This is part 11 of Todd’s story.

—
Cast the calming apple
Up and over satellites
To draw out the timid wild one
To convince you it’s alright
And I listen for the whisper
Of your sweet insanity while I formulate
Denials of your affect on me
– A Perfect Circle, “A Stranger”
—
Todd, against every instinct in his being, opened the front door. Behind Dr. Celestine stood his armor-plated brother. “Good morning, Todd. How good to finally meet you in the flesh, so to speak.” The doctor smiled broadly, and swept a bow. This was nearly too surreal to handle. “May we come in?”

Something clicked inside of Todd, and he realized that this was his home, and he was still in control here. “Of course. It’s a mess, but I doubt you’ll mind.” Todd mentioned them to the library. The one with the armor half-nodded, half-bowed as he entered the building.

Todd walked with them to the library, which now housed three chairs. Todd sat in the overstuffed one, and the other two took the guest chairs. An odd sense of calm had settled over him. He felt much older than either the hat or the cigar had made him feel. He offered a Nat Sherman to Dr. Celestine, and a Helix cigar to his brother, completely operating on instinct. Both accepted. He lit both of them, then leaned back in the overstuffed chair. He puffed on his own cigar, then asked, “So, now what?”

Dr. Celestine exploded into laughter. It seemed to shake its way out of him. When it finally passed, he wiped a tear from his eye. “Let us begin with introductions. My name is Celestine, and I am the proprietor – and owner – of a carnival. But I suspect you already knew that. This man is Mr. Weaver; he runs the rides at my carnival.” The armored man nodded.

“Dr. Celestine’s Carnival of Souls,” Todd whispered.

“Ah, yes, so you’ve heard of us. Well, you would have, if you are now in possession of Ralph’s house.” The ceiling made a thunk noise, as if something heavy had impacted it. They all looked up for a moment, and then back at each other. “How exactly did that happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Todd took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at it. “He left all of it to me, in his will. I hate that it makes me a vulture, and I hate that I suddenly have no idea who Ralph really was. All of this is way more than someone like me should have to deal with, right? It’s just all so overwhelming.”

Dr. Celestine nodded. “Just so.” Another noise from upstairs raised their eyes. Just what were Sheila and Thunk doing up there? Directly above them was the guest room.

Mr. Weaver stood up. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to check that out.” Both Todd and Dr. Celestine nodded, despite Todd’s irrational concern for their lives. He did a double-take at Mr. Weaver as he left. It looked like he had tons of tiny metal spiders pinned to the hem of his coat. They nearly scraped the hardwood floors. Mr. Weaver calmly ascended the staircase, as if none of this was out of the ordinary.

Dr. Celestine finished his cigarette, and put it out in the ash tray. “I’m not here to hurt you, Todd, at least not directly. I am here because I intend on continuing to exist, in this form, or one very close to it. I like to size up my competition.”

Todd nodded, as if he understood, which he sure as shit did not. There was a whispering near his hear, and Todd whipped around in his chair, and then back to Dr. Celestine. “Problem?” Todd found himself nodding. He was suddenly very sure that he did not want Mr. Weaver to return down the stairs. He was definitely sure that he didn’t want to know what Sheila and Thunk had been doing. Despite his most pleading hopes, the stairs began to creak with enormous weight. Mr. Weaver’s boots. The hem of Mr. Weaver’s coat, now missing the spider pins. The dangling, struggling feet of Thunk, and then of Sheila.

Mr. Weaver brought them downstairs. HE was holding each by their neck, and they were struggling uselessly. Earlier, normal, flesh-colored hands had just poked out of the cuffs of his coat. Now, giant metal girder constructs vaguely shaped like hands thrust out and held his friends high. His friends, who in their struggling, admitted their betrayal. Sheila’s hands were wrapped around Mr. Weaver’s, trying to pry them free. She hadn’t bothered to try and hide that she was completely topless.

The anger, hurt, odd arousal, and strangeness overwhelmed Todd. His face drained completely of color. Dr. Celestine sat watching him. Sizing up his competition. “Mr. Weaver, please let go of my friends.” He did, and they dropped to the floor, gasping. Sheila covered her breasts with her arms, and began to sob. Todd looked back to Mr. Weaver, whose hands were normal, and whose coat had spider pins lining the sleeves. “Thank you.”

Todd turned to Dr. Celestine and offered him another Nat Sherman. He accepted, and began to pat himself down for a light. “Now get out.” Todd pointed at the door, and it swung open.

Dr. Celestine swept a fancy bow, then took his leave. Mr. Weaver followed without a word. Outside on the porch, Celestine remarked to Weaver, “And this is why I keep telling you that friends are over-rated. If not for friends, I would know where Molly was, and we’d have proper transportation.”
—
I’ve felt the hate rise up in me…
Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves…
I wander out where you can’t see…
Inside my shell, I wait and bleed…
– Slipknot, “Wait and Bleed”

This is part 10 of Todd’s story.

—
Come along follow me as I lead through the darkness
As I provide just enough spark that we need to proceed
Carry on, give me hope, give me strength
Come with me and I won’t steer you wrong
Put your faith and your trust as I guide us through the fog
To the light at the end of the tunnel
We gonna fight, we gonna charge, we gonna stomp, we gonna march
Through the swamp, we gonna mosh through the marsh
Take us right through the doors (c’mon)
– Eminem, “Mosh”
—
Todd put his foot on the first step, and a train’s horn went off somewhere in the distance. He looked up the stairway, and it seemed to elongate. He took a puff from the cigar to steel himself. Step after step, he pulled himself up to the second floor. That the house felt like a home to him was no longer comforting. Instead, it added to the strangeness that filled the air. He remembered someone accidentally calling him Ralph once, but he couldn’t place it. The sounds from his friends kept him sane as he stepped onto the second floor landing.

It looked like there were two bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor. Come to think of it, Todd hadn’t noticed a bathroom on the first floor. The doors were all open, so they could see that the guest room and bedroom were both sparsely furnished, painted in pale colors, and decorated with seemingly random photographs. They all let go of their held breath at once, and then exploded into a fit of giggles as the tension broke. They all filed into the master bedroom. There was a desk with a blotter and an expensive-looking pen. The thin drapes let in almost all of the morning light from outside. Thunk sat heavily on the bed while Sheila let her fingers trail across the photos.

Todd sat at the writing desk, and looked more closely at the blotter. “Man, this feels like serious detective shit. Check this out. There’s an outline, like a darker shape, in the middle. Like when you take a poster off your wall, and the paint hasn’t faded there yet.” He traced the edge of the darker shape with his thumb.

“Maybe a diary or journal or something?” Thunk was stealing glances at the windows, like he expected someone to show up. “I mean, if he only wrote in that, and did it every day, why would he move it?”

Todd nodded. “But then, why is it gone now? Where did it go? Who moved it?” He leaned back in the roller-chair, and it screeched in protest.

“Good question, Watson. But a better question would be: What was in the journal that would make it so important that someone would enter the house and either move it or steal it, after good old Ralph passed from this world?” Thunk took a couple of puffs from the cigar, obviously thinking. Todd and Sheila just gaped at him. After a few moments, he noticed and blushed furiously. “What? You guys know I love Sherlock Holmes stories. This totally feels like one.” He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

“That was really fucking smart, Thunk. That IS a better question.” Todd shook his head; he was getting tired again.

“These pictures are amazing. They’re all old silver prints, like in the old west days. Right out of 3rd hour history! You guys should see this! They’re all carnies.” Todd sat up, and Thunk crawled across the bed. Sheila took one down from the wall, and brought it to them. It was of a young woman. She had a cigar clamped between her teeth, and her fists were on her hips. Her wild brown hair made her look a little wolfish. “Isn’t she intense? Check this guy out!” She took the woman back, and handed them one of a fairly large man. He had long hair, tied back, and the angular goatee that was the style at the time. He wore a long, black duster, and was on the portly side. In his hand was a metal spider.

Todd took a step back. There were metal plates on the man’s duster. He had seen the man yesterday, across the street from the house. The man had stared him in the eyes. Sheila flipped the picture over. “Hey, it’s stamped with the year. Eighteen seventy-three.” Todd searched the carnies on teh wall frantically, his legs nearly turning to Jell-o. There he was. The brother to the one who had stared at him. Neither of them had aged a day.

“Todd, you OK?” Thunk and Sheila were looking at him in concern.

“I… I don’t feel so good. I need to hit the bathroom.” He rushed out of the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He turned the cold water spigot on all the way, and splashed his face over and over again. Cult carnival obsession, right. Just something that old people did. He splashed the water on his face again. He would not pass out. He would not. Splash with the cold water again.

He heard the floorboards outside the door creak right before there was a knock. “Hey, man, somebody’s at the front door, knocking pretty loud.” Thunk. He turned the water off and towel-dried his face. He opened the door, and faced his concerned best friend. “You ok?” Todd nodded and headed down the stairs.

“Probably a Jehova’s Witness.” Todd looked in the peep-hole and his heart skipped a beat. The man’s name floated up in his mind, and Todd remembered the nightmare from last night.

Dr. Celestine was standing on his front porch, and he did NOT look happy.
—
Threw you the obvious
And you flew with it on your back
A name in your recollection
Down among a million, say:
Difficult enough to feel a little bit
Disappointed, passed over.
When I’ve looked right through,
To see you naked and oblivious
and you don’t see me.
– A Perfect Circle, “3 Libras”

This is part 9 of Todd’s story.

—
Now I will tell you what I’ve done for you
50 thousand tears I’ve cried
Screaming Deceiving and Bleeding for you
And you still won’t hear me
– Evanescence, “Going Under”
—
Todd sat on the porch of Ralph’s house, swinging slowly back and forth in the old porch swing. A lit cigar was clamped between his teeth. The remnant of his earlier smoke was finally down to a reasonable length. The nicotene and triple latte from Starbucks were all that were keeping him alert. He had not slept well. In fact, he hadn’t caught a wink since he’d woken up in last night’s thunderstorm.

He had tried to get back to sleep. He’d even been able to drift off a few times, but the instant he began to dream, the scent of oranges sent him into a panic, and he flew awake. The real shit of it was that he couldn’t remember a bit of the nightmare that had spooked him so badly. The only thing that kept coming back was the smell of fresh oranges, like at that lawyer’s office. Todd took the cigar out from between his teeth and took a gulp of the coffee. The taste made him wince, but it was doing a good job of keeping him awake.

Sheila’s hybrid car buzzed around the corner at the end of the street, and flew toward Ralph’s drivway. She expertly handled it into the driveway and to a stop mere inches behind Todd’s beater. Both doors opened, and the car spat out Sheila, looking dog-tired, and a struggling Thunk. “God damned small cars. I need a fuckin’ shoehorn!” Sheila giggled and Todd grinned. They both knew he did that sort of shit for the attention. Once Thunk was fully upright, they both headed up to Todd. Sheila wrinkled her nose at the cigar.

“You look like I feel, sugar-bear.” She took Ralph’s hat off of her head and smushed it onto his. “Didn’t sleep well?” Todd shook his head. “Me neither. I kept having these bad dreams. I think I kept getting eaten by dragons, but it’s hard to remember.” She grabbed Todd’s coffee and took a drink. He was too tired to protest.

Thunk was looking at Todd’s cigar with envy. Todd grinned, clamped it between his teeth, and took a couple of puffs. “So, who’s up for the grand tour of my humble home?” Sheila rolled her eyes, and Thunk held out his hand to help Todd up. Todd accepted, and showed them inside. They all looked the closet up and down, staring at the myriad of hats, coats, canes, walking sticks, and shoes. “Not exactly a spoon collection.” They all giggled. Sheila winked at Todd, and they went into the living room. “I got a bit of a head start. There were piles of magazines stacked all over the place in here. I started looking though them, and, well, check it out.” He picked one up from the pile on the couch, and flipped in a few pages. He handed it to Thunk. He took another one, at random, and handed it to Sheila. She flipped through, then stopped.

“So what?” Thunk shrugged his big shoulders. “It’s an ad for a weekend carnival. I mean, it’s a cool old magazine and all, but why is this circled? In red, even?”

“Hey, mine’s circled in red, too. Advertisement for a Carnival of the Mysterious. Ooooo, spooky!” Sheila closed the magazine and tossed it at Todd. He handed her another. She flipped through the pages. “what the… it’s almost the same ad. So, your uncle was tracking some cult carnival? What’s the big deal?”

Todd grinned. “That’s totally what I thought. But the magazines go back for almost a hundred years, and every ad is nearly the same. I checked, to keep from falling asleep. Hold on.” Todd disappeared into the library, and came out with a cigar, a clipper, and a zippo. Thunk grinned as he handed all of these over. The end was cut, the cigar was lit, and the Thunk was pacified. “Anyway, I was able to do a little more checking before you got here. Check out the article clippings on the walls.” Todd puffed on his own cigar as they examined the wall decorations. Every single one of them was about someone missing or dead, and a mysterious carnival was under suspicion. The dates were sporadic, but ranged from the mid-1800’s to the present.

Sheila shook her head. “So, your Great Uncle Ralh had a pet conspiracy theory about carnivals.”

“Small hands. Smell like cabbage,” Thunk said in a bad English accent.

Sheila shot him a glare. “That explains the huge organ. But… I don’t get it. Old people do stuff like that. Spoons, you know.” She shivered. “How come it’s so creepy? I mean, it is. Creepy.” She took another drink of Todd’s coffee. Todd hadn’t even realized that she’d never given it back.

“Yeah, it’s wierd. That’s why I was on the porch. I kinda freaked.” He sighed and adjusted the hat. “Oh, there’s one more thing that I found.” He went into the kitchen, and they followed. He showed them the lack of food, appliances, and marks of use.

“Meals on Wheels?” Thunk seemed to be grasping at anything he could think of.

“No,” Todd said. “Just another reason to be creeped out. What if old Ralph didn’t eat?” He shivered and something rang true from his dream, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “So, what should we explore next? All that’s left down here is the library, and there’s just tons of books, cigarettes, and cigars in there. That leaves the basement and upstairs.”

Sheila and Thunk chimed in in unison. “Upstairs.”
—
Hi kids! Do you like violence? (Yeah yeah yeah!)
Wanna see me stick Nine Inch Nails through each one of my eyelids? (Uh-huh!)
Wanna copy me and do exactly like I did? (Yeah yeah!)
Try ‘cid and get fucked up worse that my life is? (Huh?)
My brain’s dead weight, I’m tryin to get my head straight
but I can’t figure out which Spice Girl I want to impregnate (Ummmm..)
– Eminem, “My Name Is”

This is part 8 of Todd’s story.

—
I will devour you
Take all the pain away
I cannot stay my hand
From reaching out so that I can
Empower you
For all eternity
It seems to ease my mind
To know that you’ve brought
Meaning to my life
– Disturbed, “Devour”
—
Todd stands in the orange grove once more. The trees and fruit nearly glow with the sunlight that hits them, but the rest of the world is gray and drab. He wheels around, and all of the trees pulse with the light of life, the light of the sun. He tilts his head back, and the clouds of the hurricane swirl madly above him.

Florida. Florida is where oranges come from. Florida is being rocked by hurricane after hurricane. Todd knows that the hurricane seeks to devour him and forever close out the light of the sun.

Ahead of him, the beautiful rows of orange trees begin to sink into the mud. Rain begins to fall in earnest, and many of the trees tip over, sinking even faster. The mud reaches up, seeking to dull and drown the heartbeat of sunlight that makes the trees what they are. Lightning crashes somewhere. The wind whistles around him, and he can hear screams, laughing, and shouting. It feels as if the earth is trying to pull itself apart. Lightning crashes again, and the lake of mud begins to bubble. Things begin to rise from the mud, covered in it. But the rain is cleansing. The rain washes the mud free of its spawn. In the pool of mud sit tents, wagons, and shambling people. An arch, wooden and old, rises directly in front of him. Once more, the mud is washed free, and the sign becomes legible. Last, but certainly not least, ferris wheels and roller coasters pull themselves free of the mud. Finally, Todd allows his eyes to drift back to the text of the sign, and the carved face.

“Dr. Celestine’s Carnival of Souls.”

A voice, rich with command, authority, and a bit of madness, assaults Todd from behind him. “And who else? We’ve been looking for you for some time, Ralph.” Todd slowly turns around, and recognizes one of the freaks from the Oldsmobile. His top hat seems impossibly tall and intimidating. He has a walking stick that is topped by a writhing, hissing, metal dragon. The fires of hell shine in his eyes.

Which, for a moment, flutter wide in shock. Lightning crashes, and Dr. Celestine’s expression becomes enraged. “You have stepped into a pile of shit that is deeper than your beleaguered imaginings, son. You have no right and no place to assume Ralph’s role in this. Your trickery will soon come to an end. This, I assure you.”

Todd pats Uncle Ralph’s hat, making sure that it is still on his head. He says words in Ralph’s old voice, words that he doesn’t understand. “I am your undoing. I am your antithesis. You provided me a way to come into being, and your carnival causes me to continue. I will end you, or I won’t. Do not mistake me for one who wants to take your place.” Todd plucks an orange from a nearby tree. He tears a piece of peel away, and bites into sunlight made whole.

Dr. Celestine scowls. “This will not do.” He holds his walking stick high into the air. Swooping down low and fast, a dragon made of night grasps the stick and pulls Dr. Celestine up and back into the storm.

Todd turns slowly back to the Carnival’s entrance. Drifting faintly through the rain is the haunting melody of the calliope. He takes his time finishing the orange. It tastes very good.

When the orange was done, Todd could only feel the rain on his face. He blinked his eyes a few times, slowly realizing that he was in bed. A few more drops of water hit his face as thunder crashed outside. Fall thunderstorm. He’d left the basement window open. Cursing, he shut it, and went upstairs to find a towel.