Richter’s Box

A Short Horror Story

The circus was winding down and the midnight hour was approaching. Patrons dispersed, gossiping about the feats, freaks, and marvelous sights they witnessed. Beau nodded politely, tipping his hat as the masses walked by. Broom in hand, he swept up the numerous cigarette butts and discarded filth left behind. He hated working for this dump, but being on the run from the long arm of the law limited his choices. Nobody asked questions here, and they accepted his alias at face value. Here he was Beau Connelly, and as far as anyone knew the name Billy Granger meant nothing. No one cared about the banks he robbed or the unfortunate incident resulting in the death of that baby-faced deputy. The fact that he had to wear grease paint as part of the gig added the convenience of laying low.

"Beau, you ready?"

The man set down his broom and turned to find his dear friend Reginald, sitting on a bucket enjoying the remainder of an abandoned cigarette.

"You don't know where that's been Reggie. Put that out before you catch tuberculosis or something."

Reggie laughed but continued to puff on the end of the rollie, paying Beau no mind. There were other things on Reggie's mind, important things that required his full attention.

"Tonight is the night, Beau. After we pull this off, we're made men."

Beau sighed, a cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. Reggie was referring to their plan to rob the big man. Hans Richter. He was the main attraction for the circus, a strongman who could bend truck axles with his bare hands. The man had no weaknesses, other than his taste in women and his love for the drink. At one point in time, Hans had been one of the most sought-after circus performers, along with his wife Magda the contortionist. Rumor had it, she had an affair with a dwarf and ran off. After that, Hans spiraled into alcoholism. He still managed to bring in crowds with his feats of strength, but he was a husk of his former self.

On one occasion when his drinking was particularly bad, Hans invited some of the groundskeepers to his quarters. He had a magnificent trailer made from a repurposed cargo container and a large tent off to the side. Reggie had managed to sneak inside and found an ornate chest, sitting at the foot of Hans' bed.

"Must be full of some major moola." Reggie had said, licking his lips like a parched lizard.

The friends had discussed the idea of robbing Hans but never followed through. They knew that Hans could pop their skulls with nothing but his hands without breaking a sweat. It was more of an idea and a way to pass the time. However, over the last few days, Hans had drank to such excess that he was found on more than one occasion passed out, stark naked. The boys decided it was now or never. Reggie had managed to make a little extra cash selling stolen goods to some of the other groundskeepers and purchased a handle of schnapps in town. Hans was originally from a small town in Germany, and he couldn't resist the taste of the stuff, practically inhaling it.

Beau had mentioned the drink to Hans prior to his show, and the strongman beamed like a school child seeing his first pair of breasts. The hours passed while they waited by Hans' trailer, slowly losing their nerve as time continued to tick by. Finally, he arrived leotard, and all. His mustache wiggled as the corners of his mouth turned up in a much too eager smile. His large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, and he started to down the drink at a record pace. Reggie pulled out two cigarettes and lit them simultaneously, passing one to Beau after the cherry flamed.

"So, Hans," Beau said. "How'd the show go?"

"Same thing every night. I lift. I bend. I show the peons my muscles. Then I drink." Hans said, clearly not in the mood for conversation.

Beau was satisfied with puffing on his cigarette, conversing with Reggie about some of the nice-looking wives that attended the circus that night. Hans occasionally chimed in, saying all women were dirt, before turning his attention back to the schnapps. The big man threw the bottle to the ground, shattering it. The flying shards nearly cut Reggie, but he managed to pick his feet up just in time.

"What the hell is a matter with you, Hans?" Reggie said.

"Shut your mouth. You no tell Hans where to throw his bottle. Hans drink. Hans break."

Beau exhaled a smoke ring and walked over to Reggie, giving his forearm a soft squeeze, indirectly telling him to cool it. The drunker Hans got, the more he started to rant about Magda.

"That woman took everything from me. She want. I give. But it was never good enough for Magda. Magda wants more and more. Then Hans catch her lying with that bastard dwarf. The laughing man. So, I cru-"

Hans stopped himself mid-sentence, pausing to stare up at the moon.

"Never mind," Hans said, grabbing a warm beer from the crate.

Beau watched as he downed one, then two, then five. Eventually, Hans was wobbling back and forth as he walked. He started stripping his clothes off and singing a lullaby that Beau didn't recognize. It must have been something from his homeland.

“Guten Abend, gute Nacht, mit Rosen bedacht, Mit Nelken besteckt, schlupf' unter die Deck."

Hans repeated the lullaby several times before falling to the ground with a hard thud. Blood pooled around the back of his head, and Beau wasn't sure if the strongman was still amongst the living.

"Is he dead?" Beau said.

"I don't think so. Look at his chest"

Hans' diaphragm moved up and down in a slow rhythmic motion. Still breathing. Beau decided to give him a few minutes to make sure he was asleep before heading over to his trailer. The door was heavier than they expected, making an uncomfortable amount of noise when they swung it open. Beau looked back at Hans, making sure he wasn't giving chase. He seemed to be fast asleep, lying as still as a rock. After he was convinced, there was no danger, he continued in behind Reggie. They looked for something to give them a little light, finding a lantern sitting on top of a table. The light was minimal, but it worked well enough. Reggie spotted the chest, pointing excitedly with his bony finger.

The chest was beautiful, made of quality wood and adorned with a complex filigree. A heavy metal lock kept the box closed, and despite Reggie's best efforts, he was unable to gain purchase. That's when they started to hear the scratching.

Scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch. The men listened closely, trying to find the source of the noise. Their limited light made it difficult. Beau dropped to his knees and crawled on all fours, listening closely. Scratch-scratch-scratch.

"What the hell is that? You think he's got rats in this place?" Reggie said.

Beau brought his index finger to his mouth and shushed his partner. Reggie threw his hands up in a surrendering motion and decided to try and find the key. Scratch-scratch. Beau moved closer to the origin, stopping and listening in between its intervals. Reggie did his best to keep the volume down as he dug through Hans' drawers and other personal belongings. Scratch-scratch. Beau felt like the noise was coming from the bed. He looked under the mattress, swallowing down his fear. Nothing jumped out from underneath the bed and for that Beau was thankful, breathing a sigh of relief.

"I think I found it," Reggie said, holding a small brass key up to the lantern.

The key was old, looking like something out of a black-and-white movie. Scratch-scratch-scratch. Both the men froze in place and waited for the noise to happen again. Scratch-scratch. They walked over to the chest, kneeling beside it. Scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch. The noise was furious now, droning on and on with no breaks. Scratch-scratch. Reggie put the key in the lock, hesitating before completing its turn. The lock snapped open and dropped to the floor, startling both of them. Beau reached over and placed his hand on the lid, slowly pushing it open.

Right before the men could see what was inside, Hans burst through the door in a demonic rage.

"Get away you bastards! You shall not harm my love" Hans screamed, spittle flying from his mouth with every word.

The veins in Hans' neck swelled, like a school of angry snakes. His eyes were bloodshot, and his naked body shone in the moonlight. Hans charged, screaming a stream of profanities in his native tongue. His hands were on Reggie in a matter of seconds, closing around his neck. Reggie fought hard, but the strongman snapped his neck in one swift motion. The sound of his friend’s neck breaking was sickening, causing Beau to lose control of his bladder. Urine soaked through his pants, and he began scooting backward, reaching frantically for something to fight Hans off. His hand found the handle of an ice pick, which he gripped firmly and tucked behind his leg.

Hans threw Reggie to the ground, knocking over the chest. He began whistling the lullaby from earlier, his oafish figure stumbling drunkenly in the shadows. Beau noticed the lantern had tipped over when Hans discarded Reggie, and the flames were now devouring the front of the trailer, its fingers ravaging the walls with a cruel heat. The exit was now blocked in more ways than one forcing Beau to accept his fate.

"No, I'm not dying here," Beau shouted defiantly.

He made a run for it, tucking his head and charging right for Hans. The brute was caught off guard and nearly missed Beau as he was fleeing. Hans' hand grabbed the tail of Beau's shirt, causing them both to lose their balance. Beau slammed into the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. He tried to catch his breath, but the smoke was suffocating. Before he could make it to his feet, Hans pounced on him, using his strong hands to pin him to the ground.

"Now you die bastard," Hans screamed, inches from his face.

The large hands closed around Beau's neck and squeezed with immense pressure. Beau slammed the ice pick into Hans' neck and abdomen. Stabbing over and over like a madman. Hans' eyes went wide, and blood seeped out from between his lips. The man's body went limp, crushing Beau underneath his weight. Beau used every bit of the strength he had left to try and move Hans' body, but it was no use. The fire had engulfed the whole trailer, and he felt his skin beginning to blister. This is it, Beau thought. He had escaped the law, only to die in this drunk bastard's trailer.

Scratch-scratch-scratch. Beau looked over and was horrified to find the contorted body of a woman inside the chest. Amongst her was a pile of small bones, possibly belonging to a child. Then Beau realized who the woman was. It was Magda the contortionist. Hans' old flame. The bones were not the bones of a child, but the bones of the dwarf. The laughing man as Hans had referred to him. Beau tried to let out a scream, but his vocal cords were singed, and only a faint wheeze escaped his throat. Then everything went black, sinking him into eternal darkness. The last thing he heard, was the sound of Magda's finger, scratching on the inside of the chest.

Scratch-scratch-scratch.