Freaky Fergus
Freaky Fergus
by Pearl
When I was 15, I was an archaeologist with a tentacled parasite bursting out of my skin. Not enough. When I was 16, I was the junk spirit from Spirited Away with severed heads in my lumpy brown body. Still not enough. 17: I was an iron-colored demon wearing a ballgown of human skin. It was a mistake making parts of the gown out of dark skins; I got a few “notes” on that, but I think I saw him in the crowd that year.
At 18, I was lucky to live in a college town that loves Halloween. With plenty of parties, widespread trick-or-treating, and a nearby amusement park, an adult has plenty of reasons to get dressed up. I was old enough to enter the Freaky Fergus Costume Contest, and I aimed to win, but there was something more that I wanted: Freaky Fergus. It was a little galling doing so much for a guy’s attention, but Freaky Fergus wasn’t just some guy. It’d be worth it if I could just catch Freaky Fergus’s eye the way Willow did.
According to legend, Freaky Fergus was born to an ugly witch and a monstrous demon. Unsurprisingly, Fergus himself barely looked human. His mother kept him in the house, only ever letting him look outside on Halloween, which at the time was just getting its start in America. Fergus grew up believing that the world was populated by strange and monstrous beings and the uncostumed humans were the ugly minority. One Halloween, he snuck out and walked among the costumed townspeople. He made a friend (or more than a friend depending on who you ask) and with the help of his magic, Fergus and his companion had a gas that night. But then, as midnight approached, the other person took off their costume. Hard to guess what went through his head at that moment. Confusion? Anger? Humiliation? Did he feel like he’d been lied to and laughed at or that the ugly humans had somehow driven out and impersonated the monsters? Spurred by one intense emotion or the other, Fergus tore his friend’s head off and immolated himself. His mother sacrificed the friend’s whole family and herself to the demon father, hoping to bring her boy back. But she could only bring him halfway. Every Halloween since then, Freaky Fergus rises from the grave to find the ugliest costume in town. The person inside is in for the best night of their lives, as long as they don’t take off their costumes before midnight.
The rest of the town thinks it’s just a legend, but I knew Fergus is real. When I was 14, Willow Holt and I volunteered to escort a group of trick-or-treaters. She disappeared some time before the night was over. A while after midnight, long after her parents called the police and my mom had gotten any information she could out of me, I saw her. Willow Holt, still wearing her elaborate Krampus costume, floated down from the cloudy night sky and landed on her back porch. I don’t think she ever told anyone exactly what happened; everyone just assumed she got lost. But I know what happened. Willow met Freaky Fergus, kept her costume on the whole night, and was rewarded for it.
My newest costume was covered in leathery skin with pus-filled sores and dotted with bloody human teeth. The perfect makeup and prosthetics gave me a snaggletoothed underbite, greasy hair, and a bloated, worm-infested left eye. I liked the gown from last year, so I made a ragged and filthy dress of grimy blue fabric.
“This has to work,” I said to myself as I looked at the fruits of my hard work. The ugly rotten, disgusting fruits. It looked scary, but more importantly, it looked pathetic and sickly. “I’ll see you soon, Freaky Fergus.”
Days passed and Halloween came. I slipped into my diseased-looking bodysuit and let my mom and stepdad take pictures. When I got ready to go, they asked me to escort Jade and Gem, my step sisters, to the party one of their classmates was throwing.
“Dad, we’re okay walking ourselves,” Gem said haughtily. Jade ughed in agreement. They both gave my costume a side-eye, as if a sexy Gandalf and Naruto were any better.
“And I’m okay letting them,” I said.
“You all go together or none of you go,” my step dad said firmly. “It can get dangerous out there at night and I want all of my girls sticking together.”
Of course, he and Mom were cool with the super revealing costumes in 40 degree weather, but they drew the line at this. I could tell he wasn’t going to budge so I said yes and hurried the three of us out the door. They said the party wasn’t far away so if we were quick, I could drop them off and make it to town square for the costume contest at 6:30.
I had to let the sisters lead since I didn’t know where the place was, which meant I was at the mercy of their impractical heels and their need to show off to any boy they saw. Still, Jade and Gem didn’t want to drag this out any more than I did so, we made decent time through the streets. It was a shame I couldn’t enjoy the decorations of costumes, but I told myself I’d have plenty of time to take it all in once I dropped them off.
“Ugh, when are you going to grow up, Pearl?” Gem bitched after another dude passed us by. Apparently, it was my costume and not the young lady on his arm that stopped him from drooling over them. “Seriously? Another gross monster? I mean what grown woman actually thinks that’s what this night’s about?”
I didn’t bother answering. Gem and Jade were obnoxious at the best of times, but something about the holidays cranked it up to eleven. There’s only ever one right way to celebrate and they’re the only ones who do it right, apparently. I was already dreading Thanksgiving.
“We keep having to explain to people in school that we’re not actually related to you,” Gem said smugly as if I wanted them in my gene pool. “The sad wannabe goth chick who thinks Halloween’s about this garbage.” She fingered one of the 3D printed teeth on my back.
“Don’t you want to look good for the boys?” Jade asked. “You’re never going to get the right kind of attention if you keep dressing like this.”
I shuddered a bit at the implication. At 16 and 17, most parents would be a little discerning about what they were allowed to wear. But with a father desperate to be progressive, a stepmother desperate to be cool, and some pretty decent sewing skills, their costumes were set weeks earlier.
“Unless there’s a very special boy you’re after?” Jade ventured. I froze. Was it that obvious? “I knew it! You actually believe in Freaky Fergus?”
I wanted to end this conversation and drop the two idiots off, so I said, “I’m already passing math. I don’t need the kind of ‘attention’ you two clearly do.”
“Bitch!” Jade shrieked, giving me a rough shove. I caught myself before I fell, but a few of the teeth fell out.
“Watch it, asshole!” I snapped back. “This costume’s worth ten of those cheap bathing suits you’re wearing.”
“Oh, really?” Gem sneered with an ugly smirk.
She yanked at the sleeve of my latex bodysuit and when I shoved her off, the sleeve came with her. We both stared in shock for a second. Then I howled and tackled her to the sidewalk, trying to strangle her with her gray wool cape. It wasn’t fair, I worked weeks on my costume and these sluts just ruined it! Jade managed to pull me off her sister knocking my fake eye toy ground and breaking it in the process. I twisted in her grasp and punched her in the jaw.
“When Dad finds out, you crazy bitch…” Jade hissed as she helped Gem up.
“Go tell him! I don’t care! Just get the hell away from me!” I shouted.
The two walked away, shouting insults over their shoulders. Mom and Paul would be pissed and I knew we’d just made a scene but I could barely think about that as I gathered the loose teeth and torn latex. I tried putting the sleeve back on but it wasn’t the same and there was no saving the eye or the smeared makeup. And Jade’s grabbing tore more of the suit and dress. I couldn’t even hope for the costume contest, let alone Freaky Fergus.
There was nothing to do. There was no time to fix or salvage anything. I just wandered over to the nearby playground, sat on a swing, and cried. All the festiveness of Halloween suddenly felt like a mockery, but it was strangely easy to tune it out on that empty playground. The sound of skittering dead leaves and soft, purring night wind somehow drowned out the laughing kids and recorded screams. The metal of the swing chains and the merry-go-round creaked in a gentle, familiar way that felt like a house settling. It calmed me down so much that I almost didn’t notice the creaking coming from the swing next to me.
I turned and saw the swing swaying a bit, but the only thing in the seat was a chunky metal ring. I’d have easily mistaken it for a bolt from the swing set if not for a note next to it.
Put it on and think about the costume you want. Be creative.
I looked around, hoping to see who left it, but instead I saw nobody. A complete and literal lack of any human. A thick mist surrounded the playground and I could just barely make out gutted and burned down houses in the neighborhood beyond. I got up from the swing shakily, palming the ring with a shivering hand.
“Freaky Fergus?” I called out softly. No answer. I stood there for a minute in a world where I seemed to be the only living being. Had I gotten my wish, though? Was he there somewhere waiting for me to put on the ring? “Here goes nothing.”
I slipped on the ring and thought about the costume I’d wished I had the time and resources to create. I’d had plenty of ideas that I couldn’t bring to life. The thick band of metal on my finger radiated a clotted cold feeling over my body. As I closed my eyes and kept thinking about my costume, the cold took on a solid shape. It ended after a minute and a voice from in front of me said, “Gorgeous. I knew you’d have an eye for this kind of thing, Pearl.”
I opened my eyes and saw a guy about my age wearing a very realistic fox mask, complete with golden eyes and a bloody rabbit caught in its teeth. There were a few drops of blood on his white shirt and suspenders. His hands and bare feet were a little bigger and hairier than normal.
“Freaky Fergus, at your service,” he said cheerfully. He bowed deep and slowly pulled the mask over his head. He raised his head and revealed a face that had a thick beetle brow, a prominent hair lip and…well, that was kind of it. I must have looked disappointed, because he said, “Hair lips were a bigger deal back then. I’m also left handed. But let’s focus on you.” He wandered over to the monkey bars and flicked a metal pole with his finger. With a sound like a crumpling tin can, it unfolded like a weird rectangular flower to reveal a floor length mirror. “It’s just an illusion, but I needed you to wear a costume of some kind. Rules are rules, you know.”
The thing in the mirror was gloriously hideous. The blue dress was grimier than ever and was fused to my skin where the sores were. The left side of my torso had a gaping wound leaking blood and pus and exposing bone. Large teratomas on my back rolled rheumy eyes, burbled through half-formed mouths, and wiggled vestigial fingers. The right side of my face had shriveled, giving its mass to the bloated left side and the maggots squirming in the watery brown eye. But my favorite addition, the one I couldn’t find a way to add myself, was the glass: every sore on my body was ringed with chipped black glass. My hands and feet were almost completely glass and I could actually see through them.
I looked to Fergus, who was hefting a pumpkin-sized boulder with one hand and no effort. “Thank you, Fergus. I look amazing.”
“You made the costume yourself, Pearl,” he said kindly. “I just helped out a bit. Now are you ready to win that contest?” He dropped the boulder at his feet among a pile of dead rats and toads that he’d collected.
I nodded eagerly and he wove his magic around the rock and animals.
The chariot that pulled up to the townsquare was definitely not street legal, but Fergus assured me that he wouldn’t let the police ruin our fun. It was a massive crypt affixed to a broken down Hummer, pulled by four horse-sized rats and steered by human-sized toads. One of them opened the door for me and Fergus led me to the sign-in booth like the belle of the ball. I’d asked him in the chariot not to rig the contest. Pizza Hut gift cards are sweetest when earned and with all the impressive entries this year, it’d definitely be well-earned.
I presented myself in front of the judges, limping and groaning on the stage like the wretch I looked like. The looks of disgust and amazement made the moment shine. I briefly searched the crowd for a slutty wizard or ninja but then I remembered that they were at a party.
“And the winner of the Ugliest Costume is…Pearl Nolan!”
“Pearl Nolan!” Mom’s voice cut through the crowd before I could get to the stage. She and Paul shoved their way to me and started yelling. “Where have you been, young lady? We’ve been texting you nonstop!”
“Your sisters said you attacked them before the party!” Paul shouted. “Would you like to explain…explay…explin…” His eyes and Mom’s started to slide out of focus. He kept trying to finish his thought as Fergus came up behind them.
“Go except your prize, Pearl,” he said. “I’ll handle them. Don’t worry; they’ll be fine. I’ll just alter their memories a bit.”
I hesitated, but only for a second. I tried to put them out of my mind as I went to get my award. When I got back, I saw Mom and Paul’s listless retreating backs and Fergus waving at me.
“They’ll remember having a conversation with you and realizing that your step sisters were to blame. You have permission to stay out as long as you want, but you’ll probably be home by midnight.” He took me by the hand and led me back to the carriage. “Now, come on. I know you didn’t want all these years to meet me just for a costume contest.”
He was right, of course. I told myself Mom and Paul would be fine and I got back into the crypt, where a toad presented me with a guaranteed winning lottery ticket and a bucket of candy.
We hit the local amusement park, and whenever we reached a ride with too long a line, Fergus would shift it into that empty dimension surrounded by green mist. The rides, faster and scarier than before, were operated by human cockroaches. He turned us into children to go trick or treating, which always made the candy taste better. Whenever we came across a bully or brat, Fergus would snap his fingers. The kids’ bags would fill with sewage or lizards would crawl out of their noses or for the really nasty ones, they’d shrink into ugly green imps and run off screaming. And after every bit of magical mischief, he’d give me another ring or necklace or bracelet.
“Just put in on and focus and you’ll be able to do the same spell,” Fergus said back in the carriage. “I thought you might like to keep a bit of magic once the night’s over.”
“Is this what you did for Willow Holt?” I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but I had been hoping to learn magic for myself, not just reuse Fregus’s spells.
“No, she’s already ugly, so she got to keep some magic for herself,” Fergus said casually.
I winced a bit. It wasn’t untrue, but hearing it said so bluntly brought back a bit of guilt. I’d like to think that I wasn’t especially cruel about Willow’s buck teeth or unibrow or wispy hair or bargain bin clothes, but I know I wasn’t that nice, either. We gave her a hard time that night and when we got the kids we were chaperoning in on it, she ran off a few minutes later. I’m still ashamed to admit that we didn’t even try to look for her.
“Is ugliness how magic works?” I asked, trying to push the guilt away.
“It’s how mine works,” he said with a shrug. “She looked so miserable so I thought I’d help her out. And her costume was ugly enough, so I picked her that year. She wanted to kill you, did you know that?” he asked lightly. Suddenly, the glamour I was wearing felt a lot colder. “I was able to talk her and the other kids out of it. We just pulled a few pranks and went to the amusement park.”
I shivered. What if Willow (and apparently several other kids) hadn’t changed their minds? Would he have just let them kill us? What about the people who take their costumes off? In the four years I wanted to meet him, I don’t think I really realized how dangerous he might be. He hadn’t had any problem with mind controlling my parents at least. And I never asked him if the transformed kids would change back. The more I thought about it, the more I had to wonder why he was even doing this. And where was the carriage headed?
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To answer the questions you’re too afraid to ask,” Fergus said. I frowned and looked out the window. When we passed the playground, I got an idea about where we were going. “It’s okay, Pearl. This is usually the point where people start to ask questions. It’s natural.”
We pulled up at a cul-de-sac with a party spanning three large houses. I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with the gruesome twosome, but I let Fergus guide me to one of the backyards. There was a projector playing a horror movie on the back of the house. Then he went off, telling me he’d be back in a bit.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Of course. Not here five minutes and Gem’s already found me.
“And where’d you get that costume?” Jade added popping in from the other side.
“None of your business and none of your business,” I said, enjoying the envy in her voice and the cringe in her eyes.
“Did the parents talk to you yet?” Gem asked smugly.
“Yeah, they agreed it was your fault. Enjoy dealing with that when you get home.”
The two squared themselves like they were getting ready for another fight and I fingered my lizards-from-the-nose ring, but we never got the chance. The projected movie blared white and the speakers screeched harshly. The partygoers groaned at the apparent malfunction, but a black and whit image soon blurred to life: a man and woman on the deck of a boat. The voice that came out of the speakers was Fergus’s.
“Callum and Molly Quinn came from Ireland and met on the boat to America, fleeing the Potato Famine. Both grew up as the most attractive people in their respective hometowns, so it was no surprise that they gravitated to each other.” Callum and Molly grinned shyly and inched closer. Fergus continued, his voice a little harsher. “But beauty only has so many uses. It didn’t stop the Famine or save their families or make the journey any easier. In the hard world of 1800s America, their beauty was worth even less. Weak and useless. Stupid and easy victims. That’s what their good looks translated into. And worse, they knew it was true.” The image changed multiple times. Rough looking men holding money. Hungry looking women shadowed by jealous husbands. Factory bosses and coworkers who gave Callum the worst jobs and laughed. Wives who worked Molly to the bone in their kitchens and accused her of seducing their husbands. “The Quinns grew disillusioned with America and beauty quickly. They never seemed to bring anything but trouble. Soon enough they met people who were just as disenchanted with the American Dream.” The Quinns posed for a picture with a group of scholarly looking people, one of whom held a monstrous bloody skull. “Their order gave themselves to any god or devil that promised them power. The Quinns in particular sought out any deity that eschewed beauty and perfection for power and respect. Their worship of deformity and disgust led them to, or perhaps even created, Moraghandr. And he had a deal for them.” Molly and Callum held a candle up to a pool of water, illuminating a feline face stretched out to human proportions. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest, but I couldn’t stop listening and neither could anyone else. A funhouse mirror maze worth of wretched creatures were displayed. “Their children would be born hideously inhuman and with great power. In exchange, the children would spread their repugnance in any way they could. Some directly disfigured and bespoiled whatever they could. Others inspired cruelty, apathy, dangerous legends, or grotesque displays.” The crowd murmured as the Freaky Fergus Costume Contest from a few hours ago played. Fergus’s voice became frantic and zealous. “Soon it will be enough. Soon Moraghandr will be able to cross into our world. Earth will drown in filth and the pristine house on the hill will fear and worship the beasts that flourish beneath.” Images of gargantuan beasts and dissolving humans and more flew by as squelching, popping sounds filled the yard. “Moraghandr wields two kinds of grotesque: the being that cared more for power than beauty and the beautiful being that broke and rotted. I wonder which one you all will be.”
The presentation was cut off and the horror movie resumed. But the bone chilling scream and skull rattling crunch we heard didn’t come from the speakers. We all turned to the pool where a creature lounged, a mangled girl in his mouth.
I froze as the rest of the crowd screamed and ran. The real Fergus Quinn raised his squat, almost sharklike head and pulsated his long meaty neck. He spat a large blob of black gamey-smelling ooze at the back door everyone was running for. The smell of burning flesh and wood mingled hissing metal and choking screams. The victims lumbered from the door with melting, mutanting bodies. Then Fergus charged. He slashed with the bony hooks at the end of his powerful arms. The fanged hole on the side of his bloated belly spat more feculent burning ooze. The hairy ape-like arm growing out of the left of his neck pointed and waved, sending curses and spells at anyone too far away to grab. People were painfully fused together and broke their jaws as anacondas slithered out of their mouths. My step sisters lost their eyes, nose, and more to the flock of birds he conjured up.
And then he stopped. Most people escaped, albeit deformed and likely in great pain, but the ones who didn’t filled every corner of my vision. Fergus loped over to me on his hooked forearms, his almost skeletal legs apparently not enough to support his weight.
“I’m sorry, Pearl,” he hissed through massive teeth. “But it’ll be okay.”
“You killed them,” I rasped distantly.
“Not just them,” he replied flatly. The kids we mutated. The rides full of people who just disappeared. Sometimes we’d go back to the carriage and I could’ve sworn the rats and salamanders were chewing on something. The screams were so loud, even for Halloween. “They’ll all be fine at midnight if you keep your costume on.”
That should have been a relief, but I could barely register what he said. Was this all just a game to him?
“Moraghandr loves myths and legends, so he makes us follow ours. Don’t ask me how mine got started,” Fergus said wearily. “Show up on Halloween, find an ugly costume, give the person in it a fun time, and kill them if they take it off. He likes destruction, too, but I found a way to appease him without too much permanent damage.” He took a breath and paused. I said nothing and he continued. “I’ll fix everyone I’ve killed or changed, but I’ll use Moraghandr’s power to do it. They’ll have a bit of his ugliness in them. Maybe they’ll have ugly kids, or make ugly art, or have ugly attitudes, or maybe it won’t show itself at all. But it’ll be there.”
Understanding crackled in my mind. “I didn't survive Willow’s Halloween, did I?”
Fergus shook his head. “Not the one after that or after that, either. Lots of people didn’t.” he pulled something from his ragged pants. “Moraghandr’s coming, Pearl. Maybe next year, maybe next century. And when he gets here, this will make sure you’re…in a good position.” I shakily take the large necklace. A smiling pig rendered in volcanic crag and tarnished gold. “Its effects are permanent though so make sure you’re ready before you put it on.”
With nothing more to say, he reverted to his human appearance and I numbly allowed myself to be escorted back to the carriage and driven home. He put his mask firmly on and avoided my gaze.
I kept my eyes on the window on the ride home, looking for signs of Moraghandr’s corruption. We passed a community garden filled with brambles and carrion flowers, open dumpsters overflowing with roadkill, decorations that featured very specific types of people being lynched. Was the playground always that rusted and bent and full of garbage? And the people, some of whom were probably tainted with a mad god’s putridness, howled in anger at the carriage that had already claimed many lives that night. How hadn’t I noticed? Maybe that was a part of my corruption, a blind eye to true ugliness.
At almost 11:30, I was certain Fergus’s quota of death was done and he hadn’t seemed happy about it, but that didn’t make me feel much better. How many of my classmates or neighbors had spent previous Halloweens with Fergus? What did they think about this? I already knew that I shared a chemistry class with someone who’d murdered me, who else has blood on their hands? I didn’t give him a second glance as we pulled up to the house.
I opened the door slowly, hoping to sneak upstairs so Mom and Paul didn't see me. The floor of the living room was sticky and red from the mangled corpse on the floor. The tortured words, “I didn’t mean to,” floated down from the master bedroom over and over. On second thought, I decided to wait out the rest of the 30 minutes outside. I was too drained to push Fergus away when he sat next to me.
“I’m sorry, Pearl,” he said again.
For a second, I wanted to yank off my ring and dare him to just kill me to show him what I thought of his sorry. I could run, give him a good chase before he chases me down and rips my head off. But I didn’t; too busy thinking.
“Why did you pick me?” I asked. “Apparently you could have picked plenty of people, so why only me?”
He shrugged. “It would’ve been a shame to waste that costume. And you looked like you could use some Halloween fun.”
I couldn't help laughing. Every year, at least one person gets to have an amazing Halloween. And all it costs is the use of our souls to create a gateway for an evil god. Fair trade, I guess. Fergus and I just talked about the costume contest and what his life was like and other stuff until time ran out. His body started to dissolve into black ash and so did the carriage. A pressure like a chloroformed rag fell over the town.
“Well, this is it,” Freaky Fergus Quinn said sadly. He took off his fox mask and with nothing else for it, I gave him a kiss. He smiled and said, “It was fun, Pearl. Truly. Maybe I’ll see you next year.”
“Yeah,” I muttered as the best and worst Halloween of my life disappeared. “Maybe.”
I pulled off the ring and felt a coldness leave my body. My delicate, normal hands dropped the metal ring into my bag of candy and I went in the house just in time to see my mother scrubbing spilled fruit punch from the carpet. I gave her and Paul a hug and made a promise to myself to hug Gem and Jade when they got home.
“How was the contest, Pearl?” Mom asked. Her and Paul’s eyes twitched a bit and they pointedly avoided the punch stain. “And what happened to your costume.”
“Got ruined,” I said as casually as I could. I’d forgotten that my costume was destroyed and apparently the sisters never brought it up. “It’s okay. I won anyway.”
I can see it sometimes, you know. The corruption. It’s like a malignant tumor right in people’s hearts, one that pulses and oozes when it’s squeezed. A few kids in my art class secrete their ooze when they make their dour paintings or gorey sculptures. Professors who act like bullies, rubberneckers drawn to car accidents, children playing with matches near dry autumn leaves; sometimes I look at them and I see Moraghandr’s ugliness flow through them. As promised, many tainted people never express their corruption, not that I see at least. But it’s still there.
It wouldn’t have been nearly as disturbing if I hadn’t noticed this during my summer vacation to Spain. More of Moraghandr’s children? Or was Fergus just very busy?
Either way, my plan to go to college in another state and get away from all this seems moot now. There really is nowhere to hide.
It’s October again and I’m not sure if I should be a hunchback or Elsa. Do I want to see people suffer and die and be the only one to remember it or do I want to see what horrible memories of my own death I can cling to past midnight? I finger the pig necklace that I keep in a box as I think on it. I’m honestly not sure how mad I should be at him. He was charming and fun but he also lied to me and used me. He hurt others in horrible ways but tried to fix it as best he could. He never asked to be linked to Moraghandr but he still is and the world will suffer for it one day. I look at the smiling pig. Just touching it always gives the sensation of plunging my arm elbow-deep into mud infested with crawling, biting things. It shouldn’t feel this tempting and liberating.
It can see my own corruption seep as I think about him and I make my decision.
“Maybe I’ll make the hunch look like a snowy mountain,” I say out loud. Fun ideas race through my mind as I try to make a Disney princess appealingly unappealing. This is going to be fun. “I’ll see you soon, Freaky Fergus.”