It was up to Violet. That was the one thing she knew, when the Council introduced her to the black mask and told her all the secrets that hid in Little Hampton Point Valley. That summer, her beauty, which had been considerable to start with, suddenly seemed to entrap every male who looked at her, she knew she had the power to free Joe.

And that night, behind the bar, with their few, brief stolen moments, her heart was breaking, even as she lay twisted in his arms in the shadows, with a brawl going on just outside.

"Joe," she said, and she knew she could do this. "I don't love you." The words were cold and strong, although she was weeping inside. She thought maybe it was the powers of the black mask that allowed her to be not quite human. She looked at his face, flushed from sex and love, and all of a sudden she wanted to bite that throbbing vein in his neck. Her cool evaporated. She leaned in to him to smell the blood pulsing through his body.

"I don't love you, Joe," the words were a vicious hiss as she tried to control the bloodlust. They had warned her, the council, but this was the first time she had felt it. "I won't ever marry you."

"What?" He said, dazed, confused. This did not make sense. What about the summer that seemed to last forever and fill with with joy? "That's not true Vi." He said. He saw her clench her hands together and grit her teeth.

"I was USING you," she spit out, "to make my father jealous. Obviously it worked. I am done with you."

"No, Vi..."

"Yes, I don't ever want to see you again. No one does. Even your mother can't stand to be around you. Why do you think she drinks so much. She tells everyone at the bar what a waste you are when she's on one of her benders and you're not around." Violet had gotten control of herself finally and was spilling all that hunger and heat into her words, watching the reactions on Joe's face. The hunger was feeding off of his pain, but inside, Violet thought that she would never have happiness again. She was not good enough to be happy. She was not good enough to have Joe in her life.

"Face it," she said as she rearranged her clothes and pulled bottle caps out of her mussed hair. "There's no reason for you to even be alive." With that, she stormed off. She ran home and threw herself on the bed to cry and cry and cry.

But he didn't know that. All he knew was that he had to get out of this town. He snuck out the kitchen door (everyone was still watching Bill and Jack brawl, so there were no witnesses) and disappeared into the night. No one ever saw him again...

Until 7 years later.

And here he was, with Violet's arms wrapped around him, watching her sob. And he knew. He knew without knowing how he knew that she really did love him and always had. What he didn't know was why she had lied all those years ago and why she had chased him away.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him, their hearts beating as one as their chests pressed together. "My father has kidnapped our son."

The fury rose in him and his hands itched for his gun. That was when the door burst open.

Randy stood there, covered in blood, holding a gun.

He should have been shocked, he should have reached for that gun in his waist holster, but oddly, what came out of his mouth was, "That's my father's gun."

Randy smiled, cold and hard. "I know. I took it off your brother Clive when I shot him."

"You!" Violet gasped.

"That's right. I'm the Dwarf Catcher. You thought I was too stupid to be a danger. You thought I was so stupid you wouldn't even look at me, not the way you're looking at him," he waved the gun at Joe. "Or the way you look at that freak Swotsy. She's a lesbian, you know, Joe. She's never going give it up to you again."

"You don't know what you're getting into, Randy. Don't listen to the Monsieur. He's using you."

"Oh, no more than I'm using him," Randy said and smiled. "And I do know what I'm getting in to. You bitches on the freak side of town always thought you were better than anyone else, and now I know why. Oh yes. CJ told me all about it, thinking he was saving me. Then I shot him. One more dead dwarf to send to the Monsieur."

While Randy bragged about murder, Joe was getting into position

turned to Margaret. She thought of Bill, of that one kiss that had sent the blood rushing in her veins like lava. When he chose Wilma, then Alice over her, she was devastated. That was when she entered the order. Still, her face betrayed no emotion. It was an impassive, beautiful mask. 'Joe must go,' she said. 'It's no good. We hoped he, Clive, or one of the girls would be the answer, but the hunger is still there. Maybe if Clive and the girls had a child ...'
'No!' Bitsy said. 'It's too risky.'
'We've dabbled enough,' Magdalena said. 'Anyway, I've seen the way Rowena looks at Clive. Leave them be. Let dwarves be with dwarves.'
'Then Joe ...' Margaret mused.
'No!' Alice said sharply. 'I know he loves Vi, but I won't let him be destroyed, not like all of us.'

That night before she set off for McGilligans, Alice held her son close, knowing she had little time left with him. It was the only way to keep him safe. She thought of his beauty, the way men and women were drawn to him. She had seen the way Randy looked at him sometimes, always goading him into Greco Roman wrestling on the beach ...


Only little Clive understood what it meant to have a face that stopped traffic. When she saw them laughing together, she wished she could tell Joe Clive was his big brother. But Joe could never know.

He had to leave before he too fell prey to the black mask, the desire to keep that beautiful face just the way it was. People would do anything for eternal beauty. Why, they'd sell their soul. He'd be fine, Alice told herself. His unnatural strength and circus skills would come in handy in any number of jobs ...

7 is the magic number

done anything to be the perfect aunt. On the day he was due back from Holland with Alice, May tidied the house, imagining all the wonderful adventures that lay ahead of them. She just had time to wash the last of the facepacks off before she heard Alice's key in the door. She ran downstairs followed by a liquid stream of cats, rushing down the steps like mercury in her wake, yowling a greeting, relieved not to be alone in the house any longer with this maniac who blended their mother.

Joe rushed into the lamplit hall, glanced up as his aunt ran to greet him and froze in horror. As Alice pulled the key from the lock, he began to scream.

May left soon after that. Small town Suffolk was no place for her. She married an octogenarian billionaire with a feline obsession. Alone at home with a small child, Alice's high spirits didn't last long.
'Go play,' she would push Joe out of the kitchen door as one of her gentlemen arrived to do odd jobs around the house. 'Go find some friends your own age.'

And he did. When Randy and Violet were busy with their own families, Joe would wander out to the trailer park to play with Clive's kids. CJ became like the kid brother he never had. It was the only place he felt accepted, the only place where people didn't joke about his crazy cat aunt and Alice's drinking. The only place in the world he felt like the normal one. There were eight of them in one trailer - Rowena, Clive, their five children and her mother, poor Wilma's best friend .........

Tiny Mysteries

Do not doubt my powers just because I am shorter than you."

Bill glanced at the Tarot card and then he looked more closely, from the card to its tiny wielder, back and forth. Good Lord. It was Rowena herself depicted on the card. What was she trying to tell him? Was she trying to tell him anything at all, for that matter?

"What are you trying to tell me?" he said aloud finally. "From what I remember of the Tarot, The Devil is the card of self-bondage to an idea or belief which is preventing us from growing. Is this somehow related to your and Clive's... condition?"

Rowena hissed, she actually hissed at him. The Devil indeed. "Do not try my patience," she said, "and remember what I have told you. "Leave Clive be!" She melted back into the darkness.

So he had lost his wife. He apparently had lost his son Clive as well, if he didn't want to risk the microscopic but probably quite annoying wrath of Rowena. There was still Joe, he supposed, but

Bright Moon of the Night

"Nothin', Plum Puddin', nothin," he said, putting the wee, now squalling infant back in the basinet. "Listen to the doctors, Bright Moon of the Night." His voice was soothing to her, but when he turned to the doctor, there was a note of panic. "Can't you give her something to calm her down?" he whispered.

The doctors, looking on him with sympathy, nodded and added something to her IV.

"What is it, Bill? Why will no one talk to me?"

"Relax, Light of the Fairy Circle. Just rest," Bill said, "I'm goin' to head home to the flat and ready it for your arrival, when you wake up, we can go home."

"Okay, Bill," Wilma said, as she floated dreamlessly into the darkness.

That was to be the last time she saw her husband for 16 years.

On the day she and her baby, (whom she loved beyond the moon and the stars, and whom she named after her carnie father,) were to be released, Bill had a taxi waiting for her. The driver had no answers, just that he was to pick up the lady and the babe and take them home.

Where Bill was not.

Until he returned to her 16 years later, hat in hand, saying he had never loved anyone more than he loved her, begging for

Wilma's pregnancy went smoothly. Everyone commented on her beautiful complexion: 'You're blooming!' the vicar shook her hand warmly at the end of the Christmas Eve service. Wilma smiled wanly. Her contractions had started during 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing.' As Bill helped her down the icy church path, gulls wheeled in the leaden sky. She gripped his arm.
'It's time, Bill,' she said. Alarm filled his eyes.

That night, he paced the waiting room floor smoking filterless Camels. By the time the nurse came in to break the news, he was well into his second packet.
'Mr Sullivan ...'
'Where is she?' he barged past the nurse into Wilma's room. She smiled weakly. The dawn light made her pale skin seem luminous. 'It's a boy ...' she whispered as he kissed her.
Bill gazed into the cradle at the side of the bed. The boy's open, beautiful face gazed back at his father - his dark eyes filled with what seemed like inifinite wisdom. To Bill it seemed like he was capable of anything, everything. The blankets were tucked tightly up to the baby's chin.
'Wilma,' Bill murmured, holding back tears of relief and joy. 'He's beautiful.'
'They wouldn't let me hold him ...'
'That's crazy,' Bill smiled down at his boy. 'Come on little fella, let's show your Ma how handsome you are ...' The baby gazed quizzically at him. Never again would he face the world with such openness. Overtime the looks of revulsion and fear would beat Clive down. Never again would he be able to look the world in the eye. With infiinite gentleness, Bill peeled back the blankets. 'Gosh you're a wee little fellow aren't you?' he said slowly as he peeled the last sheets away.
'Mr Sullivan ...' the nurse hovered, uncertain what to say. 'You should wait for the doctor.'
Bill's breath caught in his throat as he exposed his son's tiny, disfigured body. The boy's beautiful face gazed at him. 'Oh no, oh god no ...' tears choked him as he recoiled.
'Bill?' Wilma tried to sit up, her face contorting in pain. 'Bill what is it ....

The Will

Inspector Smith-Jones looked down at her feet. She sighed. Size 43 boots. Ever since she was a little girl her feet had been a problem. What had the specialists called it? Supermegapodiatry, that was the loathsome terminiology. The other kids had called her SuperMeg. These monstrous feet had been following her around her entire life, hounding her. No matter where she went, there they were. Another sigh. Well, everybody had their cross to bear.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with those popular films, ‘Lord of the Rings,” she finally said.
“Lord of the Rings? Of course - those fantasy movies with all those weird creatures and what-not.”
“That’s right. You might remember that there were dwarves featured in that film. Well, the director, Peter Jackson, is a real stickler for details. So he hired several real dwarves as consultants, to, you know, add authenticity to the film. Clive was the assistant to the head of the dwarf division.”
“I didn’t know that. I’ve been out of touch for years. I’ve been abroad.”
“Then you also couldn’t know that Gideon Stone, Head Dwarf, befriended Clive; he became his mentor. The two were inseparable, two peas in a pod. It went so far that Gideon re-wrote his will, making Clive the sole inheritor of his rolling estate in Northumberland. As you might imagine, that didn’t sit too well with everybody. What I’m now going to tell you is, at this point, confidential information. I didn’t say it, and you didn’t hear it, is that clear?”
“I’m not so sure I want to hear it. I’ve got a lot on my mind just now,” Joe said. He felt himself sliding further down the hill, closer to an opening abyss.
“Oh, you want to hear this, my friend. Because at the very last moment, the name on Stone’s will was changed. Clive was removed and your mother’s name written in. Yes, your mother had become Gideon Stone’s secret lover.”
“What? No, this can’t be!”
“Yes, and what’s more, two days after the will was changed, Gideon Stone was found murdered, shot fifteen times in the heart with a .44 Magnum.”
“Do you think Clive . . .”
“No, Clive had a solid alibi. And anyway, he loved Stone as his own father. Who shot Gideon Stone? I thought that should be pretty obvious by now. But perhaps even more interesting for you is Clive’s alibi. He couldn’t have killed Stone. Joe, I just lied to you about that horrid painting. I thought I had to. That painting is Clive’s alibi. It’s part of the will. You see, on the night Stone was murdered, Clive was . . .

Return of the dwarf

CJ ran in. CJ: everyone's name for Clive, Jr., who was if anything even more gnarled than his late Da. CJ: the most twisted double helix of the whole diminutive bloodline.

"Sorry for slammin' the door, youse," said the young dwarf. "Come to take me ring back, I have."

He grabbed her hand, pulled a pair of garden snips from his hip pocket, and...

... they would drive out to Bill's farm, and he wished Wilma could've cooked them breakfast. She'd died years ago, but they could still be a real family, just as Clive had always dreamt it could be. It was time for Joe to know - there was nothing stopping them now that Alice had finally drunk herself to death. He remembered going round on Christmas Eve to Joe's place, bringing him a Santa present - though it was really from Bill of course. He found Alice half conscious in a mess of unwrapped presents and paper.


As Clive limped through the street, snow crunching under his specially made thick black leather boots, he imagined a brighter future, where he and Joe would hang out together, go shooting, or just play some pool, watch the game. He saw Joe put his arm proudly round his hunched, deformed back and say 'Have you met my big brother Clive?' He pictured them, laughing round the Christmas tree as they exchanged presents. Maybe this year Bill would even get them that puppy he had always wanted.

He was lost in his thoughts as he cut down the alley at the side of Alice's house. He didn't notice the figure appear from the shadows behind him, or hear the footsteps following him, drowned out by the sound of the crashing surf.
'Hey Clive, where you going?'
Clive turned, confused. The street lamps flared behind the man as he approached. He squinted his eyes, trying to see who it was.
'Oh, it's you ...' he grumbled, and walked on.
The man caught his arm firmly. 'I said, where you going?' his voice was low, menacing.
'I'm going to tell him everything. He has a right to know ...'
'You don't want to do that.' As Clive fought to free himself, the man felt the gun knock against his hand. He pushed Clive hard against the alley wall and dragged the gun from his pocket, shook the rag free. Moonlight glimmered on the barrel.
'Now what's a dirty old cripple like you doing with a beauty like this?'
Clive watched the gun, mesmerised, eyes wide with fear as he realised what was about to happen. 'My Daddy gave it to me,' he said quietly. The other man was bigger, stronger, there was no way he could outrun him. 'Please, I won't say anything ...'
'Sorry. I just can't take that risk,' he said and as Clive opened his mouth to cry out the man pulled the trigger ....

Bill

That's right, Bill.

The guy who had started this whole mess before most of the current players were even born.

Bill, Joe's father. Bill. Clive's own father.

No one knew that Clive was Joe's older half brother. No one knew that Bill had left Clive's mom when she had born a baby who was a monster.

He rubbed the weight of the gun through the fabric.

When Bill had left Joe and his mom, and coming running back to Wilma and Clive, Clive couldn't take it. All he could think about was poor little Joe, all alone. Abandoned just like Clive had been.

That's why, as soon as he was old enough, he had moved to Little Hamptonpoint Valley, and befriended that lonely kid.

Now, he knew it was time for everything to come out and everyone to

Clive busied himself closing up the bar. He kicked his ladder across the floor, smashing to pieces the pink Barbie castle that stood in the Kiddie Korner. His mood was as black as the outside night, if not darker. His brow was a tangled mass of knotted furrows. How could they all be so goddamned stupid? Were these idiots in possession of functioning brains, or what? Clearly not. No matter. After all these years, it was finally coming to a head. Joe was back. That meant basically one thing. The paradigm was going to shift; it could go this way, it could go that way – who could tell? It was if events had taken control of themselves and fate had cast itself to the wind. Someone needed to guide it.
He slowly opened the door to his secret cabinet, the one place he could call his own. As he withdrew his .44 Magnum Colt Anaconda he knew intuitively that things would not, could not, ever be the same after this. Dull metallic silver, the firearm was preternaturally heavy in his hand. It felt good, right. There was a score to be settled. Perhaps several, he wasn’t quite sure. There was so much happening at once – Rowena was the only one who understood the big picture. But she was out there, out on the web, he couldn’t talk to her. It was against the rules, wasn’t it? He felt miserably alone.
Having packed the piece in an old rag, he picked up the phone and began to dial. There was nothing for it. Fate had just gotten a direction. He had to get hold of . . .

. . . Clive, the hunchback dwarf, who stood uneasily behind the bar balancing on his IKEA step ladder.
“Well”, Clive said, “you could start by saying hi to an old buddy.”
“Huh? Jesus, is that you, Clive? You’ve, you’ve grown – you’re full sized!”
Clive merely shook his head wearily. The things he had to put with.
“Ladder, Dude. I’m standing on a ladder.” He pulled out a bottle of St. Pauli Girl Special Dark, capped it and pushed it across the bar top. “If I remember correctly”, he said, winking. He leaned back a moment, almost toppling off the step ladder, but regained his balance with a graceful swipe and grab at a Heineken spigot. Bending over the bar he looked not unsympathetically into Joe’s eyes.
“From the looks of you, my friend, I’d say it’s time to bring out the heavy artillery”. With that he demounted his trusty ladder and began to rummage through his secret cabinet under the bar. “Here it is,” he mumbled to himself. Climbing up again, he slapped a dusty, 16-year-old Lagavulin single malt between them.
“This here? I bet myself that you’d be back. The others said no, he’s gone, but I said you’d be back. And I said to myself - when he comes through that door, we’re gonna do this baby. Like the old days.”
Joe took a long drag on his beer, and then took the filled glass that Clive handed to him. The whiskey sparkled with a wicked amber. He looked over at Violet and then demonstratively upended his glass. Turning to Clive, he said; “The last time I saw you, you were . . .