Funland

by Richard Laymon

  She felt hot through the blood. Beneath her skin there seemed to be a curving ridge of bone. Jeremy kept his hand bent back as far as possible, not daring to touch what was below the ridge. But Tanya pressed his fingers upward. Into slippery folds of flesh.

  “Your blood is in me,” she whispered. She was breathing hard. She was moving slightly, rubbing herself against his hand. “My blood’s in you. You’re my…lover in blood. Say it.”

  Jeremy heard himself repeat the words.

  She guided his hand upward, keeping it pressed to the scar. The scar felt like a narrow, puffy ribbon. His hand left a red smear as it slid up her belly, up her rib cage to her breast. Her breast was pushed upward and sideways by his moving hand. The nipple bent like springy rubber as his thumb passed over it. She slid his hand higher, and Jeremy rose to his feet. His hard penis felt trapped inside his pants, squeezed and bent.

  She lifted his hand to her mouth. She kissed its cut palm. She licked the blood from it. Gazing into his eyes, she took his thumb into her mouth. She sucked and licked it clean, then did the same with each of his fingers.

  “Your blood and mine,” she whispered. Her lips and chin and cheeks were dappled with it. She lowered his hand. She placed the razor blade in his palm. “Keep this with you to remember.”

  “I’ll never forget.”

  “I know.”

  Jeremy took a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the blade, and closed his fingers around it, pressing the cloth to his wound.

  “Go on home now,” Tanya said in a gentle voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  His throat tightened.

  He was supposed to leave?

  He was so turned on! So was she!

  It can’t stop now!

  He suddenly blurted, “But aren’t we gonna—?”

  She touched a finger to his lips. “You’ll have to prove yourself first.”

  “How?”

  “With time. And loyalty. And courage.”

  “Not tonight?”

  “Not tonight. But soon, maybe.”

  At the bedroom doorway he stopped and looked back at Tanya. She stood on the towels, facing him, naked and smeared with blood. “I love you,” he said.

  “And I love you, Jeremy.”

  He left her there.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard faint sounds of music and voices and laughter from the trollers below. He wondered if he should go down and rejoin the party.

  He didn’t want to.

  And Tanya had told him to go home. She hadn’t told him to go downstairs with the other trollers.

  One of them might give him a ride, though.

  I can walk, he told himself.

  He trotted down the veranda stairs, stepped off the curb, and began to stride along the driveway.

  The air smelled of pine trees. The night was not especially cold, but Jeremy shivered as he walked. His throat was tight. He squeezed his arms across his chest. The handkerchief and razor were still in his hand.

  He felt so strange.

  Dazed, confused, disappointed, empty, and weak.

  Wrecked.

  But, at the same time, elated.

  He felt like leaping and shouting with joy. He felt like weeping. And somewhere in Jeremy was an odd desire to get home and hide under the covers of his bed and stay away from Fun-land and the beach and Tanya and all the trollers forever.

  Twenty-eight

  Gloria woke up in the backseat of her Volkswagen. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. When she looked out the window, however, she saw that the parking lot was deserted except for three or four other cars.

  So Funland was closed for the night.

  With a tremor in her stomach that felt like a mixture of excitement and fear, she lifted her grocery bag. She pushed the seat back forward, opened the door, and climbed out. She locked the door. Then she headed for the main entrance of Funland.

  Her day hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. She had succeeded in carrying out interviews, of sorts, with only three subjects: Mosby, Dink, and a woman who refused to reveal her name. She’d taped the conversations on the Sony micro-cassette recorder under her sweatshirt. Maybe she’d gotten something she could use, but she doubted it.

  She must’ve spent an hour talking with Mosby on the steps in front of Funland, and heard about nothing except dogs. Dogs were the reincarnations of dead Nazis, carrying out a plot to destroy mankind by dumping radioactive feces in populated areas. Mosby, a crusader, fought the peril at every turn by treating dogs to meals of broken glass concealed in hamburger.

  Dink, a scruffy bearded man in his early twenties, claimed to be a researcher from a planet called Zanthion. The population of Zanthion was entirely male. Faced with certain extinction, they’d sent Dink to investigate the reproductive system of the female Earthling. The “travel gate” would be closing in two hours, so he had almost run out of time. If he failed to learn the mysteries of the “secret source,” his species was doomed. Gloria was his only hope. She’d asked how she could help. “You gotta let me probe yer source wit’ my ’vestigation rod.” At that, Gloria told him to stick his ’vestigation rod up his ’testinal terminus. Then she hurried away.

  Gloria had met the third indigent in an alley after dark. This woman seemed rational, though she refused to tell her name. “Don’ tell nobody my name,” she’d said. “They know yer name, they can tag ya.” Gloria decided not to press the issue. Instead, she walked with her, listening to a lecture on how people “trow out perfeckly good stuff,” while the woman stopped her shopping cart at each trash bin and dug for treasures. Mostly she collected newspapers, cans, and bottles to redeem for cash at the recycling center. But she also collected scraps of food—the litter of half-eaten meals—and stuffed them into her mouth with grunting relish. Frequently Gloria gagged and turned away.

  So far, things hadn’t gone at all the way she’d hoped. But she was sure to find some fresh subjects on the boardwalk this time of night. Or on the beach. A homeless person with appeal, please. Someone who would capture the hearts of her readers.

  At this hour, she might even run into the trollers. She had a stun gun in her grocery bag in case they tried to get rough. But once she identified herself, they might be eager to give their side of the story. That’d certainly be a scoop.

  You’ve got to come up with something, she told herself as she trotted up the stairs to Funland’s main entrance. You write it the way it’s gone so far today, and you’ll sound like a propagandist for Great Big Billy Goat Gruff.

  And wouldn’t Dave like that?

  Rotten, two-timing bastard.

  Fuck him, she told herself.

  She wished she’d had the courage to show herself to Dave. All day she toyed with the idea of going onto the boardwalk and confronting him. He would’ve been shocked. “Have you lost your mind? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?” She would’ve smirked and said, “I’m sure you care. You’ve got your golden Amazon bitch pig.”

  But the golden Amazon bitch pig would’ve been there with him. Gloria knew it would’ve hurt too much, seeing them together. So she’d stayed away.

  They’re probably rutting right now, she thought, and sank onto a bench.

  To hell with him.

  He’d never had it so good, and he’d thrown it away for that golden-haired slut.

  He’ll regret it someday. He’ll be sorry.

  “I give him two weeks,” she muttered. “Two weeks, and he’ll come to a rude awakening. He’ll see just how good he had it, and he’ll come begging. And I’ll laugh in his face.”

  Bullshit. I’ll throw my arms around him and…

  “Where’re the goddamn trolls?” she asked, raising her head and looking both ways. The boardwalk, moon-washed and splashed with black shadows, looked deserted.

  “Let’s have some action here!” she yelled. “Bring on the bums! Bring on Great Big Billy Goat Gruff! Bring on something, Goddammit! Let’s stop wasting my fucking time here!
”

  A huge patch of blackness broke away from the shadows across the boardwalk.

  And ran at her.

  Jesus! she thought. I didn’t mean it!

  She sprang to her feet, grocery bag flying from her lap. Her blanket spilled out of it. So did the stun gun. It clattered and skittered across the planking, and she knew she couldn’t get to it in time.

  The blackness had a white face, a big flapping coat. Its arms were stretched toward her like the arms of some kind of horror-movie geek.

  “Leave me alone!” Gloria shrieked. She flung herself to the right, out of its path, and ran as hard as she could. Footfalls pounded behind her.

  At once, she regretted bolting in this direction. She should’ve leapt the railing and dropped to the beach. Or gone to the left, tried to dodge the troll and make it out to the street. But now she was racing south on the boardwalk, deeper into the abandoned fun zone. No way out on her left. No way out on her right without climbing fences that surrounded the rides.

  Chance it? she wondered.

  The thudding footfalls of the troll didn’t seem to be getting closer. She risked a glance over her shoulder. He was about twenty feet back, farther away than he’d been when she bolted from the bench.

  He looked like a giant.

  But he wasn’t fast.

  He won’t win any track races, Gloria thought. But her terror didn’t subside at all. Not a bit of it. She heard high whiny noises squeaking out of her as she tried to quicken her pace.

  If he gets me, he’ll rip me up.

  That’s absurd, she told herself. I’m not a kid. He’s not a homicidal giant. This isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t a nightmare.

  What’s the worst that can happen, really?

  He rapes and kills me.

  A nasty corner of her mind whispered, That isn’t the worst.

  She glanced back again. Now the troll was even farther behind.

  I’m going to make it! If I don’t trip. If he doesn’t corner me. If there aren’t others waiting in the dark places up ahead.

  God, she wished the trollers were here!

  Where are you, Billy Goat Gruff?

  Maybe he’s Billy Goat Gruff.

  He’s a troll. He’s a troll. A kid’s worst nightmare of what’s lurking under the bridge. Jesus!

  Just ahead, on the right, was the Tilt-a-Whirl. Gloria wondered if she should try for it. What if she had trouble getting over the fence? Once she stopped running, the troll would be on her in seconds. If she snagged her skirt or…

  No. She didn’t dare.

  Keep running, she told herself. Widen your lead. Then go for a fence.

  Once you’re on the beach…

  Light suddenly spilled out of a doorway on the right. It wasn’t at boardwalk level, but at the top of a raised platform.

  Dunn’s place, she realized.

  His Oddities place.

  Jasper Dunn’s tall, cadaverous figure appeared in the lighted doorway. He was wearing his top hat and tails. He raised his cane high and twirled it. “Over here!” he called to her. “Quickly!”

  Gloria raced for him.

  She had never thought she would be glad to see Jasper Dunn.

  Better him than what’s behind me, she thought.

  Breathless, she bounded up the wooden stairs.

  “Quickly, quickly,” Jasper urged her. “You’ll be safe here.”

  He stepped out of the way. Gloria flung herself through the doorway.

  When she shrieked and whirled around to flee, he rammed the tip of his cane into her belly. She folded and dropped to her knees.

  Behind her, trolls whispered and giggled.

  “Shall we have her walk the house?” Jasper asked.

  Trolls cheered and clapped and whooped.

  The worst that can happen…?

  Gloria suddenly knew she was about to find out.

  Twenty-nine

  Dave shut off the alarm and blinked at the clock, confused for a moment until he remembered why he’d set the alarm to wake him half an hour early; he’d wanted time to check on Gloria before heading in to work.

  Pain in the ass.

  Not half the pain of last night, though—going out to search for her. Putting Joan through that. The business under the boardwalk had really frightened her. And hurt her. Back at her place afterward, she’d opened her blouse enough to slip it off her shoulder, and they’d both taken a look. Her upper arm had a nasty bruise from the collision with the post.

  Dave remembered that he’d only glanced at the bruise before turning his eyes to the smooth, unblemished areas, savoring the mellow hue of her tanned skin against the stark white of her bra strap and the way her blouse was pulled crooked and taut over the rise of her breast.

  He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and let his mind linger on the memories.

  The hollow of her throat. The hollow above the curve of her collarbone. The way her head was twisted sideways as she strained to study her injury. “Scarred for life,” she’d said.

  “You’ll just have to keep your shirt on.”

  “Pity.” Raising her arm, she made the blouse fall back onto her shoulder. She didn’t bother with the buttons. She placed her hands on Dave’s sides and gazed into his eyes. “So,” she said. “Here we are.”

  “Alone at last.”

  “Not a minute too soon.”

  He kissed her smile and felt it vanish, and Joan clutched him hard against her—so hard that her ribs pressed his wound and he flinched. She whispered “Sorry” into his mouth. She relaxed her hold on him, but kissed him with even greater urgency.

  Urgency. Hunger. She acted as if she’d been unleashed, and Dave felt the same way. They’d been kept apart too long.

  Dave yanked the blouse tails out of her jeans. He swept his hands up her back. Squirming against him, she sucked his tongue into her mouth. He undid the catches of her bra. All her back, waist to shoulders, was silken and warm under his hands.

  Then came the soft thud of a car door bumping shut.

  Joan pulled her mouth away. She stared into his eyes. She stood rigid. “It’s Debbie,” she whispered.

  Moments later a doorknob rattled. A key ratcheted into a lock.

  In the time it took for Debbie to enter the kitchen door and reach the living room, Dave and Joan broke apart and sat down at opposite ends of the sofa. Joan had time to wipe her mouth dry. Dave had time to pick up the TV Guide.

  When the girl walked in, he looked up at her. He was stunned. Though Debbie wasn’t identical to Joan, she bore an amazing resemblance. Her body, not so developed, was definitely feminine but had a boyish look about it. Her face still had the look of a girl in early adolescence, a freshness and innocence that would soon be left behind and lost forever. Dave felt a small tug of sorrow. This was much the way Joan must’ve looked at sixteen, and he regretted that he hadn’t known her then.

  He rose to his feet as she approached.

  “You’re home early,” Joan said.

  “The party was a drag.” Her mouth twisted as if it didn’t know what to do with itself—whether to smile or sneer or grimace. She pressed her lips into a tight line. She shrugged. She looked at Dave and held out her hand.

  “I’m Dave,” he said, shaking it.

  “Yeah, I figured. Nice to meet you.”

  “In case you haven’t guessed,” Joan said, “that’s my sister, Debbie.”

  “Hi, Debbie.”

  “So, did I interrupt something here?”

  “Just having a friendly chat,” Joan said.

  “Oh, I’ll bet.”

  “It turned out that there weren’t any boys at the party, huh?”

  Something happened to Debbie’s face. It looked for a moment as if she were about to smirk and make a quip. Then her eyebrows puckered downward, her eyes filled with tears, her mouth stretched crooked, and her chin trembled.

  Joan looked stricken. “Debbie! My God, what’s…?”

  Shaking her head fiercely, the girl
rushed out of the room.

  Joan leapt to her feet. She met Dave’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Dammit. I’d better see what’s wrong.”

  “I’ll make myself scarce.”

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  “Yeah. I should. Take care of Debbie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled her against him, gave her a quick kiss, and released her. She hurried toward the hallway. Her shirttail was draping the seat of her pants.

  Dave glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

  You’re going to waste your whole half-hour, he thought. No, not a waste. Not at all.

  He rolled out of bed, gritted his teeth when the morning air wrapped his body, and hurried to put on his robe. He knotted its belt as he headed for the bathroom.

  He wondered if Joan had fastened her bra on the way to Debbie’s room.

  The girl had sure picked a lousy time to come home.

  Poor kid, though. She’d been awfully upset. Must’ve had a rough time at the party.

  Whatever the problem, Joan had probably made it better. Wouldn’t be easy to stay upset with her comforting you.

  Half an hour later, his hair still damp from the shower, Dave hurried out to his car. He tossed his jacket onto the passenger seat—always good to have it along in case the fog should roll in—and backed out of the driveway.

  He felt wonderful. Soon he would be with Joan again.

  Maybe they could get together tonight and not be interrupted. Ask her over to his place, maybe.

  And tomorrow was their day off.

  Have to think of something…

  He turned the corner, making a left toward Gloria’s house, and a shadow blew in across his good mood.

  Just let her be there, he thought.

  The last thing he needed was to spend another day worrying about her.

  She’ll be there, he told himself.

  Please. I want it over.

  He swung around the next corner, peered up the block, and saw Gloria’s Volkswagen in the driveway of her house.