The Collector of Remarkable Stories Read online

  Margie and The Giant followed Grandma Doyle to a large (the largest in fact) sideshow stall in the entire circus. A huge sign which arched above the entrance read: WORLD EXCLUSIVE. Meet the World’s Only Ice Queen. Risk of Death. Enter at your Peril.

  Margie and The Giant exchanged excited glances as they walked through the front entrance. While the exterior was decorated with images of Arctic landscapes and polar bears, the interior looked and felt exactly like an ice cave. Everything shone with an iridescent whiteness, while snow covered the floor and ice stalactites hung from the ceiling. At one end of the enclosure was a raised stage made entirely of ice (fashioned to look like an iceberg) around which one hundred seats had been arranged in a semi circle.

  "You will sit up there with your back to the audience," stated Grandma Doyle. "And I’d like you to wear a dress, which I’ve had especially made for you. It will allow the public to see your back – all completely decent and respectable in other respects mind."

  Grandma Doyle clapped her hands impatiently, narrowing her eye in the direction of the entrance. A short time later, Tatty came racing into the cave carrying a white garment across his arms. His head hung apologetically low. Grandma Doyle didn't seem to even notice that it was Tatty. She grabbed the dress and literally threw it in Margie's direction.

  The floor length dress was quite simply breathtaking in Margie’s eyes. Embroidered with thousands of tiny silver pearls, it glistened in the light and came complete with a tall ice-crystal crown. Margie was dumbstruck. Shaking her head she could find no words with which to thank Grandma Doyle.

  "What's this?" asked The Giant finally breaking the silence. He was pointing at a large wooden box. The box contained five long wooden sticks with pincers on the end.

  "These," explained Grandma Doyle, "hold anything that the audience wishes to be ‘frozen’ by the Ice Queen. They use the stick to pick up a glove, a shoe, a bag or whatever it is they want to be frozen. Then they let it touch your back for the briefest moment et voila."

  Grandma Doyle looked like she was about to burst with excitement. "You will be paid extra for this of course."

  The Giant could barely contain his excitement either as he picked Margie up and placed her on top of the iceberg. "They say 'break a leg' in the circus. It don't really means break a leg, it means good luck!" he said before his smile vanished. "I wish I could see your show."

  "Thank you Giant, I wish I could see your show too." Margie leant in closer to The Giant and lowered her voice. "Maybe tomorrow," she said with a wink and a grin.

  "We'll leave you to get ready now," said Grandma Doyle herding The Giant away. "We have other exhibits to organise. If you need anything, anything at all, you know where I am!"

  Margie changed into the Ice Queen outfit and arranged herself in the iceberg just as Grandma Doyle had demonstrated. There was something quite liberating about dressing up – about not being Margie any more, if only for a short period of time. As the world's only Ice Queen she was the perilous one. She was the deadly one. The Big Invisible was part of her circus, not the other way round. The one thing that was causing her the greatest trouble, was now working for her, not against her. Or was it?

  As she placed the crown on her head and looked at her reflection in the ice she thought she heard – for a very split second – someone, or something, whisper the word stop in her ear ...

  Spider Beast and the Emporium

  Spider Beast didn’t wait to watch Margie and The Giant disappear into the desert. He didn’t have a moment to spare. He'd already wasted too much time.

  As soon as the door closed, he scurried back through the maze of rooms, through the tunnels of junk and numerous doors until he reached what appeared to be a dead end in the furthest reaches of the Emporium. The room in which Spider Beast stood was cold, dark and damp and to the untrained eye appeared completely empty. If you looked closely enough, however, you would see a dusty old mirror attached to the wall. It had hung there for so long that it was covered in the same dirt and grime as the wall, and as such was barely visible. To the right of the mirror was a small crack in the wall. It was the kind of crack that would appear in any wall after a period time; the same kind of crack that probably snakes across your own wall or ceiling.

  Spider Beast scuttled across the room until he stood inches from the wall and he tapped the floor three times in quick succession. Suddenly the room was filled with the sound of hundreds of voices; as though Spider Beast had been transported to a busy railway station. Men, women and children could be heard talking to one another in the same excited tone that one might expect before a performance was about to commence.

  "Shhhh," said someone loudly.

  Others followed suit and soon there were more people saying "Shhhh" than there were people talking.

  As soon as the room was silent, Spider Beast introduced himself.

  "It’s vitally important that you listen to every word I say today. We don’t have any time to spare. If you are to be saved, you must follow my instructions and do not question me. As you know we have been without The Collector for a long time now. Until she returns to us, there is no way for your stories to be extracted and therefore no way for you to continue your journey. You are here because you have been sent by the authorities to be stored away safely until The Collector returns."

  A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd.

  "How long will that be?" shouted someone.

  "No one knows," replied Spider Beast, but time will have no meaning once you're stored; a decade will feel like a fraction of a second."

  "Why can't we just live in Limbuss until she returns?" shouted another man.

  "Because the people of Limbuss are in permanent limbo. They have chosen to hold onto their stories. They have chosen not to move on. If you wish to move on then you must await The Collector."

  Another nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. This wasn't, of course, what any of them had expected upon dying. The first they'd known of it was arriving, dazed and confused, in Limbuss and being rounded up by some emotionless officials.

  It had come as a huge shock to everyone in Limbuss when The Collector disappeared so suddenly and so thoroughly. She simply vanished out of the blue. People across the world were dying and, still lumbered with their life stories, were drifting aimlessly and confused into Limbuss, unaware as to whether they were alive or dead.

  An Organisation run by Officials hand-picked by Auguste was set up to herd the newly arrived dead to the Emporium where Auguste would carry out his secret and important work storing them and their stories. If he hadn't taken the decision to create a top-secret story extraction and storage facility in the Emporium who knows whose hands the stories would have ended up in?

  All of that seemed like a lifetime ago for Spider Beast. Right now he was feeling a little cheated. He'd waited a long time for The Collector to return. And now he'd been forced to let her go. At least The Darkest of the Dark would know how to handle The Big Invisible, if indeed it was The Big Invisible. He couldn't even be sure, but it was a risk he was unwilling to take. The Big Invisible was ruthless in its hunger; consuming souls indiscriminately and the Emporium with its precious hoard, would have been like nectar to a bee.

  Until he heard otherwise he would continue to work on his own extraction solution (not dissimilar to exothermic nuclear transmutation, he thought). He was close. Very close. Seeing all those forgotten stories transformed into the most fundamental energy; the energy that fuels the universe, would make all the disappointment and worry worthwhile. He was sure of that.

  Right now though he had people that needed storing. It was a drudge he resented. He wasn't a people person and while most of the deceased who came through the Emporium accepted the situation graciously, others were understandably angry and frightened.

  "When you enter the machine you will be bound to the one object that you had most affection for during your mortal life," he announced. "You don't get any choice."

  It never
ceased to amaze Spider Beast what these objects turned out to be. Children, of course, were easy; they were mostly bound to toys, teddies and dolls being the favourite. Adults were a little more complex with items ranging from steam train piston rods to cigarette tins, lipstick holders, nails and screws.

  "It is vital that you are quick," continued Spider Beast. "You have no time to waste."

  No sooner had the voices whispered their approval than the crack in the wall opened up. A bright light spilled out, followed by hundreds of people. The room which had seemed so small only moments ago now seemed as wide and deep as the ocean.

  "Right," shouted Spider Beast. "We’re ready. Stand back everyone, stand back." Once again Spider Beast tapped the ground three times and almost instantly the floor seemed to give way as though it was one giant trap door and out of the ground rose a great machine covered in pistons, cogs and pipes. In the centre of the machine sat a large person-sized glass container with a door. The crowd looked on in stunned silence; the brutal reality of their situation had suddenly dawned on them and a couple of individuals broke down in great heaving sobs. This wasn't what death was supposed to be like. Where was the great illuminated staircase? The great pearly gate? The trumpet fanfare heralding their arrival? Where were the loved ones calling them into the light?

  "Who wants to go first?" asked Spider Beast.

  Silence.

  "Anybody?" he asked.

  Spider Beast was used to this; he could understand their reluctance. He himself would have felt the same if he was in their position. They had no idea how long they would be held in their inanimate prison for; and the idea of being cooped up in a bottle or a cigarette tin seemed a little too much like prison. Seconds ticked by and Spider Beast became increasingly aware that he had another batch of people due to arrive.

  "I’ll go first."

  The voice was small and a little boy, less than five years old, stepped forward holding a shabby looking teddy bear. Instinctively the child headed for the entrance to the great glass bottle which sat in the centre of the machine. Without warning the door slammed shut and that was that. It happened in a flash; the boy and the bear became one. His spirit, his story and the toy inextricably bound and stored in the Emporium until the Collector returned.

  Rise to Fame of an Ice Queen

  "Who's there?" shouted Margie.

  She listened for a response even though she knew, deep down, it was the same voice that had been stalking her since she arrived in Limbuss. This time, however, it unsettled her. What was it? Why was it following her? And just what would happen if she didn't stop?

  A shrill voice interrupted her anxious thoughts. It belonged to one of Grandma Doyle’s little helpers (a midget by the name of Marie-Joseph) and she was carrying a large brown bag that swamped her.

  "How are you feeling ma fifille?" she whispered excitedly in a thick French accent. "Etes-vous prêt pour le spectacle?"

  "I'm ready!" smiled Margie. It was, of course, a lie. Overcome with a dreadful feeling that something terrible was about to happen, all Margie wanted to do was run as far away from the circus as she possibly could. Marie-Joseph sensed Margie's apprehension.

  "Please do not fret mon poussin," she soothed. "You should fear nothing. Madame Doyle as asked me to present these to you by way of thank you for being so wonderfool."

  The bag contained a handful of gold coins and a heart-shaped emerald pendant.

  "Wow, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen," whispered Margie.

  "Good luck. Bonne chance," said Marie-Joseph. "It will feel a little strange at first, but you will soon get used to eet."

  Margie nodded and Marie Joseph quietly exited at the rear of the stall. And that's when Margie heard Grandma Doyle addressing the waiting crowd:

  "... and so," she called out dramatically, "you’re seeing it here for the first time ever; with ice coursing through her veins, a real live Ice Queen."

  As she listened to the crowd clapping and chattering excitedly, she looked at the pendant in her hand. She was sure that she’d never been given such a beautiful gift before and she had never felt so special. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Margie positioned herself in the iceberg chair, her beautiful white ice dress exposing her deathly back for all to see. From the other side of the door she could hear the crowd growing as they chattered and speculated on what they might find inside.

  The door opened and the crowd of people surged in frantically, clutching pamphlets that outlined how Margie had fallen into a frozen lake aged three ... how her blood had frozen solid ... how she was left with a mixture of ice-water and blood coursing through her veins ... and how that ultimately made her a genuine, authentic, bona fide cold-blooded killer.

  "Just one touch from the Ice Queen," declared Madam Doyle, "and you're toast!"

  As the crowd entered the stall Margie could hear them jostling with each other to get a better view of the pretty young woman that could freeze your eyeballs with a mere glance in your direction if the mood so took her. Then she could hear them gasp in shock at the sight of her ice encrusted back.

  It didn’t take long for everyone to find a seat and soon the excited chattering had slowed to an expectant whisper and finally a deafening silence.

  Grandma Doyle entered the stall and positioned herself between Margie and the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, theatrically. "What you are about to see this morning will astound and astonish. It will make the bravest and strongest of you fearful. You will not believe your eyes. Do NOT – I repeat do NOT touch this young woman with your bare hands. Do so at your peril!"

  "Pah, codswallop!" shouted someone near the back of the audience. "That’s just a bit of wax that is. I want my money back!"

  "Anyone else think it’s codswallop?" shouted Grandma Doyle angrily.

  A handful of people threw their hands in the air.

  "You," said Grandma Doyle sharply at a young man sitting in the front row. "Give me your handkerchief."

  The young man duly handed Grandma Doyle the handkerchief, a look of bemused scepticism on his face.

  Grandma Doyle attached the handkerchief to the end of one of the wooden poles and handed it to the gentleman in the front row. The young man took hold of the pole and Grandma Doyle moved in until her face was inches from his.

  "Put that handkerchief as close as you dare to the back of this young woman," she hissed.

  The young man turned to the audience and laughed. Then, in an act of youthful arrogance and stupidity, whipped the handkerchief from the pincer, leapt up onto the stage and pressed the handkerchief to Margie’s back.

  Almost instantaneously, the handkerchief had turned to ice; the gentleman’s hand too. The young man screamed in agony and the audience gasped in unison. For a few of the crowd it was simply too much and they fell to the floor. A number of others walked straight out of the stall, unable (or unwilling) to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

  "Do it again," shouted one of the remaining crowd. "Freeze this," shouted another, throwing a freshly caught fish at Margie. "More, more, encore!" shouted the crowd.

  A young woman by the name of Emily stepped forward and, gingerly grabbing the fish from where it had landed near Margie's foot, hooked it on the end of a pole and held it an inch from Margie’s back.

  Within a fraction of a second – almost faster than time itself – the fish (and half the pole with it) had frozen solid; cracking and crumbling as though it had been dipped in a vat of liquid nitrogen.

  Emily dropped what was left of the pole and stepped back. By now the audience was shocked into silence having realised that this couldn’t be a trick. Was it possible that she really was the result of a tragic accident in the ice? At first one or two of the people closest to the stage decided it was perhaps a little too dangerous to stand so close to the Ice Queen, so they shuffled backwards without any regard for those behind, who in turn pushed them forward again. Those at the front were now terrified of being pushed
onto the stage and began fighting their way back with more alarm which resulted in an explosion of panic which spread through the crowd with ferocious speed. Within moments there was a stampede out of the stall, people screaming and shouting in fear.

  Only one person remained in the enclosure: Grandma Doyle. She was sitting on a wooden stool right at the very back of the enclosure, her highly rouged cheeks the only thing standing out in the dim light.

  "I’m sorry," said Margie. "I don’t know what happened, I didn’t do anything; I just kept my eyes closed the whole time."

  Grandma Doyle grinned, exposing her gums, and clapped her hands like a small child. "That was the most incredible show I have ever seen in my entire life and let me tell you, I’ve seen a lot of shows!" said Grandma Doyle.

  News of Margie’s remarkable gift travelled fast through Avaricia. Suddenly everyone was talking about the young girl who could freeze anything on demand. Those who had seen the show became minor celebrities with people clamouring to ask questions: did the young man lose his hand? Was it true that the ice queen had blue skin? Could she turn rain into snow by blowing on it? Newspapers were full of stories about visitors being frozen to death after the Ice Queen sneezed instantaneously turning everyone in the front row to ice.

  And the shows starring Margie just got bigger and better. It wasn’t long before she needed a bigger stage and still the audiences kept on coming. Quite often it was the same people coming again and again, unable to believe their eyes; trying to figure out the secret. What was the trick? People would return to the show night after night bringing with them all manner of items to be frozen, items that would prove once and for all that she was a fraud.

  Of course she wasn’t and so every item, from a diamond ring to a live frog to a brass ornament to a lead ball were all lost to the trick.

  And as the audiences kept on coming so did the money. Mountains of it; the more people that came the more people wanted to come. Margie was fast becoming an otherworldly sensation. People had never seen anything like it; forget the fat ladies, the tall men and the Siamese twins. This was something truly inexplicable. It quickly became the number one topic of conversation throughout Avaricia; how did she do it? Theories abounded but not one person could grasp the science behind it.