Danger at the Fair

by Peg Kehret

  When the ride ended, he turned to Nicholas and tried to say, “Let’s do it again,” but he was so hoarse the words didn’t come out. Maybe his mother was right; he should not have screamed quite so much.

  One look at Nicholas told him that Nicholas wouldn’t want to ride again, anyway. All the color had drained out of Nicholas’s face and he had one hand clamped over his mouth.

  Corey climbed out of the car. When Nicholas started to stand, he swayed and sat down again, resting his head on the metal bar. Corey helped Nicholas out of the ride. Nicholas walked bent over, holding his stomach. There was a small picnic area nearby and Nicholas staggered to one of the picnic tables, sat on a bench, and leaned his head on his arms.

  A stand selling curly fries stood next to the picnic area. Corey sniffed the air and decided to buy some. He loved to dip the spirals of deep-fat-fried potatoes into catsup and eat them.

  He carried the heaping container of curly fries to the picnic table, along with a paper cup filled with catsup.

  Nicholas still had his head down. Corey nudged him. When Nicholas looked up, Corey held out the curly fries and croaked, “Want some?”

  Nicholas looked as if Corey had offered him poison. He shook his head violently and turned the other way, so he couldn’t see Corey eat.

  Corey munched the curly fries, hoping Nicholas would feel better soon. He also hoped his voice would come back before they rode The River of Fear. It wouldn’t be as much fun to be scared if he couldn’t scream.

  “There you are.” Nicholas’s mother approached the picnic table. When she reached the boys, she put her hand on Nicholas’s forehead. “You’re sick, aren’t you!” It was a statement, not a question. “You probably ate too many of those fatty French fries.”

  “No, he didn’t,” whispered Corey. “All he ate was a corn dog, a bag of taffy, two scones, some onion rings, a Polish sausage, and an ice-cream cone.”

  “Ohhh,” said Nicholas, as if it made him sicker to hear the words.

  “Your voice!” cried Mrs. Warren. “Corey, what happened to your voice?”

  Corey tried to say, “I think I screamed too much,” but even the whisper was gone now. His words were much too faint for anyone to hear. He pointed at the roller coaster.

  “You went on the roller coaster?”

  Nicholas groaned again and Corey realized he should not have pointed.

  “Well, it’s small wonder you’re sick, Nicholas,” his mother said. “I thought you had more sense than to ride on a roller coaster. It’s a miracle you’re alive to tell about it. We’re going straight home and put you in bed.”

  To Corey’s surprise, Nicholas did not argue. He nodded meekly, as if bed sounded good to him.

  Corey poked Nicholas’s arm and then pointed at The River of Fear. Nicholas shook his head and put his hand over his mouth again.

  Phooey. What rotten luck for Nicholas to get sick before they could go on the best ride of all.

  “Come along, Corey,” said Mrs. Warren.

  “I’ll ride home with Ellen,” Corey wheezed.

  “What’s that? I can’t hear a word,” said Mrs. Warren.

  Corey pointed to himself and mouthed the words, “My sister.”

  “I think he wants to stay here and go home with Ellen and Caitlin,” Nicholas said.

  Corey nodded vigorously.

  “I can’t leave you here by yourself,” Mrs. Warren said. “Where is your sister?”

  Corey dropped to his hands and knees at Mrs. Warren’s feet.

  “Good heavens,” said Mrs. Warren.

  Corey mouthed the words, “Baa, baa.”

  Mrs. Warren looked at him, blinking nervously.

  “Caitlin’s cousin shows sheep for 4-H,” Nicholas said. “Maybe Ellen is in the sheep barn or the show arena.”

  Corey nodded again.

  “We go past the 4-H buildings on our way out of the fair,” Mrs. Warren said. “If your sister is there, we’ll ask if you can stay with her.”

  She took Nicholas by the arm and led him away from the midway. Corey trailed behind, eating his curly fries. As they passed the bottle-throw booth, he saw a group of girls, each buying a turn to throw. He wanted to shout, “Save your money! That guy cheats!” but without a voice, all he could do was feel sorry for the girls.

  When they reached the 4-H complex, Mrs. Warren said, “We’ll look in the show arena but if your sister isn’t there, we can’t traipse all around hunting for her.”

  Corey was relieved to see Ellen and Caitlin sitting in the top row of the show arena. Corey nudged Mrs. Warren and pointed at the girls. Mrs. Warren waved at Ellen.

  Ellen waved back.

  “What happened to your brother’s face?” Caitlin asked.

  “He got cut when he fell off the monkey bars at the park,” Ellen said. “It’s healed now except for a scab across his cheek but he insists on wearing that stupid Batman bandage.”

  “Nicholas and I will wait here,” Mrs. Warren said, “while you go up and ask Ellen if it’s all right for you to stay and go home with her.”

  Before Corey could do so, Nicholas bolted toward one of the trash cans that stood just inside the door. He leaned into the trash can and threw up. Mrs. Warren handed him a tissue to wipe his mouth, then turned to Corey. “Stay with your sister,” she said.

  “I will.”

  Mrs. Warren put her arm around Nicholas and pushed open the door.

  Corey wished Nicholas wasn’t sick. It wouldn’t be half as much fun to scream on the scary rides alone. Ellen never wanted to ride anything except the merry-go-round. He sighed and turned toward the steps to join Ellen and Caitlin.

  “Sorry,” said a voice at his elbow. “No food is allowed in the stands.

  Corey went outside to finish his curly fries. As he emerged, he heard someone crying loudly. Looking toward the noise, he saw the same boy who had been near the bottle-throw booth. Once again, the boy was crying and pointing at an ice-cream cone on the ground while his mother tried to calm him. That kid, thought Corey, should buy ice cream in a cup and eat it with a spoon.

  “Hey!!”

  Corey looked at the gray-haired man who had shouted.

  “Someone took my wallet!” the man yelled. “Everyone stay where you are! Call the police!”

  Corey could hardly believe his ears. Another pickpocket? He quickly scanned the crowd of people, most of whom reacted to the man’s shouts by clutching their own wallets and purses.

  There he was!

  The man in the dark shirt with the MADE IN THE U.S.A. shopping bag was easing past the people who had stopped to stare at the shouter.

  Corey tried to yell, “That’s him! He’s the thief!” but he could not make a sound. Corey watched as the man moved quickly through the crowd, shaking his head at the other people as if to say, How terrible.

  Corey couldn’t let the man get away. Forgetting his promise to stay with Ellen, he took off across the fairgrounds after the thief.

  CHAPTER

  6

  “I’M GOING to go talk to The Great Sybil again,” Ellen said.

  “Now?” said Caitlin. “The 4-H kids are bringing their sheep in. We’ll miss Ben.”

  “You can stay and watch the sheep show. I’ll come back here when I’m finished.”

  “Are you sure you want to go back there?” Caitlin said. “All this talk about danger and spirits and messages from dead people makes me nervous.”

  “I want to ask The Great Sybil some questions,” Ellen said, “and I won’t get to the fair again without my parents.”

  Caitlin nodded sympathetically. “Say no more,” she said. “My mom would never let me visit The Great Sybil, either. Do you want me to tell Corey anything if he shows up? Should I ask him to stay here until you come back?”

  “I doubt he’ll be back. He and Nicholas planned to ride on every ride and eat something from every food booth. Corey’s been saving his allowance for weeks so he could blow it all at the fair.”

  “Maybe the
great danger is that he’ll get sick from eating too much junk food at the fair,” Caitlin said.

  “Not when he’s with Mrs. Warren. She’s really careful about good nutrition. Whenever Nicholas comes to our house, he always wants candy because he never gets it at home; Nicholas says his mother would rather eat broccoli than fudge.”

  Spectators poured into the arena as the exhibitors led their sheep into position. Bleats and baas filled the air, along with broadcast directions from the judges, telling the exhibitors how to line up.

  Ellen started down the steps, eager to see The Great Sybil again. Now that she was over the first shock and had thought about it awhile, the idea of being able to communicate with Grandpa excited her. If she really could get a message and prove that it was from him, maybe Grandma would stop crying so much. And maybe her own heart would heal. It wouldn’t seem as bad to have Grandpa gone if she knew his spirit still existed.

  Behind her, Caitlin said, “Wait. I’ll go with you. I’ve seen Ben show his sheep before but I’ve never seen someone get a message from a spirit.”

  Ellen shook her head. “It’s nice of you to offer,” she said, “but I know you want to watch the sheep competition and it’s almost ready to start.”

  “I don’t want you going back there alone,” Caitlin said firmly, as she followed Ellen to the exit. “This whole thing is too weird.”

  Ellen smiled gratefully at her friend. “I could wait and go after Ben shows his sheep,” she said.

  “No,” Caitlin said. “This is more important than sheep.”

  They left the show arena and headed toward The Great Sybil’s trailer.

  COREY DASHED after the man. When he caught him, he planned to grab the shopping bag and summon help. As soon as the police found the victim’s wallet in the man’s shopping bag, they would arrest the man. Probably the woman’s purse was still in the shopping bag, too. Corey might get his picture in the paper yet.

  The fairgrounds were crowded, making it difficult for the man to move fast without attracting attention. Since he didn’t know anyone was chasing him, Corey gained on him quickly.

  Just outside one of the exhibit halls, Corey caught up. He approached the man from behind and grabbed the shopping bag, pulling it out of the startled man’s grasp. He tried to yell, “Help!” at the same time but he only managed a faint wheeze.

  “Give me that!” the man said, as he tried to take back the bag.

  Corey crossed his arms and held the bag handles tightly against his chest. He looked around him for one of the uniformed security guards who had responded when the woman’s purse was stolen, but none was in sight.

  “Why, you sneaky little thief!” the man said. He grabbed Corey’s shoulder and turned to two teenaged boys who stood nearby. “This kid is trying to steal my bag,” he said.

  The boys instantly grabbed Corey’s arm and pried his hands loose from the shopping bag. “That was a stupid move, kid,” one of them said.

  “He’s the thief,” Corey rasped but in addition to having no voice, he was out of breath from running and he could tell the boys did not understand him.

  The boys handed the bag back to the man.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Corey glared at him. This time he paid attention to the man’s appearance. Medium height. Brown hair. Dark blue shirt and pants. A gold wristwatch. There was nothing remarkable about the man’s appearance and Corey realized that he probably dressed in a nondescript way on purpose. If he wore a wild-colored plaid shirt or a T-shirt with a saying on the front, witnesses would be able to remember him. This way, he blended into the crowd and slipped away unnoticed.

  “Are you going to call the cops?” one of the teenagers asked.

  “No,” the man said. “He has probably learned a lesson.”

  In frustration, Corey tried to wriggle free. He knew the man didn’t want to call the cops because if the police came they would discover who the guilty person really was.

  The man turned and walked toward the entrance of the building.

  Corey twisted and jerked. He pointed at the man’s shopping bag and tried to whisper, “Thief.”

  “Knock it off, kid,” one of the teenagers said. He and his buddy, each firmly holding one of Corey’s arms, ushered him away from the building. “You’re lucky that guy didn’t turn you in,” the older boy continued. “If you keep this up, you’ll be spending the night in the juvenile detention center.”

  The two boys kept a tight grip on Corey until they had walked for several minutes. Corey glared at them, studying their faces and memorizing what they wore. When the police finally arrested that pickpocket, Corey intended to give a complete description of these two boys. Maybe they would be arrested, too, for obstructing justice. Maybe they would spend the night in the juvenile detention center.

  AS ELLEN and Caitlin approached The Great Sybil’s trailer, a white-haired woman was walking away from it. When she saw the two girls, she smiled and said, “Are you girls going to have your fortunes told?” Without waiting for them to answer, she went on, “It’s well worth the price. The Great Sybil gave me the most wonderful news.”

  “She did?” Caitlin said.

  The woman dabbed at her eyes but Ellen could tell her tears were happy ones. “Harold is at peace,” the woman said. “I can stop worrying about him.”

  Wondering who Harold was, Ellen said, “How did The Great Sybil know?”

  “Oh, she talks to the spirits,” the woman said, “and they answer her. She specifically asked if Harold is all right and she was told, yes, he is. I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I’ve been terribly worried about Harold. He wasn’t ready to go, you know. He didn’t want to leave me and he wanted to watch the grandchildren grow up. It happened so fast; we didn’t have time to adjust to his sickness and, boom, he was gone. Ever since, all these months, I’ve worried that Harold couldn’t rest in peace because . . .”

  Ellen broke in to ask, “Did the spirits answer in writing?” She felt rude for interrupting but she had a feeling the woman would talk all day, given half a chance.

  “Writing? How could spirits write anything?”

  “They talked, then?” Caitlin said. “You heard someone?”

  “Oh, no, my dear. I heard nothing. If I could hear such things myself, I wouldn’t need to pay a spiritualist, now would I? The Great Sybil heard the spirits and told me what they said.”

  “But how do you know she got an answer?” Caitlin said. “What if she made it up?”

  The woman frowned. “Why would she do that? She never knew Harold. She can’t possibly care if he is happy or not.” The woman’s smile returned. “I’m going to be able to sleep tonight, without taking a sleeping pill, for the first time since Harold passed on. The Great Sybil said I won’t need pills anymore, now that I know Harold is at peace.”

  “I’m glad for you,” Ellen said.

  “Me, too,” Caitlin said. She nudged Ellen and started to walk on. “It was nice talking to you,” she said over her shoulder.

  “When you girls get your fortunes told,” the woman said, “I hope your news is as good as mine.” She walked away, smiling and nodding at everyone she passed.

  When the woman was no longer within hearing range, Caitlin said, “Do you think The Great Sybil really got a message about that woman’s husband, or do you think she pretended, knowing what the woman wanted to hear?”

  Ellen shrugged. “Does it matter? Either way, the woman is happy.”

  “I guess most people believe what they want to believe,” Caitlin said.

  “The trouble is,” Ellen said, “I don’t know what I want to believe. One part of me thinks it would be great if I could communicate with Grandpa. Another part of me says I’m asking for trouble if I try again. Also, there’s Corey to consider, assuming he is ‘the small one’ in the message. If he is going to be in danger, I want to help him and I don’t see how I can, without more information.”

  They had reached the ticket booth. “Hello,”
Ellen said to the man inside.

  He barely glanced up from the newspaper he held before he said, “Sorry. You have to be eighteen or over.”

  “The Great Sybil told me I could come back without paying.”

  The man put down his paper and looked directly at her. “Aren’t you the kid who was here earlier today?”

  “Yes. I need to see her again.”

  “Sorry. She’s out.”

  Ellen and Caitlin looked at each other. Their eyes agreed: He’s lying.

  Ellen, with Caitlin right behind her, marched to the door of the trailer and knocked.

  “Hey!” the man called after them. “I told you Sybil isn’t in.”

  The door opened.

  “I am glad you returned,” The Great Sybil said.

  The man stepped out of the booth and hurried toward them. “Sybil,” he said, “I don’t think you should do this.”

  “I have to,” The Great Sybil said. “Please come in, Ellen. And?”

  “This is my friend Caitlin,” Ellen said. “I told her about the automatic writing.”

  “Welcome, Caitlin. Pure one.”

  Caitlin looked questioningly at Ellen as they stepped inside.

  “Caitlin,” explained The Great Sybil, “is from the Greek name Katharos, meaning ‘pure one.’ It honors St. Catherine of Alexandria who escaped martyrdom on a spiked wheel in the fourth century.”

  “No kidding,” said Caitlin.

  “Be seated, please.”

  Ellen sat on the couch, leaving room for Caitlin to sit beside her. The Great Sybil sat on the same chair as before. “Do you wish to try again to contact the spirits?” The Great Sybil asked.

  “Yes. I want to ask who the message is from and when the danger will be.”

  The Great Sybil nodded.

  “You’ll need the paper and pencil again,” Caitlin reminded her.

  Ellen reached in her shoulder bag and removed her notebook and pencil.

  “Maybe you will get a spoken message this time,” Caitlin said to The Great Sybil. “Maybe the spirits will speak to you.”