Tall Tale Tuesday: Carnival of Souls
t’s that time again. We took a bit of time off to ruminate, but we’ve got new entries over at the Carnival, now, and it’s good stuff.
The Good Doctor fights back against intermittent Internet access to bring us Slidescope, a catch-up post detailing the events between Becky and Dr. Celestine in his trailer.
EARLIER
Becky’s gown was simple but beautiful. There were flowers in her hair and soon there would be a ring on her finger.
The audience in attendance was turning to watch her walk between the chairs set up in the field as her bare feet padded softly in the dew-covered grass. On the groom’s side all the carnies were watching her. They didn’t look friendly, but Becky knew they were just jealous.
The bride’s side was empty.
As she approached her future husband his hair caught in the wind. His shirt was unbuttoned to the mid-chest and as he eyed her his lust and adulation was clear. He stood before the alter beneath an arch of small saplings in front of a large lilac bush in full bloom.
He looked magnificent.
The ceremony was blissfully brief. She couldn’t wait to take him inside her and consummate their wedding.
The faceless priest had them turn to the attendants. She positively radiated victory and beauty as the clergyman announced;
“Doctor and Mrs. Celestine.”
It was a wonderful dream.
>>Read More.
I’m up next with Returns, bringing Mary back to the Carnival and dropping Alice off in a whole heaping pot of boiling water.
Dav knelt in the toothpick rubble of his booth, sifting through the wreckage, salvaging what he could. A roll of Rainbow Brite stickers. First edition manga in plastic sleeves. A signed copy of Jesus Christ: Vampire Hunter.
As he worked, a shadow fell over him. He glanced up, eyebrows coming down as he prepared to snap at whomever was interrupting him at his work. The snippy remark died on his tongue, eyes widening. A woman stood over him, just at the border of the Carnival and the parking lot, tall and strong, flowing black skirt, red tank-top, bare arms carved in muscle and scars. Her face was leaner than Dav remembered, lines at the eyes and around the mouth that hadn’t been there before, and her long mane of black hair was shot through with white. The eye patch was new, too, but it was still Mary, grinning her wolfish grin around the butt of a cigar. She was also holding a woman, limp, unconscious, over her shoulder.
“Mary? Do mine eyes deceive?” Dav asked softly.
“Hardly. How you been, Dav?” She dropped the woman on the ground, drawing the cigar from her mouth and blowing a smoke ring. “I was in the area, and found this. I think it belongs to you guys.”
Dav glanced down, recognized Lust, considerably worse for wear. She wore the face of a beauty queen and the body of a porn star, tarted up in a short red dress and heels that would break a mortal woman’s ankles. Her dress was torn and stained dark, chest scratched and livid, nails broken, as though she’d been clawing at herself, and her veins were gray under her fair skin, a network tracery. He looked back up, past Mary, to the man behind her. He was tall, lean, long silvery dark hair pulled back, t-shirt and jeans, and he had BB Wolfe firmly by the arm.
BB’s face was marred by four long red scars, and he was grinning, as though he were having a great time.
Mary followed Dav’s gaze back towards the Carny. She heaved a sigh. “You want to let us in? If I have to listen to this asshole for five more seconds, I swear, I’m feeding him to the puppies.”
>>Read More.
And finally, MrJames cranks it up to “11″ and rips the knob off with Upping the Ante.
Mr. James found he was rather enjoying himself.
Half a dozen customers sat around the table, faces shrouded by smoke and half-hidden by the low chandelier over the green felt tabletop. The car salesman, Cliff, was dealing, and the soldier between tours in Iraq was fiddling nervously with his chips. Finding the players had been easy. All it had needed was a sign hung on the Game booth, saying High stakes game in progress - please do not disturb. It drew them in like honey.
”Gentlemen… Lady,” he added, as Miss Talm, a speechwriter for some politician or other, sneered. “What do you say we make this game a little more interesting?” There were some hems and haws, as quite a lot of money was already on the table. MrJames pulled a Spanish doubloon out of his vest pocket, and set it dancing over his knuckles. “Tell me; what has more value? Money, for what it can buy, or power, for what it can do? Or time, with which to do whatever you like?” The coin rolled, dancing over his knuckles as the players chattered.
Answers varied. Terry, the dentist, loudly insisted that money was power, so the question was meaningless. Sam, a city bus driver with an incongruous Masters degree in European History declared that with power, money and time could be arranged. Mr. James shook his head in disagreement. “I suggest that the real value, the only real commodity worth seeking, saving, or savoring, is time.”
>>Read More.
