Brian Keene - Jack's Magic Beans

She laughed, and the lights of the bay reflected in her eyes. Underneath the table, she slid her foot against his leg.

“I love you, Kathryn.”

“I love you too.”

The woman at the other table stood up, knocking her chair backward, and began to scream. Silence, then hushed murmurs as the woman tottered back and forth on her heels. Her companion scooted his chair back, cleared his throat in embarrassment, and reached for her. She slapped his hand away with a shriek.

“Have you seen the Yellow Sign?” she sang. “Have you found the Yellow Sign? Have you seen the Yellow Sign?”

She continued the chorus, spinning round and round. Her flailing arms sent a wine glass crashing to the floor. Her date lunged for her. She sidestepped, and in one quick movement, snatched her steak knife from the table and plunged it into his side. He sank to the floor, pulling the tablecloth and their meals down with him. The other patrons began screaming as well. Several dashed for the exit, but no one moved to stop her. Finley felt frozen in place, transfixed by what occurred next. Still singing, the woman bent over and plucked up her soup spoon from the mess on the floor, then used it to gouge out her eyes. Red and white pulp dribbled down her face. Voice never wavering, she continued to sing.

Kathryn cringed against Finley. He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the exit. Franklin the maitre d’, and several men from the kitchen rushed toward the woman. As he hurried Kathryn out the door, he heard the woman cackling.

“I found it! I can see it all! Yhtill, under the stars of Aldebaran and the Hyades! And across the Lake of Hali, on the far shore, lies Carcosa!”

Then they were out the door and into the night. Kathryn sobbed against him, and Finley shuddered. The image of the woman digging into her eye sockets with the soup spoon would not go away.

After they’d given their statement to the police, they walked back to Kathryn’s building.

“How could a person do something like that?”

“Drugs maybe,” Finley shrugged, “She looked pretty strung out.”

“This city gets worse every year.”

They arrived back at her office building, and Finley walked around to the side entrance leading into the parking garage. He’d taken the bus, so that they could drive her car back home. Kathryn didn’t follow, and he turned to find her stopped under a streetlight.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight.”

“Yeah, me either. Let’s go home and get you a nice, hot bath. Maybe you’ll feel better after that.”

“I need a drink.”

“We can stop off at the liquor store—”

“No,” she cut him off. “I need to be around people, Roger. I need to hear music and laughter and forget about that insane bitch.”

“You want to hit a club?” He heard the surprised tone in his voice.

“I don’t know what I want, but I know that I don’t want to go home right now. Let’s walk over to Fell’s Point and see what we can find.”

Part of Baltimore’s harbor district, the buildings in Fell’s Point had been old when Edgar Allan Poe was new to the city. By day, it was a tourist trap; six blocks of antique shops and bookstores and curio dealers. Urban chic spawned and bred in its coffee shops and cafes. At night, the college crowd descended upon it, flocking to any of the dozens of nightclubs and bars that dotted the area.

They strolled down Pratt Street, arms linked around each other’s waist, and Finley smiled.

A figure lurched out of the shadows. “Have ya’ll seen Yellow?”

Finley groaned. He’d forgotten about the homeless man—the Human Scab. He thrust his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a rumpled five.

“Here,” he said, offering it to the rotting man. “I promised you I’d get you on the way back. Now if you don’t mind, my girlfriend and I have had a rough evening.”

“Thanks yo. Sorry t’ hear ‘bout yo night. I’m tellin’ ya’, take yer girl ta’ see Yellow. Dat’ll fix ya right up.” With one dirty, ragged finger, he pointed at a poster hanging from a light pole. “Ya’ll have a good ‘un.”

The bum shuffled off into the darkness, humming a snatch of melody. Finley recognized the tune as “Are You Lonesome Tonight.” He shuddered, reminded of the crazy woman at the restaurant, raving about the Elvis impersonator that she’d seen. He tried to remember what it was she had been singing, but all that came to mind was the image of her gored face.

The eight by ten poster had been made to look like it was printed on a snake’s skin. Over the scales, pale lettering read:

Banned in Paris, Munich, London, and Rome, we are proud to bring this classic 19th century play to Baltimore, in its only U.S. appearance! Filled with music, emotion and dark wonder, YELLOW is an unforgettable and mystifying tale!

Starring:

Sid Vicious as Uoht

John Lennon as Thale

Mama Cass as Cassilda

Janis Joplin as The Queen

Karen Carpenter as Camilla

James Marshall Hendrix as Alar

Jim Morrison as Aldones, the Lizard King

Kurt Cobain as The Pallid Mask, or, Phantom of Truth

and

Elvis Presley as The King

Also featuring: Robert Johnson, Bon Scott, Roy Orbison, Freddy Mercury, Cliff Burton, Dimebag Darrell, Johnny Cash and more.

One Week Only! Nightly Performances Begin Promptly at Midnight

The R.W. Chambers Theatre

Fells Point, corner of Fedogan St. & Bremer Ave.

Baltimore, MD

The breeze coming off the harbor chilled him. This was what the crazy woman had been talking about—actors depicting dead musicians depicting characters in a play. This play. The same play the bum had recommended. The coincidence was unsettling.

“Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” Kathryn asked. “You should have tipped him more money.”

“Only in Baltimore can the homeless get jobs as ushers. Come on, let’s find a pub.”

“No, let’s go see this! Look, they’ve got actors pretending to be dead musicians playing actors. How cool is that?” She giggled, and looked at him pleadingly.

He told her what he’d overheard the woman say.

“Then that’s all the more reason,” she insisted. “Once people read about the connection in tomorrow’s Baltimore Sun, we won’t be able to get tickets because of the demand. People love morbid stuff like that!”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that this all happened in the same night? You said you wanted to forget about what happened. Don’t you think that attending a play that this same woman went to will just make it that more vivid?”

“Roger, you said that you agreed with me; that we never do anything fun anymore, that we’re not spontaneous. Here’s our chance! How much more spur-of-the-moment can we get?”

“Kathryn, it’s almost eleven-thirty! It’s late.”

“The poster says it doesn’t start until midnight.”

Finley sighed in reluctance. “Alright, we’ll go to the play. You’re right, it might be fun.”

He allowed her to lead him down the street and into Fells Point.

The R. W. Chambers Theatre wasn’t just off the beaten path—it was far, far beyond it. They picked their way through a maze of winding, twisting streets and alleyways, each more narrow than the previous. The throng of drunken college kids and office interns vanished, replaced by the occasional rat or pigeon. Kathryn’s heels clicked on the cobblestones, each step sounding like a rifle shot.