Oracle of Doom

by D. J. MacHale

  What Playland didn’t have were some of the rides described in the unfinished book that Everett had found. There was no fun house or Magic Castle. There wasn’t a pirate galleon that floated on an artificial river. There wasn’t even a river. I tried to imagine where the waterway for Blackbeard’s Galleon might have been. My guess is it followed the same route that now held a miniature-train ride that circled the park.

  I bet they’d ripped out the boat ride because that worker was killed on opening day.

  As I stood on the edge of the midway, seeing the park both as it is now and as it had been nearly a hundred years before, I felt a strange tingling sensation that made the hairs on the back of my neck go up. I hadn’t heard or seen anything, but the feeling was unmistakable.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Was it a security guard? Or a hidden camera looking down on me from one of the old-fashioned streetlamps? I glanced around quickly and didn’t see anybody. But the feeling was too strong to be my imagination.

  I was being watched.

  I backed toward the closest building, looking for a shadow to sink into, and found myself in front of one of the oldest attractions in the park. The Hall of Mirrors. I hadn’t been in there since I was six. It was kind of hokey, to be honest. But in that moment I wanted to be out of sight, and that cheesy attraction seemed like the perfect place. So I jumped over the turnstile and ducked through the entrance.

  They should have called it the Hall of Windows—most of the attraction was a maze of clear glass walls that you had to find your way through. There were plenty of twists and corners and dead ends, and if you went too fast, you ended up walking straight into a glass wall and smashing your head. Usually, there were so many fingerprints (and nose prints) on everything that it was easy to find the right way, but on that day the glass was clear and clean. Workers must have squeegeed everything when the park closed for the season.

  Maybe I was being paranoid, but I still had the sense that I was being watched. It was more a feeling than anything else. I hadn’t heard anything specific, but I felt as though somebody else was in there. In the maze. With me. My heart thumped hard. I hadn’t even gotten close to the arcade and I was about to get my butt thrown out of the park. I moved quickly through the corridor of glass with my hands out in front of me to keep from smashing into anything. It wasn’t easy. I kept bashing my fingers against the hard surfaces before finding the turns. Whoever had created this ride was evil. How was this supposed to be fun? I was halfway to the center when…

  …a shadow moved by me.

  I saw it. No question. It was a person. I only got a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, but the person was real. I couldn’t tell where they were or where they were going because there were so many layers of glass all around me. Worse, the only light was what bled in through the front entrance. I was all sorts of disoriented. Was the person in front? To the side? Behind me? It was impossible to tell.

  The shadow moved by again, at the edge of my vision. Somebody was definitely there. I spun around, but too late. Whoever it was came and went like an eyeblink. I thought of calling out, but that would have ended my mission for sure, so I kept quiet and continued moving. The tension made it even harder to work my way through the maze because I kept nervously looking over my shoulder, expecting to see somebody standing right behind me.

  I finally reached the halfway point. It was a long room that was the true Hall of Mirrors. The corridor-like room was lined with tall, narrow mirrors that distorted your image, making you look really tall or fat or giving you a big head or whatever. Those things are fun for about eight seconds. At that moment they weren’t fun at all. I moved through quickly, barely glancing at my reflection as I passed each mirror. I didn’t stop. I wasn’t in the mood to see myself looking like a munchkin. Or a daddy longlegs. The room was so dark I could barely make out the doorway on the far side.

  I was halfway through the hall when I passed the middle mirror and…

  …I thought I saw something strange. It made me stop short. What was it? Had I seen the reflection of another person in the mirror? I glanced over my shoulder, but nobody else was in the room. It must have been my imagination. Or a trick of what little light there was. Or even my own reflection. But I had to know, so I took two tentative steps backward until I was directly in front of the mirror.

  My reflection made me look like Shrek…wide and grotesque. There was no other reflection besides mine. The mirror faced another on the opposite wall, which made an infinity effect. The reflections bounced back and forth, creating the illusion of hundreds of mirrors trailing off to forever. Normally, I loved that effect.

  But this wasn’t normal.

  Something moved deep within the reflection. It was the silhouette of a person. It wasn’t right next to me or behind me but looked to be floating through one of the reflected mirrors deep in the background, which was impossible. It had no features. It was a shadow. But what could be making it? There were no lights. You needed light to make a shadow.

  It was impossible, but I saw it. I know I did.

  And I didn’t want to see it anymore.

  I took off running, headed for the exit. The route out was pretty much the same as the way in. It was another maze of glass walls. This time I didn’t worry about being quiet or stealthy or bashing into anything. I wanted to be gone. I kept slamming into the glass walls, my shoulders taking most of the hits, but I didn’t stop. I saw another shadow float by beside me, but I didn’t know if it was real or just my imagination in fourth gear. I didn’t care either. The maze grew lighter as I got nearer to the exit, so I was able to see the glass walls more clearly and stopped slamming into them.

  When I rounded the last turn before the exit, my fear shifted from what was behind me to what I might find outside. Would I run straight into a cop? Or a security guard? At that moment I kind of hoped for either. I didn’t want to be alone with a lurking shadow anymore.

  I skirted the final glass wall and blasted out to the midway to see…nothing. Nobody was there. No cops. No security. No shadows. I was all alone. Somehow that felt even creepier than if I had been followed by a cop. What had I been seeing? Or feeling? Did it all happen in my head?

  I wanted to run the heck out of there and go home, but I forced myself to take a deep breath and calm down. Nothing had happened. I had probably seen my own shadow reflected in the glass. That had to be it.

  And I couldn’t leave. The whole purpose of my trip would be lost. I had to keep going. So I sucked it up and headed across the midway to the bumper car ride.

  Once there, I jumped the rail that got to the walkway that surrounded the track. The track itself was enclosed by a chest-high wall. The colorful cars were lined up along the wall inside, nose to tail, parked for the winter. I jogged around the oval, hoping that my memory was good and that the antique arcade was still behind the building. When you came out after riding the bumper cars, you’d take a right to head back to the midway. But if you went left, you’d find a narrow sidewalk that looped behind the building. I followed that sidewalk, rounded the corner, and saw the doorway I’d hoped for.

  Heritage Arcade.

  The old-fashioned, swooping script letters were painted over the door, just as I remembered. I grabbed the handle, and after a moment of fear that the door might be locked, I pulled it open.

  I can’t say I remembered much about the arcade. I’d been there only once before and hadn’t been impressed, but in general it was as I’d expected. There were ancient nickelodeons and baseball batting games where, for a nickel, a metal ball would shoot out of a miniature pitching mound and you had to hit a button that would swing a tiny bat at it. I saw a couple of old-school pinball machines and another gizmo that let you control a creepy clown marionette. That one was good for a few nightmares. I suppose some historian would find the whole thing fascinating.

  I didn’t. The
re was only one machine I cared about.

  I walked past several of the dusty games, rounded a few corners, doubled back, and was beginning to think I had struck out when I made one last turn…and came face to face with the Oracle Baz.

  Or at least a dummy replica of him. It was the biggest machine in the place. The life-sized mannequin was sealed inside a glass booth. You could only see him from the waist up because he sat at a table that held a big crystal ball. His hands rested on either side of the globe as he stared into its depths, supposedly gazing into the future.

  Hanging on the wall behind the machine were a couple of giant vintage posters that advertised The Oracle Baz, probably from back when Baz had actually put on shows at the park. For real. Yellowed paintings showed him standing dramatically with his feet apart and his hands held out like he was conjuring spirits. Phrases were spelled out in bold letters across the artwork: ASTOUNDING!, GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE!, FEATS OF MAGIC!, ENTER IF YOU DARE!, and various other slogans and come-ons with exclamation points, designed to entice people into his show.

  That show had closed a long time ago. Now there was only a glass box and a dummy.

  Sitting on the table next to the crystal ball was a wooden box filled with fortune cards. I figured the way it worked was you put in your quarter and the dummy Baz would pick out one of the cards that told your future and would drop it into a slot. It was all pretty lame and harmless…

  …unless of course your fortune said you were going to die on your next birthday. That would kill the joy of a fun day at the park, and no amount of cotton candy would make it right.

  To say the gizmo was creepy was an understatement. The dummy was dressed exactly as he was described in the book from the Library. He wore a purple robe with gold trim. On his head was a fiery-red turban with a giant green emerald stuck right in front. I wondered how accurate his face was. He definitely looked mannequin-like, with a waxy, dark complexion. His glass eyes were deep and black, his mustache and beard were neatly trimmed, and each of his fingers had a fancy ring.

  What really got me, though, were his intense, unwavering eyes. They were glass, I got it, but they seemed so real. I couldn’t stop staring at them. I knew he was a wax dummy, but I swear I expected him to blink.

  It was a profoundly eerie moment…

  …until I heard the crunch of a footstep on the concrete behind me. It might have been faint, but the arcade was so quiet it sounded as loud as a gunshot.

  Somebody was standing right behind me.

  “Enjoying your visit to the park?” a man’s deep voice asked.

  I wasn’t alone after all.

  I spun around quickly and came face to face with a man wearing a navy-blue security guard uniform. He was an older guy with silver hair and bright gray eyes to match. I guess I should have been scared, seeing as I had just been busted, but the smile on the guy’s face made me think he was cool. He didn’t have a gun either. That was a plus.

  “Come to have your fortune told?” he asked.

  “Uhhh…yeah,” I muttered. “Something like that.”

  I thought about bolting for the exit, but it wasn’t like I was doing anything wrong—except for the whole trespassing thing, that is. Running would just make me look guilty, and there were probably other security guards hanging around who weren’t as easygoing as this guy, so I didn’t move.

  The old dude chuckled. “Usually, when folks sneak into the park, they head for the spook house. Or hunt for food. Lately, they’ve been taking selfies in front of signs to prove they were here. But coming to this old arcade, well, that’s a first.”

  He didn’t seem like he was going to have me arrested or anything, so I relaxed a little.

  “I’m not messing with anything, Eugene,” I said, because that was the name on his name tag. “Can I call you Eugene? I’m Marcus.”

  “Sure, Marcus,” he replied with a shrug. “But you ain’t gonna be here long enough for us to be pals.”

  “I know. I just wanted to get a look at this thing.”

  I jabbed my thumb at the fortune-telling machine and immediately wished I hadn’t, because Eugene’s friendly smile dropped. I had said the exact wrong thing.

  “Really?” Eugene said suspiciously. “Now, why is that?”

  I looked at the dummy of Baz as if the wise oracle could help me out, but all he did was stare into his crystal ball with his glassy, lifeless eyes. Thanks for nothing, chief.

  “I’ll tell you, but you won’t believe it,” I said.

  “Could it be that you had a fortune come true?” Eugene asked.

  I gasped. I really did.

  “Okay, maybe you will believe it,” I said, barely above a whisper.

  Eugene stepped up to the machine and stared through the glass at the Baz dummy.

  “I’ve been working here awhile,” he said. “It’s easy work and I love Playland. Always did. Spent a lot of time here when I was a kid. Seen lots of changes; heard lots of stories. Did you know they wanted to shut down this arcade and turn it into a Dippin’ Dots?”

  “That fakey ice cream?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “Thankfully, enough people who love the park squashed the plan. That’s one of the beauties of Playland. Its history. You see it in the buildings and attractions that have been around since the beginning. As much as it keeps pace with modern times, it also shows respect for the past. Nowhere more than here in this arcade. Hardly anybody comes by anymore, but when they do, they walk away with a true appreciation for the spirit of the park and all that it was, not just what it is today.”

  The guy was getting lost in his memories. It was sweet and all, but I needed him to focus on the present.

  “So you heard stories about this machine?” I asked.

  “The Oracle Baz,” he said with reverence while looking up at the posters. “He was a real fellow—did you know that?”

  “Yeah. I heard he really could predict the future.”

  “So they say. Unfortunately, he didn’t predict his own.”

  “Why? Did something bad happen to him?” I asked.

  “Sure did. He lived in an apartment over a dark walk-through attraction called the Magic Castle. About two weeks after the park opened, there was a fire. The attraction burned to the ground. Baz was trapped in his apartment. He never had a chance.”

  Whoa. I hadn’t gotten that far in the book.

  “He died?” I asked, surprised. “Here? Same as that pirate ship guy?”

  “How does somebody your age know about that tragedy?” Eugene asked, with a puzzled frown.

  “I read a lot” was my vague but entirely accurate answer. No way I wanted to tell him about the Library. “How do you know so much?” I asked.

  “I guess you could call me the unofficial historian of Playland,” he replied. “I told you, I love this place. I pretty much know every square inch of the park.”

  “How did the fire start?” I asked.

  “They never found out for certain,” he said with a shrug.

  “So that means somebody might have set it.”

  Eugene shot me a look of surprise, as if he hadn’t thought of that. But thinking like that was my job. If stories ended up in the Library, there was always a good reason. A simple accident wouldn’t qualify. It had to be something strange that happened—something that somebody did, or didn’t do, or should have done. A disruption. Disruptions didn’t happen by accident, and a mysterious fire that killed somebody sure seemed like a disruption.

  Eugene shrugged and said, “Maybe. It’s a mystery that’ll never be solved.”

  Bingo. Disruption.

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” I said.

  He gave me a curious look. “What makes you say that?”

  “No reason,” I replied innocently. Again, I wasn’t going to tell him about the Library.

/>   I think I was gaining his trust. Hopefully, that meant he wouldn’t call the cops on me.

  “You’re right about Baz,” he said. “From what I understand, the fella had a genuine gift. Look here,” he said, pointing to the machine. “That’s the actual costume he wore onstage. And that crystal ball—it’s the very same one he used to make his predictions. They saved all his props and built this machine.”

  I gazed into the dummy’s lifeless eyes that were intently focused on the crystal ball. I half expected him to wink.

  “That’s all his real stuff?” I said in awe. “Isn’t that a little—I don’t know—creepy?”

  “I suppose,” Eugene said with a sigh. “He was only here a short time, but he helped put Playland on the map. He was already famous, so it was a big deal that the park got him to come. It was a publicity stunt, I guess, but it worked. People flocked from all over to see his show. Him dying was horrible, but it made the park famous. Or maybe…notorious. Either way, you couldn’t keep people away. Building this machine was a way to honor his memory and keep the people coming. If not for him, Playland might never have caught on the way it did, and we could be standing in a shopping mall right now.”

  “Or a Dippin’ Dots.”

  Eugene gazed around at the antique games as if they were beloved grandchildren. He really did have a thing for this park. Odd, but whatever.

  “So what about the fortunes?” I asked again, prodding.

  “Mostly it’s rumor and legend, with a little bit of embellishment tacked on, but I’ve heard more than once that fortunes spit out by this machine ended up coming true. I can’t say for certain how real it is, but I do know this old machine is somewhat…particular.”

  “How so?”

  “It doesn’t always work. Oftentimes people put in their quarters and nothing happens. Baz just sits there staring into his crystal. The maintenance folks have taken it apart more than once, trying to figure out what makes it work. Or not work. It’s a fairly simple mechanism. But most times it just…fails. The story goes that the only time Baz will tell a fortune is when he has a fortune to tell. Doesn’t matter if you put in a quarter or a dozen quarters. If Baz doesn’t see anything in your future worth mentioning, he won’t.”