the light bulb that was suspended from the top of the tent. He grasped them by the edges and snapped them out. “Crisp new currency; yes, indeed.”

  “The money is quite genuine,” Pastory said. “Can I see the boy now?”

  Even from behind the curtain Malcolm recognized the voice of Wayne Pastory immediately. He felt that his past was catching up with him from all directions.

  He parted the curtain just a crack and peered out into the tent. The sight of the doctor made him shiver with remembered terrors.

  As the conve
rsation continued between Pastory and Bateman Styles, Malcolm’s high spirits of a short time ago plummeted. The showman, his friend, was actually dickering to sell him out. Malcolm felt a sob rise in his chest. He forced it back. His vision blurred as tears squeezed into his eyes.

  He let the curtain close and sank slowly to his knees. His face was feverish, yet his body shook with a chill. He felt the muscular spasms that preceded the change. He ground his teeth and fought for control.

  Be reasonable, he told himself. He couldn’t blame Bateman for taking a few dollars from Pastory. Malcolm knew he would never go back to that hateful clinic anyway. Holly was waiting for him. Why did it matter to him what kind of a deal Bateman made with Pastory? His body jerked convulsively.

  “Do we have a deal?” Pastory said.

  Styles continued to hold the bills in both hands. “Let me be sure I understand,” said Styles. “You are offering mc two hundred dollars for the boy. I take the money and you take Malcolm.”

  “Yes, yes, can we get on with it?” The doctor looked at his watch. “My time is limited.”