The Squatch's Story, pt3.
 

The Squatch's Story. (Part III)

About two hours after he had finished working, Billy was restless.The rather large slumbering beast was continuing his slumber, and wasn't much for conversation, had he been awake. He decided to go and see if he could find Sheila. Sheila was a couple of years older than Billy, or so Billy assumed, come to think of it, he had never asked her. She was tall, and built like a dancer, with curly brown gold hair than fell past her shoulders. 

Billy, was hopelessly smitten.

Sheila worked for Master Vicente, in the Big Cat show. She took care of the animals, shoveled out their cages, and gave them extra treats, and provided belly rubs, and ear scratchings as needed. As a generous token of their gratitude, the cats chose not to eat her. The truth was, the cats were mostly harmless, unless frightened. That was, except Simba.
Simba was not to be trifled with, and obeyed no one, save Vincente himself.

Occasionally, when Vincente felt like putting a on really “grand” show, Sheila would perform as his assistant. This was of particular interest to Billy, since seeing her perform in a delightfully small leopard print loin-cloth outfit, usually made Billy want to spontaneously combust on the spot.

His head full of the lovely Sheila, Billy made his way across what the employees would sometimes call “The Roustie Village”, which was trade-talk for the makeshift campsites of tents, campers, buses and other motley assortment of vehicles that most of the workers called home. The Carnival of Souls was like every other traveling carnival. When the shows where over, and the nearby town's welcoming faces stopped smiling, it was time to leave.

Sheila was sitting by a campfire with two other Carnies. Bob Kerowac, a rather large, well built middle-aged man wearing grease stained coveralls, weathered face, sandy brown hair and an easy smile. He was known as the best mechanic in the amusement business, and it was rumored that even Dr. Celestine took his advice when it came to maintenance of the rides.
Next to him, was Old Jack. 

Nobody knew where Jack came from, or how old he was exactly, but everyone was pretty sure that where ever Jack came from, it probably had a good supply of Hillbillies.He wore a stained red shirt beneath his suspenders, which supported an even more stained pair of buckskin pants, and boots. With his Santa Claus like beard, and white hair, the ensemble was completed. Most would repel at such a creature, especially if he were to handle your food, but Old Jack had the ability to create carnival confections that God Himself would pay a “disgustin' Daller” for, or so Jack claimed. Billy wasn't sure about that, but the cranky old fart could make a goddamn good elephant ear.

Billy announced himself with a quiet “Hey Guys”, and shuffled toward an overturned milk-crate, and sat down.“Hey Billy” came the chorused response. Old Jack's expression soured a bit, and he spoke.“Wheres that big dumb furry friend a yers, boy?”, he asked, squinting an eye, and gobbing a bit of “baccy” into the fire with a sizzle.

“You talkin' about the Squatch, Jack, or your mom?”, Billy answered a bit sheepishly, knowing it wasn't always a good idea to get Jack riled up. Jack's eyebrows went up to his forehead, and he slowly leaned toward Billy with a look that spoke of surprise, and dangerous intent. Old Jack raised his hand, and pointed a gnarled finger at Billy. His face became red, and Jack seemed to be straining somewhat. “Lemme tell yeh summat boy.” He squinted one eye, and ...strained. Just then an enormous gaseous explosion that sounded like thunder rolled from Jack's ass. Followed immediately by an old hillbilly rolling in the dirt, laughing.

 

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The homunculus weaved its way, in a loping, twisted gait, moving silently around the trees. It selected a nice tall pine tree, and slithered its hideous little body up to the tallest branches. From here, it would have an excellent view of the entire Carnival. Its coal black skin shone flatly in the moonlight as it waited for its masters call.

From the parking lot, far on the other side of the carnival, Kassan the Foul, the one-time Grand Vizier to His Majesty Emporer Abdh'ul Al'rhazad, sat cross-legged, in his new body, formerly belonging to a young boy,in the back seat of an old Buick. He took a small knife he had found in the glove box, and made a cut on his left wrist. The wound was very small and only produced a few drops of blood. Which was more than sufficient. Kassan daubed his fingertip, and touched both of his closed eyelids. He spoke a single word, in a dark and forbidden tongue, and opened his eyes. He saw himself in the top of a tall tree, just on the outskirts of the carnival. An excellent vantage point. 
The creatures eyes had become his own. It was a simple scrying spell and required little energy, but it would not last forever. The homunculus had excellent night vision, but it was not enough. Kassan uttered another few words, and the creatures sight magnified a hundred fold. Kassan spent a few minutes observing the comings and goings of several people, most of whom were rather mundane.

However, to his surprise, he began noticing an occasional being who was not.
Every so often, a person would walk by who had some kind of connection to True Power. Some of them, like the old man who pushed a broom all about, possessed a tiny spark. Others, like the large blonde man with the glasses, had a small flicker. To a sorcerer such as Kassan, it was a signal. This was a place of power. That meant there was likely much danger to found here. It would be wise to be wary.

Kassan continued to observe the various people coming and going about the place.

Then he saw him. The man was large, and dressed sharply, and carried a cane. He was walking briskly across the midway, with a look that spoke of business he was not pleased with. His mannerism labeled him a leader, and his aura said something very, very different. The man stopped to bark orders at a passerby, and for a brief second, he too, displayed a spark of power. It lasted a tenth of a second, but radiated as bright as a torch for anyone nearby, with the ability to see it.

Kassan focused his sight on the large man, and spoke again. The image of the man blurred, and Kassan the Foul, saw a glimpse of the true nature of the entity known as Dr Celestine.

He suppressed an urge to recoil, and wiped the blood from his eyelids, breaking his spell.

His heart and his mind raced.

Whatever that creature was, it was neither human, nor spirit. Perhaps somewhere in between. whatever it truly was, it may be tied directly to this “Carnival”, and each spark of power Kassan noticed before, likely came from it. It was dangerous, and very powerful, but it was also limited. This was not its plane of existance. While in this plane, it was subject to the laws of reality, and could be affected by its physics.

This was good news to Kassan, for whatever this creature was, one thing was certain. 

It could be bound.
 
This “Carnival of Souls” was a living thing, tied directly to this being called Celestine, and he to it.Corrupt the one, and control the other. With an entity like that, bound under his control, Kassan would have an nearly unlimited conduit to work his magics. He could do anything. Achieve anything he wanted. Kassan had spent the last 3000 years wanting only one thing. Freedom to exact a terrible retribution on the world, and the king he had despised, so long ago. But that world was long gone, and Kassan had nothing left but his hatred.

Now, he had opportunity. He would corrupt and taint this “Carnival”, piece by piece, bringing it all under his control, until he could use that power against Celestine, and harness his power for his own. In the back of Kassan's mind, a tiny voice was being patently ignored. It tried to utter a small warning to the rest of his mind, which was brimming with a new evil plan. It's stifled cry, echoed weakly against the howling maelstrom of cunning that was Kassans conscience. “beware!, theres something else!

The cries went unheard.

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Back at the campfire, the four carnies continued to swap stories, and cold beer, until the hour had grown late. Tomorrow was the last day of their stay in this town, and the next, would bring the open road. The Carnival opened its doors at 10:00 am sharp, and dawn was not far away. Billy was quiet mostly. His had been a fairly normal life in comparison to most of these people, and back in his home town of Munsie, Iowa, he hadn't really managed to acquire many entertaining stories.

One thing was certain amongst the Carnies, if you didn't have any good stories to tell when you got here, you would, very soon. His thoughts where interrupted by the old, crass hillbilly across from him. 
“A'ight boy,” Jack intoned, “You jes' tell that ape friend o' yers the leave mah sweets alone, er I SWARS, ah'm gunna shoot 'im!”

Billy was getting tired of this. He didn't know why the Squatch took to him. He just did. That didn't mean that Billy should be responsible for him.

“Jack”, Billy replied, “Do you have any idea what the Squatch is?”

Before Jack could speak, Billy cut him off.
 “Its a goddamn sasquatch, Jack. A fucking Bigfoot. Its not even supposed to exist, Jack, How the hell am I supposed to tell it what to do?” Billy realized he was nearly yelling, and lowered his voice a bit, but kept going. “I plunge toilets, Jack, I sweep the Midway, I take out trash! If I'm a good monkey, once in a while they let me run the Bumper Cars for fifteen minutes, while Moose sneaks of to smoke a joint behind the Big Top. How the FUCK does that make me responsible for a mythological being, jack!?”.

Old Jack leaned back in his seat, and a calm look descended upon his brow. He set down his beer bottle, and reached into his threadbare brown jacket. He pulled out a metal flask, with a black spade etched on the front. He said nothing as took a steep pull from the flask, sealed the cap, and returned it to the nether realms of his jacket. He shot a quick look in Big Bob's direction, and leveled his gaze back to Billy.

“Look, son.”, he began, “How long you been here now?”

“About two months, I guess.” Billy replied, looking somewhat confused by the question.

“You notice any “per-culer”, around here? Anything out of the god damn ordinary? Sure you have,since ya'll don't look like one them retarded types. Mebbe ya'll noticed that theres freaky sup'r natural bullshit all over this place? How the hell do you figger a traveling carnival of this size opp'rates every day, with god-damn vampires, n' demons runnin' amok, and that big goddamn clown that gives me the goddamn HEEBIE JEEBIES!” Old Jack was breathing heavily, and lookie quite flustered after that outburst.

Bob Kerouac, leaned forward and whispered softly, for comical effect. 
“Old Jack really hates Violent Clay.” 
Jack regained his composure, and his serious demeanor. “Anyways boy, this place, what they do, How do you think sumthin' like all that keeps workin?”

“Us, boy, its us.” Jack continued. “See, this Carnival, its...”. Jack paused, furrowed his brow, clearly unsure of how to explain, “Its meant to be, boy. Now, folks come and go all the time here. But some folks, are supposed to be here. Sometimes, mebbe one outta ten, is here, because they got it comin' boy, you savvy?”

Billy understood quite well, what Old Jack meant.

When he first arrived at the Carnival, Billy had noticed a few “rubes” now and then, who carried with them, strange golden tickets. He didn't know what they meant, or how one was obtained, but he never saw any of them again. Once, in a rare display of courage, he even asked the impossibly large ticket seller, Big Dav, in a rather timid voice. The huge man, in a white gown, and pierced lip, bent down slightly, and in an equally feminine voice for his size, spoke. “Oh, aren't you just precious!” He stuffed his ham sized fist in a pocket, and deftly placed a fresh “Hello Kitty” sticker on Billy's forehead. “There you go, thats for you, silly Billy.” The larger than life man toddled off, beaming happily. You just didn't ask too many questions here.

Billy snapped back to the present.

“See, boy,” Jack went on, “Them folks that run things here, they ain't like you and me. They's part of it. The Doctor, Wolfe, Vicente, that goddamn fucking CLOWN, all of em. Even that big goddamn Squatch fella. They all got a part to do, you savvy? Our part, is to keep things runnin', so they can do thiers. That means, if that big Squatch fella has taken a shine to you, its your job to look after him. And boy, this is the most important thing...do you know why its your 'sponsibility?"

Billy, who had been listening very quietly, shook his head slowly.

“Cuz, that's what we do boy, we look after our own.”

“We're Carnies, Billy.” Sheila's soft voice cut in. “Nobody trusts carnies. They seen to many movies, or read too many bad novels and think were some sort of evil unwashed cult, or Gypsies, or something. They don't stop to think that we're just people like them, and that this is what we do to get by. We stick together here, and look out for each other.” Her gaze lingered on Billy for just a second longer than she probably intended it to, and Billy was intensely glad he noticed.

Billy sighed, and stood up. He was tired, and had had a very long day. He barely understood this carnival, but something about it, seemed, right. He needed to be here. Whatever hand fate had dealt him, Billy decided to make a go of it. What had he to lose?

“Alright, Jack” Billy said. “I'll see what I can do.”

Billy said his good-byes to the three, especially Sheila, and shuffled back his camper. His thoughts shifted between his mother, long dead, and his father, who he hadn't seen in almost a year. The old man never cared about anything except which whore he could fuck, and his next drink, Billy thought. Fuck him. These people took him in, gave him a job, and crappy blue camper truck to live in. All they asked is a decent days work, and a bit of loyalty. Besides, he actually liked these people. Well, most of them. A few of them were definitely not “normal”, and Billy usually just didn't talk to them. A sudden chill snapped him out of his reverie.

An eerie feeling came over him, and for several seconds, Billy swore he was being watched.

Out of the corner of his eye, Billy would later swear he saw something dart under a thick pine branch, and into the night. He didn't get a solid look at it, but it looked almost...human.

A slight smell of burnt skin and feces lingered for a moment in the air.

A cold chill ran down Billy's spine.