“Look at that!” Kathryn pointed to the quarter-sized drops of blood left in the Lennon actor’s wake. “Gruesome. I can’t wait to see what they did with Kurt Cobain . . .”
Finley shuddered. “Good special effects, that’s for sure.”
The singing swelled, the upraised voices echoing like thunder. “Have you seen the Yellow Sign? Have you found the Yellow Sign? Let the red dawn surmise what we shall do, when this blue starlight dies and all is through. Have you seen the Yellow Sign? Have you found the Yellow Sign?”
They repeated the chorus two more times. On the last note, the candles were extinguished and the lights on the stage grew brighter.
The first part of the play concerned the intrigue of the royal court. The aging Queen was pestered and plied by her children: Cassilda, Alar, Camilla, Thale, Uoht, and Aldones, all claimants for the throne to Yhtill. They vied for the crown, so that the dynasty would continue, each one claiming to be to be the rightful successor. Despite their efforts, the Queen declined to give the crown away. Mama Cass began to sing, and Finley’s skin prickled.
“Along the shore the cloud waves break. The twin suns sink behind the lake. The shadows lengthen, in Carcosa. Strange is the night where black stars rise, and strange moons circle through the skies. But stranger still is lost Carcosa. Songs that the Hyades shall sing, where flap the tatters of the King, must die unheard in dim Carcosa. Song of my soul, my voice is dead, die though, unsung, as tears unshed shall dry and die in lost Carcosa.”
The crowd applauded, enraptured with her performance. Then the Cobain character appeared on stage, his face hidden beneath a pallid mask. When he turned his back to the audience, the crowd gasped. Hair and skull were gone, offering a glimpse of gray matter.
Finley had trouble following the plot after that.
Cobain’s character, the Phantom of Truth, pronounced doom upon the Queen and her subjects. The threat apparently came from a non-existent city that would appear on the other side of the lake. Reacting to this news, the Queen ordered him tortured.
Though Kathryn seemed enraptured, Finley grew restless as it continued. He found it incoherent to the point of absurdity. One moment, a character professed their love for another. The next, they discussed a race of people who lacked anuses, and could consume only milk, evacuating their waste through vomiting. The characters rambled on, and Finley slipped into a half conscious state—his mind adrift with other matters but the actor’s lines droned on in the back of his head.
“There are so many things which are impossible to explain! Why should certain chords of music make me think of the brown and golden tints of autumn foliage?”
“Let the red dawn surmise . . .”
“Aldebaran and the Hyades have aligned, my Queen!”
“What we shall do . . .”
“Sleep now, the blessed sleep, and be not troubled by these ill omens.”
“When this blue starlight dies . . .”
“The City of Carcosa has appeared on the other side of Lake Hali!”
“And all is through . . .”
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that; head drooping and eyes half shut. Kathryn’s light laughter and the chuckles coming from the rest of the audience startled him awake again. He checked his watch; then glanced around at the other patrons. Immediately, his attention focused on a couple behind them. The woman’s head was in her lover’s lap, bobbing up and down in the darkness. Before he could tell Kathryn, he noticed another display; this one in their own row. A man at the end was lovingly biting another man’s ear, hard enough to draw blood. His partner licked his lips in ecstasy.
“Kathryn—” he whispered.
She shushed him and focused on the play, her face rapt with attention. Her cheeks were flushed, and Finley noticed that her nipples stood out hard against her blouse. Without a word, her hand fell into his lap and began to stroke him through his pants. Despite the bizarre mood permeating the theatre, he felt himself harden.
Just then, there was a commotion at the back of the theatre, as another actor entered. The crowd turned as the actors pointed with mock cries of shock and dismay. He wore a gilded robe with scarlet fringes, and a clasp of black onyx, on which was inlaid a curious symbol of gold. Though his face was hidden beneath a pallid mask identical to the one Cobain was wearing, there was no mistaking the trademark swagger. He swept down the aisle, pausing as the crowd burst into spontaneous applause.
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
He bowed to the audience, and then took the stage in three quick strides.
“Behold, the Yellow Sign upon his breast!” cried the Queen. “It is the King of Carcosa, and he seeks the Phantom of Truth!”
Hendrix, Lennon, and Vicious entered the audience, each with a burlap bag slung over their shoulders.
“Masks!” they called. “Everyone receive your masks! No pushing. There’s plenty for everyone!”
Finley pushed Kathryn’s hand away in alarm. They were passing out
“Kathryn, we—”
His statement was cut short as her mouth covered his. Greedily, she sucked at his tongue, her body suddenly filling his lap. The scene replayed itself throughout the theatre. Men and women, men and men, women and women. Couples, threesomes, and more. Clothes were discarded, and naked, glistening bodies entwined around each other in the seats and on the floor. All the while, the dead rock stars waded through the crowd, dispensing knives.
“Kathryn, stop it!” He pushed her away. “Something is really fucked up here.”
“Have you found it, Roger? Have you seen the Yellow Sign?”
“What?”
She slapped him. Hard. Then, grinning, she slapped him again.
“Now, you slap me,” she urged. “Come on, Roger. You said you wanted to do something different. Make me wet. Hit me!”
“No!”
“Coward! Pussy! You limp dick mother-fucker! Do it, or I’ll find someone else here who will!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
On stage, what appeared to be a masked ball scene was underway.
“You have questioned him to no avail!” Elvis’ voice rang out through the hall, echoing over the mingled cries of pain and ecstasy. He was addressing the actors, but at the same time, the audience as well. “Time to unmask. All must show their true faces! All! Except for myself. For indeed, I wear no mask at all!”
As one, the crowd picked up their knives and began to flay the skin from their faces. Some laughed as they did it. Others helped the person sitting next to them. Finley turned, just as Kathryn slid the blade through one cheek. A loose flap of skin hung down past her chin.
“Kathryn, don’t!”
He grabbed for the knife and she jerked it away. Before he could move, she slashed at his hands. Blood welled in his palm as he dodged another slice. Then he slapped her, leaving a bloody handprint on her cheek.
“That’s it baby!” she shrieked. “Let me finish taking my mask off, and then I’ll help you with yours.”
“All unmask!” Elvis boomed again, and Finley turned to the stage, unable to look away. The King removed the Pallid Mask concealing his face, and what he revealed wasn’t Elvis. It wasn’t even human. Beneath the mask was a head like that of a puffy grave worm. It lolled obscenely, surveying the crowd, then gave a strange, warbling cry.
Kathryn’s skin landed on the floor with a wet sound.
The thing on stage turned toward Finley, and then he saw.
He saw it. He found it.
Roger Finley screamed.
“Excuse me?” The bum shuffled forward.
“Just ignore him, Marianne. If we give him money, he’ll hound us the whole way to the harbor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Thomas,” the woman scolded her husband. “The poor fellow looks half starved. And he’s
