‘I don’t know,’ Anthony said.

  Suddenly Rukus’s body began to shake, not with seizure, but laughter. A deep, guttural guffaw began to build inside Rukus’s wounded torso and he lifted his head to look upon his audience. Mischief blazed in his eyes and he kept laughing – at them. He jumped to his feet and slapped his knees and clapped his hands in sheer delight. Then, when he was happy with himself, he gave a low bow.

  ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ he said. ‘You were a wonderful audience. Alas, I must withdraw now because there is still more to the tale – too much for just one performer to tell.’

  He exited stage right, leaving the children once again with their dread. Cherise began to cry again, the woods lolling gently with her anguish.

  ‘We have to try and escape,’ Donald said to them.

  ‘How?’ Catherine said. ‘These ropes are too damn tight!’

  ‘I don’t know, but we have to do something!’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Anthony said, cutting them off.

  ‘You shut up!’ Donald said, his eyes sprouting tears of anger. ‘I should never have come here with you. I should never have even talked to you! This is all your fault!’

  ‘Shhh!’ Catherine said. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  Anthony felt a tear fall onto his own cheek as his eyes were drawn back to the stage. In the dark he saw the ghost of his father giving his son his own mournful look.

  Two shadows crossed the stage. Celeste, the terrible beauty, twirled with the poise of a Russian ballerina despite the fragility of her limbs. She curtsied and then with a graceful sweep of her tethered arms, announced the entrance of her master, The Great Kaskaraken.

  The magician was swathed in a cloak of fashioned darkness. Before him, he wheeled a contraption – a box, or a coffin, the children couldn’t tell. It was black and lacquered to a high shine. It was simultaneously beautiful and ghastly. Kaskaraken bowed to the children, but there was only malice in his eyes. Celeste flitted around him and slipped a blotched arm into his.

  ‘Greetings, children,’ Kaskaraken said. ‘You have heard Mr Rukus’s tale, but it is not the only event to occur on that terrible evening. The soldiers took a great interest in me and my sweet assistant, Celeste Renoir.’

  Celeste smiled, but quickly covered her garish mouth with the back of her hand; it seemed vanity wasn’t beyond a living corpse.

  ‘Please, you don’t have to do this,’ Catherine cried from the audience. ‘If you let us go we promise we won’t tell anyone about you. We promise we’ll never set foot in these woods again.’

  Kaskaraken waggled a finger at her. ‘Tut-tut-tut, young lady, you mustn’t interrupt a magician when he’s about to perform one of his greatest acts. Celeste, if you will, my dear.’

  Celeste circled him to the other side of the box. Kaskaraken opened the lid of the contraption, climbed inside and lay down. When the magician closed the lid, all that could be seen of Celeste was her head and lower legs protruding from each end.

  ‘The soldiers wanted me to perform magic,’ Kaskaraken began. ‘They wanted to see something remarkable – my best act. So, with nowhere to run to, I had little choice but to oblige them.’

  Kaskaraken retrieved a wide piece of steel from nowhere; it was the same width and depth as the contraption. He held it over the centre of the coffin-like box, all the while Celeste smiling widely at the young onlookers.

  ‘I would never dream of revealing the mechanics of this deception to you,’ Kaskaraken said as he thrust the steel into the lid of the box. At first it seemed to resist him, until suddenly it emerged through the bottom with a harsh scrape of metal on wood.

  ‘Ouch!’ Celeste said, still grinning from ear to ear.

  The Great Kaskaraken withdrew the steel and for a second – the blink of an eye – Anthony thought he saw blood on its edge; he hoped his eyes had deceived him. The magician took hold of both ends of the box and gently pulled it apart – into two halves. Miraculously, there was no blood, no horror to behold – only an elaborate misdirection.

  ‘Celeste was in no danger, as you can see,’ Kaskaraken said.

  The lovely assistant waggled her legs in one half of the box and nodded her head in the other; an invisible chain crossed the four foot void between. The magician pushed the halves back into one and then opened the lid for Celeste to climb out – whole once more. Still smiling, she curtsied.

  But even Anthony – in fact all of them – sensed something grotesque was about to occur.

  ‘Regrettably,’ Kaskaraken said. ‘This marvel was not enough to impress the ignorant warmongers. The sergeant demanded proof. He wanted to know my secret.’

  Celeste began to look afraid, sheer terror in her eyes, her lips trembling. Kaskaraken reached out to her tenderly.

  ‘Please, my darling, don’t be afraid,’ he said, urging her to stand at his side. ‘The soldiers took hold of Celeste. They wanted to see her in pieces and then have me put her back together. I offered to put her in the contraption again – to repeat the trick, but lo, they expected real magic, not trickery.’

  He rubbed Celeste’s arms, as if to warm them. ‘I’m so sorry, my sweet,’ he said. Then he turned to the children. ‘One of them took out his knife...’

  Anthony and the children watched as a line, glaring red and shining, began to appear on Celeste’s upper arm, where the shoulder connected to the torso. It was a perfect line, the end tracking up, around and over until it met its beginning, like an ouroboros made of blood. Then another cut appeared on her upper left thigh, then her right. The invisible blade traced around her right shoulder and Celeste whimpered, feeling the agony and the horror all over again, until finally, the red line traced the circumference of her lily-white throat.

  ‘The soldiers took her to pieces...’ Kaskaraken said and, as the last syllable passed her lips, Celeste’s body fell apart, collapsing into a bloody heap. The children cried, Cherise’s shrieks rolling up into the ancient trees. ‘They asked me to put her back together again, but I was a magician... not a miracle worker. So... the sergeant ordered me to disappear, too.’

  A perfect circle suddenly materialised between the magician’s eyes and he too crumpled to the stage floor beside his constant companion. There may have been no gunshot, but wisps of smoke trailed from the wound.

  From the ether, a massive velvet curtain dropped, cutting the scene and bringing a close to act one, but not the memory of what lay behind it.

  Anthony begged for the show to end.

  ~ Ten ~

  When Madeline didn’t hear from Sheriff Dawson for almost an hour, she called him.

  ‘Any sign of him?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve spoken to my deputy, Maddie. They ain’t seen him, but they’re still looking. Where do you think he might have gone?

  Madeline tried to stay calm, running her fingers through her hair, hoping subconsciously to collect the answer from between the threads.

  ‘He could be anywhere,’ she told him. ‘When I find him I’m gonna tan his hide.’

  ‘Well, we gotta find him first. Now think, where could he be? Is he at the skate park, or the store, or at the pool?’

  Madeline shook her head. ‘No, no – I called the store and they ain’t seen him. The boys at the skate park give him a hard time so he stopped goin’, and we ain’t got no money for him to go to the pool. God dammit!’

  Sheriff Dawson let out a long sigh. ‘Okay, then. Well, if you think about it there ain’t too many places he could be. Maybe he went to the waterhole or the old grain shed. I’ll tell my deputy to look there. If you think of anywhere else you call me, okay?’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  Madeline put down the receiver and instantly wanted to pick it up and beg the Sheriff to launch a full-scale search for her son. It wasn’t that she didn’t think the deputy was capable; she just knew the Sheriff would be more thorough.

  She stared at her empty kitchen and then the doorway. Had she gone too far; had she driven her boy away with her anger and despair? These thoughts seemed to tug at her mind and instinctively the same thoughts turned to Dominic. She glanced at the banister, to the small silver urn. Ashes and dust; her beloved reduced to ashes and dust.

  Had all of her love truly died with Dominic? Did she have no more to give?

  He’s your son, for god’s sake, Maddie – our child! Our flesh and blood! Love him! Help him!

  She knew those thoughts were not her own; they’d been placed in her head. Maddie blinked and pressed her fingertips against her eyes. I can almost hear him, she thought. She stared at the urn again, her head slowly filling with more thoughts.

  Help him. He’s afraid!

  Flashes of figures, scarred and bleeding on a stage amongst the trees, poured into her mind’s eye; a parody of violence becoming reality, with Anthony among a group of children forced to watch it.

  Madeline stumbled to a chair, her legs weak as she pictured the horrors and the urn. The montage was still there even when she squeezed her eyes shut.

  Find him! Come to me Maddie and find him!

  Madeline opened her eyes and she looked to the urn. Had Dominic just spoken to her from beyond the grave? Impossible!

  Yet she felt compelled; there was a will inside her and she knew she had to leave the house, to that place she had never set foot in since that heart-breaking day.

  She pulled herself to her feet and moved quickly to the banister. She grabbed the urn in her arms like it was a child. But her real child was out there in the woods and he needed his mother. She ran out the front door, her arms tight around her lost love, silently praying to God there was still time to save the last piece of true love she had left.

  *

  Anthony could only watch as Rukus, Celeste and Kaskaraken dragged Donald, Catherine and Cherise onto the stage to become players in the monsters’ sick performance.

  When he looked at his father, all Anthony could see was the look of fear, as if Dominic Moore’s spirit reflected what his son felt. There had to be some way to free them all from this nightmare. If he could just release himself from the ropes around his wrists and ankles, he could run for help.

  The children Anthony had willingly lured to the woods were forced to their knees. The creatures had assumed their true forms now; their hideous forms caressing the youngsters in anticipation for a feast. Donald was to be Rukus’s meal; Celeste would have Catherine and Kaskaraken, Cherise, which only left –

  Mister Crispin walked onto the stage, his top-hat held mournfully to his chest. He could have led a funeral march into Hell with the look on his ravaged face. When he reached the centre of the stage, he gazed down upon the boy who’d unwillingly helped him and smiled.

  ‘Anthony, the boy without a daddy,’ he said with a hint of contempt. ‘Have you enjoyed our show? We’ve enjoyed bringing it to you. It’s been quite some time since we’ve performed to an audience, but it’s like riding a bicycle – you never forget. Never forget.’

  He replaced his hat and considered the other children quivering behind him.

  ‘Still, the show isn’t over yet. There’s one more tale to tell and I’ve saved the best to last.’

  The other fiends chuckled and stared at Anthony. The boy knew they would leave his demise till last, to prolong his suffering, like they did his father.

  ‘So there I was,’ Crispin said. ‘Watching my comrades dying around me; Rukus stabbed to death, Celeste cut to pieces, The Great Kaskaraken’s brains splattered across the stage! I couldn’t hide, though. The soldiers were determined to find me.’

  Anthony wanted to tell Crispin to kill him and be done with it, to end the torment, but a voice called to him from the stage – another performer hiding in the shadows.

  Listen to me, son.

  Anthony’s head became heavy as each word swirled inside his mind.

  Your mother is on her way and you must be ready.

  The boy looked past Crispin – who was giving his all with his monologue – and saw his father’s soul reaching out to him.

  Yes, it’s me Anthony – now listen!

  Meanwhile, Crispin raved on: ‘The soldiers wanted to lure me out like a rat, and that callous sergeant ordered his men to set fire to the caravan! Oh, the flames were so high!’ He held his ragged face in his hands, the salty tears bleaching the skin. ‘They spread so fast, ate up everything like some great sea monster! I’d hidden inside a costume chest, but the wood became so hot, I had little choice but to clamber out. In the glare of the flames I found, the soldiers waiting, their manic faces shining bright! They laughed at my terror and chased me up onto the stage where the flames had yet to reach. They aimed their rifles and waited.’

  Crispin looked at his palms; the patchwork of scars. ‘The sergeant said he liked our show – the private show just for them. He agreed that laughter was the best medicine.’ He raised his hands higher still, his gaze locked on them. ‘Then the sergeant passed around a liquor bottle to his men. They all took a swig, but they kept some for me. A cigarette was lit then and the burning tip was so miniscule amongst all the flames.

  ‘The sergeant took the liquor bottle back only to hurl it at me, before he cocked his revolver and shot it. I was sprayed with glass and fragrant bourbon. I stood there trembling, dripping wet. Then the cigarette butt struck my coat.’

  There was an explosion of fire from Crispin’s hands – a white hot flame that dripped all over his coat. It crawled down his sleeves and leapt down his trousers. Embers soared to his top hat, driven by an invisible breath. The hat became a firework, spewing a huge column of flame several feet into the night air. The sparks rained down and an instant later Crispin’s entire body was burning. Yet Crispin didn’t scream – he simply bathed in the inferno.

  Seared flesh and fatty smoke flooded the children’s senses and lingered long after the ghostly flames dissipated. Once the smoke had cleared, Crispin emerged as if reborn.

  ‘Now the show must sadly come to a close,’ Crispin said. ‘’It’s time for all of you to depart.’

  Rukus gripped Donald around the throat. ‘At last!’ he said.

  ‘No!’ Catherine cried.

  ‘You have no choice in the matter,’ Crispin told them as he leapt from the stage, eyes wild and fixed on Anthony. ‘We need to go on. We need souls. The man Moore is not enough to sustain us.’ He reached for Anthony, but held back when he saw the boy was unafraid. ‘Aren’t you going to beg, plead once more for us to let you go?’

  ‘Why don’t you just leave,’ Anthony said, his expression carrying a mask of defiance.

  ‘What?’ Crispin’s surprise gave his hideousness a new level of distortion.

  ‘Why are you still here, in these woods?’ Anthony said.

  ‘What do you mean, boy?’

  Anthony considered the trees, as if for the first time. ‘You can’t leave – or don’t you want to?’

  Crispin turned to his comrades and back again; they all wore the same look of bewilderment.

  ‘We’re trapped. Cursed!’

  ‘So you say, but you’re dead, so why don’t you just cross over?’

  Crispin cackled. ‘The soldiers slaughtered us, then so shall we!’

  Anthony smirked and Crispin detected something different in the boy’s stance, his mannerism.

  ‘But we didn’t do anything to you. The children aren’t the soldiers,’ Anthony told him. ‘They died a long time ago and at least they had the guts to accept it!’

  ‘We need souls!’ Crispin said, fist clenched and shaking. ‘These woods drain us!’

  ‘Then leave them! Go hunt down the souls of the soldiers – the ones who deserve to be punished!’

  ‘Where on earth would we look for them? As you said, they’re dead!’

  Anthony smiled widely. ‘You could try hell!’

  Anthony saw Crispin recoil before his dark eyes scrutinised him. ‘What’s gotten into you, boy? There’s so much guile in you. Almost as if...’

  The demon master of ceremonies turned to the stage and peered at the cage – at the revenant figure slumped between the bars. Dominic Moore’s soul was asleep – or in a trance!

  ‘How dare you!’ Crispin snarled. ‘He’s talking to his son – through him!’ He turned to his troubadours, finger pointing to the cage. ‘Devour that wretch now!’

  Rukus, Celeste and Kaskaraken let go of the children and converged on the cage. Anthony felt his father even more strongly.

  Open your heart son, just for a moment – let me in!

  Anthony thought of his father – his strong, dependable arms; his loving smile; the day at the mill – a pastiche of father and son moments that swelled inside until...

  Up on the stage, Dominic’s soul vanished before the demons’ very eyes, the cage left empty.

  ‘No, that’s impossible!’ Crispin howled. He turned to look at Anthony and saw, to his horror, the other children jumping from the stage. Anthony Moore stood tall; his father’s strength shining from within.

  ‘You can’t have my son,’ Anthony said. ‘And you can’t have these other children either.’

  ‘Get them!’ Crispin said. His minions obeyed, rushing from the stage towards the group, but Anthony stood in front of them; their new protector.

  ‘Anthony!’ a voice resounded in the woods.

  Madeline came running from the woods, silver urn in her arms. She beheld the monsters, saw the sheer terror in the other children’s faces, the bravery in her son’s.

  ‘Give me the urn – now!’ Anthony said.

  She threw the urn in the air and it soared, rolling and turning right into her son’s hands. Immediately, he removed the lid and scattered the ashes in a torrent. There was a flash of light, so bright it repelled the darkness and toppled the charging monsters to the ground.