The first work to be noticed was orignally titled, "Substitute" and won a contest in 1985. Todd reworked it and updated it October of 1997. Here it is in its entirety retitled as: Night In Shining Armor

Night In Shining Armor
by Todd D. Russell

"Who is it?" Karen said, running briskly to the door.

The keyhole betrayed the man standing stiffly on the other side of the door. He was almost six feet tall, wearing a black suit and crisp white tie. His solemn face was tanned to a dark perfection. There was not one wrinkle, yet patches of gray loomed out of the depths of his hair. No wrinkles in his clothes, nor one millimeter of lint. An interesting glow radiated around the stranger. Gold glittered around his neck and fingers like small bright lights placed randomly beneath thick bed covers.

Karen gladly opened the door without further hesitation.

"Hello there!"

The man straightened his tie and cleared his throat, "Ms...Klein, I, er, well..." He smiled awkwardly. "My name is--is--"

Karen peered into his colorless eyes and saw something she was instantly sucked into. "You look familiar. Do you I know you?"

The man cleared his throat again and scratched his neck. "Yes, yes, I am afraid you do."

"Then who are you?"

"I am...well, I'm..."

"You're...?"

Instead the man pulled up his jacket sleeve and showed Karen a gold watch with diamonds sparkling intensely.

This guy's loaded, I'm in heaven, Karen thought.

"I was saying," The man went to the neck scratching thing again.

"Yes, you were *saying*...?"

"I-I-I-I am Mr....yes, Mr. Smith! From the next street over." He pointed shakily, "the next street over, yes."

Karen didn't care where he was from, she was interested.

"What exactly did you want, Mr. Smith?"

"H-Harold, please."

"Okay Harold, how can I help you?"

"Maybe I'll come back later." He said, smiling and turned away.

"Okay," she said, "I'll be here or maybe I'll be--"

"I'll know where to find you," he said quickly, still beaming, not trying to be rude.

She nodded, watching the mysterious Harold Smith leave down the walkway. The sun was out, but clouds covered the brilliant rays as he faded into the day.

* * *

"Do you, Karen Terley, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Karen spun in confusion. People crowded the corners of her vision, dressed in fancy cothes and patient expressions. A huge pipe organ with a decrepit woman played the fateful song. The organist turned and grinned toothlessly as she poked rhythmically at the ivory.

She stepped back and focused on the groom. It was Harold Smith -- at first. His face melted before her, swallowed like tissue in a fireplace. His eyes drooped, nose sank, lips wrinkled -- all his features sliding and folding into a jigsaw piece of flesh, muscle and bone.

Suddenly the significance of Harold's arrival struck her and she jerked.

* * *

Karen's ears popped. She touched the splintery siding of her home and saw the rain begin to dance off the walkway. The sun was gone.

Harold gone too.

An inner part of Karen felt as empty as her home. She'd thought about a pet or two, but nothing could replace her world since Scott had been taken by the unbound bale of hay. The driver felt horribly guilty that the load had fallen off his truck. Who would ever imagine a bale of *hay* could jump through a window and suffocate her world.

Today Harold had sparked something in her long dead world.

An irony, because she knew exactly who Harold was.

Karen looked through the rain past the Ingall's house and examined what Harold had referred to as "the next street over." Her face was expressionless.

A deserted field shifted in the downpour.

A couple of hours dripped by as Karen sat uncomfortably on her recliner. The tube was a waste; endless sitcom and game show rehashes. She struggled with a romance novel, rarely taking an eye off the clock.

Tick.

She stared at the Mickey Mouse phone. Mickey never gave his opinion. He gazed with black button eyes and a curved line annoying expression. Karen couldn't get rid of Daddy's present.

How do you do it, Daddy? She thought. Always buying something. I really wish you wouldn't but I love you.

The recliner was a gift too. Wedding gift. Daddy was the perfect shopper in a crisis or on a celebration. He was the perennial lover of life. His gifts lingered in Karen's world, reminding her of things that stung. Daddy didn't mean it, no. He found shopping and gifts as a way to express his gratitude for having a daughter.

Mickey's eyes suddenly lit up.

BRRRRRRrrrrrrriiiiiinnnng. BRRRRRRrrrrriiiinnng.

"Hello?"

"Karen, darling, I am coming over."

"You are? Great!" She missed Daddy. She needed not to be alone.

"Will you have room for me?"

"Always for you, Daddy."

"I'll see you tonight, princess."

She went to prepare dinner. A family to sit around her dead dining set. When her mother had died, Daddy brought that over.

* * *

The doorbell buzzed a few minutes before seven o'clock.

Karen had done her hair in a ponytail and applied a pleasurable amount of makeup.

Harold stood in the doorway again, the sun dipping beneath red skies in the distance behind him.

"Karen it is time I tell you who I am."

"Oh Harold, I figured that out earlier. I made pot roast. Come in."

"R--Really?"

"You forget *I* was there with Scott in the hay thing too? Geez." Karen held out her hand. "Nobody every shakes your hand, Death?"

"Wow, I was really nervous about this. Got your assignment so soon and thought...what a bummer."

"You better be into pot roast! I worked hard for this." Karen elbowed Death. "So is there enough time?"

Death reviewed his gold watch and shook his head. "I d-d-don't -- oh okay, sure."

They ate pot roast and talked Life. Eternity. Everything but their looming appointment.

"Karen, I want you to take my place."

"Seems like a grim assignment, pardon the pun."

"I know you want me to take you to Scott and that is why you aren't clinging helplessly to life like the others."

"You got it."

"But I need to choose a successor and I'd like for it to be you."

"What if I say no?"

"That might not be a good idea."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you should do it. I didn't take you on our first appointment which means someone else's number came up. For every appointment I skip, another goes sooner than, well, anticipated. Scott was that way."

"Great job you have. I don't get any choices in the afterlife?"

"Yes, but every decision has its drawbacks. Just as mine not to take you earlier did."

"I'm not going around picking up people about to die. Forget it."

"Are you sure?"

"I never wanted to be apart from Scott. Haven't you always known that?"

"Yes," Death said dejectedly. "But after I saw how beautiful you were again I hoped..." He hung his head.

"You thought I liked you?" Karen said. "You are cute, don't get me wrong, Death. But...well, my heart belongs forever to Scott. I'm sorry."

"I understand, Karen." Death stood. He went to the door.

"Please wait, my dad's coming to join us. He's running late."

Death opened the door. "You can meet us later."

"You aren't taking me now?" She said and stopped. (EVERY DECISION HAS ITS DRAWBACKS)

BRRRRRRRrrrrrrriiiiinnnngg!

"No! No!! IT CAN'T BE!"

"Goodbye Karen."

The wind howled wickedly and the darkness crept inside.

"PLEASE NOT HIM!"

Karen grasped for Death's jacket as weak and helpless as the others.

"ME ME ME ME!!"

The bloody paw raised again and the Illusion made a loud, strangled throaty sound.

"I'll call 911," Damon started away.

"NRRO!"

Damon froze.

"Only you can help me. You must take it to Harry. Your turn. Youuu." It raised the paw even higher into the faint beam of the streetlight. Harry moved closer, the gun practically shaking from his hand.

He moved closer.

Closer.

"Nrrrooo tiiiiimmme."

He saw the bloody paw and his stomach somersaulted. Closer.

"Harry, youuu."

Damon reached. Only inches from the mangled paw.

The Illusion jerked and knocked the gun out of Damon's hand.

(touch meeeee)

The neighbors doberman's started barking.

Damon raised the flashlight in defense but almost instantly realized the illusion wasn't fighting. The pungent odor struck his nostrils next. He blinked several times, watching its death spasms.

Damon lowered himself and reclicked the flashlight. The light's beam sawed through the flesh of the Illusion, melting it like a candle. He saw its eyes fuse with its long bony nose. Its three red-white teeth outside its face pooled in the hot beam of the light.

As Damon watched the light rapidly cremate the Illusion, the realization of what was in its mangled paw seized his mind.

Nothing.

Damon awoke the next morning, showered, shaved and went straight for his jeans. Linda watched, just pulling down her covers.

"Damon, it's Friday, dear. Not Saturday."

"Not going to work today, honey."

Linda reeled from the bed. "Not feeling well?"

"You could say that," Damon pulled up his jeans and buttoned his shirt. "I've got to find Harry."

"Harry who?"

"The carnival in town. He works there. A magician, I think."

"What....why?"

Damon slapped his tennis shoes on and kissed Linda. "An unfulfilled dream."

* * *

Karper & Sons Carnival inhabited the outskirts of Medina like a storm cloud. Once a year it fell over Medina and sucked money from the townspeople. A week later sunshine reappeared. Damon Brooks penetrated the open gate on its second day of business.

He passed the carnies and various rip-off midway games. The nearly impossible ring toss, the slightly bent machinegun with red star gag, the dart--

"Three for five bucks, mister, give it a try." The carny started lowering the darts and quickly reclaimed them upon catching Damon's odd stare.

Damon's mind stirred with the picture of the enigmatic Harry. He'd woken with Harry's visage etched in his mind. Damon started to ask where to find Harry when a hand tapped his shoulder.

"This way," the tattooed-faced man said. His entire face was a jigsaw puzzle.

Damon followed the short man across the midway and into a huge black tent.

Inside there were rows of bleachers and a short set of stairs leading up to a vacant stage.

"Harry will come."

"Wait. How do you know who I'm here for?"

"Call me Stag." He rolled up his white sleeve and showed Damon a tattoo of a set of haunting orange-green eyes on his right bicep.

ONLY YOU CAN HELP ME. YOU MUST TAKE IT TO HARRY. YOUR TURN. YOUUUU.

Stag started walking away.

"Wait! What am I doing here? Why am--Stag, please!"

Damon wanted to run, jet as far away from the carnival but his legs were uncooperative. Instead he turned toward the stage.

Slowly his legs moved him down the aisle and up the stage. There was a table with a red tablecloth and black magician's cap. He reached, touched, and felt it crawl up his arm and under his skin.

The scream surfaced in his throat but lodged, unspent.

He picked up the hat and placed it on his head.

He turned to the crowd and Mom and his stepfather Denny clapped.

"For my next trick I will pull a rabbit out of this..." He reached into the hat and paused. Staring into the small crowd he caught his mother's mascara-smeared eyes. She looked up but wouldn't lock eyes with him.

Damon reached into the hat and felt the mousetrap SNAP! his fingers.

The laughing in his head began. The crowd unwittingly applauded. There was Denny in the front row grinning evily. The drunk from the abyss. He'd never belonged in either of their lives. He was the crack in the mirror, continuing to ripple and fragment until he--

"--took her to Satan?"

Damon turned, startled.

A tall man with straight black hair and a knobby face nodded slowly.

"She was a good woman -- my mother -- but Denny brought her misery."

"And that mousetrap thing... that was his idea of a joke?"

Damon raised his right index and middle fingers. "Broke them in two places."

"Denny blamed it on you, too. What were you, only ten years old?"

"Yes, said it was me just craving attention. Nobody ever believed me."

The man moved closer into the spotlight and took the magician's hat. He held his hand out. "I am Harry, Damon."

Damon shook Harry's hand, managing a smile. He was disturbed that everyone seemed to know him.

"Your confusion right now is warranted. An Illusion escaped last night."

"Escaped?"

"We've known of its insecurities and instabilities around here for sometime. It wanted out. For its own, well, complicated reasons. Stag was its guardian and friend. He felt betrayed and despondent. We almost had two tragedies last night."

"What the hell did it do to me? I feel...not right."

"Quid pro quo. It took your normal life in exchange for..."

Damon's eyes raised and then darted around the empty auditorium. "Wait one damn minute I'm not..."

"You're not what?" Harry replied slowly.

Damon tried picturing what happened to his real father. He could only focus on his stepfather's wicked scowl. It was one of many first pieces that had eerily vanished from his memory.

"I...I'm having trouble..."

"This is how it begins. Soon you will lose all but pertinent pieces of your identity, Damon. Don't fear, we will assist you with the process. You are among us, now."

Damon fell to one knee and then a sitting position. He stared ahead, falling, falling deeper into the chasm inside his mind while Harry spoke steadily in his ear.

"You dreamed of being a magician more than anything, remember?"

"I ... yes, more than anything."

Harry extended his hand. "Your car keys, wallet and wedding ring, please."

Damon's hands trembled and his head throbbed. He produced his wallet, car keys and touched his wedding ring. A sharp pain lanced his temple. He saw the inside of an immaculate church flash before him.

Harry knelt and caught Damon's fall, keeping Damon's head from cracking the hard wooden stage.

"What is ... happening to me?"

"Rest, Damon. Stag is here. He's *your* friend and guardian now. We'll handle the unimportant details."

"No...no...I won't...can't s-stay..."

Suddenly a medium height brunette with entrancing brown eyes stepped from behind the curtain. She wore a tight velvet skirt and her nipples poked curiously through.

"Ah, it's your number one assistant, Regina. Welcome darling."

"Damon, my poor baby." She kneeled beside him and laid her smooth hands on his cheeks. "We have a show later, baby, we need to get you in shape."

She kissed him lightly, then harder, pushing her tongue into his mouth.

He welcomed her passion, as her hand wandered down his chest, gingerly circling his belly button with the tip of her finger.

"In...shape," Damon whispered.

"I want you right here, baby." She said and started undressing. She pushed his hands to her hard breasts and moaned softly.

"Right...here..." Damon's mind had become a shell, ripe for cracking.

She pulled down his jeans, running her hand down his pants.

"Then it is settled, Damon." Harry said, clapping his hands. "Welcome to our family."

(!FAMILY!)

Damon feebly pushed away Regina's lips and she slapped him softly and bit the edge of his lip.

Regina rocked him for the next twenty minutes.

At some point Stag and Harry gave them privacy.

She climbed off him, spent, beads of sweat coming off both their foreheads.

"You were wonderful, Damon."

He stared into her brown pits and sighed heavily.

"The show is on in seven hours, Damon. Rehearsal time."

Regina led Damon behind the curtain to the dressing room. He had a white tuxedo that she helped him get into. He began to see her in his memory. Oddly enough sometimes her hair was blonde. Sometimes her eyes were blue.

"How long have I known you, Regina?"

"Baby, you know how I love it when you call me Reg. Ten years."

Damon saw a silver cross flash in his mind.

"And you never asked me," Reg said impatiently. "That's why we aren't married."

"I...keep seeing this church..."

She slapped his butt and smiled. "So do I, baby."

She handed him a thin rubbery mask.

"What's this for?"

He took the mask, making a face.

"Like Harry said, we're here to help you in the process. Put it on."

"The orange-green eyes are kind of . . . weird, Regina."

"Reg, Reg, Reg, please! You'll get used to the mask. Like you're getting used to me."

He started following her, raising the mask to his face. He felt it suctioning his flesh. He stopped, wincing. Warm fluid slid down his shirt. He touched it.

"Don't worry, baby, you'll be with us for the show tonight."

He brought his finger to the slit in his eyes.

Blood. The mask was eating his face.

He started screaming and Stag, along with a billyclub, appeared to silence an unimportant detail.

* * *

Stag's clever and yet grim illusion was his inaccurate description of friend and guardian. He was definitely Damon's guardian. But not from others who might hurt Damon. That must have been another of the "unimportant details." He was there to make certain Damon wouldn't escape. Damon was still coherent enough to recall how Harry had evaded why the Illusion had fled. Now the Illusion's reasonings were coming into dreadful focus.

FOR HIS OWN, WELL, COMPLICATED REASONS.

Why do I want to leave? Damon pondered. He felt unsafe, threatened. He didn't know where he'd go or what he'd do, but he didn't belong here. He was losing something valuable. Something constructed with immeasurable time and effort.

Quid pro quo. Dream for reality?

Damon continued the shotgun rehearsal.

Stag watched with a wry smile and somber eyes. He clapped after every illusion whether it was botched or not. Damon found that by wearing the mask his sleight of hand was become remarkable.

He also felt the mask sucking the blood from of his face. It was exchanging its twisted abnormal world for the life Damon was quickly departing.

He had to remove it soon. He feared the consequences if he didn't.

"With the card and table illusions done, baby, you always move onto the bigger things," Regina said and walked behind the curtain.

"I need some air."

Stag stood and the billyclub dangled threateningly at his side.

"Stag, I *must* have some."

"The show goes on in five hours," Stag finally replied. "You have rehearsed only ten percent of the act."

"Air, Stag."

Stag reached for the billyclub and then decided against it.

"You don't understand, you can't go out there."

"Why?"

Stag walked up the stage. Regina returned with two large connected boxes on wheels.

"Baby, you want to go outside?"

"I'm taking him, Reg. Be right back. " He ushered Damon to the right exit of the tent.

Damon stopped at the door. He analyzed the surroundings. These tents had to be inspected by someone. He looked for fire and smoke detectors running along the wall. None.

Damon almost jumped when Stag tapped his shoulder. Stag opened the door and motioned out. Damon stepped out of the darkness and into the sunlight.

He heard and felt it at the same time. Bacon sizzling on the grill of his face.

"AHHHhhhhh!"

Stag quickly shut the door. He grabbed Damon's arm and moved him back to the dimly-lit dressing room. The sound of running water tickled Damon's ears.

Stag pulled Damon's hands from his face and splashed his eyes with water.

Slowly, the world unblurred.

"Stag...it was horrible."

"You can never go into the light again." Stag started for the door and Damon raised a weak hand.

"Is that why the Illusion escaped?"

Stag didn't reply.

"Did the Illusion feel as trapped as I do?"

"You will get used to it."

"WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME, STAG?"

Stag opened the door and then turned once more. "You have fifteen minutes to regain yourself before I return. The show must go on tonight."

The door shut slowly, seemingly entombing him.

Damon looked into the mirror. He touched the flesh and felt where the rough seal began. The flesh seemed to move as if there was a heart beating beneath it. The ghastly connection continued. Quid pro quo. He couldn't fall prey to the Illusion. He studied his mind and a huge silver cross shone brilliantly again. Oh the beauty! No, he couldn't! The Illusion must not steal the beauty of light.

He took a deep breath and grabbed where the wriggling edges of the mask and his flesh grotesquely uniting.

And started ripping.

* * *

Pain. The degree that he felt as he raised his red, dripping face to the mirror was unbearable. He could see his eyes had turned blue

(again?)

and there was a thin translucent web of living sticky skin clinging to his face. It slid and fell off his face in maggot-sized strips to the counter, burning to nothingness in the mirror's glowing white eyes.

Outside he heard a faint, yet familiar voice. A discussion. His name.

(DAMON)

He recognized one of the voices from the pleasant corridors of his brain. The sunny, sandy place where the church with the huge silver cross flashed again. Not anyone associated with the carnival. Somebody he cared deeply for.

He went to the sink and washed his face. What would Harry or Regina or Stag do to him once they'd realized he'd removed the mask? His heartbeat began galloping.

He sought the room for a weapon. Stage clothes, makeup, paint, props -- WHERE WAS A GODDAMN AXE?

The doorknob rattled.

"Time's up," Stag said as he opened the door.

Damon turned the water faucet on and dunked his head in the sink, scooping the water into his face.

"You trying to drown yourself or what?"

"My face, it really hurts."

"It shouldn't anymore, let me see..." Stag put his hand on Damon's shoulder and turned him.

Damon imagined the billyclub being raised and lowered on his skull permanently. He closed his eyes, flinching, raising his hand.

A long silence. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Looks a little red, but the mask seems fine to me," Stag said.

"It...does--yes, good."

"Reg is waiting."

HE DOESN'T REALIZE I REMOVED IT.

"I heard a familiar voice," Damon said. "Who was out there?"

"Harry was talking to one of the marks for tonight's show."

Marks. The term carnies used to separate their kind from the outside.

"What's that about?"

"Come on, I'll show you."

Damon followed Stag. He caught another look in the mirror on the way out to the stage. His eyes were still blue.

Out near the back row was a woman talking with Harry. She had blond, neatly cropped hair.

"Ah, our Illusionist has arrived! Please, maam, come meet him."

The woman walked down the aisle and stared at Damon. Regina walked over and stood beside Damon. He felt like he should recognize the woman but didn't.

"I am looking for my husband, sir. My name is Linda Brooks."

LINDA.

The name struck warm chords, but Damon couldn't place it exactly.

"He got up this morning and has, well, he doesn't answer his cell phone, he didn't go to work, he--"

"I was just telling Mrs. Brooks that a day of absenteeism is hardly cause for alarm," Harry interjected.

"He mentioned this carnival and specifically having to see a 'Harry' and a 'magician'."

"I am an illusionist," Damon said, and felt odd for the outburst.

"You haven't seen my husband then?" Linda removed a picture from her purse. The man in the photo was tall and swarthy. A wedding photo, no doubt, as the man was in a tuxedo and Linda looked radiant and sexy in a long white flowing gown.

The man had blue eyes.

IT IS ME.

Damon was handcuffed by the unseen; he couldn't act upon his thoughts.

"Here is a pass for the show this evening, Mrs. Brooks. I'm sorry we aren't able to help you." Harry gave Linda the ticket. " Perhaps your husband was planning on coming to the show tonight?"

"Maybe. He always wanted to be a magician." Linda smiled and then closed the uncomfortable silence with, "Well thank you for your help. I'm sure Damon will turn up."

DAMON. Linda was his wife. HIS WIFE!

She started down the aisle and for the door. Harry turned to Damon, his smile twisting and turning into a grimace.

"She will be the mark for the grand finale tonight, Damon."

"I-I-I..."

"You will choose her out of the audience, Damon. It is the final test for an Illusion to be succesful."

Regina raised a hacksaw from the magician table. "Tonight I'll help you really saw a woman in half."

* * *

The rehearsal concluded two hours later but Damon remained only marginally prepared. He'd become living proof that you couldn't turn a dream magician into Houdini in one day.

Still, there seemed to be a more leading significance to the show that was about to go on in less than one hour. Damon tried mightily to carry on his own illusion, while looking for an escape.

Stag shook his hand after the last attempt of the levitation illusion.

"You were really good today."

"Thank you, Stag. Can I ask a question? Harry had mentioned to me earlier that last night you were despondent when the Illusion left."

Stag's black eyes darted away.

"Please, if we are ever to become 'friends', we must trust each other. Why were you upset?"

Stag was silent for a long moment. Finally he turned and pointed to the empty seats in the auditorium. "I can never be in their eyes what you will be."

"You want to be an illusionist?"

"Oh yes."

Damon took off the magician's hat and put it on Stag's head. Stag eyed him dreamily and then yanked the hat off.

"You don't understand. Tonight you will." Stag started leading Damon back to the dressing room where he'd wait for the curtain call.

"About tonight," Damon said, "what if I don't call the mark for the illusion?"

Stag stopped and turned. "The illusion will be a failure. You will have to be let go."

"Let go?" Damon tried not to sound as enthused as he felt. "As in...released?"

"Yes." Stag opened the dressing room door. "Being that I am assigned your permanent guardian, I would have to kill you. I am guarding you from temptation, among other things."

Damon walked in and sat in front of the mirror. The door closed and locked behind him. Obviously Stag didn't trust him at all. But why hadn't Stag seen him unmasked?

Regina entered forty minutes later. The sound of the audience beginning to file in outside was loud behind the opened door.

She sat next beside him and stroked his cheek.

"Reg, I don't know if I am ready for this."

"I'll be there, baby, right through the finale."

She turned his head and planted a long and wet kiss on his lips. Damon pulled away and stared into her eyes. She was everything he wanted in a fantasy. But the simplicitiy of

(!Linda!)

and the life he'd left this morning was the stability a man ultimately desired. Dreams couldn't hold their framework for eternity.

"I need to ask you something, Reg."

"Anything, baby."

"Stag says if I can't go through with it, I'm dead. I...I don't know if I can."

She tittered and kissed him again. "You were dead from the boring world you knew the instant we first made love, baby. We can explore your every fantasy, Damon, together. You and I. Forever."

"I ... this whole thing scares the hell out of me."

"Very soon it won't matter anymore."

"Is the show tonight about more than me, Reg?"

Reg kissed him again. "I want you again, Damon."

He pushed past her kisses. "It's about the Illusion and reality merging, isn't it?"

She pulled off his shirt, kissing him repeatedly.

"If I am successful what kind of madness will I unleash, Reg?"

She removed his pants and pulled him onto the floor.

He violently slapped her face.

She recoiled, rubbing the red patch on her cheek.

"Never again."

She nodded, the tears pooling in her eyes. "You still love her, you bastard! I'm going to tell Harry--"

Damon grabbed Regina's throat and shoved her back against the door. Her eyebrows rose.

"You'll tell him nothing! I'm a married man. You may have taken my belongings and my face but you haven't taken my soul."

Regina gasped.

"Yes, some things go beyond the mind, don't they?"

"Y-you a-a-re e-e-vil!"

The door opened and Stag walked in.

Damon threw Regina to the floor. Realizing that it mattered who got there first, he made the first move toward Stag's billyclub.

Stag punched Damon with a left fist and the sound of crunching bone echoed in the room. Damon pulled the billyclub out of Stag's holster and they tested each other's strength. Damon turned, knelt, and flipped Stag and the billyclub over him and crashing into the mirror. Glass exploded throughout the dressing room, some of which sank into both men's flesh.

"YOUUUUUU!!!" Damon screamed, wrenching the billyclub free.

Regina rose to her feet, shaking her head. She raised her long fingernails and raked Damon's back.

Damon turned and slammed the billyclub on her skull. This time she fell unconscious, a line of crimson zig-zagging across and down her forehead. Stag rushed from behind with shards of glass sticking from his jigsaw cheeks. Stag sacked Damon like a quarterback and into a chair which blew apart upon impact.

Damon grabbed a chair leg and started hammering Stag's head. He collapsed and Damon raised and lowered the broken leg four more times until Stag stopped twitching.

He wiped the blood from his lip and turned for the door.

Harry stood in the doorway and applauded.

"How clever, Damon. You've unmasked yourself."

Damon raised the leg and felt something invisible grab his wrist and bend it backwards. He watched his hand shake and finally drop the wooden weapon.

"The Illusion chose well, indeed. You are strong."

"I know what you are up to and the show is never going on."

"You really think so?"

Damon felt the constriction on his throat began. He raised a hand fleetingly. Fell to one knee.

"I could choke away your pathetic life right here, Damon."

"C-c-can't-...b-b-b-reaathe..."

"No you can't, can you?" Harry said, laughing. "I can't change that you've been chosen for more than death. Look at them waiting for you out there."

Invisible hands grabbed Damon and lifted him like a puppet. Forced him to the doorway. He could see the attendees calmly and orderly filing into the tent.

"What is inside your head is the remnant of the greatest Illusion the carnival world has ever known. They have come from everywhere to see you perform tonight. *THE* Illusion. The show *will* go on."

The hands pulled him back and slammed him on another chair.

"W-what are they?"

"They are illusions, too, Damon. The only one who isn't is your precious Linda. You *will* give them what they came here for tonight. Proof that the transference is possible from reality to illusion."

Harry walked over and grabbed Regina's hair and hoisted her head. He reached beneath her chin and started ripping her mask free.

Damon's blood iced in his veins.

"There are supplicant and performer masks. You are a definitely a performer, Damon." Harry shook the limp, dripping mask while Stag climbed slowly to his feet.

"My god...you are all Illusions?"

"Not me," Stag said, rubbing his chin.

"He's so stupid he couldn't even tell you were unmasked," Harry said, glowering at Stag. "Go get his lovely Linda. Or do I need to hold your hand for that too?"

"No, sir." Stag paused only to reclaim his billyclub.

"What are you doing with Linda?"

"It is obvious you won't cooperate unmasked. We'll have to cancel the sawing-the-wife-in-half finale in favor of the truth."

"Why am I so damned important to your plan?"

"Tonight after the Illusions see your successful transference they will leave and begin branching out to other marks inside the carnival ground. Then they will spread across the country replacing daylight with Illusions."

"You are an insane race."

"What the mind doesn't comprehend it labels."

"You don't miss the light?"

"We don't need the sun to wage our war."

"That's exactly what it is too, 'a war'. Why can't we just co-exist? As we always have. We'll keep our dreams you keep yours."

Harry shook his head defiantly.

"I'll never help you."

"Unmasked you won't, no."

Regina's mask dangled threateningly in Harry's hand.

"Regina's mask is for me?"

"Get your hands off me!" Linda cried as Stag and her burst into the room.

"No," Harry said, "it is for her."

Harry pushed the mask over Linda's face and her screams were muffled as the heinous interweaving of flesh and mask began.

"You son of a b--"

The constriction on his throat tightened.

Harry moved over and kneeled before Damon. "I never thought you were the greatest, DENNY."

DENNY.

Damon's eyes bulged. At last the Illusion's host became obvious. His stepdad who had disappeared years ago in search of a fantasy.

"I thought the bastard was dead."

"That's what people think when you join the carnival, Damon." Harry said. "We cling to a life of our own. Literally."

Linda fell to the ground, whimpering as the mask slowly devoured her face.

"Please let her go, take it off, she's not part of this."

"Oh, but she is, DENNY. You wanted to show them how you did it. Tonight you planned to demonstrate."

"You told me that the Illusion escaped."

"Denny wanted to show how this transference was possible. We don't know how the illusion works. Only you do."

"Denny isn't only in my painful memories. I tore off that mask and he is fading as we speak."

"NO! The process is weakening, yes, but a new mask will help reverse the process. It is all in the name of the Illusion."

"Who's mask?" Damon asked.

Harry motioned Stag to hold Damon's arms.

Harry reached up to his chin and started ripping it free.

"No! Please!"

Stag held Damon's arms.

The mask removed, Harry's eyes drooped and sagged. A vile red-green fluid rained off his face. "We die without the mask, Damon. It's how we embrace the dream."

"It's how you embrace the nightmare! Stop this, please!"

"You weren't the best, DENNY. I was. Now I'll show them."

"PLEASE, NO! PLEASE! NOT AGAIN!"

Harry shoved the mask over Damon's face.

"Now we'll work together again, Denny! You and I showing them how it's done!"

Stag removed the billyclub and cracked Damon's skull. Damon felt the flesh wriggling and burrowing, interweaving the flesh and fantasy again.

"GET IT OFF! PLEASE! PLEASE!!"

"I'm going to join my station for tonight's show, Denny. I will reclaim what's mine when this is over." Harry walked to the door as Damon kept cringing in pain. "Stag, I trust you'll ensure our fine illusionist and new number one assistant are ready? Don't you dare botch this."

Stag grunted approval.

The door slammed and locked.

Stag let Damon fall to the floor.

"Take it off! PLEASE!"

He tried to raise quavering fingers to the mask but he couldn't. With the remainder of Denny's mask and Harry's new mask the procedure's intensity was magnified. He trepidated on the floor.

Stag watched Damon and Linda, flinching.

"Help me, Stag...please...PLEASE."

"I can't."

"You wanted to be the illusionist, take it, TAKE IT! PLEASE!"

"I CAN'T."

"You can."

"No!"

Linda moaned.

Damon reached out and felt her hand. "Linda, it's Damon! Your husband! It's ME! Please! DO you remember?"

"Damon...yes...I...do..."

"These masks suck our identities. We won't know who we are soon. I want...you to know...I love you more than anything."

"I love you too. This hurts, Damon."

"I know, I know honey. I just want...you to know...the dream wasn't worth it...okay? Okay? PLEASE... whatever we become, I will always love you."

"The show goes on in five minutes," Stag interupted. "Time to get dressed you two."

"Stag, please help us! Don't let Harry and Denny control you forever!"

Linda finally joined Damon in crying, "PLEASE STAG!"

Damon raised his hand feebly.

Stag reached for Damon's hand and they both felt the brief beating of Denny's coal-black heart. Then there was the horrible arctic feeling of the complete absence of humanity. Gone. Nobody alive anywhere, no dreams, no realities. No one.

Nothing.

Nowhere.

They travelled across the states via buses, trains, airplanes, cars--one had even hitchiked. They appeared to the naked eye as normal as those living primarily by daylight, but clung helplessly to the night. They were a clever converse breed of reality. They were like those rooted with a passion for the dream, but finding no solace in reality. A grim and ironic realism which had thrived and existed for eons. Tonight they came for the golden gateway key between dimensions.

Harry stood dressed in a diamond studded tuxedo on the edge of the stage, a cordless microphone in hand, calling the action. Stag stood just out of audience view, his hand trembling above his holstered billyclub. Regina had dressed in a short red dress. Linda wore a long flowing red dress. The simpler illusions required her dress to conceal the truth behind the lie.

Damon stood before them in his black suit, bowing to the sudden outbursts of applause as he ran through the illusions, one by one. The Illusions loved him for the rumours of what they believed he'd done and what they believed he'd become. He'd become an icon in their society. A martyr with the courage and conviction to shatter the sacred gateway.

"And now for his brilliant sleight of hand!" Harry announced the final illusions, and Damon took out a hat and started removing items from it: flowers, cards, white rabbits.

Damon stopped after reaching into the hat for the last item. An intense heat overtook him like the stagelights beating down on his forehead. He turned and locked eyes dreamily with Stag.

Suddenly he was walking down the aisle in the church and he saw Denny rise from the church pew. Impossible! Denny had long departed his world.

Denny raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

"What are you doing here?" Damon said.

"I've come for passage back."

Damon looked around and the procession had frozen. The sound of the organ was stuck on an E chord. EEEEEEEEEEEEEE. All heads were locked with varying expressions.

"What do you want from me, Denny? What have I ever done to you?"

"You've shown me how dream exists. Now that I've been there, I want back! Your mother told me to goto hell. It's her fault."

"So it's Mom's fault that you went away?"

"I loved your mother, Damon."

EEEEEEEEEE

"You are sick. You needed help then, and you still do now."

"She loved you more than me, Damon."

"It's no wonder why. You destroyed her. You killed her!"

"You're almost gone, Damon. Pull it out of the hat and learn your destiny."

Damon reached deeper into the hat.

He felt it snapping his fingers like twigs.

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

(mousetraps mousetraps, everywhere mousetraps)

The scream welled in his throat.

The crowd applauded as Damon's arm was sucked inside the hat.

"NO, GODDAMNIT NOT NOT NOT DOWN THERE!" Damon cried as his arm was inside the hat up to his elbow. Suddenly the hat opened hungrily and began to devour his body. The snake-like hinge of the hat's hole engulfed Damon, then shrunk quickly back to its original size. The hat stared at the crowd, a motionless illusion.

The crowd roared its approval.

Stag raced onto the stage. "Wait!"

The crowd's applause waned.

"This is wrong!" Stag cried. "Denny has shown me the gateway!"

In the background Regina and Linda looked on in a zombie state.

"Stag is a supplicant, disregard him!" Harry shook his fist.

"To hell with you, Harry! This is not what they think."

A small commotion began.

"Silence!" Harry yelled. "I order you back to your post, Stag."

Stag turned to the crowd. "Please, this is not what you think it is. Denny didn't find the key to reality. He misled you, all of you."

The commotion began anew.

"Denny is enacting his revenge. Yes, vengeance is all this was ever about."

"No!" Harry said, shaking his head forcefully.

Illusions in the audience began to rise, grumbling.

"Harry won't admit it, but I will. I've wanted to be among you, but you wouldn't accept me. Now I'll die for exposing this, but this man," Stag pointed to the hat on the stage, "and this woman," he pointed at Linda, "they shouldn't be part of this."

"STAG I DEMAND YOU SILENCE YOUR--"

Stag reached for his throat and started gulping for air.

"B-b-b-b-b-e-lieve m-m-meeeee."

Several Illusions were on their feet and moving toward the stage.

"STAG IS LYING TO YOU! LYING!"

Stag moved his hands to his face and started ripping away the mask he'd removed from Damon's face. He held the hate-filled mask before the crowd as Harry crushed his vocal chords.

The Illusions turned and rushed toward the stage. They seized Harry and the microphone fell, popping and s-s-s-ssinng beneath wild, trampling feet.

The Illusion mob enacted their own ghoulish vengeance. They tore and ripped and shredded Harry's tuxedo and then set to work on his flesh. Handfuls of flesh, hair and skin were scraped and clawed and torn and ripped. More joined the angry mob, pulling, ripping, tearing. A swarming, enraged sickening tug of war.

Stag fought for his throat, turning blue faced. He moved toward the hat on the stage reaching...

Harry's strength weakening over Linda and Regina, they both lunged for the hat too.

"He's mine!" Regina screamed, pulling Linda's hair.

"NO! MINE!" Linda turned and bit Regina's hand.

Stag's vessels on his throat bulged and then burst, blood pouring from his neck. As the seething mob reduced Harry's flesh to ribbons, Stag's throat expelled hot crimson. He fell over, his body twitching and convulsing and creating a dreamy pool of death for his final wistful plunge from reality and fantasy. His last expression was a smile.

Regina reclaimed Linda's hair and pounded her face into the stage.

"He's my dream! MINE MINE MINE!"

Linda slapped her, raking her nails across her face.

"MY reality!" Linda lunged forward on the stage and grabbed the hat.

Regina grabbed and ripped Linda's dress away. She jumped and held onto her leg.

The Illusion mob had completely stampeded Harry. Their bloodcurdling wails filled the tent.

Linda reached inside the hat and the biting began.

Regina clung to Linda's legs, "PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HERRRRRRREEEE!"

(Mousetraps, mousetraps, everywhere mice)

Behind Damon and Denny, the door to the church opened. A cold draft curled inside along with dozens of frantic scurrying mice.

"So this is where you've been, Denny? Haunting my dreamworld?"

"Yes," Denny said, nodding. "Unfortunately for you I will be the only one who wakes up."

"You always wanted a better life, Denny. Jealousy is your weakness."

"You opened the door last night. And it feels *so* good inside you, but now I must make my exit."

Denny started out of the church pew row he was in. He reached the aisle and stopped staring at the doorway, eyes suddenly widening.

Damon turned and his jaw slacked also.

"Clarisse!--MOM!" Denny and Damon said simultaneously.

The EEEEEEE chord sang on and on.

"Leave my ssssson alone, Denny."

"He welcomed me back, he was tired of his reality."

EEEEEEEE

"You tricked him, you know there are rulessss." Clarisse said, but her voice wasn't Damon's mother. It was serpentine; a slow and steady hiss. "You tried to connect the other ssssside."

"Oh, and what a splendid illusion that would be, Clarisse!" Denny moved closer, his fists clenching. Tight coarse knots grew on the outside of his neck.

"Go Damon, now, while there'sssss sssstill time."

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Damon moved toward the front door and Clarisse's hand briefly stopped and felt his shoulder. It was a hot bubble bath soaking him pleasurably. He didn't want to leave the soothing touch. His mother had come to his wedding before her death. It was the last thing she'd ever done before cancer had ravaged her.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"No," Clarisse pointed to the front of the church where his loving bride waited for his eternal promise. "That is the only way, Damon. It will be different."

"I hate you!" Denny raced with outstretched hands for Clarisse's throat.

She opened her arms and welcomed Denny, the cancerous growths emerging from her body and entangling Denny like a hungry venus flytrap. He screamed as it snapped and then systematically crushed every bone in his body.

Damon moved toward the front of the church and turned the bride toward him. He missed his wife dearly, he longed for her lips. He missed his mother, but knew she was right. There was only one way.

He started to kiss Linda and stopped, stunned.

"I love you too," Regina said, and locked his lips.

IT WILL BE DIFFERENT.

Damon awoke with a start, reaching for Linda's body, but grabbing the air instead.

WILL BE DIFFERENT.

He looked around, rubbed his eyes, focused, rubbed, focused.

He was sitting in front of his laptop computer. Had he dreamed this all? NO, the pain, the eerie realness of it all was too much for a storybook cliche'. He'd visited hell. Or someplace worse. Now he was stuck with whatever he'd returned to.

THE ONLY WAY. IT WILL BE DIFFERENT.

Turning he saw the outline of the person sleeping in his bed, but the covers were pulled up and concealed the occupant's head. And identity. A mask!

BE DIFFERENT.

"No...please...no..." He walked over to the side of the bed, reaching for the covers. He hadn't brought Regina back, no, he couldn't have. He was satisfied with what he had. An existence of stability was better than the hellish fantasy he'd been sucked into.

DIFFERENT.

He grabbed the edge of the sheet and started pulling it back.

The face popped up through the covers.

NO, NO NO!

She started rubbing her eyes.

"Regina..." Damon recoiled, raising his hands to his face. The words haunted him. REG, REG, REG! CALL ME REG, BABY, YOU KNOW HOW I LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME REG.

He ran out of the bedroom and tripped over his shoes in the hall.

"Damon?" Another voice called. A soft lovely voice.

Linda.

But how could it be?

Linda walked in from the kitchen with coffee cup in hand. She was wearing a long red bathrobe.

"You fell asleep working on your reports again, Damon. You're working too damn hard."

Damon pointed behind him, speechless.

"Oh, Regina came home late from college last night. I told her she could sleep in the study."

His mother's voice resonated, THAT IS THE ONLY WAY. IT WILL BE DIFFERENT.

"Are you okay?" Regina entered the room. "Daddy?"

He fell to his knees, gripping his face.

DADDY.

He'd always dreamed of having a daughter. Always. It took a long time for the memories to fully deluge him. One by one, a sea of pleasurable rememberances washed over his mind, cleansing the horror.

IT WILL BE DIFFERENT.

Holding his baby girl for the first time. Reg's first day of school. Reg's first heart-crushing breakup. Reg and those hilarious, yet interesting driving lessons with Dad. Reg's graduation with honors from high school.

DIFFERENT.

They thought something was wrong with Damon as he sat there in a prolonged daze with tears racing down his cheek. At some point he pinched himself and stood and hugged them both. His family. Behind them a picture of the three of them hung on the wall which was taken last Christmas. Damon looked at the picture beside that and a secret smile rippled across his face.

It was a framed picture of his mother and father standing beside each other, long before cancer, before Denny, before deaths, before the Illusions. They each held wistful gazes. Damon had never recognized those expressions before as he did then. They had dreams too, he realized. Everyone had them. It was all about how they were manifested.

Although Denny had been unsuccessful with his malevolent intentions, his mother had somehow, someway, discovered the key to merging the gates.

THE END

Copyright 1997 by Todd D. Russell Home|