The Thing
The Thing, as Margie called it, was becoming more and more frequent. To Margie it felt like she was constantly being watched; as if someone or something was shadowing her every move. Not a day went by where she didn’t feel its breath on her neck, or its eyes watching her; boring into the back of her head.
"Why is your back always so cold?" asked The Giant one day as he squeezed past Margie.
"I don’t know," shrugged Margie. "It’s just the way it is."
"It's like you been lying on a block of ice even when it ain't so cold."
"Maybe I feel the cold more than other people do," said Margie.
"Let me have a look at it," said Spider Beast.
As soon as Margie dropped the back of her dress, both Spider Beast and The Giant gasped.
"What?" asked Margie straining to look over her shoulder. "What is it?"
She pulled away quickly and drew herself over to a tall mirror which stood beside the doorway. Then she gasped too because her back was as white and as waxy as any deceased person.
"What happened?" she cried.
The Giant reached out and touched her back with the tip of his forefinger then quickly pulled it away, shaking it vigorously. Margie’s flesh was so cold that the end of his finger had instantly frozen.
"Look," he said, thrusting his finger inches away from Margie’s face. Margie could see that the tip of The Giant’s finger had turned as white and as cold as her back.
"Your back froze my finger."
"That's impossible," snapped Margie.
"It did."
Margie shook her head. "How is that possible?"
"There's probably a very simple explanation for it," said Spider Beast attempting to downplay the situation.
"Is it because she's The Collector?"
Spider Beast ignored The Giant's question.
Margie gingerly pulled the back of her dress up. "Why is this happening Spider Beast?"
"It could be anything," he replied. "You sustained a very serious injury when you ran into the Gravitonius."
The Giant stared intently at Margie's back. "How comes her clothes ain't frozen like my finger?"
"A dog doesn't bite the hand that feeds it," growled Spider Beast impatiently.
The Giant wondered what Spider Beast meant by that but he didn't dare ask. "In all my years in the freak show, I ain't never seen anything like that," he continued, seeking warmth for the lifeless finger under his armpit. "Seen more colour in a snowflake."
"Thanks," sniffed Margie miserably.
"Ignore him," said Spider Beast, " he doesn’t think before he speaks."
Margie nodded. Deep down something bothered her. It was The Thing; the sigh that she occasionally heard. Was it something to do with the coldness she felt on her back? The first time she felt its presence was also the first time she felt the chill on her back. At that time, however, the coldness had faded. It was only recently that she had begun to wonder why she could never feel properly warm.
"You could freeze water on your back," declared The Giant. "Now THAT would draw the crowds."
"You really are an idiot!" hissed Spider Beast as he curled himself up into a ball for the night. The Giant shook the cage angrily, forcing Spider Beast to emit a short sharp shriek. As he settled down beside Margie on the sawdust floor, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of foreboding. His finger felt numb, but the rest of his body felt frigid too and as he closed his eyes and pulled the blankets up over his ears, he could have sworn he heard someone - or something - sigh in his ear.
Outbreak of Déjà Vu
It was a tired Spider Beast that woke Margie up the following morning.
"Get up," he yelled from the cage. "We’re going on an outing today."
"An outing," yelled The Giant like he had just won something in a tombola.
"I know someone who might be able to shed some light on this problem with your back."
Margie sat up slowly and stretched. "Does that mean I finally get to leave the Butchery and explore the city?"
"Leave the Butchery, yes. Explore the city, no. If I had my way we wouldn't leave here at all, but we have no choice. We need to find out what's wrong with your back. I've never come across anything like it before and it's making me nervous."
"Are there any zoos in Limbuss?" asked The Giant hopefully.
Almost inaudibly, Spider Beast growled.
"Who is the person we're going to see?" asked Margie.
"He's someone very important. Someone who …" he lowered his voice, "… someone who probably holds more power than The Great Torquere."
"You can't say that," gasped The Giant scanning the room.
"Who is this Great Torquere?" asked Margie. "Why are people so frightened of him?"
"The Great Torquere? He’s the most devastating thing that ever happened to Limbuss. He just appeared out of nowhere and took over the job of running the city. All of a sudden he had eyes and ears everywhere. Limbuss used to be like any other city filled with an eclectic assortment of people. Now, if you are different, or if you possess a quality he wants, he will take you to his laboratory and remove it by force."
"What kind of qualities?" asked Margie.
"Anything. It could be the power of forgiveness. The power of physical strength. The ability to do maths problems in a fraction of a second and …" He stopped.
"And what?" enquired Margie.
"Well," said Spider Beast. "Your power, your ability to hear what other people can’t is a power that he would most definitely want to possess. Add to that the power to freeze anything on contact. There’s no doubt in my mind that he will be watching you and waiting for the perfect opportunity to …"
The Giant drew his hand across his throat dramatically to emphasize the point Spider Beast was making.
"Giant!" hissed Spider Beast."Do you really have to?"
"I’m okay," said Margie. "I’m not afraid of anyone."
Spider Beast made a weird mechanical whirring sound followed by a few clicks. "We really ought to get moving," he said, "if we want to get to Bellamy La Bouche’s before midday."
"Who’s Bellamy La Bouche?" asked Margie.
"I ain't never heard of him," shrugged The Giant.
"Bellamy La Bouche," replied Spider Beast, "just so happens to be one of the world’s greatest magicians."
*****
The word magician hit Margie like bullet in the chest and, in a flash, she was thrown back to a time when she had just left Brookland’s House for Wayward Girls.
Whereas most of the girls were held prisoner for decades, Margie had been expelled at sixteen. Believing that she was cursed by the Devil and unable to pray, scrub or beat it out of her, Mother Superior simply washed her hands of the infernal child, swallowed her pride and gave her the boot.
Left to wander the streets with nothing to her name, she was taken in by an old friend of hers from Brookland's, a young woman by the name of Mona Malone.
Friendly, funny and slightly mad, she was also the world’s luckiest woman (hence being the only person ever to have escaped the prison-like conditions of the home.) Everything she turned her hand to was a success. If she baked a cake, it wouldn’t just rise, it would raise the roof. If she entered a competition, the other contestants simply dropped out because they didn’t stand a chance. If Mona put a bet on a horse, people descended on the betting shop like locusts on a field of crops to place exactly the same bet. Door to door sales people didn't even bother knocking because
everyone
knew that Mona Malone was
far
too lucky to be bothered with life insurance policies.
But then, quite suddenly and quite out of the blue, something strange started to happen. Mona Malone’s luck ran out.
First her hair fell out. Then no one would employ her. Then her boyfriend ran away with the milk man. Then she developed impetigo and simply couldn’t stop scratching. Then she developed a nervous tick that made her bark like a dog whenever someone walked past her on the left. Then some dodgy investor ran away with all her money. Then her house began to show cracks, like wrinkles on an old woman’s face. People noticed that Mona was looking tired and sad and began to stay away. For if her unlucky streak was as powerful as her lucky streak then they would be in trouble for sure.
Only Margie remained loyal to her beloved friend, Mona and every afternoon at 3.30pm sharp, she would pop round with a cake and tea in a teapot.
One afternoon, Margie found Mona in a terrible state. "The worst thing of all happened," she wept. "My treasured ring – the ring that my mother gave me on her death bed – slipped off my finger this morning and I have no idea where it is. I will never find it!" And with that she collapsed in a great sobbing heap.
"I have an idea," said Margie stroking the cheek of her sparrow-like friend.
A short time later they found themselves sitting side by side on a bus, both hunched over a newspaper. Circled on the classifieds page was an advert for Balthazar Button, a Modern Day Sorcerer (complete with references). Rumour had it that he was one of the most powerful and savage sorcerers known to man.
"Levitation, mind-reading, invisibility, visions, telepathy, demon slaying, hexes, spell-casting - you name it - he‘s done it," explained Margie to her gloomy friend.
They eventually arrived at a non-descript council house with net curtains and faded plastic flowers in a vase on the window sill.
"Are you sure this is it?" asked Mona as they made their way up the garden path.
"That's what it says here," replied Margie clutching the newspaper nervously.
The door opened and there, before them, stood a very ordinary man with long grey hair and a thick moustache which seemed to hide almost all of his mouth. His face was tanned and lined, as though he had spent his entire life in the garden and his eyes were deep set and piercing. "Follow me," he said, shuffling into the living room in what appeared to be a bathrobe and ladies slippers.
"Your mother is here," he told Mona and then went on to provide a description of a small, frail old woman that smelled of marzipan.
Mona Malone nodded her head vigorously.
"She says for me to tell you that there is a curse on you. It is the curse of a nun whom you aggrieved."
"Sister Kelly!" said Mona, her eyes as wide as saucers.
"She was so angry with you for running away from the children’s home that she went mad. From the day you left the convent, the Sister’s life had been blighted by pain and bad luck. First she developed an irrational phobia for statues, screaming and crying at the crucifix. Unable to continue working for the church she took to wandering. She died a lonely old bag lady, hobbling from town to town along Ireland’s East coast, begging for money along the way. Rumour had it that she carried a small black doll stuffed with hair from Mona’s hairbrush which, in her hurry to escape, she'd left behind at the convent. Her entire life was consumed by the desire to seek vengeance on Mona Malone. That day came on the 24th December 1964 when Sister Kelly was found frozen to death on the doorstep of a butcher‘s shop."
"Well I’ll be blown," exclaimed Mona, her voice shaky with nerves. "I remember that day vividly. I was rinsing out my tights in the bathroom sink when there was an almighty crashing sound from all around the house. Every single mirror in the house, big or small, had fallen off the wall and smashed into thousands of pieces.
"How can she reverse the curse?" asked Margie looking at her watch, fully aware of Balthazar Button's extortionate charges.
Balthazar sucked in through his teeth as if this was going to be an expensive job. "You have to understand that this is a tormented soul we’re dealing with."
"I understand," said Mona. "But so am I, to be sure!"
Soon after, Margie and Mona were looking at a small doll made from straw and wearing a black habit, all sewn up with red thread. She lay the doll in a shoe box and sealed it with wax. Balthazar was meditating as he stoked a small fire burning in the fireplace. Casting the box into the fire Mona chanted the words scribbled onto a piece of card: "Hear my words and hear them well, Take your curse and rot in hell!"
Before they left the house, Balthazar gave Mona a jar filled with ashes from the fire. "Let them cool down," he explained, "then take them outside and blow them into the air. Among the ashes you will see a vision of where your ring can be found. "
Sadly for Mona, she didn't check which direction the wind was blowing in. As she released the ashes, they blew straight back into her face and down her throat.
When Margie discovered that her friend had choked to death, she marched back to Balthazar's like a woman possessed and demanded every penny back. It was, however, little consolation. Her best friend was gone and she was once again on her own.
*****
"Poor Mona," cried The Giant.
Margie shook her head. "How can I be the Collector? None of it makes sense. The memories that I'm having are not the memories of someone who appears to people like an angel of death."
"That's not for you to decide," said Spider Beast. "Now put on plenty of coats. It’s cold outside. And I need you to be invisible. You understand?"
Margie nodded and took a pile of coats from The Giant’s arm.
Margie was both excited and apprehensive at the prospect of leaving the Emporium and seeing the city close up for the first time. She had heard so many frightening things about Limbuss and how dangerous it had become. But the Emporium had started to feel like a prison and she longed to have some fresh air in her lungs.
For obvious reasons they were unable to take the Gravitonius. So, wrapped up tightly against the bitter cold, the three of them made their way through the murky streets of Limbuss, Margie pushing up against The Giant for warmth. Spider Beast's cage still hung from The Giant's belt, a fact that neither Spider Beast nor The Giant relished.
The streets of Limbuss were fairly empty. Once or twice they passed someone scurrying to or from somewhere, but both parties kept their heads down, eyes to the floor. No one had time to stop and chat, it was too dangerous. Rumours abounded of people just being plucked from the streets, disappearing, never to be found and the likely cause was the city’s general, The Great Torquere. The Great Torquere and his henchmen had swarmed the city one night, out of the blue, like a plague of locusts. At first Limbuss was a vibrant bustling city filled with the heady aroma of promise. The next thing we knew, it was stripped of its colour and life – the city was suddenly run like a prison camp, no one could come or go without permission. The Great Torquere wanted to know everything. He put ears everywhere. It was like a great shadow had descended and blocked out the sun. And it wasn’t long after his arrival that the Dog Beasts – his foot soldiers that patrolled the streets – were created and the people started to disappear.
"Look," said Spider Beast, referring at a poster. "That’s the seventh one I’ve seen in the past ten minutes."
Margie and The Giant stopped and looked at the poster which displayed the headline:
Déjà vu Epidemic Sweeps City: information needed
.
"What do you suppose it means?" asked Margie.
"I ain't got a clue," said The Giant, "I don't even know what deva ju is."
"It’s déjà vu," said Spider Beast. "It’s just a feeling. Like when you visit somewhere for the first time and find it eerily familiar or when you’ve been having a conversation with a friend and you suddenly get the feeling you’ve had the exact same conversation before even though you know you haven’t. That’s déjà vu. It means ‘already seen'. It's not contagious."
"Why is there an epidemic if it’s not contagious?" asked Margie.
Spider Beast looked weary. "I don’t know," he said, "but I don’t like the sound of it. Maybe Torquere is up to his old tricks again. He likes to play mind games."
After several hours of walking through the quiet, hollow streets Margie caught her first glimpse of Bellamy La Bouche’s house. With its gothic style spires and towers it stood incongruously between two dull looking tower blocks, its black twisted towers rising up ominously like a great tumour on the landscape.
As they neared the house, they could clearly see that above the door, which itself was ten feet high, were two wooden gargoyles. Part reptile, part monkey, their demonic faces stared down, their bony bodies crouched as if ready to pounce.
They hadn't even reached the doorstep before Bellamy La Bouche opened the door. He had long white dreadlocks that looked like stalactites, pink eyes and his skin was so pale and translucent it resembled fungus ripened cheese. La Bouche seemed distracted when he opened the door. Not at all like the exotic, larger than life magician Spider Beast had described.