ood lord, took me long enough, huh? But, here it is at last, my chunk in Squatch’s “Tales of Delgato”, for the Carnival of Souls.

Tales of Delgato (Pt3)

     Sheila stood up, wiping away the tears in her eyes and holding tight to the tiny piece of jewelry. There had to be a way out. And she’d find it. She was a brave, smart, wonderful girl, and Gramma Emma believed in her!
     Then the panther slammed into her back, grinding her face into the sawdust. Claws cut deep into her back, and it rumbled a low growl in her ear.

     The panther bounded over Sheila, posting off her back and grinding her into the sawdusty dirt. The cameo spilled away as the panther landed before her. Gasping for a breath, Sheila scrambled to her knees. The panther rounded on her, snarling, showing jaws full of yellowed teeth.
     A couple of feet away, the cameo glinted in the sawdust.
     Sheila stared at the huge, sleek cat. It tensed, as though to pounce again, and Sheila made up her mind in a flash. She snatched at the cameo. The panther leaped. The world lit up like fireworks, the light so blinding it washed out color, leaving the Carnival a stark white scene full of chiseled shadows black as sin. There was a scream, pitched so high Sheila heard it in her teeth. She looked up, and a comet was shrieking towards the earth, leaving a vivid trail of white and yellow flames stretched out behind it. It arced overhead at super-sonic speeds, trailing bone-rattling booms. It hit somewhere to the east, and the earth rocked.
     The light faded slowly, carnival sounds rising up as the light ebbed. The formerly bright and brilliant Carnival now looked drab by comparison. Sheila glanced around, and the huge panther was gone. She clutched the cameo to her chest, back aching, and stood, wary.
     
     Delgato the Cat fled from the fire and roaring, the man-voice now small and quiet in his head, driven by instinct. He ran, stretching full out, and dove into hiding between the leathery flaps of a tent. It was dark in the tent, silent, and empty.
     There was a soft sound behind him, rustling. The cat turned, seeing nothing, smelling nothing, sensing nothing. He waited. There was a whispering, like many voices speaking quietly from far away, and a . . . kind of pressure, gently, slowly building. The rustling noise came again, as though something stirred in the sawdust. The whispery voices seemed to come a few steps closer.

– a little girl weeps i told you please i don’t have the money two more weeks what do you mean i welshed take care of it boy one more step old man just shoot him just shoot him a little girl weeps how could you how could you he never hurt no one sorry just business a little girl weeps i told you i’ll get the goods what do you mean the guns didn’t come through drugs what drugs a little girl weeps i paid for it man i paid for it no man no i wasn’t crossin the old man oh please oh please a little girl weeps not you i didn’t do it i didn’t –
     The cat cocked its head, listening, and in drips and drabs the words came clear, although they meant little to the feline mind. Deep inside, the dregs of the man began to hear as well, and recognize. The sawdust stirred again, and there seemed to be a darker shadow in the blackness of the corner. The darkness began to dance, slowly at first, then whirling. The pressure was building faster now. Shadow faces and figures boiled in the shadows, detailed black on black sketches as the voices whispered, painting scenes.
– a hammer flying down at a knee screaming a little girl weeps an old man back away hands up i’ll get the money please no flames licking up the sides of a brick bookstore as a woman wept on the sidewalk a fist slamming down in a face again and again i’ll pay the bet i’ll pay the bet a little girl weeps –
     The shadows coalesced, drawing together as though something breathed them in, and a deep, guttural voice in the dark said, Cat, I am stained with you. Only approach, and you shall see. Are you frightened yet?
     The cat stepped back, uncertain. All his senses told him that there was nothing in this tent, but inside, the man-voice shuddered and urged flight. The panther snarled at the darkness, bristling.
     You fear to approach. I shall then come to you. The sawdust stirred, and a small footprint appeared, barely visible in the dimness. Another appeared just ahead of it, and shadow drifted up from the imprint, forming a long, shapely leg. Another step appeared, wafting with its own shadow. Like smoke, the shadow twisted upwards, forming legs, knees, thighs, hips, drifting higher, a waist, breasts, shoulders, now flowing down as well into arms and yet upward, forming a neck, a head, a long fall of billowing hair. The shadow form took another step, the darkness wavering outward in ripples as though the figure had stepped through a sheet of water. The dark shape colored, becoming a woman, breath-breathtakingly beautiful and perfect in every detail, skin milk-white, lips apple red, hair black as night and drifting as though there were a breeze, almond-shaped eyes of the brightest, purest ice blue. She was nude save the coat of glistening blood staining her skin.
     The panther backed up a few steps more, bracing to leap, snarling. The woman raised her lovely, graceful hands, clothed in blood gloves, and motioned the cat forward while she smiled. The panther leaped with a scream. The woman stepped forward, thrusting her hand down the cat’s throat, seized it by the guts, and pulled it inside out, stepping aside as she did so. The air inside the tent rippled and shimmered, and Delgato the man tumbled past the woman, ass over elbows through the saw dust.
     Ah, there you are. I had thought you were in there. Do you know who I am, yet?
     Delgato shook himself, head spinning. He got to his feet on autopilot, staggering a few steps before turning around to look at the woman, peering myopically at her. He blinked a few times, his gaze finally focusing. I’m dreaming, he thought with certainty. I must be. The fucking cat show, this goddamn place. I must be.
     The woman tsked ruefully, shaking her head. All this time I have walked at your side, your secret lover, your friend and ally, and you know me not? For shame, Delgato. I fear I am your friend no more, however, for others have summoned me forth. Would you care to meet them? She raised her arms, palms up, fingers clawed, and more footsteps burst into the sawdust, spewing forth their own shadows. There were dozens. Perhaps hundreds. Many of them gained familiar faces. Renaldo, owner of the liquor store that Delgato had burned to the ground for failing to pay protection money. Bennie the Gimp, who had not paid his tab in the Don’s bars. Devon, who had cheated the Don in a gun deal, and Michelli who had snitched and Brenneski and Bobby Wincoat and wives and husbands and children, and, oh God, the little girl, still naked and bruised and puffy-eyed with tears, and grinning.
     He hitched in a breath, but the scream was too big – it stuck in his throat. He staggered back, heart slamming like a jack hammer in his chest. They advanced, flowing by the woman as she laughed. He could hear their voices – you killed me killed me beat me killed my wife killed my kids burned my home – and some were burned and some were bruised and some were missing half their heads and they were all ghostly silver shades, their hands like iced knives as they plucked and tore at him. The woman laughed, and the little girl grinned at him, and finally the scream made it out of his throat as he turned to flee. The horde chased him as he burst out of the tent, eyes bulging, heart pained in his chest, beating so fast and hard he could barely feel the pause between thuds. He pounded down the empty midway, the whole stretch empty and gray-toned except for the silvery horde, silent save their voices. They called and clawed at him and blood flowed hot down his back, through his hair. He ran with his arms covering his head, ducking, trying to dodge, gasping and gagging for breath. Pain stabbed his side, a runner’s hitch, and their whispery voices filled his ears, accusing, damning, and the little girl’s maddened giggles.
     He glanced up, skidding to a stop as the woman flowed up from the earth before him, her face a beautiful rictus of perfect rage, her fingers like claws as she snatched at him. Her laugh was like thunder. I am Wrath, Robert Delgato. You lived by me. And now . . . you will die by me.
     He stumbled in the dirt, the ghosts breaking like waves around her, and scrambled left, weeping, slipping to his knees, clawing his way back up. He ran blindly, barely seeing the rickety wooden doorway ahead, their voices chasing him onward – you killed I died my home my store please mister please don’t hurt me no more –
     The gaping, jagged doorway swallowed him up into calliope-filled darkness and the hordes flowed up against the walls, howling impotently. Wrath walked up to the doorway, leaving bloody footprints in the earth behind her. Shhh, my friends, do not fear. She stood back, staring up at the building, made of raw, rotting boards and rusting nails, looking like something a child had built of junk. Over top the door, in running black paint, it read, “The Labyrinth”. The ghostly shapes swirled around like smoke as they faded. He’ll get his. She laughed her thunderous laugh as she turned, walking through the fading swirls of silvery smoke, melting into the darkness until she, too, was gone.
     The midway stood silent and empty and gray. In the cold breeze, a paper cup rolled through the dirt. After a long silence, the screaming began, echoing up out of the mouth of the Labyrinth.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 15th, 2008 at 8:00 am and is filed under Original Fiction, Tall Tale Tuesday. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.