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Jane had disappeared somewhere, too. Why is she dawdling so long? Probably there is a line waiting to get into the restroom. Mike slowly moved in the same direction his girlfriend had gone–and in the same direction, as he understood a second later, the clown had beckoned him. Mike gazed around in order not to miss the girl and realized he would feel calmer if he could see to which attraction the clown enticed people. Fun house, prob
ably? But it was in the opposite direction... For an instant it seemed to Mike that he saw the clown directly ahead once more, but in the next moment the barker disappeared again.

Without having seen either the red-lipped fat man or Jane, Mike reached the restroom area located in the farthest corner of the carnival. There were mobile booths, not a stationary building. And there was no waiting line there. Actually, there was not a single person.

Mike looked around. Just a moment ago the crowd around him had rustled, rides' mighty electric motors had roared, girls had shrieked as they rose head over heels to the sky, wild buffoonery tunes had played–and suddenly he found himself absolutely alone, in a completely desolate part of the former waste grounds. Actually, why former? Here it didn't look former at all... No, the fun was still near; choral squeals, persuasive melody and the clap of air-rifles reached his ears–but he was separated from all this joy by the wall of a long shed with a stenciled black inscription "Employees only" across the door, a trailer with lowered window blinds nearby, a long truck next to it (probably one of those which carried the equipment), one more behind it... This part of the grounds overgrew with rigid bushes which were cut only partially; toilet booths were, of course, on the cleared patch, but right behind them the thickets shot up above human height. To the left of the booths, a recently embedded wooden post stuck out, which, however, had neither a lamp nor a loud-speaker. In the grass under Mike's feet a plastic bottle unpleasantly crackled–apparently it had lain here for years. Slightly farther a yellowish scrap of an old newspaper could be seen... But where was Jane?!

"Mike!"

He startled and looked about. The girl appeared from behind the booths.

"Good that you came. I knew that we hadn't visited everything here yet!" she stated with a happy look.

"Yeah, exactly, we hadn't visited the toilet," Mike grinned.

"Forget the toilet! Come here.”

The young man took several steps, bypassing toilets at the left, and saw behind them a narrow pass which led somewhere into the thickets. But Jane pointed to the post. Now Mike made out a small sign hanging on it. On a plywood sheet a thick black contour of an arrow was drawn, and inside it it was written in deliberately sloppy red letters: "CAVE of HORROR" Below the arrow was a very naturalistic print of a blood-stained palm. The arrow pointed directly to the pass.

"One more attraction? Here?" Mike skeptically looked at the narrow path between prickly bushes. Usually such paths lead, at best, to a garbage dump.

“Yes. Let's go!" she impatiently grasped his hand and pulled him along.

"What for?" Mike resisted. "Like, you've never seen any
thing similar before. They'll just ride you in a car through a shed filled by plastic skeletons and vampire dummies, flashing red lights and howling loudspeakers... it seems to me, such a primitive display doesn't affect even children anymore. In the movies all that looks much more plausible.”

"Well, now that we're here, shouldn't we look? Maybe it has some good special effects!" Jane was quite decided about it and the young man, having sighed, followed his girlfriend.

As far as Mike understood, the surrounding fence should have been very close, but the path appeared longer than he expected–for some reason it was wedged through the interlacing prickly branches in a very winding way. But then, at last, bushes parted–and the couple indeed saw a chain link fence. Behind it, the same bushes densely grew, too. But on the inner side a wide spot was cleared, and there stood one more building.

It looked like all of them in any carnival. A long shed dec
orated with paper-mache stones in an effort to make it look like a cave; the forward wall was covered with garish images of corpses, skulls, bats and freaks with blood-stained hatchets. Above this all–the attraction's name in convex red letters, stylized to blood streaks and obviously highlighted from within in the evening. Below–the rails on which cars enter the "cave" at the left and exit it from the right.

There were only two cars and they were just preparing for departure; the forward one was occupied by a mother with a boy about eleven, who surely was a big fan of horror movies and the initiator of the ride (the woman herself had a displeased look); in the back car a single young guy, swarthy, with long black hair, was taking a seat. The attraction worker–thin, with a loppy dark mustache, dressed in an old-fashioned black suit–a living image of a provincial coffin maker from an old movie–was waiting, with his hand on a knife switch, until the last passenger sat down.

"Wait!" Jane shouted, quickening her pace. "Wait for us! " The cars were four-seater so there still was room for them.

The "coffin maker" raised his head and looked at her and Mike; the girl, approaching, stretched to him a ticket bought at the cash booth which granted the right to ride all attractions in the carnival during this day. But he only shook his head:

"A separate ticket is required for us, miss.”

"Separate? What the hell? We paid for everything..." Jane began to argue, but the worker mildly interrupted her:

"Those are the rules, miss. There are some formalities. You have to sign a paper," he smiled an apologetic mournful smile, clearly showing that personally he, of course, considered all this as nonsense, but this was the will of his bosses. Mike noticed that there was something old-fashioned in his manner of speech, too.

"Paper?" Jane became puzzled. "What paper?”

"You see, our attraction is
really
frightful," he highlighted the word "really" with his voice. "Some clients consider that it is
too
frightful. Therefore, in order to avoid complaints...”

"Well, all right," the girl gave up. "Where can we get tick
ets and sign this paper?”

"At the cash booth, miss," he pointed with his hand, em
phasizing that he meant not at all the main cash booth of the carnival. "At our cash booth.”

Jane and Mike turned right and indeed saw a booth with a window. The "coffin maker" meanwhile turned the switch and the cars, having abruptly started, disappeared in the black mouth of the “cave.”

Mike and Jane approached the cash booth and bent to the window. The person sitting inside seemed unpleasant to Mike from the very first look. Unshaven and tousled, he looked too slovenly even for his modest position and his left eye, significantly squinting somewhere aside from under the heavy eyelid, only strengthened the unpleasant impression.

"Twenty dollars," he responded to a request for two tick
ets. "And you have to sign here," he offered them two sheets of paper.

"I am visiting the attraction 'Cave of Horror' of my own will, having received this warning and assuming all risks," Mike's eyes slid through his copy of the text. "Except for cases of tech
nical malfunction of the attraction, the administration and employees of the carnival bear no responsibility for possible moral, mental or physical damage which may become a consequence of my visit to the attraction, as well as for the case of my disappearance..."

"What kind of bull is this?" Mike exclaimed indignantly.

"Oh, never mind," Jane waved his objection away with the look of a life-wise person. "It's an advertizing gimmick, don't you understand? To frighten us in advance... Do you have a pen, mister?" she addressed the cashier. He gave her a pen with an indifferent gesture.

"Wait a moment, don't sign! " Mike exclaimed. "What do you mean by 'advertizing gimmick?' Do you understand that these pieces of paper relieve them from any responsibility for any acci
dent there inside?"

“
Oh, what accidents?" Jane objected. "That's not a roller coaster or a 'Sky Ship' after all. You said yourself–they'll give us a ride in a car between dummies... what can happen to us?”

"You never know! Short circuit, for example. Or some scarecrow could fall on our heads...”

"But it says here–'except technical malfunction!' And also, do you really think that if somebody
really
disappeared here, they would have gotten away with it, whatever pieces of paper we've signed?"

"And how often here do, well, disappearances happen?" Mike asked the cashier, trying to give a derisive tone to his voice.

"Time to time," the squinty-eyed man unperturbably answered. Jane burst into laughter and put a flourish on the sheet.

"Come on, Mikey," she jabbed her elbow into his side. "Don't be chicken."

"I'm not chicken at all!" Mike was indignant. "I simply don't like this silly piece of paper or all this foolish business. To pay them twenty bucks moreover... it's actually a swindle–when we bought the tickets, we weren't warned that there are rides for which they can't be used..."

"Well, let me pay for you," Jane pulled out her wallet from a pocket of her jeans. The unsaid end of the sentence–"if you are such a cheapskate"–was as clear as if it were written in the air in an oval near her head, like in comics; so Mike muttered "no need" and with an angry look wrote his signature.

At the very same time a heart-breaking scream came from within the “cave.”

The pen jerked in Mike's hand, leaving a virgule on the paper.

"Aha, and you said–even a child wouldn't be scared! " Jane vindictively reminded him.

"Well, of course–recorded screams from loudspeakers," grumbled Mike. "Only it was too loud and unexpected. If it was so loud here, I bet those inside were totally deafened."

Actually there was something else that confused him. The shout full of horror and pain sounded too natural. Well, however, if the owners of the attraction had hired a good actor... Yes, that was the main strangeness–an actor, not an actress. Such cries are always female: the girl in monster's claws is the tritest cliche of the genre... But this shout was male.

Having received the money and the signed papers, the cashier issued them two tickets. On a low-quality gray paper it was printed:

CAVE OF HORROR

You will SCREAM!

We guarantee it.

Below small letters added:

Discount at revisit. Bring your friends!

Mike hemmed, derisively shaking his head, and the young people went towards the building. Just when they approached, the exit doors of the "cave" swung open, and the car rolled out. Only one car.

The one in which mother and son sat. The child's face and rounded eyes shone with excitement. The woman, on the contrary, was deadly pale and looked as if she was barely constraining nausea.

"You shouldn't show such things!" she said between her teeth to the "coffin maker" as she tried to get out from the seat; her long dress hindered her. "Especially to children!"

"Ma'am, you signed the paper that you were warned and have no claims," the worker sadly reminded. "And it seems to me your son doesn't have any complaints, too"

"Wow, it was cool!" the boy immediately confirmed.

"Keep the ticket," the worker smiled at him. "You will be able to ride again at a discount. And if you also bring a friend..."

"No riding again!" the woman angrily interrupted. "And you, Cyril Parker, I'll talk with you at home! About what you read and what you watch if you can like... such..." she, at last, coped with her dress and stepped from the platform to the ground. Im
mediately after that she turned towards Mike and Jane. "Get out of here before it's too late, you two," she uttered categorically. "It's... disgusting. Now I probably won't be able to eat for several days..."

But Mike didn't look at her. He was looking at the second car which, at last, left the “cave” at high speed, crashed with a clang in the already vacated first one and stopped.

The car was empty. And all splashed with blood.

On the seat where the guy once had sat, sleekly gleamed a whole pool which seemed almost black. And from the board of the car something hung down, long and fibrous... Hair. Black tufts stuck together with blood.

That's not real blood, Mike reminded to himself. Just paint. All this is scenery, part of the attraction. But where did the guy go?

"Ma'am! " Mike called the woman who was already step
ping away, without looking back, dragging her child by hand; even her back expressed outrage. "Where is the young man who sat behind you?"

"But isn't he..." she turned back; her glance fell to the second car, and her eyes widened, though from such a distance she hardly could have made out the details. "I don't know what's going on here," she murmured. "You had better demand your money back."

"Didn't you hear his scream? It was he who screamed, wasn't it?" Mike insisted.

"There were many screams... Come on, Cyril!"

And they disappeared among high bushes.