Snapdragons

A Fun Scam

It just so happens that there were more than strange dances and coincidental run-ins with relatives brewing up that carnival night.

Here he comes with flaming bowl, don't he mean to take his toll.

"Place your possessions in."

Take care you don't take too much, be not greedy in your clutch.

"This was my father's pocket watch..."

With his blue and lapping tongue, many of you will be stung.

"All of you are giving up something. No complaints."

For he snaps at all that comes, snatching at his feast of plums.

Gold, diamond, coins, all sorts of valuables are surrounded by flames.

Don't 'ee fear him but be bold- out he goes, his flames are cold.

"Now, take them out. And if you fail to gain your possessions back, they're mine."

Snip, snap, dragon.

Only four out of the five valuable possessions are retrieved from the flames of blue. One unlucky old man is left deprived of his father's pocket watch, which is never to be found in the fire-licked metal pan. He's the only one left, the only one daring to put up an argument.

"Wh-where has it gone?!"

"You never found it so, therefore, it belongs to me now."

"But- but it wasn't in there when I searched for it! I swear!"

"Some of us are unfortunate. I never said this would be fair."

"You stole it before I could search for it...I know you did!"

The lady behind the thievery only draws her eyebrows together and pulls her lips into a sort of pout.

"You want it back?"

She pulls a golden chain from the bodice of her dress and a pocket watch quickly follows, swinging back and forth, back and forth. The man lunges forward, grasping desperately for the gold. The woman casually side steps, leaving the man on the floor. She digs the heel of her shoe brutally into his back before thrusting her nails into his hair and raising his ear to her lips.

"I usually don't enjoy dirty, gruesome deaths," the sharp words are barely above a whisper, "But if you'd like to spend the rest of your days decaying in my closet over a pocket watch, then be my guest."

The man trembled and stiffly shook his head.

"Not like that, please..."

"Is strychnine alright, then? That's all I have right now."

The man only let out a strangled gasp and continued to struggle in the woman's hold. She frowned at the resistance and let him go briefly before guiding him to a chair and shoving him into the seat.

"I cannot have anyone intrude on my game. So, hopefully, if all goes as planned, I'll have a delightful little alibi for your disappearance."

Before the old man could testify or, at the very least, scream horrifyingly, the mysterious lady disappeared into the kitchen to presumably grab some strychnine and a glass of brandy to down it with.

...

A distant clock tower let out booming chimes, quavering the warm air between cramped buildings and startling the night. Bong....bong....bong. It repeats itself 12 times, ironically marking the morning through the immense darkness. Although it's midnight by the time Alistair Fairfax leaves the carnival, it takes him yet another humid hour to hail a carriage, ride it through tangled streets, and finally arrive back home on his front porch.

Mr. Fairfax's home is a substantial size, maybe upper middle class. He only shares it with 2 others, a cook and a valet, both of which he ultimately hired to keep him and his home company (as well as in good order.) The house is wedged between other homes almost identical without further observation, the only differentiating features being some slight changes to the shape of windows and the color of the paint applied to anything that isn't solid, gray brick.

By the time Alistair had knocked on the door and was let in by Calvin, the valet, he was disoriented, tired, distracted, and abashed beyond belief. Stepping over the threshold, Alistair nearly bumped into Calvin who steadied him by the arm while closing the front door.

"Are you alright, sir? If you are tired you could head straight to bed instead of reading beforehand like you usually do..."

Alistair looked startled that someone had spoken to him. Eventually, he pulled his arm from Calvin's loosening hold and cleared his throat awkwardly with no words to follow.

"Did everything go fine, Mr. Fairfax? I figured it was strange when you insisted on going to a social event alone and at such a late hour..."

The roughness building in Alistair's throat finally broke into a forced clearing. But it was more like an amused cough.

"It was awful."

The swallow that followed was dry and painful. And the smile that followed was weird and out of place.

"Oh. I'll make some tea, then."

...

"Mr. Deighton really did that?" Calvin questioned, shocked as he set down his tea.

"I'm afraid so."

The living room sat in summer dark, cream walls glowing yellow in the minimal gas light. Alistair's black hair was disheveled, turning a soft blackish-brown in the uneven shine. His eyes were hard to read with dark blue circles starting to form beneath them from his easy exhaustion.

"Well, I doubt he did it out of his own will, right?"

"I'm...still piecing it together. He obviously wasn't trying hard to hide anything. If he really wanted to kill me, he would have tried harder. That much I know."

"So what would be the motive?"

"The only thing I could think of would be to scare me. Because of my rise in popularity maybe...? But it just doesn't seem like him. It's funny that I don't know much about him outside of work. Considering casual conversation should be a regular thing with a sort of colleague, if you will."

"You're right. That does not sound likely. At the same time, there is not much else it could be."

Lukewarm tea was set down to rest, cold residue collecting on the porcelain with the memory of recent but far away warmth. Alistair frowned at the tea's incongruence with the outdoor summer weather.

"It sounds like you need some good sleep."

Alistair nodded at Calvin's remark, a sigh escaping from his lips as they curled into a tired smile.

...

Laying under a thin sheet in stuffy heat and waiting to fall asleep, Alistair felt no better. The dark of his room encased him, prompting him to close his heavy eyelids and cross over to the world of dreams. But the heat of his bedroom made a layer of sweat build over his body. When uncomfortable, all of your stress seems amplified.

He tossed and turned, pulling at the covers, messing up his hair even more. It was too early to have strange, symbolic dreams about what had happened that day. Maybe later he would find himself reliving the scene in an odd, indistinct way. Most likely.

It was a bad, bad idea to go to that carnival. I can't believe I fell for those posters, wanted to see the "once in a lifetime" experience for myself. Edwin probably knew I would be interested. Or maybe he would look for me everywhere until he had the chance to strike. Pretend to strike, at least.

As Alistair stared at the moonlight bathing the room, head cluttered with thoughts and attempts to fit the puzzle pieces together, he felt as though there were more problems, mysteries, to solve than he currently knew of. There was a feeling he had...that something bad was happening.