by Dean Koontz
“I saw something in the crystal ball,” she said in a voice that contained fear and awe. “It's not even crystal. It's just a cheap piece of crap. There's nothing magical about it. Yet . . . tonight . . . when those girls were here . . . I saw images in the ball. It was awful, horrible. I saw the blond screaming, her hands thrown up in front of her face as if she were trying to ward off something hideous that was reaching for her. And I saw the other one . . . Amy . . . in torn clothes, all covered with blood.” She shuddered violently. “And I think . . . the boys, too . . . in the background of the vision . . . the boys who were with those girls . . . all bloody.”
“It's a sign,” Conrad said. I told you, I've been sent signs. This is another one. It tells me not to wait. It tells me to get Amy tonight, even if I have to take care of the others as well.”
Zena shook her head. “No. No, Conrad, I can't let you do that. You can't have your revenge. It's sick. You can't just go out there and kill those four kids.”
“Oh, I probably won't kill any of them with my own hands,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Gunther will take care of them.”
“Gunther? He wouldn't hurt anyone.”
“Our son has changed,” Conrad said. “I'm the only one who knows how much he's changed. He's come of age at last. He needs women now, and he takes what he needs. He doesn't just screw them, either. He leaves quite a mess behind. I've been covering up for him the last few years. And now I'll be repaid. He'll give me the vengeance I've dreamed about for so long.”
“What do you mean when you say he takes women?”
“Uses them and then rips them apart,” Conrad said, knowing that she was the type who would feel morally responsible for the actions of her freakish offspring, smiling as he saw the pain flicker across her face.
“How many?” she asked.
“I've lost count. A few dozen.”
“My God,” Zena said, shaken to her roots. “What have I done? What have I brought into the world?”
“The Antichrist,” Conrad said.
“No,” she said. “You're not in your right mind. You have delusions of grandeur. It's nothing as special as the Antichrist. It's just a vicious, mad beast. I should have had Ellen's good sense. I should have killed it like she killed Victor. Now . . . I'm responsible for everyone who has died and for everyone who will die before it's finished.”
Standing over her, Conrad reached down, put his hands on her throat, and said, “I can't let you spoil everything.”
Zena struggled. But she didn't have a strong enough desire to live, while Conrad had an exceedingly strong desire to kill her. He had never known such power and purpose as that which coursed through him now. He felt supercharged, crackling with a demonic energy. Zena thrashed and kicked and scratched his face, but she died much more easily than he had expected. He dragged her body into the darkest corner of the tent, later, he would figure out some way to get rid of it.
The raven squawked hysterically.
Afraid that the bird would draw someone to the body before it could be disposed of, Conrad opened the cage, thrust his hands inside, seized the raven, and broke its neck.
He left Zena's tent and hurried back to the funhouse. Amy Harper and her friends would be arriving shortly, and he wanted to be prepared for them.
* * *
Tonight Joey was a winner. He won sixty-five cents pitching pennies. He won a small teddy bear by throwing darts at balloons. And he won a free ride on the carousel when he managed to grab a brass ring the first time around.
He was on the carousel, riding a black stallion like the one in the movie of the same name, when he saw Amy. He hadn't considered the possibility that her date had brought her to the carnival, but there she was, in dark green shorts and a pale green T-shirt. She wasn't with Buzz, though. She was with Liz, and the two girls were headed toward the edge of the midway. Joey lost sight of them as the carousel revolved, and when he came around again, they had disappeared in the crowd.
When he got off the merry-go-round a couple of minutes later, he went looking for his sister. He knew she would enjoy hearing how he had fooled Mama. She would think he was clever and brave for coming all the way to the fairgrounds on his own. He valued Amy's approval more than anything else, and he was eager to hear what she would say when she saw him here all by himself.
14
THE COMFORT station was brightly lighted. It smelled of damp concrete, mildew, and stale urine. The sinks were stained by years of dripping, mineral-rich water.
After Amy and Liz washed their hands, as they were leaning toward the mirrors, fixing their makeup, two older women left the restroom, and the girls were alone.
“You feeling high?” Liz asked.
“Yes.”
“Me too. All the way up. I'm fuckin' wired, for sure. Are you just high, or are you really wired?”
“I'm totally wasted,” Amy said, squinting into the mirror, applying lipstick with a shaky hand.
“Good,” Liz said. “I'm glad you're really wrecked. Maybe you'll finally loosen up.”
“I'm loose as a goose,” Amy said.
“Great,” Liz said. “Then I won't have to sell you on it.”
“Sell me on what?”
The orgy,” Liz said.
Amy looked at her, and Liz grinned almost drunkenly, and Amy said, “Orgy?”
“I've already sold the idea to those two pussy-hounds out there,” Liz said.
“Buzz and Richie?”
“They're both game.”
“You mean . . . the four of us in one bed?”
“Sure,” Liz said, putting away her own lipstick, snapping her purse shut. “It'll be fan-tastic!”
“Oh, Liz, I don't know about that. I don't—”
“Let it slide, kid.”
“I've got college and—”
“You've got the pill. You won't get knocked up again. Don't be so damned prim. Go with the flow, kid. Be what you are. Stop pretending you're Sister Purity.”
“I couldn't—”
“Of course you could,” Liz said. “You will. You want it. You're just like me. Face facts and enjoy yourself.”
Amy put one hand on the sink to steady herself. It wasn't just the dope that made her feel woozy. She was dizzied by the prospect of just letting go, being like Liz, forgetting about the future, living just for the moment, incapable of guilt or remorse. It must be nice to live that way. It must be so relaxing, so free.
Liz moved close to her and said, “My place. As soon as we leave the fairgrounds. The four of us. My parents have a king-size bed. Think of it, honey. You can have both those guys at the same time. They're both dying to slip the old salami to you. It'll be great. You'll have a ball. I know you will because I'll have a ball, and you're just like me.”
Liz's melodic, rhythmic voice was draining all the energy and all the will out of Amy. Amy leaned against the sink and closed her eyes and felt that warm, seductive voice pulling her down, down into a place she wasn't sure she wanted to go.
Then Amy felt a hand on her breast. She opened her eyes with a start.
Liz was touching her intimately, smiling.
Amy wanted to push the other girl's lewd hand away, but she couldn't find sufficient strength to present Liz with even that small token of resistance.
“I've always wondered what it would be like, you and me, just us two girls,” Liz said.
“You're wasted,” Amy said. “You're so high you don't know what you're saying.”
“I know exactly what I'm saying, kid. I've always wondered . . . and tonight I can find out. We can make some real memories, kid.” She leaned close, kissed Amy lightly on the mouth, tongue flicking like the quick tongue of a snake, and then she left the restroom, twitching her bottom as she went.
Amy felt dirty, but she also experienced a tremor of pleasure that oscillated through every inch of her.
She looked in the mirror again, squinting because the bright fluorescent lights st
ung her bleary eyes. Her face looked soft, as if it were melting off her bones. Searching once more for that wickedness that others could see in her, she stared into her own eyes. All of Amy's life, her mother had told her that she was filled with a terrible evil that must be repressed at all costs. After years and years of listening to that hateful line, Amy didn't like herself very much. Her self-respect had been whittled down to a fragile stick, Mama had wielded the whittling knife. Now Amy thought she finally could see a hint of the evil that Mama and Liz saw in her, it was a peculiar shadow, a writhing darkness deep in her eyes.
No! she thought desperately, frightened by the speed with which her resolution was dissolving. I'm not that kind of person. I have plans, ambitions, dreams. I want to paint beautiful pictures and bring happiness to people.
But she could vividly recall the thrill that had snapped through her like an electric current when Liz's tongue had licked her lips.
She thought of being in bed with Richie and Buzz, both of them using her at the same time, and suddenly it wasn't impossible for her to picture herself in that situation.
Standing there in the harshly lighted comfort station, acutely uncomfortable in the stink of mildew and urine and rotting hope, Amy felt as if she were waiting in the anteroom of Hell.
At last she walked to the door and opened it.
Liz was waiting outside, in the night. She smiled at Amy and held out her hand.
* * *
Conrad sent Ghost off to work at the grab joint, which was busier than the funhouse tonight. As soon as the albino was gone, Conrad shut the ticket booth and sent Elton to assist at the pitch-and-dunk, which formed the third corner of Straker's three-cornered carnival empire.
Elton gave him an odd look. The funhouse was much too busy to justify closing it down for the night. But unlike Ghost, Elton never asked questions, he simply did as he was told.
When those marks who were already in the funhouse came out through the big, swinging exit doors and disembarked from their gondolas, Conrad shut down the power to the track. He didn't switch off the lights or the music, in fact he turned up the volume on the music and on the voice of the laughing clown as well.
Gunther watched Conrad with puzzlement. But when the situation was explained to him, he understood at once, and he went into the funhouse to wait.
Conrad took up a position by the shuttered ticket booth. He turned away the marks when they asked if they could buy tickets. For the rest of the night, the funhouse would be open for only four very special people.
* * *
After they ate ice-cream bars covered with chocolate and nuts, Liz and Amy and Richie and Buzz went to the funhouse.
The barker, the man with the brilliantly blue eyes who had been on the elevated platform earlier, was no longer haranguing the people who passed by. He was standing at the ticket booth, which appeared to be closed.
“Oh, no,” Liz said disappointedly. “Mister, you aren't going to shut down for the night already?”
“No,” the barker said. “We just had a minor mechanical problem.”
“When will it be fixed?” Liz asked.
“It's fixed already,” the barker said. “But I've got to wait for the boss to get back before I start up.”
“How long will that be?” Richie asked.
The barker shrugged. “Hard to tell. The boss likes, shall we say, to tipple. If he's tippled too much while we were fixing the motors, he might not be back at all.”
Ah, shit!” Liz said. “We saved this for last because it's my favorite.”
The barker looked at Amy, and she didn't like what she saw in his eyes. His gaze was so intent and somehow menacing, hungry.
I should have worn a bra, Amy thought. I shouldn't have tried to be like Liz. I shouldn't have gone out in short shorts, a flimsy T-shirt, and no bra. I'm just advertising myself. No wonder he's staring at me like that.
“Well,” the barker said, sweeping them all with his gas-flame eyes, “I'll tell you what. You don't look like an ordinary group of marks to me. You look like you're with it and for it.”
“You bet your ass we are,” Liz said.
“Whatever that means—with it and for it,” Buzz said.
“It's a carny expression,” the barker told them. “It means what it says and says what it means.”
Liz laughed. “Which makes everything perfectly clear.”
The barker grinned and winked at her.
“You're a pretty sharp dude,” Liz said.
“Thank you,” the barker said. “And you're a very sharp lady. But I'll take your money just the same.”
Richie and Buzz dug in their pockets for money.
The barker glanced at Amy again. That same hunger.
Amy crossed her arms over her breasts, so he couldn't see her nipples through the pale green T-shirt she wore.
* * *
Joey had just about give up trying to find Amy in the crowd that surged around the midway— and then he saw her. She was with Liz, Buzz, and another boy. The carny who had given Joey the free passes was helping them into a gondola at the funhouse boarding gate.
Joey hesitated, remembering how weird the carny had acted this afternoon. But he was so eager to tell Amy about how he had fooled Mama that he shrugged off his misgivings and headed toward the funhouse.
* * *
The gondola seated four: two forward, two behind. Liz and Richie took the front seats, Amy and Buzz sat in back of them.
They started with a jolt that made Liz yelp and laugh. The phony castle doors opened, swallowed them, and closed again.
At first the gondola moved rapidly into the pitch blackness, but then it slowed. A light popped on to the left of the track and above it, and a leering, grizzled pirate laughed and thrust a sword at them.
Liz squealed, and Buzz took the opportunity to put his arm around Amy.
On their right, just past the pirate, a very realistic-looking werewolf was crouched on a ledge, suddenly illuminated by a moon that lit up behind him. His eyes glowed red, there was blood on his huge teeth, and his claws, which he raked at the gondola, gleamed like splinters of a mirror.
“Oh, protect me, Richie!” Liz shouted in make-believe terror. “Protect my virgin body from that horrid beast!” She laughed at her own performance.
The car slowed even more, and they came to a display in which an ax-murderer was standing over one of his victims. The ax was buried in the dead man's skull, cleaving his forehead in two.
The gondola came to a complete stop.
“What's wrong?” Liz asked.
“Must have broken down again,” Richie said.
They were sitting in purple-brown shadows. The only light came from the ax-murderer exhibit beside them, and that was an eerie, greenish glow.
“Hey!” Liz shouted into the darkness and into the waves of creepy music that crashed over them. “Hey, let's get this show on the road!”
“Yeah!” Buzz shouted. “Hey, out there!”
For a minute or two they all called to the barker, who was on the platform outside, beyond the closed doors of the attraction, no more than thirty or forty feet away. No one responded to them, and at last they gave up.
“Shit,” Liz said.
“What should we do?” Amy asked.
“Stay put,” Richie said. “It'll start moving again eventually.”
“Maybe we should get out and walk back to the doors,” Buzz said.
“Absolutely not,” Richie said. “If we did, and then the ride started up again, our gondola would go off without us. And if another car came through the entrance doors, it would run us down.”
“I hope we don't have to wait in here too long,” Amy said, remembering the way the barker had looked at her. “It's spooky.”
“What a pain in the ass,” Liz said.
“Be patient,” Richie said. “We'll be rolling soon.”
“If we've got to just sit here,” Liz said, “I wish they'd shut off that fuckin' music. It's way too loud.
Something creaked loudly overhead.
What was that?” Amy asked.
They all looked up in the darkness.
“Nothing,” Buzz said. “Just the wind outside.”
“There isn't any wind tonight,” Amy said.
The creaking noise came again. This time there were other loud sounds with it: a scraping, a thud, an animal-like grunting.
“I don't think we—” Richie began.
Something flashed out of the darkness and seized him by the throat. An arm thrust down from the low, unlighted ceiling over the gondola, an arm that ended in a large, long-fingered, fur-covered hand that was tipped with murderously sharp claws. Though the arm moved fast, they all saw it in the backwash of green light from the ax-murderer exhibit, but they couldn't see what was in the blackness above, at the other end of the arm. Whatever it was, its claws pierced Richie's throat, hooked deep into his flesh, and the thing hauled him up, off his seat. Richie kicked frantically, his shoes drumming on the front of the gondola for a second or two. Then he was out of the car, up, up, dragged through a hole in the ceiling, as if he weighed only a few pounds.
Overhead, a trap door banged shut.
The attack had transpired in only three or four seconds.
For a moment Amy was too stunned to move or speak. She stared at the darkness above, where Richie had disappeared, and she couldn't make herself believe what she had seen. It had to be a trick, part of the funhouse tour, an incredibly clever illusion.
Apparently Liz and Buzz thought the same thing, for they, too, were mesmerized.
Gradually, however, Amy realized that Richie was really gone and that no carnival in the world would risk injuring a customer with a trick as dangerous as that one.
Liz said, “Blood.”
That single word broke the spell.
Amy and Buzz looked at her.
Liz was turned part of the way around in the front seat. She was holding up her arms. They were spattered with something wet and dark. Even in the green light, it was obvious that Liz was spotted with blood.
