Demon Deacon Blues
1
Dean McKarren kept his hands in the pockets of the suit he wore. His makeup and special wig itched his face and scalp, so he had to make an effort not to scratch and have to go back in the chair. That would cost time and money for the production.
Dean was working on the Demon Deacon film as the villain of the piece. He had been a stuntman for years, working in serials and westerns for the Ever Brothers as they competed with Sam Goldwyn, Columbia, and the Warner Brothers. Now he was stepping in as a villain in a monster movie like Chaney and Lugosi.
If the movie was a success, he could land roles in other productions, maybe even become a star.
If it was a failure, he might never work on the lot again except as a sandwich getter.
Dean walked across the lot. They were shooting on Stage 33 and he had to get there to do his scenes. He hoped he could do it in one take. The false face was killing him.
Dean spent the next few hours acting menacing in his monster makeup. When he wasn't menacing, he had to fall down on cue as Dennis Torrance, the leading man, supposedly slugged him. It was a lot harder for him to get up than to fall down.
Dean endured a couple of patch jobs between takes. He could understand how Karloff had hurt his back as Frankenstein after the day he had put in.
The crew put things away at the end of the filming day. Dean would have to have the makeup carefully removed before he could drive back to his place and collapse. He would have to endure hours in the chair in the morning before filming restarted the next day.
Big break, big break, he told himself as he walked back to the makeup building. This could be your big break. Don't blow it.
He would like to hit Torrance back for real just once.
Dean settled into the barber chair the makeup guys used and waited for someone to help him remove his Deacon mask. The false face would be put on a dummy head so it could be used in the morning.
There should be someone around. Why wasn't anyone there to get him out of his burden?
Dean got out of the chair, suddenly nervous at being alone in the silent building.
Dean decided to search the makeup department. Someone should be there to help him. He knew there were other monster movies on the lot. Those actors would also be arriving to have their false faces removed by the experts.
So where had everyone gone?
Dean searched the place from top to bottom. He knew he was alone when he was done. He also knew that should have been an impossibility. The whole crew wouldn't have packed it in without telling someone.
Dean carefully scratched his neck as he thought his predicament. He didn't want to ruin the makeup. He also didn't want to be stuck inside of it any longer than he had to be. The stuff itched like crazy and his eyes hurt from the special contacts he wore to simulate huge alien eyes.
Dean paused among the costumes hanging from their racks like dead cows, wondering what he should do. He heard something to his left. He listened to the sound as he searched for its source.
Maybe the makeup guys were having a party and forgot to tell anyone else.
The explanation wasn't plausible to Dean, but he clung to it as he followed his ears.
2
Dean snuck through the makeup building, wondering why he should be sneaking. He shouldn't be creeping up on some noise in the middle of a property building. He should be getting security instead to help him look around.
Dean fought down his hesitation as he continued moving forward. Whatever was back there in the shop was still muttering. He couldn't make out the words, but thought they weren't English at least.
Dean found a door to the model shop that was used to create stop motion monster movies like King Kong. He pushed it open as quietly as he could. Chanting came from his left and he turned in that direction.
The words were definitely not English.
Dean listened to the rhythm as he moved closer for a look at whomever was in the place with him. He hoped this was some kind of meeting that was normal despite the circumstances.
Dean paused at the closed door he stumbled into in the dark. The weird singing drifted to him from the crack at the bottom of the door. Weird light shifted from down there with each syllable.
Definitely not a crew meeting, unless they were going out for a barbershop quartet in gibberish.
Dean grabbed the door's knob, wondering what was the right thing to do. It wasn't his job to enforce studio security. On the other hand, he was an employee, and didn't want to be held responsible for any wrong doing.
If some filming was going on, he could close the door and back away without hurting anything. Anything illegal or harmful could be reported to the studio watchdogs so they could handle it.
Sympathetic cops handled things for the studio so that a star's image wasn't tarnished. The National Enquirer and its ilk was far in the future, as were the lawsuits that would be filed over false allegations and invasions of privacy. In that decade, minor things would be glossed over and covered up to protect the star, and the studio's interest in that star.
Dean twisted the knob, and pushed the door open. He peered inside the room carefully, looking around silently. He didn't like what he saw.
A man in a horned mask stood in a circle on the floor. A cape fell from his shoulders, as his brown suit appeared to darken under the strange light revolving around a circle drawn around the room. Dean frowned, glad that none of the make-up artists were present.
Dean didn't know what was going on, but felt that it had to stop. He didn't see anybody from security so it was up to him. Maybe he should get some help. That was the sensible thing to do.
Dean slammed the door wide open, stepping squarely in the display on the floor.
"Stop what you are doing right now," Dean said, hoping to look fearsome in his monster makeup. "This is private property and you are not supposed to be here."
"Get back, you fool," said the man in the horned mask. "You are ruining my design."
Dean looked down as tendrils of flame crawled up his legs. He tried to beat them out with his hands, watched in horror as his hands started to burn from the contact. The stuntman started dancing in his efforts to put the flame out.
He didn't have time to note there was no searing pain attached to this flame, only a coldness that seeped in his bones. He saw frost escape on his breath as more of the flames covered him in his monster suit.
What Dean didn't see due to his gyrations was the design on the floor had decided to follow the flames streaming up his pants legs. This occurrence doused all the light in the room except for what was eating Dean's body as he tried to fight it off.
"You idiot," said the man in the mask. "I worked for months to find the right time and place, and you fouled it up in a matter of seconds. Now I have to start all over again."
Dean heard the rant, unable to reply because of the pain and numbness lancing through his system. He collapsed on the floor as the flames shrouded his head, finally covering his whole body. He shuddered continuously as the circle maker let his energies collapse and started walking for the exit. Why should he stay when his plan was ruined by that nitwit?
The masked man heard a groan behind him and paused.
3
He called himself Nebiros after a demon harnessed by Merlin in the age of Camelot. He had studied magic, working hard until he was one of the few masters of his art. He considered himself in the class of Mr. Destiny, though he had never tested his skills against that Guardian of Justice.
He was interested in advancing his talents and powers beyond what he could do through simple study. He had worked for years to find the one spot on Earth that he could permanently enhance that physical power at the right moment with the right ritual. All was ruined with one fell swoop by a simpleton.
Then the buffoon had the temerity to survive his mistake.
Nebiros turned, the flame of his talent rushing to his hands. It appeared he would have to exterminate the problem before he returned to his research. Maybe there was another time and place he could use for the ritual. He would have to redo the calculations after he was done at the studio.
Nebiros gestured a killing fire at the groaning body on the ground. That should take care of this last witness to his crime. Hypnotic gestures for the workers in the building had been enough to send them home before he began, but this one had actually been affected by the circle. He could not be allowed to live.
The man in the dark suit rolled away from the blast. It scored a star in the concrete floor as the intruder lurched to his feet. Ovoid eyes glared at the magician as his white hair fluttered over yellow skin.
"I don't know what you did to me, but you're going to pay," the Demon Deacon said.
"Here's my first allotment," Nebiros said, sending his flame forth in a spellbound that ate at the floor as it crossed the room almost to the ceiling. "Enjoy that."
"Enjoy this," said the Deacon, pointing at the wave. A beam of fire leaped out, lancing through the spell of destruction as it careened toward the wizard. Hands came up to block the attack, spreading a fiery shield in front of the wizard. That stopped the former stuntman's projectile in a spray of real flame.
Nebiros swept his shield forward in a net. It seemed that his circle had worked after all. He might be able to duplicate the effect after study. He might not have to wait for the right time to perform it again. He could just take it from the body of his enemy.
The transformed man caught the edges of the net with his large hands. He flipped it into the ceiling as he charged forward. Once he had his tormentor by the neck, he would strangle him. He could feel great physical strength and speed ripping through his system, just as he had felt the urge to burn the other man.
He was displaying powers like the movie villain he portrayed. Analyzing that problem would have to wait until later. He wanted to put his fist through the other guy's face now.
Dean's attack took the wizard by surprise as he grabbed the other man's jacket and hoisted him off the ground. He turned and flung Nebiros against the wall as hard as he could. He didn't care about the crack of the wizard's ribs when he hit.
Nebiros tried to ignore the pain running along his side. He could fix that later when he got away from the thing that he had created from the other man. Now he needed to fend the creature off long enough to escape to his lair. He had never matched his magical skill against any type of brute force.
The results so far were not to his liking.
Nebiros brought his hands together, allowing his flames to create a wall between him and his opponent. He only needed it to hold for a few moments. He put the sight of the Deacon pointing at him out of mind. He needed to concentrate on his second spell, not on the fire ball heading for his wall.
The wizard closed his eyes and pictured the place he wanted to be. Flames ate at his body as he went there piece by piece. It was an expensive piece of work, but when he opened his eyes, the familiar green carpet of his library held him off the floor of his house miles away from the Ever Brothers Studios.
Dean McKarren watched the flame from his finger strike the empty place where the masked man had lain. He gritted his teeth, knowing the other man had escaped somehow. He closed his eyes and started thinking about things he needed to do before he could go home.
For one thing, he needed to get someone to take his makeup off so that he could turn his suit into the costume department. Then he would be able to get some sleep, and come back for filming in the morning. He might need the studio doc to look him over.
Now that things had been settled, he didn't feel good. Maybe whatever light display he had walked into had taken more out of him than he had realized.
Dean made his way out of the building, pausing when he saw a couple of golf carts used by the personnel to get around the lot. Martha Toom, one of the only women producers working, was in one of the carts. She didn't look happy, but she almost never did.
"What's going on here, McKarren?," Martha said, getting out of the cart. "The guard at the gate said all of the makeup and costume people went home instead of waiting for the end of the day."
"I'm having problems myself," Dean said. He rubbed his face, realizing he could feel the touch through what should be a yellow mask. It was the first time that had happened and he knew it was unnatural. The layers over his face should have prevented the touch as it did when the movie had first started filming. "Could you get someone here to get this stuff off me? I don't feel so good."
Martha turned to her assistant, ordering him to get the head of the department there. She sent the other cart after a doctor. One of her thin hands helped Dean sit against the nearby wall of his transforming spot. She had a film to finish, and she wanted to keep the villain of the piece in good condition until everything was in the can.
What had happened to the stuntman? He had been fine when he had left the set. Worse why did his eyelids close over the artificial lenses used to make him more of a monster. That wasn't supposed to happen.
Epilogue
Dean McKarren watched the tide roll in on a pier in the Los Angeles Harbor. His new stature meant a new wardrobe. He tried to ignore the other people staring at him as stood watching the water in his Hawaiian shirt and cotton pants.
He, Martha, and Doc Ivers had hashed out what had happened to him the best that they could since the one responsible had gotten clean away. The most obvious thing was the makeup, wig, special contacts were his body now. His average looking face was a big chinned, knotty-browed, parody of what it used to be. Cutting the fake skin had produced real blood, so the three of them knew the transformation was for good, and real.
Dean tried not to think of the bad things that went with the change. He had been in the hospital twice from stunts gone bad. One of those had been severe enough to keep him in bed for a few months. Those experiences had taught him to enjoy what he had. It would just take him awhile to figure out what he wanted to do.
Dean was faster, stronger, tougher, and had the ability to set things on fire with his finger tip. Unfortunately he had not gained the ability to see in the future. His movie career would fail because of this, and he would become involved with saving the city from menaces that seemed spawned to give him trouble because of his new abilities.
Years later, after he had retired from the world saving business, others would point to him as an example of how heroes should act, and look up to him as a reminder of why they followed in his footsteps.
Dean didn't think of that. He thought of how the waves reached for the shore, and how he wished he had made time to go swimming before he was supposed to meet Martha Toom and Doc Ivers for dinner at a place a few yards from the studio.
Those thoughts would vanish when the Gold Rush Gang tried to rob the place while they were eating. Then all he would be thinking about is getting the bandits away from anyone else so he could pound them into the ground.