Carnival (17 page)

They all listened as the very faint sounds of music drifted to them.

“That's a... calliope,” Martin spoke after a few seconds. “I haven't heard one of those in years.”

“It's beautiful,” Linda said. “But, something else, too.”

“It's ...” Frenchy paused, listening.

“Haunting,” Martin finished it.

* * *

When Gary returned to the Holland house, his wife and Susan came with him. Gary Jr. stayed home with his brother, Rich. Susan and Linda went upstairs, Gary and Janet joined the group. Janet's eyes were red and puffy and all could see that she had been crying.

“I knew about them seeing each other, Martin,” Janet admitted. “But Alicia told me they were only friends. I believed her. She'd never lied to me before.”

A car pulling up and the door slamming closed the conversation on any further discussion concerning Alicia.

“Hi, Nicole,” Mark's voice came through the screen door.

“Mark. Is Audie here?”

“Right inside. Join the crowd.”

The men stood up as the city patrol-person stepped into the house. Martin waved her into the den, introduced her to Frenchy—Nicole wore a puzzled look as the sergeant from the state police was introduced—then said, “Is something wrong, Nicole?”

“Other than everybody in this town acting flaky, no, sir. Audie, if you're busy, I can catch you later.”

The deputy glanced at Frenchy. “Sit down, Nicole,” she said. “I think we'd better talk.”

* * *

The first purple shadows of night began settling quietly over the community. Nicole had gone with Audie and Frenchy. Gary and Janet had gone home. Martin sat with his son on the front porch of the house and watched the twilight gradually turn into darkness. Gary and Martin had called and personally spoken with their friends, warning them of the danger they felt was all around them.

The reception had not been cordial.

Of the friends they had called, only Eddie and Joyce Gilmer had believed them. Matt and Diane Potter had openly laughed at the warnings. Milt and Pat had listened, not doing a very good job of suppressing the snickers, and then told Martin he'd been working too hard and to take some time off and relax.

But among some of the disbelievers' children, it was a different story. Jeanne had packed a bag and was spending a few days with Linda.

“It's weird at my house,” she told Linda, who would later tell her father. “Mom and Dad said they didn't care what I did. They were going to have a party—Milt and Pat are coming over—and they were all going to get drunk.”

“That is weird,” Linda agreed.

“Dad?” Mark asked.

“Ummm?”

“Why'd mom do what she did?”

“I guess love died, son. It died on both sides. She claims I took her for granted, and maybe I did. She claims I wasn't supportive of her, and I guess I wasn't. Not in the way she would have liked. Love just doesn't bloom and keep on flourishing all by itself. Two people have to work at it. I guess we let the flowers die, son.”

“You should have been a writer, dad.”

“I sure am no actor, son.”

“Neither is mother.”

“I don't know, boy. She did a pretty good job of fooling me.”

“You trusted her.”

“Yes.”

“Would you take her back, dad?”

Martin had given that some thought. More than a little thought. He was tempted to say yes, to make his son feel better. Then the mental image of his wife on the floor, making love with Mike Hanson—Alicia had finally leveled with him—entered his mind.

“No, Mark. I wouldn't.”

The boy stood up. “I wouldn't either.” He walked back into the house, a very angry and hurt young man.

Martin noticed that it had gotten very dark, very quickly.

* * *

Johnny Davis made his move at full dark. With a little help from a silent voice inside his head. He climbed over the high fence of the fairgrounds and slipped toward a big canvas and wood concern with the sign: HOUSE OF MIRRORS on the front. He'd always heard about them places but he'd never been inside one. He'd always heard they was weird. Tonight he was gonna find out.

Twenty-one year old Johnny Davis was one of those types that if someone were to hand him a million dollars, cash, and tell him it was all his, if he'd just straighten up and fly right, he would grin, promise to stop his various criminal activities, and then take the money and go out and promptly break into the first house he came to and attack anyone who might be in there.

But Johnny Davis's days of being an evil punk were about to come to a rather reflective halt.

Johnny turned in the darkness and gasped for breath when he bumped into a tall man all dressed in black. Even wore black sunglasses.

“May I be of assistance?” Nabo asked.

“Ah ...” Johnny managed to gasp. “No. No, I was just lookin' around, that's all.”

“Really? I was under the distinct impression you were very interested in going inside the house of mirrors.”

“Oh, yeah?” How did this big sucker know that?

“Yes. Would you like to visit the house of mirrors? No charge, of course.”

“Ah ... sure. No charge?”

“No charge.”

“How do I get in there?”

“How were you planning to enter?”

“I was gonna sli—” Sucker almost trapped me, Johnny thought.

“No need to do that, friend,” Nabo told him, smiling. “Just walk right in and let your eyes drink in sights that you have never before experienced. Let your imagination run wild; let your mind take you on flights of fancy.” He held out his arm, fingers pointing toward the darkened entrance of the house of mirrors.

“Don't mind if I do.” Johnny stepped toward the dark entrance and walked up a short flight of wooden steps. He stepped inside.

The canvas flap closed with a soft whisper behind him. He paused for a moment, trying to get his bearings. Hard to do. Kinda spooky in here, he thought. And dark, too.

Soft lights suddenly muted the darkness. And for the first time in his life, Johnny Davis was impressed by something other than his ability to make life miserable for almost anyone who had the misfortune to come in contact with him. His impressed state lasted about as long as any promise he'd ever made.

He looked at his distorted image in the mirror.

Something gave him a sharp goose in the behind.

Johnny let out a squall and jumped about a foot in the air.

“What the—” he said, settling down, looking around him. Nothing but what appeared to be about a zillion of his own reflections: fat, skinny, short, tall, pin-headed, squat-headed. You name it, it was there.

“Who goosed me?” he demanded.

Who goosed me
—
who goosed me
—
who goosed me?
his words came echoing back to him.

“Shut up!” Johnny yelled.

Shut up
—
shut up
—
shut up!
his words were again hurled back into his face.

“What a stupid place!” Johnny mumbled, some of his original fascination gone with the house of mirrors.

Johnny walked on and ran right into a wall of reflecting glass.

Johnny was rapidly losing his patience and his interest in this wacky place.

“I'm gettin' out of here!” He turned and ran into a wall of mirrors. He shoved at them. They would not yield. He turned, took two steps in the reflecting maze and hit another bank of polished glass.

Johnny's heart was hammering and his blood pressure soaring as overwhelming fear and more than a touch of claustrophobia hit him hard, numbing him, turning his mind into pudding.

“Lemmie outta here!” he yelled.

His words returned to haunt and taunt him. But they were all different in tone. It was his voice, but it was all mixed up with something else. Sounded like a whole bunch of people crying and screaming.

Johnny got down on his hands and knees and tried to crawl out of the crazy place. But he couldn't find his way out. Every time he'd round a corner, he'd bump his head on another mirror. He was so scared spittle was leaking out of his mouth.

“Momma!” Johnny squalled.

Momma couldn't help him. No one could help him. Johnny Davis's future was in the hands of a group who knew no fear of after-life retribution.

Johnny finally found a place where he could lie down fully stretched out on the wooden walkway. He fought his fear, and got it under control. He willed with all his might for his heart to stop its mad pounding and his breathing to even out. His panicked gasping lessened. Gradually he regained most of his composure, telling himself it was all just a trick. The mirrors were only creating illusions and if he kept his wits about him, he could get out of this crazy place.

Johnny crawled slowly to his knees and looked around him. He blinked at the sight before his startled and lusting eyes. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen was standing a few feet away from him. And she didn't have a stitch of clothes on. Nekkid as a jaybird. Looked like she was maybe twelve or thirteen. Just the kind of girl Johnny liked.

A composite of all of those he had molested over the years.

“Aren't I lovely?” she asked, her voice as pure as silver bells.

“You bet!” Johnny whispered. He reached out to touch her. His fingers touched glass. “Lemmie feel you, baby.”

“Would you like to touch my body? All the soft secret places?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Do you want to make love to me?”

“Do I ever! I got a hard-on that you wouldn't believe, baby.”

And he did. He unzipped his jeans, revealing himself to the young girl.

“That's very nice,” she complimented him, licking her lips. “I bet that would feel good.”

“Right on!”

Then she began to fade from view.

“Wait a minute!” Johnny shouted. “Hey, baby! You forgot about me.”

The young girl reappeared in all her young beauty. “Yes?”

Johnny pointed to his aroused flesh. “What about this?”

The girl gently caressed her breasts then held out her hand. “Come to me,” she urged.

“Whatever you want.” Johnny got up and immediately walked into a mirror, banging himself against the reflecting glass.

The young girl stepped forward and reached through the glass to grasp his jutting hardness. Impossible! But Jesus God and Mary! her hand was icy cold.

Johnny gasped at the cold touch and tried to pull away. But the hand that gripped him held him firmly. Smiling at him she squeezed. Pain surged through Johnny and he screamed in pain.

She smiled at him and Johnny no longer thought she was beautiful. Her eyes were wild-looking. And when did her lips become so blood-red?

The girl began pulling him against the cold shining surface. Harder and harder until he could not bear the pain. He beat his fists against the mirror and suddenly both hands penetrated the thick glass without breaking the mirror.

Again, impossible! Johnny's pain-numbed mind managed to produce that thought.

More pain than he ever imagined filled him as something began gnawing at the flesh of his hands and wrists. His howling was monster-hideous as his flesh pushed through the polished barrier and slowly entered an acid-like sheathing that gripped and sucked at him. Felt like a thousand needle-sharp teeth were gnawing at him.

Johnny screamed and begged and cried and howled as the unseen and unknown—whatever it was—behind the entrapping mirror devoured his flesh.

He could feel the blood pouring down his legs.

His feet slipped into the yawning depths behind the mirror, and Johnny knew terror at its purest as his boots were torn from his feet and something began gnawing through his skin.

He willingly succumbed to the blackness of unconsciousness. He did not feel the flesh-ripping and bone-crushing agony as he went whirling into a wild vortex. He did not feel his savaged body hit the ground, his blood splattering.

* * *

“Who found him?” Martin asked Audie.

“Mr. Bradshaw. Said he heard a thump in his back yard and came outside to check it out. That's when he found ... what was left of Johnny.”

The group had gathered at the morgue. Martin met the eyes of Gary. “This might be a stupid question, Gary. What killed him?”

“You can take your choice, buddy! First of all, it appears that every bone in his body is broken. It's like he was dropped from a thousand feet in the air. But all this other ...” He waved his hand at the broken and smashed body of the young man. “That was done somewhere else. But what did it? Something literally ate his flesh. And it was human; no doubt about that. Look at the teeth marks on his belly.”

Martin was silent for a moment. “Ever seen a Geek, Gary?”

“I don't even know what a Geek is.”

“That's a sideshow attraction for those with a strong stomach or a depraved mind—or both. A geek is a sick person, who tears the heads off of live chickens and drinks the blood. Eats live rabbits.”

“And people actually pay to see something like that?” Frenchy asked.

“They did before animal rights groups got involved and put a stop to it. That was back in the ‘50s, I believe. The early '50s.”

“Yekk!” she spat out the word as if it tasted bad. “What type of person was this Johnny Davis, Audie?”

“A low-life. Child molester. Brought up a half dozen times for it; never convicted. Thief, vandal, arsonist. He is, was, a real jerk.” He met the eyes of the others, gathered around the blood-soaked table. “Fits the pattern, doesn't he?”