William Gresham - Nightmare Alley

Frowning still, Molly slipped the diamond back on her finger and watched the tiny specks of light from it spatter the dark corner of the sloping ceiling.

Stan carefully unhooked the wires and got out of his clothes. He went into the bathroom and Molly heard the bolt slammed shut.

You never could tell why Stan did anything. Here he was, madder than a wet hen, and he wouldn’t say why and besides she wouldn’t have pulled any boners; she’d just have smiled and kept her voice low and made believe she was tired from being hypnotized. She hadn’t muffed any signals. What was eating him?

She got up and retrieved the crumpled slip from the corner. That was when it all started, when the colored waiter handed it to Stan just before they went on. Her fingers shook as she opened it.

“ Kindly do not mingle with the guests .”

On a white horse the sun child, with flame for hair, carries the banner of life .

“I’M NOT going to put on the light. Because we’re not going to argue all night again. I tell you, there’s not a goddamned bit of difference between it and mentalism. It’s nothing but our old act dressed up so it will lay ’em in the aisles. And for real.”

“Honey, I don’t like it.”

“In God’s name, what’s the matter with it?”

“Well, what if there are-what if people do come back? I mean, well, they mightn’t like it. I can’t explain it. I’m scared.”

“Listen, baby. I been over this a hundred times. If anybody’s going to come back they’re not going to get steamed up because we fake a little. We’ll be doing the marks a favor; we’ll make ’em plenty happy. After all, suppose you thought you could really speak to your dad, now. Wouldn’t that make you happy?”

“Oh, God, I wish I could. Maybe it’s because I’ve wished so hard for just that and hoped that maybe someday I could.”

“I know, kid. I know how it is. Maybe there’s something in it after all. I don’t know. But I’ve met half a dozen spook workers in the past year and they’re hustlers, every one of them. I tell you, it’s just show business. The crowd believes we can read minds. All right. They believe it when I tell them that ‘the lawsuit’s going to come out okay.’ Isn’t it better to give them something to hope for? What does a regular preacher do every Sunday? Only all he does is promise. We’ll do more than promise. We’ll give ’em proof!”

“I-honey, I just can’t.”

“But you don’t have to do anything! I’ll handle all the effects. All you have to do is get into a cabinet and go to sleep if you want to. Leave everything else to me.”

“But s’pose we got caught? I can’t help it; I think it’s mean. Remember how I told you once, the night you-you asked me to team up with you-about how I chalked on Daddy’s tomb-stone ‘He never crossed up a pal?’ I was scared to death out there in that cemetery, and I was scared every minute until I touched Daddy’s headstone, and then I started to cry and I said his name over and over, just as if he could hear me, and then somehow I felt like he really could. I was certain he could.”

“All right. I thought you were his daughter. I thought you had guts enough to turn a trick that would get you the kind of life he’d want you to have. Give us a few years in this dodge and just one big job and then we can knock off. Stop jackassing all around the country and settle down. We’ll-we’ll get married. And have a house. And a couple of dogs. We’ll-have a kid.”

“Don’t fib, honey.”

“I mean it. Don’t you think I want a kid? But it takes dough. A wad of dough. Then it’ll be Florida in the winter and the kid sitting between us in the grandstand when the barrier goes up and they streak out, fighting for the rail. That’s the kind of life I want and I’ve got my angles worked out, every one of them. Got my ordination certificate today. Baby, you’re in bed with a full-blown preacher. I bet you never thought you’d bed down with a reverend! Last week I had a tailor make me an outfit-black broadcloth. I got a turn-around collar and everything. I can put on a pair of black gloves and a black hood and work in a red light like a darkroom lamp-and nobody can see a thing. I’ve even got cloth buttons so they won’t reflect light. I tell you, it’s a perfect setup. Don’t you know a spook worker never takes a real rap? If anybody grabs, the chumps rally around him and start alibi-ing their heads off. Do you think I’m a feeblo to go monkeying around with scientific committees or any other wise guys that are likely to upset the works? Pick your crowd and you can sell ’em anything. And all you have to do is sit there with the old ladies admiring you and thanking you afterward for all the comfort you’ve brought ’em. But if you are yellow I can do it alone. You can go back to the carny and find yourself another kooch show and start all over.”

“No, honey. I didn’t mean-”

“Well, I do mean. I mean just that. One way is the big dough and plenty of class and a kid and clothes that will make you look like a million bucks. The other way is the carny, doing bumps and grinds and waggling your fanny for a bunch of rubes for a few more years. And then what? You know what. Make up your mind.”

“Just let me think about it. Please, honey.”

“You’ve thought about it. Don’t make me do anything I don’t want to do. Look, baby, I love you. You know that. No, don’t pull away. Keep quiet. I said I love you. I want a kid by you. Get it? Put your other arm around me. It’s like old times, eh, kid? There. Like it? Sure you do. This is heaven, kid. Don’t break it up.”

“Oh, honey, honey, honey.”

“That’s better. And you will do it? Say you will. Say yes, baby.”

“Yes. Yes-I’ll do anything.”

In the old gray stone house near Riverside Drive, Addie Pea-body (Mrs. Chisholm W.) answered the door herself. She had given Pearl the evening off and Pearl had gone willingly enough, in view of what was coming.

The first to arrive were Mr. and Mrs. Simmons, and Mrs. Peabody shooed them into the parlor. “Honestly, I was just dying for somebody to talk to, I thought the afternoon would never go by, I’d have gone to the matinee but I just knew I couldn’t sit through one, I’d be so excited about tonight, they say this new medium is simply grand-and so young, too. They say she hasn’t a speck of background, she’s so spontaneous and natural, she used to be a show girl I hear but it really doesn’t matter, it’s one of the strangest things how the gift strikes people in all walks of life and it’s so often among humble people. I’m sure none of us will ever develop full power although they do say the Reverend Carlisle is simply wonderful at developmental sittings. I have a friend who’s been developing with him for nearly a year now and she has noticed some amazing phenomena in her own home when not a soul was there but herself. She’s simply mad about Mr. Carlisle, he’s so sincere and sympathetic.”

In twos and threes the rest of the company gathered. Mr. Simmons made one or two little jokes just to liven things up, but they were all in good taste and not offensive, because, after all, you should approach a séance with joy in your heart and all the people have to be attuned or the phenomena are likely to be scarce and very disappointing.

The bell rang a steady, insistent note, full of command. Mrs. Peabody hurried out, taking a quick look in the hall mirror and straightening her girdle before she opened the door. Outside, the light above the door fell on the heads of two people, the first a tall, dramatic-looking woman in her late twenties, rather flashily dressed. But Mrs. Peabody’s glance slid over her and came to rest on the man.