Jacks Magic Beans by Brian Keene Page A

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 knives —real knives rather than stage props. The lights glinted off the serrated blades.
    “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?”
    It’s like she’s hypnotized or something! All of them are! What the hell happened while I was asleep?
    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