Fetid

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A fantasy show story about a trip to a carnival at the edge of the Amazon jungle.

Submitted: November 29, 2019

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Submitted: November 29, 2019

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FETID

 

The spider crawled lazily up the mottled green stucco wall and onto the paint-by-number landscape that belied the real one poking through the yellowing Venetian blinds covering the dusty window of this cheap hotel room.  No radio, no clock, no fan, not even a Bible, just the high-pitched rapid-fire cadence of cicadas on speed. Standing in the doorway I could see the dim glimmer of a Fair off in the distance. I felt as though I was in some tacky beach town, but instead of being on the edge of the ocean, we were on the edge of the jungle.  Hence no cool breeze wafted over me, just the still fetid air of the dense foliage. Where the town stopped, the jungle began, like a dark curtain on a dim stage. I had to get out of this room. Soon I came to the Zocalo in the center of town. It was teeming with activity. The ambient sound was a high-pitched cacophony of staccato language. The din ran right up my spine and I was grateful that I couldn’t understand a word.  It seemed that everyone was trying to extract something, probably money, from someone, and they didn’t have a lot of time to do it. There was a volatile craps game going on in the alley and along the wall were tables of itinerant seers that included palm reading, tarot and even the old crystal ball. People were lined up to hear the news, good, bad and indifferent. I got the feeling that they were glad to hear about any future as long as there was one.  But I was intrigued by those bright lights in the distance that were strung out along the horizon like a gaudy beaded necklace. I kept walking past the town lights and down a dirt road, passing solitary figures huddled just beyond the edge. I picked up my step. Soon I could see the Fair. It seemed to be plopped onto the ground like thin icing on a stale cake.

The border was ringed with drooping strings of household light bulbs held together with old extension cords.  What if it rained? Would we all go up like a Roman candle? What a way to go. The booths that made the aisles of the Fair were done with makeshift old crates and boxes, but painted nonetheless.  The popgun booth had a lively illustration of a pistol, charging bullet and exploding rabbit, very colorful. I was beginning to lose my enthusiasm when I finally saw the Main Attraction. Past all the booths and children running wild, back in the darkest part of the Fair, was a row of large painted caravans and I knew, here it is, the Freak Show.  The first caravan had a fantastic painting of every mistake Mother Nature had ever made. I got in line. When I parted the greasy curtain, I couldn’t see a thing. Then, in the dim yellow light I could make out the outline of a long row of large jars containing the murky liquid that suspended the mutant figures between the worlds of this life and the next.  What a fate. Once inside the caravan, no one spoke. As if even acknowledging your presence would acknowledge the realness of the strange and sickening creatures. The first jar had a multiple headed fetus. God only knows would it would have become, had it been allowed to live. Now it was green-eyed and floating. One grotesquery after another, I winced as I turned the corner to see a pen of two-headed albino reptiles.  I had to wonder if there was something nuclear nearby. At the end of the aisle was the piece-de-resistance, a seated tiny skeleton dressed in a foppish old suit and a sign that read The Remains of the Famous P.T. Barnum Star, Tiny Tim. I felt better when I saw this one, just a bit of carnie fun. Once outside I spied another caravan, bigger, with a twisted and surreal illustration that ominously surrounded its name, Snake Pit.  I quickly got in line. As we edged closer to the door, I could smell the unmistakable odor of sweat and anxiety. Nothing like a pile of snakes to get everyone’s dander up. I moved inside the door and found myself on a platform encircling a large and deep pit. As my eyes adjusted to the dusty light, I could see the dark writhing pile of slime below me. Some were big, black and lazy. Others were small, quick and flew through the air in an energetic frenzy.  I held my breath and gripped the railing. I wanted to turn away but I was crushed on either side by two huge men. Just then a door at the end of the platform opened and a bare-chested man languidly strolled out. He was covered in tattoos. There were two blackbirds on either breast, a lurid cartoon of a dying woman stabbed in the heart covering one entire arm and a large black snake encircling the other bicep. He held a whip in his hand. His thin moustache seemed to be strung across his sneering mouth like a punctuation mark.  He took a small microphone out of his dirty pants pocket and spoke. “ Ladeez and Genteelmen, I give you the great Fahteema, mystery girl of the Amazon. Where did she come from? No one knows. No human mother or father has ever been found. She emerged from the dark jungle morass and has never spoken a word. She lives on a diet of rodents and small creatures. Is she human or is she reptile? Who is to say? I dare any of you to enter her cobra-like realm. He then held up a small flashlight, to shine a spot at the other end of the pit.  There stood Fatima, small and dark, with the body of a young girl but the face of someone much older. With her childlike hand she reached into the slithering mass and up swung an enormous black python, strung across her arms like a shiny scepter. She lowered his massive head towards hers. Then she opened her mouth and out came a long tongue. It darted and snapped to meet his and I could swear that hers was forked as well. Both python and Fatima were very familiar with each other and did a dance that could only have come from the darkest nether regions of the Amazon.  When it was over I was completely wet and rooted to the spot. Everyone around me seemed to disappear. The sinewy carnie snake-man came over to me and I could smell the musk of the Fair about him. Still I couldn’t move. His eyes were watery green and in his gaze I could see the reflection of the writhing pit below. He leaned into me and said,” Are you intrigued with my little show?” I couldn’t speak but found myself nodding. “Well then, I have something so rare and dangerous that it must be kept well away from the other animals. I’m going to feed him now. Come along.”  With that, he grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip and led me away from the Fair. I was caught between fear and intrigue, repulsion and desire. My voice inside was screaming, “Run away!” while I stumbled along behind him, still firmly held in his grip.

We came to his private wagon, also painted but with ancient symbols and arcane figures depicting the seven deadly sins.  In a moment the door was open and I was inside. As he lit a candle I sank down, only to realize that I was on the bed. The walls were painted shiny purple and hung with grotesque demon masks from the Amazon.  He turned to me, his mouth twitching into a sort of smile and said,” Let me introduce you to Othello.” There, at the far end, was a glass case. Inside I could see the muscular smooth skin of his big pet. The Anaconda Othello lifted his heavy head and opened his jaw so wide I could see deep down into his dark gullet.  “ Oh my, Othello, we are so hungry tonight.” He opened a small cage, scooped up a live chicken and through it to the beast. Othello eyed the frantic bird for less than a heartbeat, then-snap, it was gone, all but the odd feather floating above his sinister head. Then the carnie turned to me and said,” Didn’t think anything so big could move so fast, didja?”  In my uncontrollable shaking I couldn’t speak but could only inch back against the wall. His mouth was twitching again. I could see that skinny moustache dance above his bared teeth as he undid his silver belt. He slid out of his leather pants and said,” Now you must meet Othello II.” Instantly his other massive snake sprang out. It definitely rivaled the beast in the glass box but this one was coming towards me.  Then I felt something else moving up my leg that I knew was not him. Again I wanted to run but between his muscular grip and my unholy desire I was rooted to the spot. Fatima’s monstrous tongue began making its way up my body. She lay across my legs and held my thighs tight as her tongue moved through me like an electric eel. He rose up and straddled my chest, stroking his cock-pet with my breasts. I reached out to explore her dusky, exotic body.  Her breasts were small, hard and marked with ritual tribal tattoos that extended down past her flat stomach to encircle her genitals. I felt a small but perfect penis and below that an equally perfect vagina. Fatima smiled as she entwined her arms and legs around me. Her lush mouth covered mine as that long tongue electrified me once again. Othello’s Daddy rose up as his long strong fingers dug into my thighs. I was screaming again but this time for that big pet of his to come home.  We writhed on the bed like the snakes in the pit and as my body burst into flame I swear I could hear them hiss. I felt the wagon leap with a soft jolt. Fatima slipped off a silver bracelet and with the sweetest caress, placed it around my ankle. We moved off into the night.


© Copyright 2019 lafayetta. All rights reserved.

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