D

by George Right

  As if in reply to his thought, something began clanging above. The young people jerked up their heads and saw how from the high ceiling of the vault, unwinding on the fly, right upon them heavy chains with hooks on the ends were falling. It seemed that these hooks would fall directly on their heads, but they flew sideways–two at the left and two at the right–and hollowly tinkled against the car boards. And then... then suddenly from under the car bottom an ugly hand leaned out–covered with scars and lacking phalanxes of two fingers (probably, there was a hatch below which had opened absolutely silently)–and began to fasten the hooks to steel loops under the bottom which Mike and Jane hadn't even noticed when they were taking seats in the car. As soon as the last hook took its place, the chains stretched and jerkily dragged the car up. Having come off the floor, it began to rock back and forth, which was only promoted by the uneven movement of the chains. Halfway up, the mechanism got even more out of sync; the left chains began to pull faster than the right ones, tilting the car more and more to one side; Jane who appeared above screamed in fear again, grabbing Mike's hand. The young man looked down and understood that they were rocking right over the stake sticking out below. If the safety bar which held them were to suddenly open...

  But the safety bar didn't open. Chains dragged the car upward, into the blackness of the open hatch–and there, at last, leveled and then, having carried the car slightly forward, settled it on the rails. The hooks clanked, detaching. The car rode again through darkness–but not to the exit (the deceptive burning letters weren't seen any more) but to the next victim.

  It was again a woman or a girl–it was impossible to say more definitely. She stood, held by braided rubber restraints on a plane slightly slanted back (to Mike's mind came the term "exhibition mount"), spread like a laboratory frog. Comparing to her, the guy who was skinned alive could consider himself lucky. She had no face any more. It was cut off completely, to the bone–while flesh on each side of the head was left untouched; the bared skull in this meat frame looked especially terrible. But worst of all was the fact it was a skull of an alive person. The balls of lidless eyes, all in blood streaks of the burst vessels, randomly moved in bone eye-sockets, vainly trying to avoid the beam of a spotlight striking directly into them; through a hole on the place of her former nose frequent breath was heard; the bottom jaw powerlessly drooped, however, when the car approached, it twitched–the unfortunate being tried to say something, but the remains of her chewing muscles were not enough for this purpose. Her tongue still moved in the mouth, but neither Mike nor Jane could understand the lowing-howling sounds... Her body had been treated the same as her head: all frontal flesh was cut off. In the bright light of the spotlight it was clearly visible through the ribs how her heart was beating and her lungs were inflating and deflating. All abdominal organs were also exhibited; they didn't fall out–probably, due to the back-slanted position of the body. Arms and legs had undergone the same vivisection; the scraped-out white bones glistened in the surrounding of yellowish fat layers and crimson muscles...

  Mike saw how some thickening was slowly moving in her intestines, and convulsively bent over a board in a spasm of vomiting. The car jerked and rolled further, without giving him time to finish. The young man tightly shut his eyes and promised himself again, now even more definitely, not to open them until they get outside.

  And he honestly kept the promise even when from the right a disgusting smell of burned meat stank (the terrible heartrending groans couldn't muffle the hissing of fat dripping in fire, and Mike felt close heat by his cheek) as well as when on the left children–four or five simultaneously–began to squeal stridently. But when Jane cried "No! No! Stop!" he nevertheless opened his eyes.

  This time the victim was neither at the left nor at the right. He lay directly on the rails. A very young fellow–about seven years younger than Mike. His hands and feet were buried in two massive concrete cubes on both sides of the track, and the car was just about to roll its wheels over his stomach and chest. The bleeding furrows indented into the boy's flesh indicated this would not be the first time a car ran over him. Of course, a carnival ride car is not a railway car and not even a road vehicle, so it improbably weighed more than five hundred pounds together with the passengers–but that was also not so little, especially when it rolled over already broken bones and unprotected crushed belly...

  The boy raised his head and looked at the car with muddy pained eyes in which useless entreaty was read. Naturally, they had no opportunity to stop. Jane shouted once again "Stop it!" but at the next moment they felt a slight jolt, and under the wheels it disgustingly crunched and squished. The guy screamed–in a thin, absolutely childish voice. They were not just spectators anymore–now, although involuntarily, they became accomplices...

  Fortunately, ahead the exit appeared. This time, seemingly, it was the real one–daylight loomed from there. Yes, the gates of the cave were opening to set them free...

  But at this moment chains clanged again, and something fell from above. It fell and waggled on chains ahead of them, blocking the way.

  It was a girl. More precisely, part of a girl. Mike's gaze slid down her body–from her wrists pierced through by meat hooks, to her face, suffused with tears and framed with sweat-stuck curly locks, but still beautiful, to her dirty bra, and below... below she was not even cut but torn in half. From the bottom ribs a long tatter of skin and shreds of exfoliated meat hung down, and between them was the wet sack of her stomach, similar to a deflated balloon, drawn down by the heavy tangle of her guts. Below it there was nothing at all. And the car was just about to stick its nose in this tangle and then the passengers would have to literally nuzzle into what was above...

  But at this moment the car braked hard. Mike and Jane swayed forward; their faces appeared in just two feet from the torn girl.

  Her eyelids rose and the bitten lips moved.

  "Please"... she whispered. "Help me..."

  "How? " Mike squeezed out from himself.

  "Kill me..."

  "How? " the young man repeated, looking around in embarrassment. But she either couldn't speak more or didn't know the answer. The car started again, but at the same moment the chains rapidly dragged the victim up into the darkness. Her dangling guts missed Jane's face only by inches.

  And several seconds later the car rolled out of the cave under the sky of cloudy day, quickly passed along the cave's forward wall and finally stopped.

  There was nobody around–neither near the platform nor at the cash booth. There were no new visitors and even the mustached "coffin maker" was absent. Probably he appeared (from where?) only when new clients approached. The safety bar automatically clicked, opening.

  Jane stepped out to the platform the first. Mike initially remained in his seat, believing that it was necessary to wait for the worker, but then followed his girlfriend.

  Clouds were crawling on the low sky. A gush of cold wind tousled grass, dragged trash over it–a paper cup, a torn plastic bag... some gray piece of paper, too–probably a used ticket. There was still not a single living being around and there was no sound, not even from the "cave" behind them. Jane stood motionless.

  "Let's get out of here," Mike said almost dragging her to the path through bushes. In his mouth the sour taste of puke still remained.

  "Do you... you think what I think?" the girl asked while they were winding among prickly thickets.

  "It can't be real!" Mike exclaimed. "Skillfully made dummies with motors... yes, very skillfully, I've never seen anything like... for a moment I did believe..." considering the vomited lunch, to deny the last would be silly.

  "Dummies?! Did you see their faces? Their eyes and everything else?"

  "Well, probably, some are dummies, and some are live actors..."

  "Actors, sure. Well, blood, ripped skin, screws, the stake–all right, all are makeup and special effects. But the chopped-off limbs? How can you fake that?"

  "Mirrors. Especially since it was dark t
here. We saw only what was illuminated."

  "And the last one? We passed directly under her! There were no mirrors there–nothing that would make it possible to hide the bottom half of a woman!"

  "Listen", Mike stopped and turned to Jane. "Even assuming that they really do such things in front of lots of witnesses... do you think that anyone can live after being torn in half? Unless he's an earthworm, of course..."

  "That's not funny."

  "And I'm not laughing. I don't know how this trick was done, but..."

  "Well..." murmured Jane after a pause, "of course, yes... it must be some trick... but... it was so real..."

  "I told you–we shouldn't have gone in there," Mike muttered. "Now we may have nightmares about it..."

  They finally got out of the thickets. No one was visible here either. But once they passed the toilets, a door slapped open behind them.

  At another time, Mike wouldn't have looked at the person leaving such a place, but now he shuddered and rapidly turned back.

  In front of the booths the clown stood. The same one, with the drawn red smile. He stood motionless and silent, looking at them.

  Certainly, there was no reason to stop and it would be more logical just to continue on their way, but Mike suddenly stepped forward.

  "And?" he aggressively inquired. "What?"

  The clown kept his silence and didn't move. In Mike's mind flashed the foolish thought that he was a dummy, too.

  "What are you staring at?" Mike raised his tone and moved ahead with the look of a person ready to fight–though actually he never was combative. Jane turned back, too, stepped after him and grabbed his elbow to prevent a scrap.

  The clown with the sudden gesture of a magician took out from nowhere a small notebook and offered it to the girl.

  "Oh... thank you very much," she said, taking the notebook and pushing it into a pocket of her jeans. "Let's go, Mike," now she dragged him away to where music rattled, shooting gallery guns clapped and visitors happily squealed on rides. Several seconds had passed and there were already a lot of people around them.

  "What did he give you? " Mike asked.

  "My notebook! Probably I lost it in a toilet booth..."

  "In a booth? Or in the 'cave?'"

  "Why the 'cave?' He came out of a booth!"

  "Personally, I didn't see he come from there," Mike muttered.

  "So what–did you see him in the 'cave?' You think he was lurking after us? Mike, that's ridiculous! He simply found my thing..."

  "And how did he know it was yours?!"

  "He didn't. He just assumed. He found it, then saw us. So he thought, maybe we just lost it?" It was as if they had traded roles: now Mike was suspicious and Jane looked for rational explanations.

  "Not we. You. He gave it right to you."

  "Are you jealous?" the girl smiled.

  But Mike didn't accept her tone.

  "Is there your name there?" he inquired.

  "No. But the handwriting is female. You see, everything is simple."

  "Yes. As simple as in the 'cave'... Why was he silent? Is he mute?"

  "Maybe he is..."

  "Hm, by the way," Mike suddenly reflected. "Perhaps they employ disabled people for work in the 'cave?' There were freak shows in the past, so why not now... That is, all violence which we saw is, of course, staged. But maybe the amputated limbs aren't. And... perhaps, I know how the last trick was arranged. A dwarf! Her head is normal, but the body is so small that can be hidden completely inside a rubber imitation of the torso. Maybe she even has no legs... And the guts are, of course, rubber, too."

  "I didn't see any seam on her neck. Where the real head should stick out from..."

  "With skillful makeup you won't see it even in half an hour. And we looked for just a few seconds, with the light in our eyes."

  "Yes..., you're probably right," said Jane without real confidence in her voice.

  They passed by a food booth and this time Mike bought cola to get rid of the taste in his mouth.

  "But I still don't like that this guy looked in your notebook," he said, throwing the plastic cup into a trash can. "Okay, there was no name there, but what about anything else that would allow him to find you? Address, phone?"

  "Mine aren't there, but yours are," Jane smiled. "So now you'll be harassed by mute clown calls."

  "Not funny," Mike said. "I really don't like this. Check if he tore out a page as a souvenir?"

  "What nonsense! Why would he need it?"

  "I don't know. But I don't like this odd guy. By the way, he beckoned to me right before I came to find you... Seriously, check your notebook."

  "Well, if you insist... " she pulled out the notebook from her jeans pocket and began to riffle through it. Suddenly, her hand trembled and her look changed.

  "What's there? " Mike immediately inquired. "He took out something? Or, maybe he wrote something in?"

  "No, simply... here it is," Jane's fingers pulled a gray rectangle from between pages. "CAVE OF HORROR. You will SCREAM..."

  "What's that–he gave you a ten-buck ticket for free?" Mike frowned even more.

  "Well, maybe a promo action..." said the girl and suddenly interrupted herself: "No, we're idiots! That's my own ticket–see the torn stub?"

  "How could it be in the notebook that you lost before we bought tickets?"

  "Simple–I put the ticket in my pocket and it got between the pages when I put the notebook in my pocket too."

  "Sure. Sounds logical. Only I clearly remember that I had both our tickets. And after that guy tore them, I put them... " Mike dipped his hand into his own trouser pocket–first the left one, then the right, then checked both back pockets which he usually didn't use. The tickets weren't anywhere.

  "Damn..." he checked the pockets once again. "I probably lost them somewhere. But I remember that I didn't give you yours."

  "But you don't remember where you put it?"

  "And you? Do you remember that you took it from me?"

  "No"... the girl acknowledged. "Apparently, both of us did it mechanically."

  "Give it to me," the young man pulled out the gray piece of paper from Jane's hand. "I think it's not your ticket."

  "Then whose is it?"

  "I don't know," Mike turned the ticket over. "What do you think is this?"

  On the reverse side of the ticket, closer to the torn edge, there was a small red-brown spot, already dried up.

  "Are you saying that it's... blood? Real blood?"

  "I don't know," Mike repeated. "Perhaps, clown's makeup."

  "But he never had this ticket in his hands."

  "That's just your assumption. You don't have anything to stain it in your pocket, do you?"

  "Perhaps it was sold already in this condition," Jane proposed. "The cashier or the mustached man... could have stained it. Maybe, even with blood. Couldn't one of them have cut a finger after all?"

  "They could..." the young man thoughtfully turned the paper again.

  Discount at revisit. Bring your friends!

  In a resolute gait, Mike returned to the trash can where he had thrown the plastic cup and dropped the ticket there.

  "What are you doing?" Jane exclaimed indignantly.

  "And why do you need a stranger's... well, let even your own used ticket? You aren't going to go in that damned cave again, are you? Even for a discount..."

  "In my opinion," the girl slowly said, looking somewhere beyond her boyfriend, "we haven't seen everything there."

  Mike couldn't deny it. He remembered how he had closed his eyes–but he was ashamed to admit it. He had intended to inquire derisively "did you squeeze your eyes shut?"–but right then he remembered how he had vomited in full view of Jane and decided not to ask for trouble. But she apparently meant something different.

  "There were more shouts and groans than... those we passed by. Some came as if from far away or through a barrier..."

  "A record. And why the hell 'far away?' You saw the building from outside.
It's not so big."

  "Maybe. But there were switches."

  "What switches?"

  "Rail switches. Didn't you notice?"

  "I hardly saw even the rails in the darkness..."

  "But I saw them. Cars can be sent on different routes. I'm sure so they do. Perhaps they show a less terrible version to children. At least to children with parents..."

  "Judging by the reaction of that woman who rode before us, I wouldn't say so."

  "It seems to me, if she had seen what we saw, her reaction would have been even stronger. And she definitely would have filed a complaint, despite the signed paper. And also... do you remember how he hinted to the boy? Like, come again, only not with your mother but with a friend... then you'll see something really worth..."

  "He said nothing like that. He only mentioned the discount, that's all. That's also written on the ticket."

  "Exactly. If it is written already, why emphasize it verbally?"

  "Advertizing rule. Repetition doesn't hurt."

  "But why do you think he didn't repeat the offer to us?"

  "Because we had already heard it," Mike answered not too consistently, feeling the increasing desire to end this stupid conversation.

  "And then, they have strange concept of advertizing. The ride is so hidden that it's hard to find. It isn't on the carnival map."

  "Probably, you simply didn't notice it."

  "Look yourself if you are so smart! " Jane set off at once and turned back. They were already near the exit from the carnival and Mike had no wish to return to the post with the map.

  "All right, all right, let's assume, it isn't. Then all this is just a part of the concept. A mysterious cave of horror..." Mike, however, understood himself that that sounded unconvincing and offered another version: "Or perhaps they still had trouble with vigilant moms. So they really try to keep a low profile, relying on word of mouth to bring in customers."

  "Could you reach many customers that way? And how much, you think, all these fantastically realistic dummies cost? If they are indeed dummies..."