by Colin Sims
We waited in a short line, my nerves growing increasingly rattled, before getting into a tiny, rickety, squeaking gondola. It could fit about five or six people in a circle, but Cassie and I had it to ourselves. Her hip pressed into mine as she scooted next to me. I forced an image of Babe Ruth into my head. It worked like a charm.
Then we were off, climbing higher and higher and higher—and what kind of a sick jerk thinks that this is fun? The gondola was probably hanging by a little rusty screw that no one’s bothered to check in like six years. Any second now we could drop off like an overripe piece of fruit.
Then, as if the gods were mocking me, the wheel stopped abruptly when we reached the top. An ominous squeak came from the tiny screw above.
Now, I thought I was doing a good job of keeping all these concerns from my face, yet Cassie still leaned forward and asked, “You’re not scared of heights, are you?”
I told her no, but she wasn’t convinced.
“So you won’t mind if I …” her voice trailed off as she started rocking back and forth, swinging the gondola.
“Please stop,” I said. Unconsciously, my eyes had glued themselves shut. I also realized I hadn’t taken a breath for quite some time.
“You really are afraid of heights, aren’t you?”
“There’s no shame in it,” I said tersely. “Napoleon Bonaparte was terrified of cats. He conquered half the world.”
Cassie’s arm suddenly looped under mine and she pressed closer. “You know what scares me?” she said. “Pancakes.”
I peeked an eye open. “Like with syrup?”
“Oh my God. If you took me to an IHOP, I would go completely ballistic.”
I wasn’t quite sure if she was messing with me or not but I chuckled anyway. “I used to get weirded out by unicycles,” I said. “Still do.”
I then went on to explain my reasons why—which was mostly a long string of incoherent babble regarding a birthday clown when I was six—and as I did so, I felt the gondola swing slightly as Cassie leaned over the edge to look below. She let me keep talking until I heard her make a light gasp.
“What?” I said.
“Hm? Oh, nothing. Keep telling me about the unicycle thing. That’s really random.”
“It’s broken, isn’t it?” I said, panicking. “The wheel’s coming apart at the screws. Tell me the truth, is the Fire Department here? Jesus Christ, I should’ve stayed at the restaurant. How did you talk me into this, anyway?”
I felt her shoulder shrug against mine. “I don’t know,” she said. “I told you it’d be fun?”
“I shouldn’t be here,” I said. “I should be with Meagan. She’s my girlfriend. It’s our anniversary. And you shouldn’t have enchanted her like that! That was messed up!”
“Why?”
“Because it is. You can’t turn people into puppets whenever you want. And she’s my girlfriend!”
“Well jeez, sorry for trying to help. You were getting your ass kicked.”
“I wasn’t getting my ass kicked,” I said.
“You were totally getting your ass kicked. Which I don’t even get, by the way. Why are you going out with her?”
“What do you mean ‘why am I going out with her?’” I said. “She’s my girlfriend, that’s why.”
“François, seriously, you don’t even like her!”
The wheel suddenly jerked and started moving again. A little cheer erupted from the other riders.
After a few seconds, Cassie said, “See? All part of my plan.”
I opened both eyes and looked at her. She was grinning sheepishly and I smirked. “Bullshit.”
“It’s true! I’m not afraid of pancakes. Who’s afraid of pancakes?”
“I still shouldn’t be here,” I said.
“Yes, you should!” she insisted. “Besides, it’s about time I had a plucky sidekick. I’ve been doing this gig solo for way too long.”
“I’m not a plucky sidekick,” I said. “And why do you care so much about me going out with Meagan, anyway?”
She cocked her head, confused. “I told you already. I like you.”
The wheel jerked to a halt again and there were a handful of screams. My best guess was that emergency crews were scrambling to evacuate the passengers below because the whole thing was about to explode at any moment. My eyes clamped shut again.
“By ‘like,’ you mean like in a friendly way, right?” I asked.
“Nope.”
A long pause.
“Oh.”
“Yep.”
Then there was a really long pause. My eyes were still closed, of course, but I got the distinct feeling that Cassie was staring at me.
“You don’t have to be so nervous,” she finally said.
“I’m not nervous.”
As soon as I said that, I realized how stupid it sounded. I was stiff as a board with my knuckles white on the edge of my seat.
Cassie laughed. “Yeah, you look pretty relaxed.”
“Shut up,” I said.
She then shifted around, trying to get a view of whatever was happening below. I wanted to ask her about it, but I didn’t. I just did the old “Count to a Hundred” trick in my head. It was the only thing I could think of to distract myself. Baseball wasn’t working anymore. Every time I tried, I got an image of Cassie instead.
“I think it’s going to be a while,” she eventually said.
“This better be worth it,” I muttered, and Cassie scooted closer.
“You just need a distraction,” she said softly.
I frowned and drew in a deep breath. “Unless an alien starship suddenly appears overhead and starts firing at us, I don’t think anything is going to distract me right now.”
I then felt a single fingertip start to slowly trace its way up my thigh. Cassie shifted and pressed closer. “We could make out?” she suggested.
That got my eyes open.
“The thing is,” she went on, “I can’t kiss you until you ask me to. It’s a succubus thing. Kind of like inviting a vampire into your home.”
“Cool,” I said.
And yet it wasn’t “cool.” The truth was I was still pretty nervous about the whole succubus thing. I mean, if I kissed her, what would happen? Would it hurt? Would I die? I didn’t know.
“Or you could kiss me,” she said quietly. “That’d work too.”
“Cassie, is there any way we could talk about this when we’re not fifty feet in the air and about to die?”
“Are you really that scared?” she asked.
“The wheel’s going to explode any second,” I said firmly. “You may not know it, but I do. I can feel it.”
Yet right at that precise moment, the ride started moving again and a loud cheer erupted from the other gondolas.
“You were saying?” Cassie asked.
“Shut up.”
And so the Ferris wheel continued to go around as we sat there in silence. It seemed to last forever. Finally, though, we came to a stop and Cassie told me to open my eyes.
I half expected we’d be staring out over the ocean again, but no. We were on the ground. And Santa Monica Pier was nowhere to be found.
• • •
When Cassie pitched the idea of a “Ghost Carnival” earlier, I believe her exact word to describe it was “fun.”
This place wasn’t fun. It gave me the creeps. It was like the Tim Burton’s nightmare version of a carnival. It was full of empty, decrepit kids rides that were falling apart and covered in slime. Or blood. It was hard to tell in the dark. The only light came from a few sickly bulbs tinted in a shade of puke-like green. The ocean was gone too. It was as if this place was in a little bubble all on its own. (I learned later that this wasn’t far from the truth. The Ghost Carnival was what magic people called a “Transient Plane,” and could only fit a small amount of space within it. It hopped around from place to place, and only people in the know knew where it would pop up next.)
“So why are we here again?” I aske
d as we made our way up a deserted walkway. I was finally beginning to calm down despite the ridiculously unnerving surroundings.
“Information,” Cassie said. “Ghost Carnival is where shady people come to do shady business. It’s weird, right? It’s always the shady characters who seem to know all the important stuff.”
“Not true,” I said. “I’m a shady character and I don’t know anything.”
She laughed and poked me with her elbow. “You’re the least shady character I’ve ever met,” she chided. “It’s one of the reasons I like you so much.”
“So who are we looking for?” I asked.
“His name’s Tom. He’s a werewolf.”
I stopped. “Do you mean that literally, or …?”
“What do you mean?”
We were really hitting every item on the “Things François Is Afraid Of” list today. Of all the monsters out there in the movies, something about werewolves has always scared the living crap out of me. I couldn’t even watch Underworld with Kate Beckinsale without closing my eyes at strategic moments.
“Is he,”—I wasn’t sure how to put this—“angry?” I asked.
Cassie frowned. “Well, he’s not very nice.”
“Yeah but is he a … wolf thing? Or a guy who can turn into a wolf thing?”
“He’s a wolf thing.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, listen. I don’t technically need to be here for this, do I? I can just go hang out by that,”—I looked around—“that incredibly creepy cotton candy machine with a blood stain on it over there. Or you know what? I’ll just go back to Santa Monica. It’s no problem.”
“You don’t want to talk to Tom?” she said.
“No it’s not that, I just, um—”
“He’s not an animal, you know,” she said defensively. “Werewolves come from the same plane that succubi do.”
“Oh.”
“Besides,” she said with a grin. “I thought you were tough. You’re not scared, are you?”
“Here?” I asked, gesturing around. “Not at all.”
“Good. Let’s go then.”
And so we went looking for Tom. We found him outside the world’s most disturbing Fun House. All I’ll say is that it had a giant, angry baby face with a yawning maw that served as its entrance. There were other points of interest too—including singed doll heads dangling from one of the rope bridges—but I’ll spare you the details. As for Tom—he was a werewolf alright. The best way I can describe him is this: Whoever designed the Chewbacca costume for Star Wars started with a basic werewolf template, and then made it less scary. Tom looked like he’d been caught somewhere in the middle of that process. He wasn’t terrifying—but he wasn’t cuddly either. When he saw Cassie, I noticed a flash of recognition in his bright yellow eyes.
“You’re not welcome here,” he said in a gravelly voice. It took me a second to realize it sounded “gravelly” because there was a low growl behind every word.
“Yeah, but I’m here,” Cassie said. Her tone was harder now. I figured she was in battle mode.
“I won’t say a word if the human remains,” Tom said.
Cassie kept her eyes locked on him. “He’s with me. And unless you want me to kick your ass again, Tom, you’re going to tell me everything you know about that skeleton attack yesterday.”
Tom remained silent. He swayed slightly, eyeing us both like he was considering an attack. His hands were tensed, and I noticed long, curved fingernails sharpened into points.
After a moment, Cassie shrugged. “Have it your way,” she said, and took a step forward.
“He stays outside!” Tom growled.
Cassie paused and looked at me. Her eyes formed a question. “He doesn’t like humans,” she explained. “Just stay out here a minute while I talk to him? If anything happens, give me a shout.”
Obviously, I had no desire to kick it by myself in this place, but for some reason I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the werewolf. (It’s strange the things people get self-conscious about.)
I said, “cool,” and watched Cassie disappear behind him inside the baby face.
Now it was just me and …
“Hey! Psst! You!”
I whipped around to see who was talking but no one was there.
“You dumb shit. I’m right here!”
I followed the voice and looked down.
Standing at my feet was a … dwarf? Or you know what? Not a dwarf. He was a gnome—less than two feet tall, bearded and red-faced. He wore a pointy red hat that gave him some extra height, but still a little fella.
“How’s it going?” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“What are you doing with my girl?” he asked.
“Who?”
“What do you mean ‘who?’” he barked. “The girl with the tits! What are you doing with her?”
By now he’d raised his fists and was glaring. Part of me wanted to stifle a laugh, but another part of me got that skittish sensation you get when a Chihuahua comes after you with everything its got.
“She wanted to talk to Tom,” I said.
“Well, she’s mine!” the gnome said. “If you touch her, you’re a dead man.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Who’s gonna stop me? You?”
I’ll admit, I was surprised I said that. I’m not usually a confrontational guy, but something about the gnome irritated me. His voice was like the verbal equivalent of someone repeatedly poking you in the forehead. His reaction to my taunt, however, I didn’t see coming …
“Oh, yes!” he cried, and a swift uppercut from his tiny fist caught me right in the wrong place. The little bastard was strong, too. I keeled over like a fallen tree and landed hard.
He immediately pressed his advantage. He moved to my face and started kicking savagely. He got in a good three shots before my survival instincts started to cut in. I took a hand from my groin and caught his leg. He almost wrenched it free, but I pulled, knocking him over.
“Bastard!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet. I tried to do the same, but he got me with a solid jab in the nose. I toppled over. More kicks and punches followed. It suddenly dawned on me that I was thoroughly getting my ass kicked. I attempted a wild punch to turn things around and got lucky. It got him in the chest. I jumped forward to put my weight on him. We tumbled a couple times until he landed on top, alternating one fist for the other as he went to work on my face.
So when I was fourteen, I joined the wrestling team in high school. I’m not sure why, but I did. The coach was this ex-NFL player, named Coach Lloyd. He was a giant of a man whose career had taken a serious dive. Anyway, there weren’t enough students on the team to fill out a full roster. That was how I—a late bloomer weighing in at a mere ninety pounds—found myself wrestling on the varsity team’s 132-weight class. Needless to say, I didn’t fare too well. In fact, I lost every single match—except one.
It was against a girl.
Now I’m not saying that I won because she was a girl. I’m positive there are a lot of girls out there who could beat me up. What I am saying, though, is that I won because I fought so much harder to win. I gave it everything I had. And it was a battle, believe me. She and I went the full three rounds, and I only won by a single point. It was the proudest moment of my life. Because I’ll just say this: I know in the movies it’s a common sight to see Scarlett Johansson beating the daylights out of men five times her size. But in real life—if you’re a guy—it still sucks to get your ass handed to you by a girl. It just does.
And right now, something similar was happening with Me vs. The Gnome. I mean, he was only two feet tall for God’s sake. I had to win this. I got hold of his arm and remembered some of my old wrestling tricks. I needed to pin him down, isolate his arms or legs—keep him still. I managed to get him in an awkward half-nelson and push his face into the pavement.
“You give up?” I shouted.
He grunted. “You think this is over? I’m just getting started!”
Then, like a magic trick, he cloned himself. I was still pinning the original, but the new guy was fully free to attack. I threw an elbow at him. He dodged, and copied himself. Now there were three. Then there were five. Then ten.
A good man knows when he’s beaten. He also knows when to run for his life.
I scrambled to my feet and sprinted up the dark pathway past crumbling Tilt-a-Whirls and Magic Tea Cup rides. A small army of gnomes followed. A few of them dove for me, but I shook them off. I kept running. It was only a matter of time till I got caught. The situation had just gone from mildly comical to completely terrifying.
Then a loud gunshot brought us all to a halt. I looked over and saw Cassie holding a heavy revolver. She was pointing it at one of the gnomes.
“Don’t make me do it, Howard,” she said.
The gnome—I’m pretty sure he was the original from the scuff marks on his face—dipped his head and shuffled his feet.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Cassie looked up at me. “You okay?”
No. No, I wasn’t okay. I just got the shit kicked out of me by a garden gnome. I thought I was going to die.
I told her I was fine.
Cassie kept the gun pointed meaningfully. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. Tom was a bust. He didn’t know anything.”
And it was all for nothing.
Back in Cassie’s car driving up Santa Monica, I became a man of few words. I didn’t know what to say. Meanwhile, she winced yet again as she checked my face for the hundredth time.
“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I can get something that will fix the swelling.”
“Is it that bad?” I asked, gingerly touching a swollen cheek.
Another wince. “Kinda.”
I let out a long breath. Truth be told, my pride hurt a lot worse than my face. This was something that couldn’t happen twice. I wasn’t going to let another garden gnome get the drop on me. I knew what I had to do. It was time to crack open that spellcasting book from Rosewood. It was time to learn magic.
