Brooke stared at her a moment before choosing to ignore the comment. Instead, she asked “You know him? You know who I’m talking about?”
The woman nodded, “You’re talkin’ about the ol’ Warlock a’ Karthaus, aint’cha?”
“I don’t know,” Brooke admitted, glancing at me. I shook my head. Samuel hadn’t referred to the Melted Man by that name, and it hadn’t yet surfaced during our investigation. “What do you know about this ‘Warlock?’ Who is he?”
The woman frowned, the lines on her face deepening into crumpled ravines. “Can’t say I remember all that much,” she said. “Somethin’ my cousin was on about a few years back, I think. She was from ‘round those parts.”
“Kar-haus?” Brooke attempted to reproduce the name.
The old woman narrowed her eyes, “Not from ‘round these parts, are ya?”
“No,” Brooke said, “what’s the story? What do you remember? Please.”
“Well,” the card player sat back in her seat, rubbing her chin contemplatively. “Seems this man ‘a your’s was an escaped convict--”
The woman beside her slapped a handful of cards against the first woman’s wrist, as if punishing a misbehaving pup. “From the circus!” she interjected, “like this young lady was sayin’. He was in one of them sideshows.”
“Sideshows?” Brooke asked.
“Because of his face,” the second woman nodded. “Was all burnt off.” She gestured toward her cheek, wrinkling her nose. “Was part of his act.”
The first woman glared at her. “Ethel, r’you tellin’ this tale, or am I? And you got it all wrong.” Back to Brooke, she added, “Yes, his face is burnt up, like you said. But it’s from acid… what’s that acid that burns things?”
“Hydrochloric?” Brooke offered.
“Yeah, that’s right. The parents of his victims got ‘hold of him after he broke out. They didn’t call the cops right away, though, oh no. They wanted to get their own justice ‘fore turnin’ him over to the authorities. They did that to him. Acid, like you said; left ‘im for dead. But when the cops came to get him, to collect the body, t’wasn’t no body to find. Just some bubblin’ burnt flesh on the ground.”
“Where somebody gunna get that kind’a acid?” Ethel demanded. “No, it was a FIRE. From the Big Top burnin’ down ‘few years back. Whole thing got covered up, though. Papers weren’t allowed to cover it, but everybody knew what happened. Lott’a people died. Some sayin’ maybe the Warlock started it, himself.”
“Thank you both,” Brooke said. “I appreci--”
“Now hold on here,” the first woman interrupted. “I can tell from that look on your face that you don’t believe a word we’re sayin’.” She cast a side-eye towards her companion. “’Circus; Big Top’, bleh,” she dismissed. To Brooke again, “But you take my word, Dear, the story IS true. He’s out there. I’ll admit, I might not remember ever little detail, exactly.” Ethel scoffed. “Oh, you hush, you.”
She went on, “But it IS a true story. It ain’t some ancient town folklore; it happened just a few years back. You want to find about it, folks with sprier memory’s probably can tell you more.”
Ethel shrugged, “Well, she’s right about that, at least. You find yourself out in those woods, you be careful.”
“Ok,” Brooke said. “Miss...,” she nodded imploringly toward the first woman.
“Maybeline,” the woman smiled.
“Miss Maybeline,” Brooke said, “would there be any way we could contact your cousin – you said you heard the story from her. I realize it’s late right now, but perhaps tomorrow, we could call--”
“Sorry, dear,” Maybeline said, chuckling again. “You wanna talk to Irene, you’d need to be one of them, uh…”
“Mediums,” Ethel suggested.
“Mediums,” Maybeline nodded. “She’s been dead goin’ on 8 months, dear.”
“Oh,” Brooke said, bowing her head slightly, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be,” Maybeline said, “it was for the best. She was in a lot of pain.”
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“’Course she was,” Ethel said, snickering, “she was YOUR kin.”
The two women laughed before promptly devolving into squabbling. Their third, silent companion only shrugged toward us and mouthed “Good luck,” as we took our leave. The warring card players didn’t even notice our exit.
~~~
We hurried to the motel after that. The storm was in full bloom, only slightly less violent than the arguing laundry-mates.
While all hell broke loose outside, we scoured the internet, searching for confirmation that the shared narrative was more than local fancy. There was nothing in the newspaper’s archives, no Wikipedia page, or anything of the sort. But there were a handful of scattered blog posts and such that mentioned this “Warlock of Karhaus.” Digging a little deeper and, admittedly, creeping onto personal accounts of the blogs’ authors, we saw that everyone referencing the Warlock was from either Karhaus, itself, or the immediate area.
At the very least, it was a local legend, and not a fiction invented by Maybelline’s cousin or ruse that folks in Clearfield told to nosy tourists. Details, however, were still sparse. There were plenty of references to the “Warlock of Karhaus,” but few explanations of who or what exactly that was – an “if you know, you know” situation.
It was pretty late when we wrapped up our due diligence, but before we went to sleep, we called Brent to give he and Laurel an update. We had spoken to him earlier, on the way to Clearfield, but hadn’t supplied any details. If the kid’s story was some kind of hoax, we’d have been offering false hope just to smash it hours later. After hearing the earnest (if conflicting) accounts of the launderers, and discovering some online corroboration of their “Warlock,” though, we felt it was time to tell them everything we learned.
Brase still hadn’t shown up or contacted them, so we pledged that if he didn’t surface by morning, we’d go to Karhaus. It would be ALL of us – Brent, both elated and confused by the sighting, insisted that he would be able to wriggle out of work to join us. We learned from Laurel that by lunchtime his boss was already pleading with him to go home, seeing the state he was in. He even contacted Laurel, pleading with her to convince him. Pressured by both parties, Brent finally relented.
He does have an issue with a family friend that he needs to deal with before joining us. He’ll head out as soon as that is taken care of. He spoke privately to Brooke about it for a few minutes, but the rest of us didn’t pry.
In the morning, we were Karhaus-bound. Hiking, riding, whatever we needed to do, we’d get there. We wanted to probe deeper into the legend of this warlock, and that town seems to be the epicenter of information on the topic.
Now we’re up-to-date – we are en route to Karhaus. Fortunately, the storm let up during the night, so the upper 90% of our bodies are staying dry. Soggy boots and socks, sure, but I can live with that.
Foolishly, we didn’t think to get the fishing family’s contact information when they dropped us off. There is absolutely no ride sharing service out here and the one taxi company agreed to pick us up in “3 or 6 hours.” Dean thought it was a joke and started to play along, “Eh, I don’t know, could you be less specific? I’m good with 20 minutes from now or next Autumn.” The employee was being serious, though, and didn’t appreciate the joke. He hung up on us.
So, the hell with it. We’re walking. By the time we could have flagged down a helpful motorist or waited on that taxi company, we could already be at our destination.
I realize how crazy this must seem. Little girl sees Brase with, presumably, the Melted Man. Two women in Clearfield give conflicting accounts of a legend about a guy who MIGHT be the same person. They aren’t even thin threads, they’re shredded tatters. They’re also all we have to hold onto. If Brase is on a trail, at a friend’s house, or cooling off in a hotel somewhere, so be it. I don’t mind wasting my time to help some friends’ peace of mind.
But if he’s not, if he might actually be with this person – Warlock, disgraced carnie, whoever the hell he is -- we need to find the guy, and hopefully Brase with him, as soon as possible.
~~~
We just heard from Brent. “Cops might be calling you, all of you.”
“You put in a report?" Brooke asked.
“I did, though I don’t know how much good it will do. I just wanted to warn you.”
“Why won’t it do any good?”
Brent sighed. “Because the person I spoke to didn’t sound very interested. He said they had ‘other things to worry about besides your brother going hiking without telling you.’”
More was said. Words like “dereliction,” “imbecilic,” and a litany of vulgarity were shared and agreed upon. Bottom line, it doesn’t look like the cops will be looking into the matter – at least not yet. I find myself appreciating how Samuel must feel every time the Melted Warlock shows up at his fair and easily evades lackadaisical law enforcement.
So be it. We’ll find the guy on our own, if we can.
Brent is still caught up in other matters, but he’ll be meeting us either in, or on the way to, the city in a few hours.
~~~
Today feels so different, even compared to yesterday. I preferred angry and annoyed to silent and brooding. What is there to say, though? We can’t even speculate anymore because every new bit of information we receive only further confuses the mystery. Nothing makes sense.
Yesterday there was an expectation that, one way or another, this would be over soon. Now? Who knows.
I was worried yesterday; I told you why. Today, we’re ALL worried. Brase is a free spirit, sure, but as mentioned before, when he’s gone off on his own, he ALWAYS stays in contact. Likewise, he’s an amiable guy, but no fool. He’s not going to meet a stranger at the fair and...what? Cheerily hop into the back of his windowless panel-van at the promise of gum drops? Come on.
What does that leave, then? How do you explain any of this? You don’t. You hike to Karhaus and pray that, somehow, the place holds some answers – answers that might, finally, start making sense of this mess.
* * *
We rushed all morning and into afternoon. Now we’re here, on the outskirts of the city. We’re just waiting for Brent. When he gets here, we’ll go into town and see what we can find out.
Hopefully there’s something TO find.