Tricks of the Trade

CW: The following story contains instances of Violence, Blood, and Death which may be too much for some beings to endure. Listener discretion is advised.

{Intro Music}

This is Queer Ghoul. An anthology of short queer horror stories written and produced by me, Adriana Oister, pronouns she/her and they/them. 

With various tales of horror, suspense, mystery, and science fiction, I in the role of “The Narrator”, will introduce you to a diverse set of characters each of whom trapped in their own hellish landscapes, and teeth-clenching nightmares.

{Intro Music slows down…then picks back up}

Monologue: You’re in for a real treat of entertainment and thrills with this story. For it involves a renowned archeologist, a lineage of magicians, a mysterious hero, and the question of if curses and the human conscience can go hand-in-hand. The renowned archeologist is none other than Doctor Charles Camargo, pronouns he and him. Known for his discoveries of sites of human sacrifice throughout history, he now claims to have discovered the answer to what happened to the lost colonists of Roanoke, even finding some of the skeletal remains of the bodies themselves. He’s brought them to New York for a new exhibition, but ever since it seems as though he has been plagued by unforgiving entities. The mentioned mysterious hero shall remain anonymous for now. And as to how magicians play a part in all of this, well you’ll find out about the Harris’s soon enough. I now present to you….TRICKS OF THE TRADE.


{Lightning Strikes}


Doctor Charles Camargo looked like someone who got away with murder as he stared at the encased human remains which were each fastened to the floor in their own elegant display with a glass dome over top. There were six in total. Each body was shriveled and brown and black. They were nothing but chewed bones and fractured skulls with open jaws stuck in a state of permanent screaming. He had a smirk on his face, glancing his eyes over the one body that was of a small child.

He walked around his new exhibition which was held in its own room in the prominent historical museum in New York City, which was just past the exhibit of a potter’s grave and The Hangman’s Elm in Greenwich Village. His footsteps echoed against the walls as he did so. He was the only one there as the museum was closed for the day, that is, if you didn’t count the mannequins which were scattered throughout different displays. His showcase was due to be open to the press and then the public in a few days, so he stayed after hours day after day, moving things around and cleaning them himself instead of staff. He wanted everything about his artifacts and findings to be a vision to be beheld.

            What he didn’t realize at that moment was that he was in fact being observed. And it wasn’t by fans or press or even the wax figures he would see from the corners of his eyes.

            A figure slunk into the exhibition room. It moved fast in silent steps, and blended right into Camargo’s shadow. It was unclear who the apparatus could possibly be, as they were dressed completely in black, with a long flowing trench coat which almost seemed to be a cape, its collar popped up over the neck, and a wide-brimmed fedora obstructed the face and a mask was fitted around the figure’s lower half for good measure.

Camargo busied himself with old shards of a knife in one of the glassed displays, and the apparatus glared down over the bodies in a dramatic pose. The tip of their gloved fingers touched the top of the dome. The apparatus looked over at a large panel on the wall of Camargo’s face. He was smiling, wearing a fedora of his own, while bent over a skeleton at a dig sight. The panel was right next to where pillars stood with blown up sketches of men in sixteenth century clothing with rifles, swords, and walking sticks at their sides looking perplexed as they scrutinized over the bark of a tree with the word “CROATOAN” carved into it. The apparatus held the coat tighter to themselves, and dashed silently out of the room.

However, before leaving, they stopped behind one of the metal pillars and flicked their fingers into it.

A shrill ping rang out.

Camargo spun around. There was a glint in the whites of his brown eyes. “Who’s there?” His hands trembled as he placed the knife and the glass back down. “I know you’re there. Show yourself. I’m not doing this again with you.”

An eerie silence made the room feel too tight for his comfort.

“Whoever you are, show yourself now. I’m sick of playing this game with you every night. I’ve done nothing wrong. You have nothing against me.” 

Silence and stillness.

He looked back down into the glass of one of the bodies, squinting and lowering himself further when he noticed that his reflection didn’t shine back as it usually did, especially with all the polishing. So he got down even lower, until his nose practically touched. 

A face appeared in the glass.

But it wasn’t his.

The ghoul’s face was gray and withered. Its silver thin hair flailed out of its splintered skull. Its mouth and eye sockets were black sunken holes. Out of the mouth came a horrid shriek which pierced right into Camargo’s eardrums. Frozen air shot down his spine. The high pitched shrieks formed into words. “Confess. Confess. Confess. Confess.”

He screamed. His hands clung to his ears as he pulled himself back, his eyes closed. He rushed himself right into the panel with his face on it. He opened his eyes to see the panel wobble, and he jumped to the side just in time as it crashed to the floor.

The ghoul’s screams dissipated, and silence filled the room again as Camargo grimaced in horror.

By the next morning, Camargo wanted, needed, craved, a distraction. That’s how he found himself sitting at a table with his bare legs crossed at the ankles. His elbow was positioned next to silverware and a plate with crumbs of toast and specks of jelly scattered around its white base. His tan tunic was buttoned down just enough so his black curly chest hair was poking out. His khaki shorts went up past mid-thigh, with a brown belt in its loops. His feet were in olive green sandals with black buckles.

His friend, or more appropriately, friends with benefits, was across from him and balancing a pocket knife on the tip of his nose. The blade pointed up in the air as he was deep in conversation. The man scratched at his black stumble and mustache which curled slightly at the edges. His blue eyes stared at the tip of the knife. “I was considering ditching the top hat. I thought that it may have become too tacky, too cliché for the modern audience. But Springsteen was the one to talk me out of it. We see each other from time to time when he comes to our theatre.” He said, his black gloved hands going into the pockets of his fluffy white cardigan. It seemed as though the man wore gloves twenty-four seven and Camargo could never figure out why. He thrusted his head up, the knife danced and twirled into the air. The blade of it came straight down, and the man clenched it between his teeth before it could pierce his tongue.

Camargo clapped. “I should have known after watching you perform Vincent, that any time with you would be a magic show.” His dark eyes gazed into the man’s blue. He unbuttoned his shirt even further until his entire chest was exposed. “I think you’re the most flamboyant fellow I’ve ever met.” His finger and thumb swept over his own thin mustache. 

Vincent balanced the knife blade down on the tip of his finger before placing it on the table. “Being flamboyant has run in the Harris family for generations. Since the late seventeen hundreds in fact. Blame vaudeville for our most current iteration.”

Camargo’s eyes swayed towards the large flatscreen television that was bolted to the far wall in the living space of the flat. It was stuck onto a news channel with a woman in a hijab delivering the current events. Next to her was a gritty surveillance photo of a figure dressed in black, with a hat and a long cape like coat.

Camargo gestured to the screen with his coffee mug, forgetting his true pursuit at the moment and Vincent turned to see. “Well look at that.” He said. “Some vigilante saved a woman from being run over by the train.”

The two men weren’t paying attention to the far side of the flat, where the front door opened and closed. A tall young woman stood with a canvas crossbody bag decorated with pins of horror, music, and literature references strapped over her shoulder, including one with three stripes of bright pink, yellow, and blue. She pulled her phone out of the bag, and sent a quick text before putting it away amongst her books. She heard the voices, and preferred to listen in and figure out a script in her head before making her presence known.

Vincent brought his coffee up to his lips. “I like how they flipped the script. Normally that outfit would scream villain, but they turned it around to work as their good guy attire. It’s important that if you do something, you dress the part.”

“I can see the thrill of it, being able to disguise yourself and work without a single person knowing who you are. Without knowing your secrets. Though with how technologically advanced we are, I just wonder how anybody can get away with being anonymous these days.”

Vincent shrugged. “I guess they’re that good. My family has been practicing the act of magic for hundreds of years, and no one has been able to figure out our tricks.” 

The young woman walked into the kitchen area where the men were seated.  “Maybe, a little bit of it is because people don’t really want to. Because if they did, it would lose part of the thrill. Life is a mystery and mysteries are meant to be fun.” She said to them.

Camargo’s face paled behind his coffee mug. His fingers on his other hand worked to rebutton his shirt. There went his plan, unless she buzzed away.

The largest smile Camargo had ever seen spread on Vincent’s face upon seeing the young woman. “You’re exactly right, my dear. Charles, this is my beloved daughter Marilyn. I’ve surely told you about her before.”

He did. Many times. Camargo’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t aware Vincent that your daughter was around today. Marilyn, is it? That’s a rather old name for such a young girl. Like Monroe?”

“No, like Harris.” The young woman said.

That was a particularly odd reply.

“Marilyn,” Vincent said. “This is my friend, Doctor-“

“Doctor Charles Camargo.” She finished. The seventeen year old approached the man, and she shook his hand. “The famous archeologist known for excavating lost sites of human sacrifice. You of all people should know what I mean by mysteries being fun.”

The praise lightened Camargo up as he studied the teenager. She was definitely taller than him and her five foot three inch father. She was wearing red, black, and white Converse sneakers which looked to have been stained in something brownish-red with dark jeans and a Goosebumps hoodie with the book cover of a girl and a horrid mask on the front. She had wavy long light brown hair, a round face growing more angled and matured, and a smile that matched her father’s. Also like her father, her hands were gloved, although hers were fingerless and a rectangular smartwatch was strapped around her wrist. But what stood out to him the most, was how incredibly piercing and bright her emerald eyes were, as if jewels were lodged in her eye sockets. He smiled back at her. “It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

“I’ve stayed up till three a.m. so many nights just to read up on your work, Doctor.” Marilyn Harris said as she moved her hands animatedly. “The unmarked cemetery of children you discovered in China, killed because rulers wanted warriors in the afterlife. The remains in Guatemala, where the Maya conducted sacrifices in their temples and painted the bodies blue in honor of their rain god. The grave you found in Egypt next to an old pharaoh’s tomb, who was believed to have needed his servants in the afterlife while also having to please Osiris. Then just two years ago, you found the remains in Greece at a site meant for honoring Zeus.” She stopped. “Sorry, I’m info dumping again.”

Camargo waved her off. “No need to be sorry. I admire an adolescent that’s intelligent. Nowadays young people are too busy getting involved in things that they don’t know anything about to begin with. Too busy wasting their time on social media and such.”

Her smile dropped and her eyes looked away, but only for a second. She caught herself, made eye contact, and curled her lips again in the same manner as Camargo.

Vincent rested his hand on Camargo’s arm. “Oh, she’s great, isn’t she? She’s the best, she’s everything. She’s my assistant whenever she feels up to performing, or whenever Jack gets injured. You remember the show that I did last week…”

Camargo couldn’t decide if he meant on stage, or in bed.

“The one on Thursday night. The trick with the person in the silver mask who was locked inside the water filled box while handcuffed in a straitjacket?  That was her. That was my girl.”

Ah. That one.

A light blush appeared across Marilyn’s cheeks. “Dad…”

“Marilyn, sweetie. Do that trick with the wire for the Doctor that I taught you when you were little. One of the first tricks I taught you. Please? For me?”

Marilyn rolled her eyes. “Of course I can. I see though that both of you just had breakfast, but I’m sure the Doctor would be able to handle anything considering the things that he’s seen. The things he’s done.”

Camargo and Marilyn shared a rather intense stare. He pondered what she could be implying. Did those green eyes see right through him? Did she know? 

She placed her bag on the granite countertop behind her. She waved her hand over her other one, and in the empty palm appeared a large, metal coil. She pinched the end of it between her index finger and thumb, and proceeded to shove it up her right nostril. Her fingers delicately moved the coil deeper into her nose, until eventually the end peaked itself out of her throat. She leaned her head back, and pulled the tip out of her open mouth, until the entire coil slid out and snapped back into her hand. Again, she waved her hand over the coil, and it vanished out of sight.

            Camargo continued to smile and clap at the end of her trick. She was right. His stomach wasn’t sickened. Except only for the thought that his friend had taught a child how to do that. “You must be a blast with the boys at parties, Miss Harris.” He said.

“Boys, Girls, Enbies. Admiration for entertainment goes far beyond gender.” She said.

Vincent was up on his feet. “That’s my girl!” He said, rushing over to her side and wrapping her in a hug, kissing her cheek. “I’m telling you, Charles! She can do anything! Master of illusions! I taught her everything I know!”

“She’s clearly a very bright young lady.” Camargo said. “It must be a dream for someone so young like you to live in a palace of a flat with such a prestigious family lineage.”

“Actually, I only live with Dad half the time, most of the time I live in the Village with my mentor. But I did solely live here with him up until I was fourteen.”

Camargo raised his eyebrows. “Mentor? What does this mentor of yours do?”

She didn’t get a chance to respond, as her father had interrupted. “Oh, sweetie!” He said as he tapped her on the shoulder. “Show the doctor what you can do with your voice. He’ll be sure to get a kick out of that.”

She didn’t open her mouth, there was only a small twitch in her neck. A sound came from behind Camargo which was identical to Vincent Harris’s voice, but he wasn’t speaking. “Do you mean like this?” The voice said.

Camargo jumped in his chair. He didn’t wish for it to show that a panic of fear rattled his nervous system. He smiled weakly at Marilyn. “Charming. But I have to admit I’m a little confused by you Miss Harris. Do you not wish to be a magician like your father and your family before you?”

“I am a magician, but I wish to do a lot of other things as well. Why can’t a person be more than one thing? I think living a life like that would be boring.” She walked closer to Camargo. “But enough about me. I want to hear more about you, Doctor. I left early today to go to the library, and you were all anyone was talking about. Is it true that you found them?”

Camargo laughed. “Of course, I have! And in just a few days, the public will be able to finally lay their eyes on the now found colonists of Roanoke.”

“What really happened to them?” Marilyn asked.

“I was out with my team in North Carolina when I found an area shrouded in rock and trees. When we got to digging, we pulled out various weapons and pottery and such. Soon, we started to discover bones, and ended up finding the complete remains of the bodies. That’s when I knew that we finally found them. A few of them at least. Naturally it was up to me to solve the puzzle of what happened all those centuries ago. And of course I have. You see, the colony was in waning times, and they had to make a decision on how to stay alive. Most of them decided to move in with the local Native American tribe, and they continued their lives with the Indians, the Croatoans of Hatteras. The others who refused, ended up destroying themselves. Out of hunger and desperation, they killed each other and ate their victims’ skin and organs as their final meals. Until there was nothing left of them but chewed up bones. The surviving colonists came back to check up on them, and finding such a miserable display, they buried the bodies in a hidden grave. They marked ‘CROATOAN’ on some wood for when the settlers would return with their intended supplies, and went back to their lives.”

“That’s such a barbaric end.” Vincent said.

“However, it’s not surprising. Humans have been murdering each other since time began. It’s a sport at this point.” Camargo took another sip of his coffee.

“That explanation definitely wraps things up.” Marilyn said.

“Charles, how can you be so sure it’s them? How do you know that the bones are that old, that they fit that time period?”

Camargo was about to answer, but Marilyn was quicker. “Radiocarbon Dating.” She said, “Long story short, so I’m not info dumping again, all living things absorb Carbon-14 during their lifetimes, which is radioactive. Scientists measure the amount of the isotope in bones and even wood and rocks to determine how old they are. Right, Doctor?”

            “Right. That exactly ties things up nicely.” He said. “And the bones I discovered are exactly from the same period from when the Roanoke colony was there.”

“But Doctor, I have to ask, as an archeologist who digs around in these types of sites and takes the bodies and artifacts, don’t you ever worry about consequences?”

“Consequences? Like what, my dear? Fame? The hounding press?”

“No…I meant more like…curses. It was said that Dr. Howard Carter let out a curse when he and his team discovered the tomb of King Tut. A lot of people who were somehow involved in the discovery died afterwards under mysterious circumstances.”

Vincent looked at his friend. “You did say that someone has been watching you while you’ve been preparing your showcase.”

            Marilyn perked up. “Watching you?”

“Every time during the last few days, whenever I’m alone with my exhibition, which is normally when the museum is closed, something off happens. It’s like someone is watching me. But it’s nothing for anyone to be concerned about. I’m certain it’s just nothing. The museum’s security even said so, they said they couldn’t find anything suspicious on their security cameras.” He leaned back in his chair. “Curses don’t exist. They’re only mind games played by the media whenever something big happens and leaves behind a trail of coincidences.”

Vincent tapped his fingers on the table. “Perhaps your mind is playing games with you. Maybe you work too hard. Your subconscious could be trying to tell you something. Something about yourself that’s hiding deep within.” He paused, then snapped his fingers. “I have a wonderful idea that I think both of you would love. Charles, tonight, why don’t you take Marilyn with you to the museum to help you out? She loves historical stuff like this, and she has expertise in museum exhibitions from our own family museum. She would make a great assistant to you as she does to me. She may be even able to figure out what’s going on, if anything at all.”

Camargo was frustrated that it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to fill his desire anytime soon. That was what his subconscious and his conscience was telling him. Nothing else. But, he had to admit, his friend had an interesting idea. Camargo balanced the yes or no in his mind. If he said no, if the teenager happened to know anything at all about what he’s done, he could keep her away and longer in the dark. But that was silly thinking really, how could she know anything about his doings other than what was publicized? But if he said yes, the circumstances could be more stimulating. She could make a wonderful assistant to him. She was clearly smart. Knowledgeable. Inquisitive. She had potential. She would definitely figure him out if she stayed by his side long enough. But then maybe it was better for him in that regard to say yes? Better to get rid of any loose ends that may tattle.

Camargo played with his mustache. “I don’t see why not. I’d enjoy the company. What do you say, Marilyn? Would you like to be an archeologist’s apprentice for a little while?”

Marilyn grinned, her bright eyes met his dark ones. He recognized a glint of what looked like mischief in them. “I’m so in.” She said.

Around seven p.m., both Camargo and Marilyn walked up the front stone steps of the coliseum entrance of the museum. The air was filled with the traditional urban living of sirens wailing, and the lines of backed up cars on the street in front of the museum angrily honking, including yellow taxi cabs. He watched and tried to ignore the police officers on the other side of the street, conversing with one another in a huddled group as speed walkers passed on by. He didn’t have anything to worry about from them. They haven’t caught him for years, and they won’t get him now.

Hours into their night, he looked down at his phone screen and saw that it was around ten p.m., and he caught himself thinking about Marilyn’s behavior. He couldn’t quite describe it, but he felt as though Marilyn Harris was a vibration, as clearly the young woman was excited to be there by the way she rambled and shuffled around from artifact to artifact in his showcase. Cleaning. Sweeping. Polishing. Moving anything he asked in a speedy mode. 

He glanced back up at her. Work was done for the night. She waved her hand over her other, and a playing card flipped up from between her fingers. It was a jack of spades and she rubbed the silky smooth surface with her thumb. At least, he thought it was a jack of spades, because in the next second he blinked and the card was instead a queen of hearts. She stared intently into the glass display of one of the human remains. Her green eyes reflected back at her.

“Doctor, can you please explain more about how they were murdered?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Certainly,” He said. “The bones are centuries old, and very brittle. But while reviewing the bodies we could see teeth marks along the bones. You can still see them if you squint hard enough. See, right there along the arm is a good example. The chewing of the bones is always a huge indicator of cannibalism. And most of these bodies have parts of their skulls shattered.”

“Blunt force trauma,” Marilyn said.

“Yes, exactly. I believe most of these colonists refused to be meals for another, so they struggled and altercations took place. Including a good wallop to the cranium.”

Marilyn looked over at him. “I can tell you take a lot of pride in your work.”

He chuckled. “Is it that noticeable?”

She shrugged. “I can just…feel it.”

There was a pause.

“My Dad told you that your subconscious may be trying to tell you something. Do you think they felt guilty for what they had done to each other?”

“It would only be human.” He said. 

“Do you feel any guilt?”

He froze. “What do you mean? About what?”

“Anything really.”

“No.” He said. A little too quick. “No. I have done nothing to feel guilty about.”

She hummed. “The way you’re acting says differently.”

She knows. She knows. She knows something, he knew. Maybe she doesn’t? Maybe he was just giving himself away.

“Whatever you’re implying, I find it disrespectful.”

“I mean no disrespect, Doctor. You said that their subconscious making them feel guilty would only be human. As far as I know you’re human. You must feel something. Regret. Guilt. Desire.”

He did feel a desire. 

A conscious one. 

To kill.

The lights in the museum started to flicker.

“Not again with this.” Camargo said.

Marilyn’s bright eyes flashed and grew wide. She stumbled backwards and cradled her head in her hands.

Camargo’s heart pounded in his ribcage. “Miss Harris, what’s wrong?”

She backed up into the wall. Her body shook. “I just…something’s off.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“There’s so much…anger…in the room.”

She must have been talking about him. He had to get rid of her. Now would be a great-

The lights switched off, plunging the museum into darkness. 

He could still see Marilyn as a pitch-black shadow in front of him. He tried to focus on her. If he did, his mind wouldn’t be able to wonder about the possibilities of what was going to happen next. But he didn’t expect the sickening sound of a force colliding with the back of Marilyn’s skull. 

He screamed as her body struck the hardwood floor. An unknown entity dragged her by her leg through the threshold and around the corner.

When the lights came back on, Marilyn was gone, and in her place was a thick smearing of wet blood.

Camargo breathed heavily, his own body backing up and hitting against one of the displayed bodies. He looked around the room. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. “You took her, you have your sacrifice. Leave me be. Do you hear me? Leave me be!”

The lights in the museum flickered.

“I saw what you did to her. I got the message, now leave me alone. This is nothing. My conscious, subconscious, whatever is just playing tricks on me. Not that I understand why. What I did was justified.” Camargo squeezed at this chest, and he bolted out of the room. He refused to look back. He made it just past the entryway to his exhibition, and a hand reached out from somewhere below and wrapped itself around his ankle. He crashed down to the floor, his chin banging off of the hardwood, and blood trickled out of the wound. He cried as the hand pulled him back into the exhibition right through Marilyn’s blood. He held on to the entryway, but the force was stronger and yanked him inside.

            He flopped his body over and glared at the six display cases, blood smeared into his tan tunic and hairy chest. “Stop with this! I’ve had enough! You’ve already taken a life tonight! A life for a life! Now leave me alone!”

Nothing in the exhibition moved, the only sound was of Camargo’s deep breathing. His body grew twitchy when he noticed that each of the six display cases started to shake on their own. Figures rose out of each of the human remains. They were ghastly, gray apparitions wearing frayed modern clothing with peeled melting faces and soulless black pits for eyes that chilled Camargo when their heads snapped towards him. The smallest of the figures happened to come from the body of the little girl, who was wearing a ripped apart pink shirt with a butterfly on the front, and a tattered black skirt. She had one eye left in her cracked skull which was crooked and solely focused onto the floor. Her silver hair was in patches on her head. Her mouth gaped open and bugs crawled out from it.

Each of the ghosts leaped from the skeletons, and landed on all fours onto the floor. Camargo may have been screaming, but they screamed louder. Sinister, shrill shrieks erupted from them as they crawled on their hands and feet like animals towards Camargo.

Somewhere from above, a low toned snarl slithered down. “Confess.” The voice hissed. “Confess. Confess. Confess.”

It repeated the word, over and over again. Camargo watched the figures loom over him, he shut his eyes, and clapped his hands over his ears. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to give them what they wanted. “Alright! Alright! I admit it! It’s a lie! All of this is a lie! I had you all killed! I had all of them killed! Some of you I killed myself!”

            But nothing stopped, the figures crawled on top of him. Their breath and touches were cold as they pulled down his arms and wailed into his pained ears.

Tears leaked from his eyes, which he refused to open. When all of the figures were moving on top of him, he dared himself to peek one eye open for just a quick moment. In that second, he wished death as his punishment as the figures' faces were pressed into his. 

Through one little hole of vision made out of the formed bodies, he saw another figure standing behind them. They were dressed in all black, with a hat and a trench coat. Their gloved hands were at their sides. They stood perfectly still as Camargo shut his eye again.

Fast footsteps came from behind him, and soon he was lifted off the ground with his arms placed behind his back. The ghosts bodies off of him.

The police were in the room.

They all spoke to him as his hands were locked with handcuffs. He nodded his head at their words although all he could make out was “You’re under arrest.” He still refused to open his tearful eyes as he was escorted out of the building, and pushed into a police car.

“I did it! I killed them! I killed them!” He repeated.

While the New York police department were working on Camargo’s arrest as well as blocking the crime scene, in another part of the museum, there was the room with that small exhibition dedicated to the potter’s field in Washington Square Park. It was a life-sized diorama of the field with burial plots dug up and opened with pine box coffins at their sides, ready to be placed into the ground. In the center of the display was a tall fake tree meant to reflect the real one known as The Hangman’s Elm. It was believed that those convicted would be hung from its limbs and laid to death in the potter’s grave. But the only recorded incident of such belonged to Rose Butler, aged nineteen, an accused arsonist. Underneath its branches was a sinister figure solemnly staring over the graves with a painted lantern in one of his hands, and the other grasping the handle of a shovel.

One of the coffins shook. The lid slid off of it.

Gloved, black hands gripped onto the sides, and the apparatus rose themselves out of it. Their hands went right towards their mask and hat, and in one swoop, both of the articles were off.

            Marilyn tossed her hair, and adjusted the collar of her coat. She jumped out of the coffin, and reached inside to pull out a large human sized puppet that looked hauntedly like the ghosts that Camargo had seen.

Her green eyes twinkled when she looked into the puppet’s empty eye sockets. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be part of the show tonight. But it’s always important to be prepared in case of a need for a spare. Especially in the event of a scare.”

The smartwatch on her wrist lit up, and a woman’s voice came out of it. “As you can tell, I called the police and alerted the Giovine of the Doctor’s confession. And I made sure that the security guard was paid off.”

“Thank you so much for helping.” Marilyn said.

“Was all of this really necessary? She’d be upset with us both if she found out what you’ve been doing and dressing up as while she’s away.”

“We’ve talked about this. Camargo always said that the human remains he found were centuries old, but they weren’t. They were recent. The Giovine have suspected him for years of faking his discoveries and paying off people to make things look real. The radiocarbon dating reported from the scientists he was hiring was doctored on documents. The bones were never from Roanoke, or China or Egypt. They were from bodies born in recent decades. He was murdering people, and I couldn’t let it continue. Especially when I found out he was killing children.” She put her head down and crossed her arms as if she was a child being scolded. “The best way to end it and fast was to get Camargo to confess. He used tricks for his trade, and so have I. Maybe what I did wasn’t completely in the right, but I got a murderer and a fraud put in jail, and all it took was some puppets, illusions of the lights, my acting and voice skills, and tricking his mind into making him believe his own conscience was guilt tripping him. I never lied either. I could feel his anger, and his fear. Plus, he was trying to get with my Dad.” She placed the coffin lid back onto its body. “I’ll tell her about all of this when she gets back, I promise.”

The woman didn’t respond.

She turned towards the mannequin figure looming beside her. “Hey, when did you get here? You weren’t here before.” She said with a smile.

The man’s face slowly turned to meet hers. His wax lips curled into a snarl. “Confess.” The figure growled.

She jumped back in fright. Her leg fell into one of the holes.

Footsteps echoed in the distance. “Hey, what’s that sound?” Somebody asked.

Marilyn put back on the hat and mask, and grabbed for the ghost puppet. She dragged herself out of the hole, and leaped over the display, vanishing out of sight.


{Outro Music}


OUTRO: For the written version of the story you just heard and other Queer Ghoul originals, visit QueerGhoulPodcast.com.

The Queer Ghoul podcast anthology is an independent endeavor. If you enjoyed what you’ve heard, please consider leaving a review or rating and telling a fellow creature of the night about the show.

 Follow Queer Ghoul and me Adriana Oister (O-I-S-T-E-R) on social media to stay up to date about the podcast and future projects. All links are in the show notes below as well as other ways to support the show.

Until next time, thank you for listening. All I ask is that if you take one single thing out of this episode, it is that the guilty shall always be prosecuted. Whether through means of dark figures and tricks, or from a torment somewhere deep within their own brain. Oh, before I forget, Marilyn wanted me to tell you all that she says Hi.

{Outro Music fades}