Three basins full of blood

 Tasting tale of the work  Rei da Dor e outros contos de horror

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Gregori couldn't complain about the job. The Brussels circus had welcomed him with open arms when, aged just 17, he joined the troupe. He was hired first as a general helper, took the garbage out of the trailers, loaded and unloaded the wagons, did the heavy lifting. From cleaning, he became responsible for the animals' cage, feeding the big cats. He even got attached to them. She was overjoyed when the lioness had cubs and watched with sadness come to her the pains and difficulties of old age. But Gregori was always looking to the future, he was proactive and helpful and wanted to advance his career. He had already tried to join the jugglers, but he didn't have the necessary skill. He'd also proved he wasn't funny enough to be a good clown. In his various attempts he accumulated failures, but also friends.I couldn't complain about the work, but I could complain about the boss. Although he had really progressed – in obligations, not in salary – in the mind of Mr. Stephano Brussels, the circus owner, he was still just a despicable general helper.

Climb those rafters. Hit the floor of the arena. Fly the circus in the streets. Wash those clothes. Sometimes Grigori felt he was Mr. Brussels' personal slave and not a member of the team. He was never called on for important announcements, but as a handyman of sorts, he had access to virtually every part of the circus and learned from the bearded woman of the last meeting's agenda. The Great Jéan Eugene was dead.

The old magician was the oldest employee of the circus and according to some he was already performing before Mr. Brussels' parents were born. If he died at the age of 120, it wasn't much, but no one really knew how old he was. His shows were legendary and arguably the biggest draw at the box office. On one occasion, he would have climbed the height of trapezes on a smoke ladder; in another, like a bag of bones transforming into a monkey. The truth is, the owner didn't take care of business like his parents. Without the great Jéan Eugene, the Circus was in serious danger of closing.

Upon hearing what had happened, Gregori was at first saddened. Once, Jéan Eugene had read the future in his crystal ball and said that he had a great future in the circus. It was this kind of support from friends that encouraged him. Not that he believed in crystal balls. Still, when he remembered the prophecy, he thought he should try again. Perhaps this was the big opportunity Gregori needed. When he suggested to Mr. Brussels that he might apply for the position of magician, he was greeted with a humiliating laugh.

— Are you crazy boy? Who are you?

— Mr. Brussels, I know it sounds crazy, but what do you have to lose?

— Mole time. And time is money.

“I want to grow up in here. Look, pick a card. And pulled out a deck.

Mr. Brussels slapped the packet upside down, ruining the pathetic attempt to impress him.

“Boy, even the clowns didn't want you. How do you imagine being able to take the place of the great Jean Eugene?

- I do not know. But maybe I'll find myself an illusionist. I have to be good at something, right?

“You're good at cleaning floors,” said the hula hoop dancer, Liliane, the boss's current lover, entering the conversation uninvited to Mr. Brussels' pleasure. She was a curly-haired beauty and knew how to take advantage of her youth.

"That's great, my cherub!"

The arrogant couple laughed at each other and almost forgot about Gregori's presence, who tried once more:

“I know I haven't found my place yet. But I believe in myself, Mr. Brussels.

— Come on, kid, know your place! Look at yourself. You should be grateful for cleaning up our mess. Where do you think you would get a job like that? Do you know how the economy is?

After thinking for a while, the assistant took courage and challenged:

— Well then! Let me make a presentation. A single presentation. If you like it, give me the spot. If you don't like it, I'll work for free for a year!

Mr. Brussels pretended to do some math in his head and smiled in agreement.

“You are a fool, boy. If that's what you want, I'd really like to save the alms you earn. In three days you'll do your cheap tricks so my cherub and I can have another laugh.

"Oh sweetie, you're too much!" – commented the dancer.

II

Gregori was determined to win. I would do anything to win that bet. He imagined that perhaps inside the trailer of the great Jéan Eugene he would find some trick he could use. He waited for everyone to sleep and got into the car with the keys to which, as a handyman, he had access. He advanced like a thief through the night and reached the door. He put the key in the lock and turned it, barely making a sound. When he entered, his spine froze. The flapping noise of the doves in the cage betrayed the thief who quickly pushed the door. With the magician's death, everyone had forgotten about them. In fact, apparently no one had been there since Jean's death. Maybe out of respect, probably out of fear.

The bed was still messy from the magician's last sleep and on the desk was a cold coffee that would never be finished. Grigori closed the door and lit the lantern. He could thus see a series of archaic instruments strangely dividing the environment with stage items. Crystals, censer next to wands and rings. In a trunk, he found a top hat, white gloves, and a skull without the parietal bone cap—so realistic that he preferred not to think about it. On the floor, a triangle drawn with chalk.

Most of the trailer was, however, taken up by a small but mighty library that ran from floor to ceiling along virtually the entire side. On these shelves was a collection of classic illusionist books paired with ancient tomes of pagan superstition and medieval sorcery. There was no apparent organization, but it was a truly enviable library: The Great Book of Magic, by Wendy Rydell, right next to Solomon's Clavicles, several volumes of the Zohar interrupted by the Blackstone Illustrated Encyclopedia of Card Tricks. It was a lot to read in one night, maybe one day, so Grigori just closed his eyes and let his fingers pick at random. He pulled out a book with a rotten leather cover and which emanated a certain oracular power.

He placed the book on the desk and opened it. It was an old volume like an Aztec pyramid. Like her, a work full of drawings and glyphs. The pages were old yellow and every word was written in a rust-colored ink that resembled oxidized blood. On the title page, he could read in ancient type: "Suk'Nazbot," below it the overly descriptive subtitle: "Collection of Demonic Spells and Dark Arts." He tried to read, but as he did so the words fluttered like nervous ants and the text became illegible. When this happened, it would advance a few pages to regain reading power. He was thus guided by the volume itself to read what was to be read and arrived at a chapter entitled "Sacrifice of the Flesh: How to Obtain Occult Powers by Shedding the Blood of the Living".

He learned that true powers could be acquired by making a pact with certain inhuman realities. You would have to commit to giving something in return. Using the strange runes described in those pages, this deal could be made with the occult world, not with money or jewels, but by offering the blood of the living. The blood should all be withdrawn and offered to entities whose names man can barely pronounce. From the description and illustration in the book, three basins full of blood would be needed. Gregori calculated around nine liters, the equivalent of two healthy adults. The blood would need to be taken at the time it was offered, and its suppliers would have to be killed in the process.

Gregori was seduced by those pages like Eve by the serpent. It looked like a good deal. With just one murder, using those words of power, he would have access to the forces that bend the laws of nature. I could choose someone who deserved to die. It wouldn't be hard to find. He could then use his acquired powers to do many good deeds that would make up for even murder. If he killed two people, he could improve the lives of forty others. He was trying to reduce morals to an arithmetic account. I no longer thought clearly. Read the chapter over and over like a maniac. Hours later, he realized he hadn't seen time pass. When he found himself, he realized that he had not seen the morning come, and he was seized with the impulse to flee. I didn't want to be caught in there. He came out of the trailer like a released animal out of captivity.He was now filled with Luciferian certainty and knew exactly what to do. Behind him, he left the door and the book open.

That same morning, Mr. Brussels was doing the rounds that bosses like to do so they don't have to work themselves. He walked slowly with the pomp of large landowners, evaluating the clowns' rehearsals and the trapeze artists' training. When he passed the trailer of the mighty Jéan Eugene, he found it very strange to see the door open. I had never entered that place while the previous magician lived and now I enter with the curiosity of someone exploring the ruins of an ancient temple. Entering, he noticed the open book and was horrified by it. On the desk and beside it, the lion keeper's key ring.

He went out, locked the door primly, and sent for the assistant general.

“You know I can't ignore this.

“Don't worry, Stephano, nothing happened. He had never called him by his first name.

“You broke into the big Jean's trailer. It's not just disrespect. It's a crime. A sin!

- Crime? Sin? Not yet… has something been stolen by any chance? His calm was disturbing.

- I do not know. It seems not. But those keys are yours.

– I must have forgotten it there when I went to feed the doves. And took the key too politely.

Mr. Brussels was helpless with the assistant's new stance.

— Sacrifice? Blood pact? You know this is crazy, don't you, Gregori?

"Isn't it madness the name that cowards give to wisdom?" - and left.

They didn't speak again until the day of the presentation. Gregori's new commanding posture meant that not only the circus owner, but also all the staff gathered in the west wing of the arena where a stage was set up for the exhibition.

 III

The curtains opened. At its center stage, there was now a rectangular box standing like a huge tombstone divided into three parts. In each of the parts, a portion of a demonic figure was drawn in the Aztec style. The head was like that of a wild boar, the torso like that of a monkey, and the legs like a crouching goat. Gregori entered the stage from the left in slow steps with the authority with which a judge enters a courtroom. Silence immediately fell over everyone who heard the soles of his shoes hit the wood on the floor as he approached the box. 

Audacity of audacity. He was dressed in the clothes of the great Jean Eugene. The size was a size too big for him, giving him the sloppy impression. His top hat and cape gave him an impression that would be comical if there wasn't something wrong with his face. There was now an almost warped smile on his face, as if stretched out by invisible fingers, a certain perversion that no one had ever noticed before. It was as if the devil himself had lent his body to play circus. His voice was also almost the same:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Montezuma's Tomb!

The spotlight illuminated the box, although all the other employees were in the audience.

“Tonight we will defy life and death when one of you is placed in the tomb and the very laws of nature are violated.

The tomb opened. The division into three parts continued on the inside separated by three blades that cut side by side across its entire internal area. The mage approached and withdrew the three blades with the firmness of a surgeon.

“As you can imagine, I'm without my assistant. A volunteer from the audience will be required.

Total silence.

— Surely, you, our beloved boss, Stephano will not miss the chance to enter the history of the Brussels circus.

The ringmaster looked around in confusion as an invisible force seemed to have forced his head forward. He then said in a trembling voice like a stutterer struggling to speak.

"Hey, I'm the vooluuuntary..."

- Great! Come closer! - said the magician.

Little moved as Stephano walked toward the tomb like a zombie. Once inside, he did a military U-turn and the audience could see the emptiness in his eyes.

“Now, some security measures. We don't want the body to fall off when we rip it apart,” Grigori continued with the solemnity of an executioner. 

As he removed the handcuffs from his hands, Stephano put his hands forward. A strip of reinforced duct tape was placed over his mouth, and a sailor's rope clasped his legs tightly together. Each body part was also securely attached to one of the three parts of the box. In all this, the circus owner collaborated like a bovine ignorant of the slaughter. 

— We are ready, beloved audience! Time for some more action!

As he said this, he snapped his fingers and everyone could see that the circus owner had come to his senses. He was completely terrified and tried in vain to free himself. He emitted a silent kidnapped moo as the magician closed the tomb door in front of him.

- Music! 

The sound that filled the room was like a choir of monks from hell singing to the god of death. The horror that gripped the audience made most employees freeze in fear and those who tried to flee found themselves trapped by strange forces.

“First, let's separate your legs… so you don't run, you know? – and winked at the audience.

The first blade was sent with the brutality of a butcher. The scream muffled by the box and duct tape trumped even the hellish music playing and was heard from the back row.  

"Now we've ripped his head off!" - Gregori said, laughing uncontrollably.

The magician placed the second blade in the crevice of the box and looked sadistically at the audience.

— Count on me, beloved audience!

Like a horde of damned souls, all mouths obeyed.

“Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… As the count began the screams from inside the box intensified and a slight rocking could be noticed as his prisoner thrashed like a fish out of water.

— Seven… Five… Four… - some cried desperately and others wet their pants. Nobody could close their eyes.

"Three... Two... One..." The muffled screams peaked and stopped as the blade slammed down hard. The supernatural apotheotic music also ceased so that everyone could hear the sound of skin and flesh ripped from inside the box. 

By this time, blood was seeping through the opening in the front cover and tying up the space around the stage.

'Another volunteer!' I want another volunteer!” – announced the satisfied magician – You, dancer, come be part of my show!

Liliana got up. Urine dripped down her pantyhose. Her face, poorly made up by tears, turned away in terror, while her arms and legs went obediently to the arena. 

“Come on, my dear… Remove the Blade from below!

The dancer's whole soul must have been bent on resisting this order, for the hand hesitated to obey. Despite this, she obeyed like a sleepwalker. He tried to remove the lower blade, but had difficulty. He forced it, and when he got to the wooden tomb it shifted as if a stillborn calf had been thrown to the ground. The flow of blood on the floor intensified.

"Now the top one!" Remove it too!

The second blade was easily pulled out by the unwitting helper. Smeared from the center forward in dark blood as if a dragon had licked it after gorging itself on human flesh. Again, the sound of something falling.

"Now, open the tomb!" Ladies and gentlemen, this is my gift to everyone!

The circus's hand trembled and wavered like a palm tree in a storm, denouncing the revolt of the dominated soul. Still, he gripped the small knob. The blood from the ground began to evaporate in a supernatural way, creating serpents of smoke around the tomb, as if crowning the high point of the spectacle.

— Come on, open it! Open it! Abracadabra!

The tomb door was opened.

Inside it was Mr. Brussels. And what a surprise, without handcuffs or tape. With legs and head. On the floor, the last drop of blood evaporated. Stunned, the man just took a few steps forward and looked around in complete bewilderment. 

Gregori authoritatively took the hands of the circus owner and the dancer and led them to the front of the stage, forcing them to make a theatrical reference to the audience. As they raised their heads, he released their hands and with a gesture released all the employees from the supernatural forces that oppressed them. Some fell in a faint. Others fled in horror.

The dancer was one of those who fainted almost immediately. Grigori ignored her and turned to Mr. Brussels' coat. Dusting his shoulders with the zeal of a stern mother, Grigori explained, smiling with his eyes:

"A fantastic illusion, don't you think, my dear Stephano?" The job is certainly mine.

Obediently, he just nodded like a frightened child. He knew there was someone he couldn't argue with. In fact, he had doubts about who owned the circus now. Grigori won not only the position of magician, but the troupe's highest salary, the trailer with the entire collection of rare items from its former owner and especially the nefarious book Suk'Nazbot. 

The circus did not close. On the contrary, in the months that followed, the stands were daily more crowded. The performances of the great Grigori Vigatto surpassed even those of Jéan Eugene. Jaw-dropping spectral apparitions. Severed heads floating like balloons. Rows of skeletons dancing a macabre cancan like French girls. Nameless creatures sprouting from the ground. Amputated hands running through the audience like crabs. Even journalists from the big newspapers came to watch his shows. The circus was back.

It was, however, shortly after the sadistic opening presentation that Mr. Brussels understood what had happened. The employees who ran from that horror found in an area not far from the circus a scene worthy of a diabolical mass. In the center, a body ripped from the chest up. Around him, a triangle of salt filled with indecipherable symbols. At each point of the triangle, a basin filled with blood. The sacrifice had indeed been made. The old lioness was dead.