Duet
The violins were dueling.
Soaring to great heights before plunging back to earth in a magnificent swirl of notes and patterns, each vying for his attention. Truly a glorious duet.
Felix Chapuys felt the old familiar stirring in his chest, not unlike those early days of marital bliss when he was young and invincible and full of boundless optimism. As it was, music had been his only solace since his young bride and unborn child had been mercilessly snuffed out by a runaway conveyance in the thoroughfare, some twenty years before.
It was a fate that still filled him with anger and disgust at his creator. A being so callous as to rip away Felix’s own heart while also filling his soul with sublime music. God was a horribly cruel master, indeed.
Chapuys twisted the simple gold band he still wore on his left hand around and around as the strings rose together into glorious climax, ripping him to pieces all over again. The violins seemed to know all the secrets of his heart, the confusion of his broken mind. They filled Chapuys with an intense and mournful longing, the past melding seamlessly into the present as the concerto played on and on.
A final, deep unison note pierced the air before slowly, exquisitely fading away. Silent tears fell in tracks down his face, as they always did at the concerto’s conclusion. Chapuys took a moment to savor that first, blissful moment of quiet as the last tone dissipated, returning the room to its usual, colorless state.
Felix knew if he could, he would play the music in an endless loop, winding the battered old phonograph again and again until his arm gave out from sheer exhaustion. The concerto had to be earned.
It demanded to be admired and cherished by someone who was deserving in every way; an eager student who would follow its divine instruction. Chapuys worked tirelessly to be worthy, pushing himself to the very edge in order to live within the music and pass on this knowledge. Inspired, he vowed to do it this very night.
With a determined sigh, Felix Chapuys caressed the skull a final time before gently returning it to its rightful place among the others. Turning away from his masterpiece, he smiled at a job well done.
Felix could feel a kindred spirit, a strange presence watching him from a great distance, already learning. Satisfied, he checked to make sure his blade was sufficiently sharp, before straightening his cravat and making himself ready for the long night ahead.
***
Lucas backed away from the exhibit as the song ended.
It was old people music, but Lucas didn’t mind. He may be two months away from his tenth birthday, but his mom always said he had an “old soul,” whatever that meant. The figure’s movements were so lifelike, he swore it smiled at him. It was eerie watching it methodically stroke the plastic skull as the music got louder and louder. The whole thing gave Lucas the creeps and a strange feeling of excitement at the same time.
The man was one of those animatronic thingies. Lucas could hear the clicks and whirls as it sat dancing around in its chair but the face is what really got to him. It was lined and expressive, different emotions playing out across a wax-like surface. Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucas went over to the large plaque directly beneath the exhibit and began to read.
“Felix H. Chapuys, 1842-1902, was a notorious American serial killer in the late nineteenth century. He is credited for killing at least thirty women over a span of two decades. It is said that he was driven by intense anger at the tragic loss of his young wife, Julia, who was run over by a Hansom Cab in the early 1880s. Julia was seven months pregnant. Chapuys was a great lover of the arts and music, carving up his victims while listening to his favorite musical selections on a hand-cranked phonograph. On the night he was caught, a “Concerto for 2 Violins in A minor, Op. 3, No. 8” by Vivaldi, had just finished playing as he was surprised by local authorities. The skulls of his many victims were carefully cleaned and stacked in the bedroom, the body of his latest mark still laid out upon a table, awaiting further dissection. He’d already boiled the skin from her head as they kicked the door in and shot him dead, thus ending his reign of terror.”
Lucas turned his gaze to the headless mannequin lying on the table, goose flesh breaking out all over his body. They really were going for a realistic effect here. Bright red pieces glistened under the lights, fake gore and offal spilling over onto the floor. He could hear the display gearing up for another go as the crank on the old-fashioned music box began to spin. Unable to tear himself away, he hesitated. It was well past lunchtime and his mother would be looking for him.
He risked a final look back, feeling the whirs of the strange technology humming in anticipation, and saw a random tear fall down the killer’s face. A fresh jolt of fear sent him running away from the waxed figure and his crazy, hypnotic music. The opening notes of the concerto rang out once again through the “Hall of Killers” as Lucas desperately searched for the exit.
A stray thought popped into his head as he hurried past the displays of Jack the Ripper, Jeffrey Dahmer, H.H. Holmes and John Wayne Gacy. It came out of nowhere, in a deep, fervent voice that wasn’t his own. This single, relentless thought would return to Lucas many times in the years to come, taunting him, driving him, igniting his imagination. A lonely, almost ten-year-old boy desperately searching for meaning who found a sudden, inexplicable appreciation for classical music.
As Lucas burst through Wax Museum doors, he had no idea what any of this meant, but it would all make perfect sense to him in due time. The world would also come to know it, walking past Chapuys to where Lucas’ own likeness would one day stand, the maestro and student entwined forever in blood-drenched infamy. Truly a glorious duet.
The violins were dueling.
Horror Sleaze Trash 