Now
Making his way to the main road out of town, he saw the forest off in the distance. After what happened, he couldn’t believe no one had cut it down. But people hadn’t talked about it. By the time he’d left, the issue was forgotten.
The memories flooded back. Ginnie holding his hand. Her ponytail waving in the wind. Her painted toenails.
Vanilla.
By the time he reached the entrance to the clearing, darkness was closing in. Paul hadn’t noticed the time passing. Still, it felt early for summer. He paused at a rusted chain blocking the narrow dirt road, probably a half-hearted effort at a barrier by a town stunned into complacency. The road, overgrown with weeds, was now little more than a deer track. The trees on either side had grown high enough that their canopy formed a tunnel that would be in shadows even on the brightest summer day.
Like today.
There was silence; everything was at peace. Few cars passed on the main road. No sounds of activity came over from the town. No birds sang.
At the end of the overgrown path through the woods, he came to the ruins of the fair. Why was it still standing? In twenty-five years, had no one wanted to destroy the reminder of all those deaths? Had the town, like him, withdrawn, become numb to the pain and loss?
Then
When they reached the entrance to the fair, it sounded like the whole town had come out. A wall of sound met them: yells, laughter, screams. Waiting until noon had paid off. There was a lineup, but it was short. Outside the fair’s entrance, Ginnie stood enthralled while Paul purchased their tickets. Paul double-checked to be sure he still had all his money. His first date with Ginnie had to be memorable, and he didn’t want to look cheap. He’d been waiting so long to treat her.
Was it a date?
Paul rejoined Ginnie, and they held hands. Her grip on him was tighter than it had been before, as if she didn’t want to let Paul go again. He liked that.
Both stared up at the sign over the arch. Bold red letters on a yellow background announced CHAS. THOMPSON’S AMUSEMENT PARK, PUBLIC BACCHANAL, AND FUN FAIR. At each end of the sign, someone had painted a stylized octopus. It wasn’t the sort of decoration one expected on a Fun Fair sign. Paul wondered if they had a small aquarium inside.
“That’s a mouthful,” said Ginnie.
“It’s going to be a riot if they’ve got booze and the seniors get at it,” said Paul.
“From the look and smell of it, there is and they have,” said Ginnie as a couple of seniors carrying suspicious-looking bottle-sized paper bags stumbled by followed by the reek of beer.
About thirty feet into the fairgrounds, they stopped in the concourse to take it all in. There were two main aisles, both jammed with fair-goers, that curved around the Big Top sitting dead in the center of the fair. Everyone was smiling, laughing, hooting, and hollering. Paul recognized many of the in-crowd from school, all wearing their SF tee shirts. He silently hoped they would ignore him and Ginnie.
Idiots.
They heard screams from far at the back where a roller coaster, just visible above the Big Top, thundered along its track. From their right, there were more screams, though these were less of the terrified kind and more of delight, coming from a huge Ferris wheel. Next to it, little kids came flying down a helter-skelter.
He could make out the sign for a Tunnel of Terror a little further along the path. Paul hoped Ginnie would want to ride on it rather than the coaster. His stomach hated fast rides. Farther down, just visible through the crowd, were the sideshow attractions.
Over to their left, a carousel twirled to the sound of carnival music. Paul wondered if they had a real pipe organ somewhere because the music didn’t sound like a recording. Both children and adults rode the unicorns, griffins, and dragons. There were also centaurs and unicorns, something that resembled a seal, and some dolphins. And was that a manticore? Paul thought this an odd assortment of mounts until he noticed the motif on the carousel itself: a strange blend of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman symbols. There were a few he didn’t recognize.
An ugly, black Spider ride, that made a weird clicking noise, seemed to Paul to spin faster with every revolution. The riders did, indeed, look absolutely terrified.
Farther along the side stood a line of crowded gaming booths. He looked forward to trying to win Ginnie some prizes. Across the path from the games, concession stands offered all kinds of delicacies. Paul hoped there was fudge. He loved fudge, especially vanilla fudge.
Paul wondered how the owners had erected everything so quickly. Construction noise should have been heard all over town like that time they rebuilt the bridge over the river.
Speaking of noise, or lack thereof, the Big Top remained completely silent. Perhaps the main show wasn’t ready yet.
The place smelled of hot dogs, fries, beer, and popcorn. But the only smell that mattered to Paul was the vanilla of Ginnie’s hair. Their stomachs growled at the same time, so they followed their noses to the food concessions. They reluctantly stopped holding hands long enough to scarf down a couple of dogs each, along with a giant cup of cola that they shared. Paul resisted the urge to lean in and kiss her.
Being this close to Ginnie, Paul marveled at the depth of blue in her eyes. She’d removed her glasses while they ate. Impossible as it seemed to Paul, she was more beautiful than ever.
There was, indeed, booze. Behind the Big Top, a huge sign proclaimed the entrance to the Public Bacchanal. It was a tent adorned with crudely painted grapes, kegs, scantily clad women, and revelers eating and drinking. It felt disturbingly unlike the other artwork in the fair, which was very clean and realistic. Even the mounts on the carousel were carved with finely detailed hair and scales; the eyes following you wherever you went. The art on these signs was different. To Paul, it had the same feel as that Goya painting he had seen in a book, something about Saturn devouring his son.
Two burly men stood on either side of the door, checking the ID of any who tried to enter. They weren’t being very conscientious because Paul saw a couple of the SF crowd he knew were underage waltz in. The oddest thing about the place, besides the terrible art, was the lack of noise. No sounds of ribald fun or music blasted from within the tent. It was quiet as a church.
Over the next several hours—time had no meaning for Paul while he was with Ginnie—they rode the Ferris wheel, the carousel, and the Tunnel of Terror, but not the roller coaster. They took the Tunnel of Terror twice. On the second ride, Ginnie squeezed close to Paul and rested her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and inhaled her wonderful scent. She reached up and stroked his cheek. They planned to return later.
At the games of chance and skill, Paul surprised Ginnie when he turned out to be an excellent marksman and won her a large, stuffed penguin. She, in turn, won Paul a black teddy bear with her prowess at archery. Ginnie claimed it was the lucky purple arrow that did it. When he commented about two teenagers with stuffed animals, Ginnie laughed and swatted his arm. She was overjoyed with her prize and did not think herself too old to love the big soft thing. If she could love Paul, she could love anything. That stopped him in his tracks.
Speechless, he stared at her. Ginnie held his hand tightly, nodded, then said it properly, “I love you, Paul. I have for ages. I was afraid to tell you.”
“I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into Grade Five. I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.” He thought about all the bullying and nasty catcalls she had endured and that he’d let slip by because he’d been too shy and scared to speak up in her defense. That wasn’t a surprise considering the abuse he had already suffered at the hands of the grade school clique.
By high school, the in-crowd morphed into The Select Few. The two sighed when they noticed that they had just been spotted by the SFs.
Now
Why hadn’t anyone cleared the wreckage away? How could they leave such a thing? It was a stark reminder that more than a hundred and forty people had died here. No one knew the exact number;
the fire had been so intense it didn’t leave many remains to be identified. None of the fair employees seemed to have survived either.
Back then, rumors had been quashed quickly and nothing more was ever said. The papers had no further reports about the events, no one spoke of it, and at the school, everyone acted as if losing half the senior students and several teachers had never happened.
Paul had always counted himself among the casualties.
In front of him stood the rotting remains of the fun fair entrance. The once brightly painted banner had crumbled and faded so much, all he could read of the ridiculously long name was C…TH…U… L… H…U.
Before anyone could even organize a suit for negligence, they had all vanished—the Thompsons, or whoever the owners were. No one would get damages, not that damages could replace the dead. None of the survivors would ever know what really happened. The local police had made little effort to follow up on the disappearance.
Passing under the ruined entrance arch, Paul entered the dead fairgrounds. His foot scuffed something in the dirt. He bent to examine the decayed and stinking remains of a stuffed penguin. This was where they had first taken in the sights and sounds. It was also the very spot where he had seen her for the last time…. He stifled the memory. Even now, it was too much. He closed his eyes, tried to focus on something, anything, else.
Behind him there was a flapping, like a pennant waving in the wind. He ignored it.
Over to the right, the Ferris wheel rose high into the sky. The flag at the top hung in tatters. Signs of the flames were still evident through the rusted metal and bird droppings. The heat had been unusually intense; one of the supports had melted, causing the wheel to tilt at an alarming angle.
After twenty-five years, it was incredible that the thing hadn’t collapsed. This place needed signs all over the place, and out by the main road, warning of the dangers here. A flimsy chain was a poor excuse for a way to halt the curious, like Paul, from endangering themselves.
Next to the Ferris wheel, the helter-skelter had fallen in on itself.
To the left sat the carousel, bare of all its strange and wondrous mounts. Paul remembered them burning, seeming to take flight or gallop away from the flames. Had he been delirious at the time? In truth, scavengers must have taken whatever hadn’t been destroyed.
The wreckage of the Spider ride lay in the center of the path. Paul dismissed the idea that he had seen it jump from its moorings and try to escape.
Past the rides, there was little left of the concession row. The tents and stalls, all canvas and wood, had been incinerated in an instant that night. A few charred supports still remained at the hot dog stand, like dark fingers reaching out of the ground. Across the way, the games booths were gone. A lone arrow stuck out of the ground. He pulled it loose. Purple. Hers? How could that have been missed?
Paul heard metal creak and assumed it was the Ferris wheel battling to remain upright. He’d be sure to stay well clear of the thing. He resisted the urge to look, afraid he might see it toppling down on him and he’d be paralyzed, unable to save himself. There was also a strange clicking and thumping, as if something heavy was moving.
“I don’t want to see it,” he said, trying to reassure himself.
Walking on in a daze, Paul now stood before the charred wooden skeleton of the roller coaster. Above him was one of his worst nightmares—maybe not his worst, but it was up there—a coaster with tracks that ended in thin air, ready to send its riders to oblivion.
He shivered. Wood? How old-fashioned.
At the time, he hadn’t paid it much attention, since neither of them were interested. He still marveled that they had put it up so quickly. Considering the size of the thing, it was an even bigger mystery. It was strange, too, that it had been constructed of wood rather than more modern and stronger steel.
Just how old had the fair been? Like about most things from his past, Paul didn’t care. The truth was, he didn’t much care about the future, either.
The breeze carried the familiar scent of popcorn to his nose. He remembered some bouncing off his chest.
Then
Four Select Few stood a few feet from Paul and Ginnie. Seniors. Two boys and two girls, all in SF tees, casually tossing popcorn at the young lovers, giggling the whole time.
“So, when did the freaks decide to become an item?” It was the biggest boy. Paul didn’t think of him as having a name, only a large, no-neck entity that made his life a misery.
Paul huffed and shook his head in disgust. He’d had it with these clowns.
The girls tossed more popcorn, though their enthusiasm was waning. They’d already lost interest and kept glancing towards the Big Top as if they were eager to get in.
“Come on, I want to go in, not hang out with the losers. I’ve been waiting so long,” said the short one with black hair.
Paul thought she was pretty despite her wide-set eyes, but it was spoiled by the frown lines around her mouth. This one, from one of the oldest and richest families in town, constantly judged others, especially her own crowd.
“Wait up,” said the big boy. “I’m curious. Come on, when?”
“Yeah,” said the smaller boy. “If you mate, will you have a baby calculator?”
This sent the girls into fits of laughter.
“At least we won’t have puppies like your mother,” said Ginnie.
They had to think about that one.
The six teens stood there, in the middle of the fair, staring at each other. It was as if they were in a silent bubble. For once, Paul didn’t feel nervous or scared in the presence of The Select Few, no doubt because Ginnie stood with him.
The big one shrugged, nodded towards the Big Top, and walked off. The other three followed. One of the girls, this one blonde, quickly looked back. She appeared nervous to Paul, but he didn’t care anymore.
“Well, that was easy,” said Paul.
Ginnie squeezed his arm. “Neither of us showed any fear. It spoiled their fun.”
“That witty comeback was spectacular,” said Paul. “I wish you’d been there for the other times they confronted me.”
“I was, Paul, lots of times.”
Strange music emanated from the Big Top. It was discordant with many pipes sending out high-pitched, and painful, notes.
“Forget ‘em. It looks like the show’s about to start. Any idea what it is?”
“Clowns, a lion tamer, stunt riders, boring stuff.” Ginnie pulled on his arm. “Let’s go back to the Tunnel of Terror. I feel like being scared with you again. Maybe even terrified.” She winked.
A barker—he looked exactly like the one at the Tunnel of Terror—stood by the entrance assuring everyone that the show was amazing, incredible, life-changing, the best they would ever see. The last they would ever want to see. He promised delights of cosmic proportions, whatever that meant.
The people in line entering the Big Top were surprisingly quiet, including the children. There was some vague muttering that Paul couldn’t understand. Perhaps the oddest thing was that none of them looked enthused about the show. They were lemmings following the crowd into the latest attraction.
A couple of The Select Few muscled their way to the front of the line.
Paul felt the pull of the show, but also the pull of Ginnie.
“Okay, Ginnie, the Tunnel. But I have to whizz first.” He searched for a sign indicating where the toilets were located.
Ginnie tapped his shoulder and pointed to the carousel. Through the whirling herd of mythical beasts, Paul spotted the telltale green cubicles. He hoped there was a place to wash his hands. Port-a-potties were usually grim places.
“I’ll go get us some red licorice for the ride,” said Ginnie. When Paul reached for his wallet, she waved him off. “About time I paid for something.”
Despite a pressing need, Paul was rooted to the spot, watching Ginnie walk away. She certainly did have an incredible posterior. She disappeared into the crowd.
He d
idn’t see her again until…
Now
The sound of something fluttering and creaking in the breeze brought Paul back to reality. He moved in the direction of the sideshow. It hadn’t really been all that weird. Most of the “freaks” were people with deformities, like the seal boy who had flippers instead of hands and feet, and the fishman who had scales, and eyes at the side of his head.
Mannequins were supposed to represent Bigfoot, or some kind of missing link, or a mermaid. An obviously fake elephant had extra eyes glued to its head and little bat wings. They looked ridiculous, as if someone had a nightmare, and then made dummies to represent whatever madness they had dreamed.
Ginnie had rushed him past this part of the fair. She didn’t like it and felt bad about townsfolk making fun of handicapped people.
All that remained now was a set of bars that had been the front of a cage housing a sad-looking lion. Back then, when it had given a half-hearted roar, Ginnie had pointed out that it had no teeth and wondered why it had a forked tongue. The owners were cruel, she’d said. Now, in the darkness at the back of the cage, Paul thought he saw a large snake.
From somewhere over by the roller coaster, came the groaning of something heavy and metallic straining in the wind. The breeze—more a wind now—blew from Paul’s left instead of his right. It seemed to be following Paul around the fair. The forest around the clearing must have been affecting the airflow, causing it to eddy and blow in different directions.
Adding to the strangeness, there was a vaguely familiar whistle when the wind blew through the skeletal remains of the rides. It almost sounded like an animal.
Walking towards the collapsed helter-skelter, Paul heard more noises from back the way he had come. More creaking, metal, and wood, plus a kind of heavy whoosh, like something moving fast over rails. And damned if there wasn’t a very faint roar. For a moment, he worried that there was an escaped lion on the loose. He laughed at his silly thoughts.
Dark Carnival (A Horror Anthology) Page 10
