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It had all started with a childish prank. “I double-dog dare you to go into the old freak show tent and perform one act.” That was a simple request, right? The young Asian man saw no issue with it. The carnival grounds had been abandoned many, many years earlier. Only people hanging around there now were probably opiate addicts and miscellaneous riff-raff.
There was, however, a superstition that still prevailed even now. Among performers on the circuit, it was common knowledge that one did not perform any act, song, or anything else on All Hallow’s Eve. The reason being- that if you were to do so you would be haunted for the remainder of the day; until your soul was claimed by a former wronged Carnie. Some stories said it was a cursed ringmaster or former, popular freak. Regardless, the legend was there and now he had the choice of accepting or refusing the request.
The green-haired man walking up to the large, rotten tent was not one to back away from a challenge. He had a reputation for going against the grain and doing that which others dared not do. It was a source of pain and irritation, perhaps even shame for his family. His older brother often had to come behind him and clean up his failures but, that is what siblings did. They covered for each other. Now that he was here, however, he felt his courage leaving him. He pulled at the Forest Green silk tie that adorned his white, perfectly starched, and pressed shirt. There was a pause as he adjusted the gold encased emerald cufflinks in his brown tweed jacket. Popping his shoulders for effect. Looking back behind him he nodded at his friends and gave them a two-finger salute as he pressed forward. Straight backed, shoulders back, eyes forward. He continued with the aura of confidence that only kings deserved to exude.
Several feet he walked till he was in front of the browning and molding entry flap. Nodding to himself he advanced and slipped in silently. Inside it smelled musty and dank. The air was stale despite all of the holes that were in the old canopy. Next to him, the stands rose up and around in a horseshoe. Before his person, a good number of feet rested the broken, formerly red ringmasters circle. In the center was the lion's podium where he oft as a child had heard from his father talk about the beautiful beasts as their masters whipped them into tricks. It was a cruel practice at its core but he had loved it. His father was a cruel man and sometimes his sons, especially his youngest, had wondered if their father was not their ringmaster and they his beasts. To command and be obeyed lest they be punished. The old man had not been above physical admonishment nor had he been shy about public reprimands. Their father was a cold and cruel man. Probably the same kind of individual needed to parade around those with disfigurements and abnormalities for laughs and monetary rewards.
So lost in his musings was our young man that he had not noticed that he was now standing next to that garish red, yellow and blue abomination. Something in his eyes that had become a symbol of oppression and tyranny. The rage was beginning to bubble beneath the surface. A low, harsh cough came from his throat as he fought to suppress it. Now was not the time to dwell on past hurts or current ones that lived inside of him. He was here to prove his worth as a man. To show that he feared and would be cowed by nothing. The men of his family were above the lesser laymen who went about their days serving others. His family were the oligarchy. They had the money, the power and now he was here to show that only lesser men feared such juvenile beliefs like a cursed ringmaster.
Feeling a particular kind of arrogance that came from knowing you were an elite he dared to stand upon the circular, randomly geometrically patterned platform. Nothing happened. Just the clicking of his ostrich leather, two-toned brown and hunter, saddle oxfords. He did like to keep his colors running in a theme. The lithe man scoffed first then chuckled. “This is ridiculous,” he spoke with heavily accented words. They sounded East Asian. His friends had never bothered to ask where his people had originated. If they had they would know he was of Japanese descent. This was America though. A land where your origin or who you are didn’t matter unless you were European and White. His family had worked hard in the stock market to get where they were and they would not be denied.
Now, here in the present, he would not be denied his accolades for defying childish stories that had plagued a lesser community. Several thoughts went through his mind on what he could perform. Nobody had told him exactly what qualified as a carnival trick or enough to summon this specter that induced fears into the hearts of those who had once called this lifestyle home. Scratching the back of his head he swore in the native tongue of his forefathers for not having asked such a simple question. He would have to wing it then. Nodding to himself he went for the simplest choice, song.
“Satan, Satan, caught up a plan. Dressed as a man.” The words were sung badly but he figured an undead aberration wouldn’t mind too much. “Walkin’ the Earth, and since he began.” His singing was terrible and he knew his friends had to be laughing outside the tent.
“This world is hell for you and me.” A warm, baritone voice lilted through the air.
The young Japanese man spun on the balls of his feet in the direction of the voice and saw nothing. None of his friends could sing so this had to have been someone else. They had put another person up to the task of embarrassing him. Trying to scare him out of the tent like a milksop still on their mother's tit. He would not be bullied out of this challenge. Raising his head high, eyes narrowed he remained firm.
“But a Heaven it will be.” The voice sounded from behind him this time. He did not move. “When that man is dead and gone.” It was now disembodied. An elaborate prank indeed from his so-called friends. He would pay them back tenfold before dismissing them for this attempted humiliation. “When that man is dead and –gone-” A warm breath caressed the shell of his and he drew an arm back to elbow his would-be tormentor. Only to be met with air.
“Jumpy Lil’ thang, ain't ya?” The words sounded caramel sweet and just as rich with its depth. That was a voice the young man wouldn’t mind hearing again. Under different circumstances. The words came from in front of him. While he had been attacking his eyes had dropped down to the ground. A mistake his brother would never have done and would have chided him for. He quickly corrected his mistake and what he saw before him made him question a few of his choices before this moment. Materializing in front of him was a humanoid figure. Still not quite formed, the shape said male as did the vocalizations from earlier. Dark brown eyes narrowed in suspicion then widened in disbelief as what looked like an old western cowboy manifested in front of him.
Tall, bronze-skinned with chin-length sandy brown hair. The apparition had a full, well-trimmed beard complete with goatee and soul patch under the lip. Its outfit was ridiculous. The being was wearing coffee brown chaps with blue jeans, a beat-up old linen shirt, dusty brown cowboy boys that were mostly hidden under his jeans. Complete with spurs, oversized gold belt buckle, red and yellow trimmed serape, tan hat, and a cigar. One that the Asian man swore he could smell. Notes of whiskey, leather, vanilla, and tobacco were the dominant things he could scent.
The lighter-skinned, pale man took in the sight of this comical caricature and rubbed his face with a hand whilst groaning. “I don’t know who hired you or how the hell you were able to do all that from before but enough is enough. I will not be mocked and made fun of. Tell me their names.” Words are spoken harshly albeit tired. He looked affronted. The bronzed man before him chuckled and shook his head. “Ain’t nobody hired me. Not in a long, long, long time. Well before you were even thought of. As for whom it was that brought me here, why that would be you. My good Sir.” They grabbed the rim of their hat and tipped it forward in a polite greeting. “I’m sure you done heard that nobody ought to be preformin’ on this here day. Take it as a performer's day of rest. Their sabbath if you will.” The strange man began to walk around him slowly. Taking in his appearance but keeping his distance.
“I am no performer. Such superstition does not affect me and is beneath me.” The tensing younger man spoke. He felt the appraisal and hated it. The agitated male was tired of others looking at him for weaknesses. Trying to find some fault they could exploit to get him to do their bidding. His patience was growing thin. “Apparently, you are and you take your duties seriously. I commend your dedication to your art but I am not feeling kind or favorable. I demand you reveal to me how you appeared before me and who put you up to it!” Words barked out with an edge of hostility.
“I told you. You are the one who summoned me. You got somethin’ in your ears or are you just playing dumb? That is mighty rude of you if you are. That is the who and the how of my being here. What you should be asking is what I intend to do with you now that I am here and you have violated one of our laws. You say you aren’t a performer and yet you were performing a song and calling me to you.” A thick Midwestern or Southern accent came from behind him. The defiant man before the unnamed cowboy felt a hand run up his spine and back down again. Teasing a reaction out of him that he refused to give into.
“Am I to believe you are some cursed ringmaster or creep who used to perform here and are now going to take my soul as punishment for my ill deed? "Question coming out snidely. The clink of spurs was heard, a pause, some rustling of fabric, and then the arrogant individual found himself on the ground with a heavy knee on his chest. “Nope. I am neither master nor creep. I was however a performer who was wronged long ago. I guess you could say I am a little bitter about my –lovely- platinum-haired ring-mistress sending her muscle man to sabotage my gun resulting in my slow, agonizing death by shrapnel and gangrene infection. “The weight on the smaller man’s chest increased. “It isn’t the most impressive way to die but I got my revenge the following year, same day by haunting that bitch and her bodyguard all day; then stringin’ um up just after midnight. I stuck around and every year on that day I took the lives of anyone who knew what that harlot was plannin’ and I killed each till they finally decided to dedicate the day in my honor. “The westerner pulled out a massive Peacekeeper and twirled it in his hand. “Between you and I, by that point, I had already done got my justice and the rest was just for kicks. Once they decided to make this whole thing up, I decided to just roll with it. It’s nice to get the respect you deserved in life. The fear just made it all the more delicious.”
As he spoke, he popped out the cylinder and began inserting 6 .45 bullets. Spinning the cylinder again it was snapped shut with a flick of his wrist and came to rest on his knee. “After some time, people started to take the whispers seriously even outside the performer's circle. People stopped temptin’ fate and I started to get lonely. Very few people want to disregard the caution superstitions teach us. Like Bloody Mary and all that. I should thank you. It’s been a good 30 some odd years since some poor, stupid soul has dared to call me forth. Much obliged.” Another tip of his hat. The Japanese man beneath him was seething
“OFF. OF. ME! I will not be insulted by a cur like you. I am tired of this charade I demand to be let go so I may deal with your employers thusly!” Frustration bleeding into the pinned man’s voice. “Hey now! I thought I told you. The only person who summoned me was you.” An exasperated sigh was let out from the bearded member of the pair and rubbed his scruff with a free hand. “I am going to need to you listen now. You will die tonight. Before the clock strikes midnight, I will take your life, and there ain't nothing you can do about it. I suggest you stop acting like a child and actin’ out and instead make right with your gods or whatever you believe in.” The cowboy’s voice was getting a dark edge to it. His irritation bleeding in. Next thing he knew spittle met his undead flesh and the one beneath him looked mighty pleased with himself. “Fuck you.” The disadvantaged youth spat out then smirked.
The tent was silent as the young elite gazed up after his act of defiance. Those honey brown eyes belonging to the cowboy darkened and then they were gone. The man, the gun, the weight. All of it was just gone. The youth stood up and glanced about. Seeing nothing. Then his face exploded in pain and his head was forcefully turned to the left. He staggered forward, spitting out some blood. “You kiss your maw with that mouth, boy?” a menacing voice sounded from his right. The injured party whipped his head to the voice and hissed out “She is dead!” will all the anger he could muster. The stranger looked taken aback before all emotion left his eyes and his face became neutral. “Damn shame to hear. She could have taught you some manners. Too bad you won’t be seeing her. I normally release the souls I reap but for you, I am going to make a special exception.”
The green-haired gentleman finally felt something akin to fear brewing in his gut. Twice now he had witnessed this “person” manifest from nothing. He wasn’t one to believe in stories of ghosts and other being but he was fast becoming a believer. As if sensing his change of attitude, the mysterious individual in front of him brought his revolver up and fired past him. The empty canvas room echoed with the sound of gunfire. A stand erupted into splinters. The poor accepter of the dare swallowed deeply as he looked at the damage and processed that a real working gun was near him. His life was actually being threatened. With wide eyes, he stared back at the dangerous individual next to him and watch as the man turned his gun on himself. Next to his beautiful, smooth browned hair and pulled the trigger. Another loud shot was heard and the bullet went through his head and into another section of the stands.
Now the formerly dignified and arrogant young man felt true fear. He swallowed deeply and began to tremble. The being beside him was not human. This was in fact a ghost or malicious spirit that stood and had laid claim to his soul. Terror sunk into his very soul.
The phantom smirked and holstered his weapon. “Now that I have your attention, run!” He drawled out then erupted into a burst of ghastly laughter.
The only human in the room didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted out of the tent as fast as his well-toned legs could carry him. Tripping over the aisle didn’t slow him down and he scrambled back up and out the tent in a wild panic. His friends were sitting on the tailgates of their cars and smoking. When they saw his panicked state, they pointed to him and began laughing.
“Step right up! It’s time someone called the undertaker!” Words sang out into the air, sweet as honey followed by 4 shots. The running man came to a halt as he watched his 4 friends fall to the ground dead, several yards in front of him. He skidded to a halt, dropped to his knees, and sobbed. The sound of spurs and a revolver being emptied then reloaded sounded behind him. “I told you darlin’. I –will- be claiming your soul before midnight. I suggest you make peace with whoever you need to. You won’t live long enough to see the dawn.” Once soothing baritone now filled the air with dread.
Kneeling in the dirt the broken younger individual was ugly crying. His mortality was in front of his eyes and tonight his time on this earth would end. All because of his arrogance and need to prove himself to those who didn’t even care about him. He had been a fool. A stupid and ignorant fool. How he wished to turn time back and reject the proposition.
“Hey, there darlin’. Calm down. It ain’t that big of a deal. I promise your death will be quick and clean. Eternity as a specter isn’t too bad. At least you’ll have company.” Cheeky words were spoken but they did nothing to assuage the feelings of despair he was being consumed by. A sigh and then he was pulled up onto his feet. “Look, I got my reasons for doing what I do. You make your peace with who you are and what you have done and I will tell you why it’s your soul that I am keepin’. Alright? I know it don’t sound like much but faced with the sudden halting of your existence or burning in the eternal fires of hell don’t sound much better.” The words shook him from his stupor and he nodded. Eternal damnation, ceasing to exist was not what he would choose for himself. Eternity as a demon, entity, or whatever was better. At least then he would still be. Even if others forgot, he would still be. A silent nod was all that was given then the pair walked over to one of the vehicles, climbed in, and headed out leaving the corpses behind.
They arrived at their destination sometime later. A well-fashioned estate that has a beautiful whitewashed exterior. Hibiscus bushes and willow trees dotted the meticulously maintained grounds. They parked at the front of the main residence and exited their vehicle. The driver, the only visible person, handing off the keys to a light-skinned bellhop who stared up at his master with concerned eyes. Quietly, the pair made their way into the dark green and black marble foyer and up the grand mahogany staircase. Passed the paintings of his family, woodblock art, and statues his father and mother had collected. They didn’t stop walking until entering a room and our marked man closed it behind him. It appeared to belong to him. Clothes strewn about, some bottles of alcohol, cigarettes, and other refuse littered the room. It was clear this room was only ever entered by its occupant who seemed to not give a damn about its appearance. Contrary to the rest of how the house looked.
The specter cleared his throat and toed at a pair of boxers on the floor. “You don’t clean much do you?” The question was met with a glare and a rude gesture with a middle finger. His ghost raised both hands, palms up in a submitting gesture. “When I said to make peace this wasn’t what I had in mind.” Now it was the livings’ turn to sigh. “I have no intention of tidying up in my final hours. I am not a manservant.” Bitterness and resentment were palpable in his words. The undead member cringed hearing the words but said nothing.
Several long moments passed in silence. The ghost thought the other had perhaps fallen into his mind when a quiet question was spoken. “If I asked you, would you kill the man who has tormented my brother and I? If I am to die, I want him to live without being treated as a slave to this individual. I want something good to come of my life even if this is all that can be done.” The phantom walked over with a look of sympathy. A gloved hand came underneath the chin of the downtrodden one next to him. Turning that sad, tear-stained face to him. The other’s eyes closed to hide his pain but the phantom could feel it. It reverberated in the air. “You sure you want this on your conscience? Forever is a long-time sweetheart.” He cautioned. A defiant hand clasped his wrist and he was met with angry eyes. “I know what I want. You cannot imagine the hells that my brother and I have suffered at his hand. The humiliation. All we desired was freedom and even that was denied to us! His death will mean my brother can finally live! This is all I ask of you.”
The phantom nodded his head. “Alright, alright. Show me who this person is and we will conclude our business here. “Both members of the pair stepped away from each other. Understanding passing between them. They exited the room and began down the darkened hallway once more. “My brother, he is a strong person. Resolute. He will lead our family well. He is what they wanted out of a patriarch. I however cause nothing but shame. My tastes didn’t align with the delicate choices that I had been matched with. I preferred rougher company. This is obviously forbidden and I was expected to comply. I refused. Even if I may never indulge, I didn’t want to submit and live an empty life. I chose to rebel and live my life in excess. I had no idea that it would come to end like this.” The despondent shorter male narrated as they continued forward.
Further silence as the ghost felt no reason to speak. This was the other man’s final hour of life. It was just after 11 PM and his time was coming to an end. Let him speak his peace and accept this final deed. Large oak doors with two dragons locked in combat greeted them at the end of the hallway. “He is behind these doors. I will go in first, then I want you to end his existence. Do not draw it out. A quick and meaningless death would be the ultimate insult to him.”
The ghost gave him a thumbs up and pulled out his revolver. The green-haired man pushed open the doors and stepped through. In front of them was an older Japanese man with a scowl that could freeze a gorgon's soul. The man looked ready to scream when his eyes locked onto the cowboy. With a smirk, the revolver was leveled at the elder’s head and then he was no more. That bang was just as loud as the others had been and with it came a sense of relief from the younger. The younger man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Satisfied with the death of his tormenter he was ready for his own time to come to an end.
The gunman waited. He had told the other that he would tell him why he chose his soul but he didn’t know if he needed to do that now or later. A happy “Do it now.” was all the confirmation he needed and the hammer was fanned. The young man’s body dropping dead but his soul stood in the same spot. “We should leave. My brother is attuned to the supernatural and will detect our presence.” With those words, they both fled the scene. Avoiding the staff and authorities as they filled the mansion. They escaped into the night with no more words spoken.
Many years later the pair had claimed a few souls between them from those dumb enough to tempt fate. Never had the Asian specter asked what was the cowboy’s offense. It didn’t seem that he cared. They grew close over time. The shorter, now black-haired man confessing more of who he was. The pains and abuses he had suffered. His executioner also sharing the stories of his life. Highs and lows. Here they stood on another All Hallow’s Eve overseeing the younger ghost’s brother who sat locked in meditation after having made offerings to his brother’s soul. Praying that he was at peace. Not knowing his brother had already achieved that before his demise.
“I want to know why your mistress ordered your death.” The question was asked with warmth. A hand lingered next to the cowboy’s gloved hand. Attention never wavering from his brother. Scratching the back of his head with the other hand the phantom took his time before answering. “In my time, just like yours, it was unheard of for men like us to carry on. We lived our lives as was expected of us. It’s funny you call her my mistress since I used her to keep any questions away from myself.” A sad hum followed. “It was unfair to her but I didn’t see it that way at the time. I just needed the eyes off me. She found out though. She was not a woman you crossed and that is exactly what I did. She sent me a rather permanent message. Didn’t know it was her till she said so as I drew my final breaths. We’d done plenty ugly in our time so don’t go feeling sorry for her. She pimped some and piecemealed others. Freaks bodies sold for a pretty penny back in the day.” The bearded man shook his head.
“Why did you choose me?” Another question devoid of any malice or negative emotion.
“I saw a bit of myself in you, I guess. I used to be a Lil’ shit back in the day. I didn’t realize we had that much in common. “A gloved hand was picked up by a pale, ungloved one and squeezed. “I understand. I am glad we can both be our true selves now. This does not mean that I going to fall in love with you.” They both chuckled then turned to leave. Hands separating. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Though if you ever do decide that you are feelin’ some kinda way about me I’ll have you know I am a right catch.” Deep, smooth laughter rang out as they faded and exited the room. “I doubt that will ever happen. In all this time I have never even learned your name.” Words dry and sure. “McCree. Jesse McCree. And what do I call you, my eternal companion?” Hearty words acknowledged. “Genji. My name is Genji.”
The kneeling figure waited until the unearthly presences had left before he rose and looked behind him. Every year he was visited by the pair. Never had he seen or heard him until this night. Love blossomed in his heart as he thought of his younger brother, Genji, visiting him every year. Staying for whatever reason on this earthly plane to haunt his older brother. He sounded at peace- which is all that the older sibling had ever prayed for. Knowing this, Hanzo smiled then took his leave of the room. Content with the knowledge he would see his brother next year, and the year after.
Fin