This is part 14 of Todd’s story.
Cruel be the wind as it quells my words
I shout out to the rain
Incantations I’ve so hope you’ve heard
That you live again
From deep earth brings forth rebirth
Witness but I shant believe
From below a chilling glow on all
– Type O Negative, “Hallow’s Eve”
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Todd flicked on the basement light, his eyes as round as teacups. With Sheila and Thunk behind him, he figured that they looked like the Scooby Doo team exploring an old, haunted mansion. He snickered, and started walking down the stairs. Thunk and Sheila gave each other a worried glance, and then followed him down.
The basement was unfinished, but immaculately clean. No cobwebs, no musty smell, and no mice skittering away. There wasn’t even any dust that anyone could see. The light switch at the top of the stairs had lit overhead banks of flourescents that hung from the ceiling on small chains. They blinked to life as the three reached the basement landing.
Lining the walls were plastic garage organizers, each with about six tupperware drawers. As the three spread out in the basement, they could see that each drawer was labeled with a country and a range of dates. In the back of the basement were two doors that seemed to go to storage rooms. Sheila immediately began to open drawers while Thunk inspected the labels. Todd was drawn to the two doors. He opened the one on the left, discovering the water heater, furnace, and laundry area. He frowned and closed the door. He opened the one on the right slowly, and was bathed in a swirling light.
“Holy fucking shit, Todd! It’s money! Every single one of these drawers is full of a different kind of money!” Sheila looked up at Todd, two banded stacks of 10,000 yen bills in each hand. “Todd?” He was standing in the doorway of the room on the right, and some weird light was splaying out over him. She looked over at Thunk, who had looked up from the labels at her shout. He motioned to Todd, and she nodded.
Both rose and went to Todd, peeking over and around him to see what had enraptured him. There was one rickety card table in the center of the room. On it stood an old masonic jar, filled with a hurricane. The light pulsed and swirled out of the jar as the storm roiled inside it. “Hey, Todd.” Thunk pushed Todd, sending him tumbling into the room. He caught himself before he fell, but had to shake his head to clear it. “You all right, man?”
“Yeah.” Todd’s gaze drifted back to the impossible jar. “This is what those two have been looking for. IT’s why they came today. They want it back.” Todd slowly approached the card table, and the house’s support beams creaked. Todd froze in his tracks, Sheila backed out of the room, and Thunk flinched. Todd backed away from the card table and brought Thunk out of the room with him. He shut the door and heard a whispered sigh. “Not yet. We don’t take it yet.”
Thunk nodded, and then Sheila grabbed Todd’s arm. They both jumped. “Cash money, Todd. Every drawer. This basement has millions of fucking dollars just sitting here, Todd. Millions. Of. Dollars. TODD!” He looked down at her, not really recognizing her. He looked at his left hand, which still had the box containing the golden ticket.
“It’s like a movie, Sheila. One of those ones with a plot so big that money is small. Unimportant.” He played with the hinge, and finally opened it, succumbing to temptation. He pulled the ticket out and held it up to show them. Something boiled across the surface of the ticket, changing it. The gold bubbled away, leaving a glossy black. The black letters boiled to gold foil. Todd flipped the inverted ticket over to inspect the list of visited attractions. Only one was marked off: Bloody Mary Black’s Freak Show. “Compared to this, money is nothing.”
—
Mr. Weaver walked forward slowly, making sure that each step was firm and solid. It would not do to lose footing now. The path before him was laid with strands of red hair, as though some twisted flower girl had come here days ago. There was power in the path of hair. It was dangerous to them because it was like them. Every strand that touched his boot crystallized, becoming harmless, and shattered. Every strand that touched that one would do the same, until the power of his step was used. Every strand needed to be destroyed in this manner. Otherwise, something bad would happen. Crossing the streams bad.
Dr. Celestine walked somewhat impatiently behind him, grumbling about his lack of flair. Eventually, they came to the center of the warehouse proper. The dust and dirt on the floor to the left seemed marred by shuffled footsteps. There was also a full-length mirror stood up against a support beam. To their right was an incredibly complex clockwork machine that reminded Mr. Weaver of the hag’s celestial model from Dark Crystal. Three objects rested inside of cracked jars that rotated and circled in erratic orbits on the machine. Despite this, the machine conveyed a sense of balance and symmetry.
Each object crossed another’s path at several points. The innermost was an old journal. The second was a Hot Topic employee ID card on a lanyard. The outermost object was a display box filled with collectible spoons. “He’s manipulating their wills.”
Dr. Celestine tapped an arm of the machine with his walking stick as it went past. Angry sparks sprayed to the ground. “Of course he is.” He moved to the mirror and inspected his clothes. He then gestured to the rafters, which were lined with broken and shattered jars. “Follow me.” They both walked about fifty yards bast the mirror, and turned left around a stack of boxes. There, setting atop a four-foot tall mound of broken shards of glass, sat a photo of Todd as a child, sitting next to Ralph at his calliope. “I will end you, or I won’t. Do not mistake me for one who wants to take your place.”
“What?” Mr. Weaver couldn’t take his eyes off of all the broken glass.
“We have a Carnival to set up. Let’s stop wasting time here; we have a job to do.” Celestine kicked at a jar lid and headed toward the exit. Mr. Weaver heaved a sigh and followed.
—
And if you find one day, find some freedom and relief
With this freedom maybe, maybe you will find some peace
With this peace baby, I hope it brings you back to me
Bring you home, take me home
– Dido, “Stoned”
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