(The Hyperion Chronicles)
“I’ll bet living in a nudist colony takes all the fun out of Halloween"
#323 My Turn to be Scary
Welcome, Friends, to the third and final installment of our Halloween stories. I hope you appreciate all the hard work people did to bring you these. Between all the guest-writers, my tireless editors, and anyone who basically had to live with me, we all gave our best.
Today I offer three completely different stories; each in tone, timbre, and content. The only commonality is that they are a bit spooky. They work much MUCH better aloud, but try not to read them in the dark.
TOM DULA
You might be aware (and if you’re not, you should be) of the Legend of Tom Dooley. The tale is based on real events, and made famous in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s by a movie and a folk song.
Tom Dula (pronounced Doo-lee) was a Confederate soldier in
The story goes that one morning in 1866 Tom woke Laura Foster and told her to pack her things, for he wanted to marry her that night. This is the same night she “disappeared,” and Dula soon hightailed it to
The case generated quite a bit of attention, and stories and songs were told and sung about the affair. In 1930 a fiddler named G.B. Grayson—a relative of the sheriff—recorded a version that was later used by the Kingston Trio, setting of the Folk Music Wave and introducing a whole new generation to Tom “Dooley.”
Through diligent research I came up with some alternate theories as to what actually happened between Tom Dula and Laura Foster, including one small scrap of a story that survived—in all places—in a
The day stood wet and miserable, already dark though not three hours after the
“I’ve just come from the Sheriff’s office,” Pauline said. “Mr. Grayson is determined to hang him at dawn, no matter if this beastly weather continues.”
Pauline took off her wet cloak and hung it by the stove. She adjusted her clothes and turned back to Ann. “You have never seen such hatred as Sheriff Grayson has for Tom. I think the sheriff had liked to kill Tom right now with his bare hands if he could.”
Ann got up to put a kettle over the fire. “You know better than anyone that Herbert Grayson was in love with Laura,” she said. “He probably still is in love with her, dead as she is.”
Pauline nodded, and sat down to dress two chickens to help with the work. “The sooner it’s over, the better. I guess I just can’t help but feel sad.”
“We agreed!” Ann exclaimed. Seeing the pained expression on her cousin’s face she softened her tone. “It’s for the best, Pauline, really.”
Ann stirred the kettle, and then went on: “Did you get to talk to him?”
“I did. I told the Deputy Hicks I wanted so talk to the man who killed my Laura; God rest her soul. Mr. Hicks offered to hold Tom down and let me beat on him some, but I told him I just wanted to say my piece and go.”
The kettle began to steam over the stove. Ann got a towel and removed it, pouring two cups of tea. She brought the cups back over to the table, setting one down by Pauline and taking a sip out of the other.
“What was Tom like? I have to admit I have wished to see him one final time as well, but as only a cousin to Laura—and a married woman—I dared not risk it. Old Lady Peabody already had suspicions.”
“Tom looked terrible bad,” Pauline mused. “Sheriff Grayson may not hang him until tomorrow, but it looks like he’s been pounding Tom every day since they got back from
Ann tsk’d. “What about the other thing?” she asked Pauline.
Pauline grimaced a little. “I sincerely don’t think Tom will say anything. When I went in he shrunk back in his cell. Tom had the most awful look on his face. I think he was afraid of me!”
Ann smiled at that thought, and shivered at another. “You were awful fearsome with that knife. I watched one of our hands, Jeff, butcher a bull the other day, and he wasn’t half as quick or tidy as you.”
Pauline blushed. “I got good with that knife skinning rabbits as a child. And it’s like my mamma always taught us girls, ‘When something unpleasant has to be done, it’s best to get on with it.’ Besides, I didn’t see you hesitating over making Tom dig the hole.”
“Well, my mamma always said ‘There’s no use crying over spilt milk’—so to speak. I had to chivy Tom into action, though. I think he was in such a shock he’d have stayed rooted to that spot ‘til he fell over.”
Pauline laughed aloud. “Tom—like all men—needs to learn not to be so free with his affections. Like my mamma always told us girls, ‘Hell have no fury…’”
“Too true, too true,” Anne laughed. “Help me get this bread in the oven, will you?”
LOOK WHO YOU SEE
I met Gracie at Denny’s not too long ago. I’d see her there on occasion, with this other guy. She seemed quiet, shy…submissive; that’s the word I’m looking for. This it not a personality trait I’m familiar with, so I was a bit intrigued. But it’s a Catch-22 to be intrigued by a girl who doesn’t speak.
Then one night Gracie came in alone as I was writing. She sat down and we talked for the next 7 hours, about everything under the sun. But the next time I saw her accompanied, she was back to the dormouse.
This pattern continued for several weeks. Gracie would find me at Denny’s and pour her heart out, but otherwise she was silent as ever. She rarely talked about her private life, but I got hints. There was her behavior, and the occasional bruises she’d try to hide. I began to get suspicions.
Once night Gracie was there with the other guy, quiet as usual. On their way out she dropped a small folded up piece of paper on the floor by my table. I opened it, and inside were the words:
This Thursday Night
Wear Dark Clothing
Bring Large Knife, Rope, and Flashlight
I figured it was more of her cat-and-mouse games. Usually, I try to avoid women who play games. Nevertheless, my interest was piqued. Plus, there was the possibility I was being recruited to help her get out of a bad situation.
Thursday night I was there in black; nervous as a cat. In the car I had this new 1 million candle-power flashlight. I didn’t have a big knife, but I did have my Miracle Blade. I figured that would do. Gracie walked in, dressed like some gorgeous spy. She stared at me for the longest time, and then said, “Let’s go.”
We got in my car and left, her giving directions. In a few minutes we pulled into a parking lot with a sign: WELCOME TO NOSE HILL PARK. Gracie explained that
We took off down a worn path. The stars were bright out, and it was quiet. We walked for ten minutes, coming to woods. Finally, couldn’t take it anymore.
“What are we doing here?”
She smiled coyly. “”We are here to kill Rabbits, so that I may wear a Rabbit-skin coat.”
“Why would you want to wear a rabbit-skin coat?” I asked dumbly. “I’ve never even seen you eat meat.”
Her voice took on a lecturing tone. “It is the nature of things for humans to wear the skins of animals, because the humans are smarter than the animals. If the animals were smarter than the humans, the animals would wear human-skin coats.”
I wasn’t buying this story for a minute. My suspicions about me helping her escape began to take root. I didn’t know if I was up for this, but I’d always wanted a chance to put my principles into action, and I guess this was going to be it. I was so nervous I wanted to throw up. I wondered what the rope was for, but I didn’t think to ask.
We walked into the woods, more gingerly now as the path was slight and the trees and brush overgrown. After a time we came to a clearing. Coming the other way was a man also dressed in black, with a flashlight and a large shovel. I wondered at the time what the shovel was for, but that too was a question that never got asked.
He saw her first: “Graciana!” he spat. It wasn’t a friendly greeting.
By contrast, Gracie was much more relaxed, even amused. She smiled lazily at the man and said, “Look who you see when you don’t have a gun.”
This ended the repartee, primarily because the man bellowed and charged at Gracie with his shovel. I didn’t understand what was going on, but my instincts took over, and I heroically stepped forward to counter his thrust with my Miracle Blade.
I needn’t have bothered. Gracie gracefully stepped around me, eluded the shovel head like Neo in The Matrix, and calmly slit the man’s throat.
I felt numb. Gracie was bent over her prostrate foe and appeared to be licking his neck. (Look who you see when you don’t have a padded cell and a cattle-prod.)
“Bury him.” She said. I felt like I should say something, but I didn’t want more violence. (I didn’t know if I was capable of it against her, and I certainly didn’t want it to happen to me.)
Have you ever buried a man with a shovel? It takes much longer than in the movies. Afterwards I sat down to rest, exhausted. I vaguely remember Gracie picking up the shovel, and then I remember nothing.
When I came to, I found myself tied to a tree, a large lump on the back of my head smarting nicely. Gracie had a fire going in the clearing and in the firelight I could see a rather large hole in front of me. Gracie had also been joined by two other girls.
When she saw I was I was awake, Gracie introduced me. “This is Amanda and Natasha. They are part of my Coven.” Oh yes; this was going to end well.
The three of them started moving around and throwing burning branches into the hole. I was only ten feet away, but I couldn’t see the bottom or hear the branches land.
Luckily, the girls were absorbed with their dancing and chanting; not paying attention to me. I still had my trusty Miracle Blade, which I fished out of my pocket and used to quietly cut the ropes. I was about to sneak away when I saw something to stop me in my tracks.
Gracie had Amanda in a headlock. She chanted something ominous and slit Amanda’s throat. Gracie let Amanda drop unceremoniously into the hole and licked the knife; a look of rapture on her face.
Whatever Natasha thought they were doing out here, that wasn’t it. With a snarl she threw herself at Gracie, who took this too in stride, side-stepping Natasha’s charge and managing to slash her stomach in the process.
The wound looked fatal, but I’ll never know because Natasha’s forward momentum propelled her into the hole. Her scream was audible for some time.
I’d seen enough. Moving faster than I ever have I ran and grabbed Gracie, painfully wrenching the knife from her grasp. I dragged her to the tree, tying her firmly in place.
Bizarrely (or perhaps not so much, given the night’s events), Gracie seemed to enjoy being man-handled. Her cry seemed joyful when I grabbed her arm, and she moaned in delight each time I tightened the ropes. My first violent act against a woman and she was enjoying it. Was this a good sign?
“It’s over.” I said. “Whatever sick game you are playing here is done.”
She strained against the ropes; enjoying the sensation. “Are you going to beat me now?” Oh yeah: I sure can pick ‘em.
Before I could answer a giant rabbit came into the clearing. I’m not kidding: it was at least five feet tall. (Look who you see when you don’t have a video camera.) The rabbit was limping, and blood-stained. It looked at Gracie with what can only be described as recognition, hatred, and a look of contemplation over what it would look like in a Gracie-skin coat.
For her part Gracie was no longer enjoying the festivities. Like a woman possessed she thrashed at her bonds, until her skin was raw and bloody. Somehow she got free.
I prudently had both knives, but Gracie didn’t seem to need one as she circled the hole, stalking the Rabbit. It looked wary, but grimly determined to end a fight that clearly had history.
The rabbit looked at me as if trying to impart some message. Then, without warning, the rabbit jumped into the hole. With an inhuman shriek Gracie leaped in after him. I stood in stunned belief that Gracie had followed the rabbit down the hole.
I picked up the shovel (so the evening wouldn’t be a total loss) and the flashlight, and cautiously peered over the edge down the hole. It was empty and went on as far as I could see.
“Say goodnight, Gracie.”
14 WORDS
Fagin Dupree wasn't having a good day. Truth be told, he was also not having a good week, month, year, or life. Fate had dealt Fagin a cruel hand. To have been born of a mother obsessed with Dickens is one thing, but for her to name her only child Fagin Ebenezer Evremonde Dupree? That was just sadistic.
Fagin had grown up taunted and teased by the other children. (I’ll leave it to your imagination what they called him.) It didn’t help that Fagin was a sickly child, desperately bad at sports, and fond of reading everything he could get his hands on; three character traits not prized highly in the Killing Fields known as grade school.
So Fagin had a bad childhood, and it didn’t get any better as an adult. Sneered at by co-workers, taken advantage of by, well, everyone, and the women…let’s just say that Fagin Dupree was one to inspire much yearning of loins from the Double-X chromosome set.
All that changed with Deelea Jensen. She was smart, she was funny, she was beautiful, and best of all, she liked Fagin. Looks weren’t important to her, and if Fagin lacked a certain manly grace, to Deelea he made up for it with his impressive amount of arcane knowledge.
And so, Fagin was happy for a short time in his life.
Until today.
Deelea had shown up at work (Fagin was a Historical-Restoration consultant), and delivered the news; she was breaking up with him. In a total panic Fagin fled the scene to the one place in the city that could give him comfort: the ancient manuscript section of the library.
It was here Fagin often came after a horrible day; basking in the obscure texts, luxuriating in the smell and feel of the old books, and just feeling at home.
Today Fagin hunted blindly, his eyes awash with tears. Fagin pulled out a volume of forgotten lore about giant rabbits. He opened the book, and that’s when the parchment fell out.
It was old, ancient even, and worn but well preserved. Fagin recognized its age and value immediately, and the Restoration expert in him knew this should be under glass.
He happened to notice the words on the outside: Ultimus Casus. Fagin might not be a winner, but he knew his Latin, and suddenly an irresistible urge took over him to open the parchment and see what was inside.
Perhaps it was the crummy day. It could have been his love of all things old and mysterious. Or, maybe it was just meant for him to find it, but Fagin Dupree decided to open the parchment.
Carefully he slipped open the clasp, wondering how such a treasure came to rest here..
A SHORT AND BRIEF HISTORY OF THE PARCHMENT AND THE 14 WORDS CONTAINED THEREIN
The parchment may well have existed for millennia. We start our travels with it at the end of the Second Crusade. One of the Templar Knights found the parchment in
There was some confusion as to what had happened (and some accounts say, a few more dead knights), but eventually one of the Knights read the 14 words and immediately set off for
The parchment remained in the Templar Knights’ possession for some time, and then in 1307 it was lost. (Soon after the Pope and the King of France had the Knights all but wiped out.). The parchment passed from person to person, mostly causing the result of that first night, occasionally leading to other events. A few highlights:
In 1478 a mild-mannered Dominican friar named Thomás de Torquemada came into possession of the parchment. He read the words, and immediately set out to bring about the Spanish Inquisition, Surprising all who knew him. (Although to be fair, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.)
In 1517 a priest came by the parchment in
In 1770 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart came upon the Parchment, and went on to become the greatest composer who ever lived.
In 1850 a young girl named Jenny Lind came into possession of the parchment, and went out and became the Swedish Nightingale, admired and loved all over as the world’s greatest singer.
Vincent Van Gogh actually came upon the parchment twice. The first time he read the words he went out and dramatically altered his painting styles; creating some of the most indelible works in all of human history. A few years later he found the parchment again, read those 14 words, and shot himself in the chest.
In 1913 a young man in
And in 1968, a troubled young man born “no-name Maddox” came upon the parchment and its message. Inspired, Charles Manson went out to show the world what he had learned.
These are just some of the people who’ve come into contact with the parchment and its contents. Is there a theme to these people? Perhaps.
Fagin Dupree didn’t know any of that. But he saw those 14 words, and they burned into his brain. He’d never forget them as long as he lived.
He also knew what he must do.
Just then, there was a knock at the door to the ancient manuscript vault. Deelea poked her head in, looking sad and worried.
“Fagin?” she said quietly. “Can I come in? I wanted to talk about this afternoon with you. Would that be okay?”
Fagin looked at her for a moment; expression unreadable. Then he broke into a big grin.
“Sure thing, darling. You come on in. And close the door behind, you. It’s a library and…we wouldn’t want to disturb anyone.”
Happy Halloween
Hyperion
Credits
Special my editors; Bear, Laureate, and Koz
Thanks to Ella for help with the Latin
Thanks to all those who helped make this happen.
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