Graham Masterton - The Ninth Nightmare

‘Of course you know what I’m talking about, Dom Magator the Night Warrior.’

‘Who the what?’

‘Don’t deny it. You might have been wearing that helmet last night, but I’d know that fat gut anywhere! And who else would be looking for me, by day as well as by night?

He stood up straight. ‘Anyhow, you’ve solved a problem for me. I needed to bring nine sacrifices to Brother Albrecht, as you know — nine souls who would happily commit themselves forever to the most terrible show on earth. Maria Fortales was number eight, and I’m happy to say that you can have the honor of being number nine.

‘As soon as you take your place among your companion freaks, the papal sanction will be broken for ever. The circus will come rolling through to the world of reality! Drums beating! Trumpets blaring! Tarantara! Tarantara ! And the world will collapse into wonderful, screaming chaos! Murder! Rape! Wanton vandalism! People set on fire for the fun of it! The human race is headed that way already, of course, but Brother Albrecht’s circus will make sure you arrive in hell so much sooner!’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Walter, weakly. ‘What circus are you talking about? You’re Mago Verde, aren’t you?’

‘Ah! You know who I am! A clever detective, as well as a formidable Night Warrior! Yes, tin man. I am Mago Verde, the Green Magician.’

‘You’re not Gordon Veitch, though, are you? You can’t be. Gordon Veitch must have died a long time ago.’

‘The real Gordon Veitch, yes. The human Gordon Veitch. The human Gordon Veitch was trapped when the cops set fire to Shantytown in nineteen thirty-eight. Smoke inhalation. But he was asleep when it happened, and dreaming, and his dreaming self survived, and his dreaming self is me . Get it?’

‘So Henry Marriott wasn’t shooting us a line after all.’

‘Henry Marriott? Jesus! Is that punk still above ground? He used to be my gofer! What an idiot. Thought he was a clown? He couldn’t make a hyena laugh.’

‘But Henry Marriott told us you were trying to get Gilbert Griffin’s dead wife back. He didn’t say anything about a circus. What circus?’

‘Oh… yes, that’s how it started, with Emily Griffin. I was visiting other people’s dreams, trying to find her. She was very elusive, to tell you the truth, young dead Emily Griffin. It was like trying to catch a shadow, or an echo, or the snatch of a song. I visited the dreams of most of her friends. I visited her parents’ dreams. Never quite caught her.’

He turned back to Walter with a real grin underneath his painted grin. ‘One night back in nineteen thirty-six I stepped into a dream that one of Gilbert Griffin’s stockholders was having; and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself at Brother Albrecht’s carnival and freak show. That was when I first realized what the power of true evil is all about. And, believe me, tin man, the power of true evil is the most intoxicating elixir that man ever drank!’

‘I need you to call nine-one-one for me,’ said Walter. ‘This bleeding isn’t going to stop.’

Mago Verde ignored him. ‘I was looking for Emily Griffin at the time, yes, with the aim of reuniting her with her grieving husband. He was paying me enough, I can assure you! Three thousand dollars in just six months! But when I met Brother Albrecht, everything changed. My whole life was turned upside down. I forgot about Emily Griffin. Who cared about one dim-witted young woman who crossed the street without looking left and right? Brother Albrecht and his circus, that was the future for me!’

Walter rested his head against the seat of the armchair. ‘Please. Call for a bus, would you?’

But Mago Verde came over and sat down cross-legged very close to him, so that Walter could smell vinegar and cigarettes and greasepaint. ‘Let me explain to you all about Brother Albrecht’s circus,’ he said. ‘You need to know this.’ And he told Walter how Brother Albrecht had been mutilated in 1147 by his lover’s vengeful husband; and how he had started his carnival; and how Pope Eugene III had sealed him in the world of dreams.

‘I made a deal with Brother Albrecht. I would dedicate the rest of my sacrifices to him , and not to Gilbert Griffin, so that he could bring his circus back to the real world, where it belonged. In return, he would make me the head of all his clowns.

‘He wanted freaks. He wanted women who had been sawn in half and men with six arms instead of legs. I’m sorry to say that quite a few of them went to meet their Maker while I was trying to oblige him. That’s when the cops began to hunt me down for serious, and that’s why I made myself anonymous and pretended to be a bum and hung out around Shantytown. Mistake, huh? I underestimated Eliot Ness, even worse than Al Capone did. But all’s well that ends well, and here we are, you and me.

He stroked Walter’s cheek, almost lovingly. ‘I’m going to get you ready for your journey to the freak show, and then I’m going to sleep for a while, and dream what I did to you. When I do that, there won’t be any evidence that you were ever here. No blood on the carpet, nothing. Nobody will ever know what happened to you, not your family, not your fellow detectives. Not unless they visit Brother Albrecht’s circus when it arrives in the waking world. Ha! Ha! Then they’ll see you! Dom Magator the Castrated Night Warrior!’

‘ What ? You’re making a big mistake here, pal. My name isn’t Dom anything and I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!’

‘Well, you would say that,’ Mago Verde replied, pretending to be petulant.

He stood up. Out of one of the pockets of his shabby black coat he pulled a grubby gray scarf and a length of tarry cord.

‘Very considerate of you, bringing your own handcuffs,’ he said. ‘Saves me tying your wrists together, and I was always crap at reef knots.’

He pushed Walter over on to his stomach. Walter thrashed and struggled, but Mago Verde was so bony and strong that he couldn’t prevent him from wrenching his arms behind his back and hooking them together with his handcuffs.

Once he had done that, he rolled Walter over on to his back.

Walter yelled out, ‘ Help! Help! Somebody help me! Police! Help! Somebody help me, for Christ’s sake! ’

‘Nobody’s going to hear you, tin man,’ leered Mago Verde. ‘Better off saving your breath!’

He forced the scarf into Walter’s mouth and tied it tightly behind his head. It tasted foul, like dog grease. Walter bounced himself up and down and tried to scream, but he only managed to produce a muffled gargling sound.

Mago Verde unfastened the buckle of Walter’s belt, and tugged down his zipper. Then — grunting with the effort — he dragged down his pants and his floral boxer shorts as far as his knees.

Walter lifted his head up as high as he could, his eyes bulging, staring at Mago Verde in a helpless appeal not to mutilate him. ‘ Mmmfff! ’ he cried out. ‘ Mmmmmmfff! ’

Mago Verde looked down at him and gave the slightest shake of his head. ‘Sorry, tin man. This has to be done. The Grand Freak wants a fat man who won’t ever feel like messing with his women!’

He held up the serrated kitchen knife and ran his fingertip along the blade. Even though he did it only lightly, it still drew blood. He smiled and sucked his finger, and then he lifted up Walter’s shirt.

‘ Mmmmmffffff! ’ shouted Walter, in desperation.

He felt almost nothing. A sharp coldness between his legs, and then a flood of warmth. In fact he couldn’t believe that Mago Verde had really done what he had threatened to do. He tried to raise his head again, but he didn’t need to, because Mago Verde was holding up something that looked like a bloody fledgling that had fallen from its nest.