Carnival Tales

By: Brian Holliday
(© 2009 by the author)
Editor: Rockhunter

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Part 1
Funhouse

There was no doubt about it, Hattie was wrong again. When I passed by her trailer, first thing that morning and saw her, hanging half out her window, head swathed in one of those bright silk bandanas she favors, she yelled, “All the signs are good, Boss.” I wasn’t certain what that was supposed to mean, but she was polishing her crystal ball at the time, so I thought it might be a genuine prediction.

I never knew why the marks kept coming back to our fortune teller. Sure, she claimed to be a real gypsy, but all of them don’t have to have the same gift, do they? My guess was that most people were just so worried about what was to come that they had to make some sort of a try at finding out about it, and Hattie’s predictions were just the best they could do.

Of course, maybe it helped that the show moved around so much. We wouldn’t return to any one town for the best part of a year, and by then people had most likely forgotten what she’d told them last time and were ready to trust again, ready to hand over another hard-earned coin for a fresh vision of the future.

Heck, I don’t know why it should have surprised me that she was wrong this time. When Hattie told Eva, the contortionist, that her baby would be a girl, it turned out to be twins, and both were boys. And when she said it would be good to stay a day longer in Omaha, but we left anyway because we had to get to Sioux City, wasn’t that the night the twister came through and nearly leveled the part of town we’d been camped in?

Well, I guess I wasn’t much different than everybody else. I wanted to know what the future held too so, even if I didn’t ask for an official reading, I listened to Hattie and her volunteer crystal ball ideas with more than half an ear, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I sure didn’t have any supernatural abilities of my own to help me out. Even when I donned my top hat on stage as “Lucas the Great”, all the magic I had was some slight of hand, a scantily dressed female assistant and a shill or two in the audience.

But, inspecting the midway early that Friday morning, it looked like all the signs were good to me, too. We were setting up in a field just outside a small town near Chicago, Illinois, and I had fellows tacking up expensive colored posters on every tree for miles around, so we would keep our fingers crossed and hope for a record crowd that night.

It was the fall of 1922. The summer had been kind – not too hot or too dry, and a lot of us who had lived through the war and wanted to put it behind us were well on our way to doing so. I’d been too young to join in the fighting, but I had lost a very good friend. Sometimes I still missed him - bad.

I’d run the carnival he’d willed to me alone now, for almost three years. As young as I’d been when we met, we’d soon become partners, and Thomas had taught me well. Lots of the acts had been with us since I joined up and before. For some, a carnival was just the right place to call home.

I ran into the Alligator Man on my way down the dusty main street of our little temporary town. Joseph Neill was strong, a good worker, and I depended on him as well as the roustabouts like Will and Henry, to help with set up and tear down. Unlike the other men, he was also a major draw in the freak tent. The marks just couldn’t get enough of staring at Joe; lots of them paid an extra nickel to walk through the tent a second time. But I hardly even noticed the scaly, grayish skin on Joe’s hands and face. The blue eyes looking out of those extra folds of skin just belonged to a friend of mine.

“Hey Joe, everything all set?”

“Yeah boss, we put the new fish between Hattie’s tent and the shooting gallery. That should work out all right. The marks can try their luck with the pop guns, take their girls into the funhouse for a smooch, and then get their fortunes told.”

I nodded. Placement of attractions was important. Travelers often joined us and, inevitably, some would leave, and it was good to have new thrills to offer from time to time. It kept the marks happy. It kept me happy too, because I got a cut of their profits for providing space and security to all our members. The ‘fun house’ should fit right in. Forsythe’s Combined Shows had one like it and I’d heard it was a real crowd pleaser.

“Thanks, Joe. Good job. Are all the living tops set up too?” We kept our homes on wheels a decent distance from our places of business. The animals, except for the ones with a job on the midway, enjoyed a bit more serenity there as well.

“Yeah, this is a pretty nice spot, boss.” His mouth stretched in what I knew to be a smile and one of the webbed, three-fingered hands spread to indicate the line of trees along the little creek close by. We rarely had the luxury of flowing water in our camps. I was willing to bet there’d be some skinny dipping going on tonight and that clotheslines would be strung like spider webs before morning. Huh, that reminded me. Maybe I could talk someone into scrubbing my personal collection of dirty clothes. There was nothing I hated more than doing my own laundry.

I smiled to myself as I watched Joe head for his wagon and some shade. I knew how to wash clothes though, good as any woman. Ma had seen to that. She taught me how to cook and sew too. She knew, even before I did, that I wouldn’t be interested in taking a wife to do those things for me.

I hadn’t seen the owner/operator of the funhouse since he’d signed on a week ago. His reference letters had been from shows I knew and trusted, but I was the one who was responsible now and I wanted a look inside his establishment before some mark broke his fool neck in there and got us all arrested for negligence.

I knew for a fact that Clarence Weaver wouldn’t let anyone but his own men set up the place. Maybe he wanted to be sure it was all done just right, but maybe he also thought there were secrets in the workings that should be kept from the common folk. That didn’t bother me; he could keep his secrets as long as nobody got hurt.

I walked all the way down to the flag hung ropes that marked the entrance gates, looked up at the big painted canvas sign that proudly announced “Caldwell’s Wonders” in bright red and yellow letters, then headed back down the midway to take a preview tour of Mr. Weaver’s place, whether he liked it or not.

Weaver was one of the modern birds that made use of a gasoline powered truck instead of horses or mules to haul his outfit around. I began to understand why he needed more horsepower when I got close. The place was huge, much more elaborate than our usual attractions. I guess I’d been expecting something like the shooting gallery – a simple booth with a back room or two – but this place was house-sized, with two stories and a peaked roof above. I immediately looked to see how it would come apart to fit on the trailer, but the joinings were well hidden, hard to see. The brightly painted walls seemed to have sprung up whole right out of the ground.

Our carousel was quite something to cart around, and some of the other, newer things like the small Ferris wheel took up some space to be sure, but nothing had the sheer volume of the funhouse. I was intrigued in spite of myself. The little ticket booth out front was empty and I was about to enter the house on my own when a voice stopped me.

“Hey Lucas, what are you up to?” I looked around, feeling just the least bit guilty about my decision and not sure whether to be glad or annoyed at the interruption. It was only my newest roustabout, Karl Larsen. I’d hired him six months ago, on my last trip home.

Karl and I had known each other most all our lives, but that wasn’t enough to make us friends. Karl had been one of the group of boys who’d made my life miserable, calling me names and throwing rocks at me almost every day that Pa made me go to school, long after their lot had moved on from the three ‘R’s’ to farming work. I was glad now that I knew how to balance books and deal with lawyers and such, but back then I’d have given anything to be one of their gang or at least to punch each one of my tormenters on the nose. Pa wouldn’t let me do either and, leaving home with the carnival, I’d thought it unlikely I’d ever see any of those boys again. Karl had floored me by apologizing most abjectly for his actions and asking me for a job to boot. As it happened, I couldn’t turn him down.

He was a good worker, in spite of my initial misgivings, and the most annoying thing about Karl these days was his constant use of my first name. Almost everyone else who worked for me, even those I thought of as friends, called me Boss. Those I didn’t know well made do with Mr. Stone. Somehow, Karl using my first name seemed to imply that we were closer than we were. I corrected him, again and again, but it never changed and that irritated me no end. I guess I let it slide because his assumed familiarity with the boss didn’t mean he ever shirked any of his assigned duties.

“Hey Karl, I was just going in to have a look at our newest attraction. Have you seen Mr. Weaver or any of his boys around?”

He shook his head, orange-red curls falling over his forehead. “Nope, haven’t seen ‘em since they finished setting up the place, couple of hours ago. Maybe they went into town for something?”

I nodded. “Yeah, maybe. I still need to check this place out before the marks arrive tonight and I don’t have all day to do it. Guess I don’t need a tour guide.” I turned and headed up the three wide steps to the entry. To my chagrin, Karl followed as though I’d invited him. I looked back over my shoulder, trying for a glare that would send him on about his business. One glance at that smiling freckled face told me I hadn’t succeeded.

Giving up, I continued climbing and reached for the door. It swung open with a push and we got a glimpse of what the place had to offer. There was a bank of those wavy mirrors where you could look short or tall, thin or fat, depending on how you stood, then a walkway made of two separate planks leading the way farther inside. The motors that powered the place weren’t running, but I was guessing the planks were supposed to move against each other, throwing the unwary off-balance. There were more floor sections like that, curved and obviously meant to rise up and down like waves on the ocean. On one side of the room, an arch led the way into a mirror maze. I hadn’t time to get lost right then, so I entered the last doorway, directly ahead. Narrow stairs slanted steeply upward and I grabbed both handrails and climbed.

It seemed like forever before we topped out on the widow’s walk around the roof. One side looked to the horizon over endless open fields but, to the east, you could see the haze that was Chicago. The structure seemed fine and sturdy. After gawking for a bit, Karl thankfully keeping quiet beside me except for an appreciative whistle at the sights, I contemplated how to get back down. There were the stairs, of course, but also a hole that led into a narrow curving tunnel lined in shiny metal.

Well, I meant to try out all the thrills. I sat down, sticking my booted feet into the tunnel. I looked up at Karl, who seemed faintly amused at something, and then just pushed off and let go. It was a nice twisty ride, taking no more than ten seconds to dump me on a soft pad somewhere in the dark below. Karl would have landed on top of me if I hadn’t thought to move quickly.

Standing, we took in our surroundings. It was gloomy and there was no way to climb back up that slippery tunnel, but the dimness seemed less in one direction. I moved toward the faint glow and Karl stayed with me - maybe he was afraid of the dark. A few unlit bare light bulbs hung here and there overhead, their black wires draped from little hooks. The place would need them after dark.

It was still bright enough to see that the first room held a fancy white satin lined coffin sitting on a metal stand that raised it to chest height. I walked over and, sure enough, there were the bare bones of what looked like a real skeleton laid inside, still dressed in the suit he’d supposedly been buried in. The cloth had sure held up better than he had. A little tingle ran down my backbone.

I shook my head at the silliness of that spook. Some farmer’s daughter, out with her best beau, might at least pretend to be scared of it. That would give her an excuse to shriek and grab on to the boy’s arm and maybe make him brave enough to steal a kiss when he thought no one was looking.

There was some kind of monstrous stuffed beast, ready to leap out at you, from the next shadowy alcove. Electricity probably ran it, so now it just stood there, unmoving, toothy jaws wide and glass eyes bulging. That sight ought to get the ladies pulses pounding – and probably a few of the gentlemen’s as well, I decided. I hoped no one who went through was carrying a firearm. It wouldn’t do for someone to blow a hole through the ugly thing and maybe hit some innocent bystander on the other side.

We kept moving through twisty hallways hung with sticky spider web strings, oilcloth bats, and other such hooey and finally came to the end passage where there was a man-sized barrel designed to roll you back outside like a big sausage grinder. Karl and I went through easily, as it wasn’t turning.

We walked back around to the front and stood looking up. All in all it was a pretty decent little show. I thought the marks would take to it like a duck takes to water. I turned to ask Karl’s opinion and almost ran smack into Mr. Weaver. His shoulders were set and his round face twisted with a scowl.

“You been in my place?” he growled. He was backed up by one of his hired men, a big fellow called Sam. Sam wasn’t scowling, exactly, but his little eyes did reflect something of his boss’s hostility.

I stopped and looked down on Mr. Weaver by a couple of inches more and about 20 years less. I couldn’t figure what had upset him so, but I wasn’t about to let things get out of hand. I could feel Karl lined up next to me and, though I didn’t know if Karl could do more than throw rocks and insults if it came to a fight, he wasn’t leaving my side, and Joe and several others were within calling distance. I decided to see if I could smooth Mr. Weaver’s feathers.

“Yes, sir. My man and I were just making a final inspection before tonight’s opening. Since I run this show, I’m personally responsible for every attraction being safe and in working order. We looked for you or your man, but no one was around so we had a little walk-through. It’s quite a place, I think it’s going to be real popular.”

You could see him simmering down as I kept talking. He lost the fire in his eyes and the red around his jowls and his mouth almost relaxed into a sheepish smile.

“Well, yes, we went into town for some final… supplies.” He backed up a step and I looked over at big Sam. He seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and was busy picking at his nose.

Weaver pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket in his tan suit coat and mopped his high balding brow. “This house is the newest and best of its kind, Mr. Stone. I helped design and build it and I suppose I’m rather too protective of it. Please forgive my temper.” He stuck out a big hard hand with a gold ring weighing down the pinky, and I shook it carefully.

“Think nothing of it,” I replied in my best dancing school voice, nodding him a good bye and walking back toward the shade of my own trailer. Touchy bird. I’d have to keep the kid gloves on around him, which annoyed me somewhat. Maybe he’d calm down after a few successful shows.

I’d about forgotten Karl but, when I looked over, he was matching me stride for stride.

“Well, Lucas, I thought we were in for it there for a minute.” He grinned. “I didn’t figure that Weaver fella to be much trouble but it might have taken both of us to bring down the big one.”

I stopped. “Thanks for sticking with me, Karl. I’m glad nothing came of it, but it was good to know you’d take a stand.”

He reached out, clapping me on the shoulder.

“It wasn’t much. Any time.” He turned away and headed for his own tent, his long, lanky strides covering the ground in a lazy sort of hurry. I hated to admit, even to myself, how much I enjoyed watching him.

It had been a long while since the death of Thomas Caldwell, my partner, and I got lonely when I had the time. Still, there was more to it than that. It seemed it hadn’t taken long for me to forgive my childhood grievances at Karl. There was just something about that tall, rawboned body that pulled at my heartstrings. I hoped it didn’t show. I hadn’t time for such foolishness.

The hot afternoon passed with a short siesta followed by my final round of visits to the company before everything got going. We shared a communal meal, sweetened by a cool glass of lemonade made by Joe’s wife, Mavis.

Mavis was a kind but unremarkable woman, a seamstress who made most of the costumes and such for the show while caring for their two ordinary looking youngsters. Joe’s eyes always followed her with the glow of love.

Their little girl, Emma, sat on my knee and had the occasional sip of my lemonade, after hers was gone. Emma seemed to have taken a shine to me, and that was all right. She was maybe 4 or 5 and cute as a button with lots of blondish curls and serious blue eyes that were the only thing about her that reminded me of her father. She hugged my neck as I put her down and I promised to take her for a ride on the carousel later, which was both of our favorite attraction.

The local sheriff, a heavyset man who introduced himself as Officer Grundy, showed up to check permits like they always did. This particular officer made special inquiries about the relative undress of “Eve” in the posing show. We billed her as ‘completely without clothing’ and indeed she would be, but he got the picture when he was introduced to the fifteen foot boa constrictor she’d be wearing. I never saw a man leave a tent so fast. He sniffed around officially for another few minutes, but didn’t seem to find anything to complain about. I slipped him a couple of complimentary passes and he shook my hand before driving off in his model T flivver.

Before I knew it, the sun was sinking in a glow of purples and pinks, and the first customers were arriving in their wagons, carts, and autos. It was time for the show to start.

I was swept up in the familiar whirlwind of activity; just making sure everything was going as it should at first, then climbing the central platform to call everyone into the main show tent, and finally taking my own turn on the stage. Things were flowing smoothly. The applause went on and on and folks seemed to be enjoying their peanuts and popcorn taken along with ladies riding exotic camels, fine magic tricks, clever high wire walkers, painted clowns, and dogs that danced around on their hind feet.

When the main show was over, we rejoined the near record crowds on the midway, and I was fairly beaming to see the long lines in front of most every attraction. From my central place, I glanced over at Hattie’s booth. She was dressed in every color of the rainbow, and bent intently over a hand belonging to our friend the sheriff. She filled his ears with the honey of the future while his woman and kids looked raptly on. It seemed that she might have rightly predicted tonight’s success after all.

Laughing folks were streaming in and out of the funhouse, couples mostly, but a fair number of young boys and even some parents with kids in tow. It was a real piece of family entertainment. I was already picturing the hit it would be and the money we’d make in other towns down the road. Mr. Weaver himself was manning the ticket booth, and doing a fine job on the patter meant to draw in customers. I wouldn’t have believed it, but I had to hand it to him, when it came down to cases he was turning out to be a real fine showman.

I nodded to Mr. Weaver and had decided to walk on down the midway, as I always did several times each night, when I looked down to find little Emma beside me.

“Hello, honey bun, what are you up to?” She smiled and I lifted her off the ground for a better view. “Ready for our ride on the carousel?”

Her eyes took in the whole bright picture for a minute, then fixed on the shining façade of the funhouse. “What?” I asked. “You want to go in there instead?” Her blue eyes held mine for an instant, then she nodded slowly, quieter than I’d ever seen her.

“Everything all right, sweetheart?” I said, a bit concerned by the look in her eyes. Emma was more serious than most children, by my limited experience, but we always laughed and had fun together on our little rides.

“Yes,” she responded shortly, then smiled and put an arm round my neck.

I carried her past Mr. Weaver’s booth and he smiled us on up the steps with the paying customers. Inside I put Emma down to stand in front of the funny mirrors. I watched myself get thin as a beanpole and then as big as a whale and she laughed along with me. She held my hand across the moving walks and we both grabbed the handrails. The mirror maze was fun with her squeals of surprise at each dead end and unexpected turn as we met ourselves over and over again inside the many paned walls.

Emma did better than me on the narrow stairs to the roof, her little feet making short work of their treads. I kept her back from the rail at the top. It suddenly seemed a long way down. We looked around at the faraway lights of the big city, then up at the little ones even farther away in the sky. It was quite a show. I was almost sorry to leave when she led me over to the shiny tunnel, but I sat and took her on my lap for the ride down.

We fairly flew through the twisty tunnel, her little girl shrieks echoing in my ears and making me smile until the mattress pad below thumped against the seat of my trousers. We stood up and Emma wrapped her hand tight around one of my fingers in the almost eerie light from the few naked bulbs. Somehow we were alone in that room and that made the atmosphere spookier than it might have been.

We made our way to the next room and I suddenly wondered if it had been such a good idea to expose a youngster to the realistic looking, albeit phony, trappings of death. She walked right up to the coffin though, turning loose of my finger and catching hold of the rim to pull herself up for a look inside. I glanced around the room, feeling kind of nervous for no particular reason, and jumped a little when Emma came back to me. It was hard to ignore the loud recorded growls and menacing movements of the beast that came next, but Emma walked right by it without a single glance and before I knew it we had passed through the hallways and the rolling barrel and were out behind the funhouse. It was dark out there, and I took Emma’s hand to return to the midway, but she pulled back, dragging me away into the greater dark of the field.

I followed her, wondering, then she stopped and I looked down, barely able to see her face. “What is it, honey?”

“Lucas.” She always called my by my Christian name when her parents weren’t around to chastise her. “I want to tell you something.” I wondered if I’d done right by taking her into the fun house. It had to be a lot scarier for a child and I might be guilty of causing her a nightmare or two.

“Of course, honey, you can tell me anything you want.” She was quiet for a minute and I almost prompted her. I liked Emma a lot, but I needed to get back to my grown-up duties. Finally she spoke, slowly, like she was choosing her words with care.

“That Mr. Weaver… he’s… he’s… not a nice man.” Now I was puzzled. As far as I knew, Emma’s first sight of Mr. Weaver had to have been when we’d walked past him only minutes before.

“Why do you think that, honey?” I asked. “He seems an ordinary sort of fellow.”

Again she was quiet for way too long before, “Well… someone told me he did bad things.”

This was getting a bit too puzzling. I needed to get Emma back to her mama and me back to business. But, remembering my own encounter with the touchy Mr. Weaver, I had to ask. “Who told you, honey?”

Now I thought her silence would be permanent but, when I thought I’d waited long enough and reached out to pick her up, she pulled away from me and spoke as though the words were dragged out of her. “The ghost told me. I know you won’t believe me. I wish you’d listen but she said you wouldn’t.” She looked up at me hopefully.

“A ghost, Emma? What ghost, where?”

“Just now,” she pointed over my shoulder. “In the funhouse.”

A ghost. Well… I’d never known Emma to be a fanciful child except for the fancy we both shared about riding off to magical places on the wooden horses of the carousel. Looking down on that serious little face, I wanted to believe her, but logic was strong in me and time was pressing.

I got down on one knee beside her, risking the crease in my trousers for a little girl’s friendship. “Emma, I don’t particularly like Mr. Weaver either, and I really want to hear everything the ghost had to say, but I need to go check on things around the carnival. Can I trust you to go on back to your mama and we’ll talk more later?” There. I hadn’t called her a liar or a silly kid or made any fun at all of what she’d told me. I wanted to go on being pals with Emma, and some shivery part of me really wanted to hear more about the ghost. But right now I had things I just had to do.

She nodded, reluctantly, keeping her face pointed down at the ground. “I will, Lucas.”

I saw her safely back to the midway, then watched her head across to the tents and trailers. When I looked back around, Weaver was on his platform staring at me. He turned quickly back to his customers as I shook off another shiver, wondering what was wrong with me on such a warm summer night.

I was relieved to see that things had kept rolling during my brief absence. I strolled down the midway, catching the eyes of my friends at their stations and receiving nods and smiles. The lights of the Ferris wheel challenged the stars with their brightness and the passengers laughed and called down to those not-so-brave souls on the ground. This was my world and I loved it now, as I had from the first time I’d seen it. Thomas used to say that, like him, I had sawdust in my veins. I still missed him, but tonight he seemed particularly close, as though he smiled down at me from somewhere above the colored lights and the noisy crowd. If there was a heaven, I knew Thomas was one of its angels.

Putting aside that sentimental kind of thought, I turned back to the center of things. Sheriff Grundy was trying his luck at the shooting gallery and already his wife held a large kewpie doll that her little daughter was jumping for. I was glad to see them enjoying themselves. Contrary to what you might think, the occasional big winner just brings in more marks in a game like that.

To my surprise, Mr. Weaver was waiting for me in front of his house. I noticed that his place as barker had been taken by big Sam, now wearing a shirt and tie. The getup fit him like bloomers on a bull.

Weaver grabbed at my coat sleeve and I pulled back from the touch of him. He fixed me with the glare of his horn-rimmed glasses. “All is well, is it not?”

I took a moment to try and figure where all this hostility was coming from. Then, instead of responding in a soothing tone like I knew I should, something perverse took hold of me and I said, “Why? Shouldn’t it be?”

His fists clenched and I almost stepped back again in spite of myself. Then he relaxed all over and smiled a pained kind of smile. “Of course. I suppose I am nervous, what with this being my first night with a new show, and so on.”

I was still mad without knowing why, and I decided to say something else that was stupid. “Everyone seems to like your place. Why, even the sheriff told me how interesting he thought it was.” For a minute I thought Mr. Weaver looked a lot like a rat I’d chased and cornered in a barrel once, then he smiled real big.

“Did he? How nice to be appreciated.” He nodded to himself as though he’d said something profound, then wandered away with a thoughtful look on his face.

I walked away too, finding myself in front of Hattie’s setup, still wondering what had just happened to my usually good judgment. Hattie’s low voice distracted me from my musings and she beckoned me closer. “Meester Boss…” She was using her fake gypsy accent, the one she usually used on the marks. “You look like a man who could use a reading about his future.”

I shook my head. “Hattie, you save that bushwa for the marks. You know I don’t believe in that kind of stuff.”

She affected a hurt look. “Just a leetle reading, Meester Boss, you vill be glad, I promeese.”

Sitting down didn’t seem such a bad idea. In fact, a cup of Hattie’s tea, well laced with her homemade whisky, was beginning to sound pretty good to me. The lateness of the evening, the larger than usual crowds, Emma’s ghost, and my own unreasoning antipathy for our newest carnie were all getting to me. But this was no time for drinking. Still, I found myself sitting down across from Hattie in the soft padded parlor-type chair.

She beamed. “Good, good! Now, vot shall it be, the cards, the palm, or the crystal ball?” I aimed a less than amused look across the table and Hattie decided for me. “The crystal, of course. Just let me haf a look…”

I sighed as her face took on its ‘spiritual’ expression, but she didn’t keep me waiting long. A look of satisfaction spread over her wrinkled cheeks and the accent dropped away. “I knew it! You have been alone for much too long and the spirits have found just the right one for you.” She looked up from the glass sphere with a seraphic smile. “He will make you so happy.”

I choked, almost knocking over the chair in my haste to get up. Hattie couldn’t know about me! Thomas and I had been so very discreet, and I had been alone since he died, with never a telltale nighttime visitor. But…Hattie looked genuinely pleased at her prediction. I could see no horror or judgment in her kind brown eyes. Perhaps she truly was what she seemed - someone who cared about my happiness, however I might achieve it.

I forced calm on myself. “Thank you for the reading, Hattie.”

She dipped her head. “I’m right, you’ll see,” she said mysteriously, and I made my escape.

I decided to think about Hattie’s prediction much later, if at all, and was about to check on the freak tent when big, blond, Will caught up with me. “Mr. Weaver’s man, Sam, says to tell you there’s a problem with his generator. It ain’t working, and I had a look at it but I don’t know what’s wrong.” Machinery wasn’t Will’s strong suit and repairs usually fell to Joe or, in a pinch, myself. I hated to pull Joe out of the freak tent so I supposed I’d better have a look. I nodded and followed Will back up the midway.

I told Will, “You go on ahead and get some lanterns set up inside the funhouse so folks can keep going through.” I didn’t want to close the place down completely on our first night. It wasn’t so long ago that all we’d had was lantern light anyway.

“Sam said Mr. Weaver already hung lanterns. He just needs current to run the motors.”

“Then why don’t you see if you can find Karl. I think he might know something about generators.” Will hurried off into the night.

I was all for modern conveniences, but lanterns didn’t break down like noisy generators so often did. Still, there was no turning back progress, I supposed.

I didn’t see any lanterns but the one out front when I got back to the funhouse. I didn’t see Weaver or Sam either. People were lined up outside, gawking and wondering aloud what was going on. All the booths had separate lighting and this was the only dark one. I cut around the back as I thought I remembered the generator being just inside the exit.

It was really dark now, without even a sliver of moon. I felt along the outside wall until my hand encountered the rounded edge of the big movable barrel. Being careful not to trip, I stepped up and made my way inside, wishing I’d thought to stop for a lantern of my own. Where were the ones that Weaver had supposedly hung? I took a careful step or two and then two lights came up, all at once – a lantern lit by big Sam, and a brighter light exploding behind my eyes as I felt a hard blow and a terrible pain in my head. Somewhere, far away, I thought I heard the neigh of a terrified horse. After that, there was darkness.

The next thing I remember was flames - they rose up red and hungry in the sky above the funhouse. I was leaning back against something that was soft and warm, sticky liquid running down to sting my eyes. But, when I tried to wipe it away, a hand held mine back. “Easy Lucas,” came a voice I knew as Karl’s, “everything is under control.” Watching people running and hearing frightened screams, I couldn’t believe that to be true, but my head throbbed so I leaned back against him again, lest nausea and dizziness overcome me.

We watched the bucket brigade form up under Sheriff Grundy’s guidance, carnies and town folk alike forming a chain from the creek to the burning building. Gush after gush of water sizzled against the burning wood and, after what seemed like a very long while, the flames died down.

A stranger knelt beside me, opening a black bag. “I’m a doctor,” he said. “Let me have a look at that scalp wound.” I did, but I held on to Karl. Right then, he was my only security in a chancy world. And he knew the truth about me. I’d hired him because, along with apologizing, he’d confessed to me why he needed a job. His folks had found out that he was like me, and asked him to leave their family and their town. It had made me awfully grateful for my own loving parents and siblings.

When the doctor had me all stitched up and wearing a bandage that almost covered one eye, I did my best to stand. Being supported by Karl had felt awfully good but, this was my show, and I had to see what all had happened. The ground threatened to spin and take me down again, so I compromised by letting Karl and Joe hold me upright while I walked closer to the wreckage. Sheriff Grundy was poking at the blackened splinters that were mostly all that was left of the funhouse. He shook his head at the loss, promising to come back the next day and talk more about it. I thanked him kindly and then he took his family home.

Karl got up on the platform and, with the help of a megaphone, told the remaining customers that we would give them all free passes for tomorrow, but they needed to clear out for tonight. Everyone seemed a little shaky and scared, but no one was missing or hurt. Slowly, the autos and buggies drove away and we were left alone.

For ourselves, we counted heads and everyone was there except for Mr. Weaver and Sam and his other men. Even his trucks were gone, leaving behind the trailers meant to haul the funhouse, which wouldn’t be going anywhere, ever again. The shooting gallery had gone up with the funhouse, but Bert, the owner, had snagged his cash box on the way out, so that was something. Hattie was mourning the loss of her cards and other paraphernalia, but Will dug around in the cooling ashes and found her crystal ball, only slightly clouded from the heat. Thanks to the sheriff’s quick thinking, the other nearby attractions were merely scorched. 

Emma came to visit me the next morning, bringing her mother and some of Mavis’ famous coffee cake. I was sitting in a comfortable chair brought over from my trailer, overseeing the cleanup. Emma didn’t say much, just lightly fingered my bandages, while Mavis 'tsked' over my ‘accident’.

We’d decided to leave it at that. I couldn’t prove what I strongly suspected had happened and, by the time Karl had come to investigate the broken generator, he’d just found me alone on the floor of the burning funhouse in a puddle of blood and coal oil. There was no reason to get people all stirred up about everything. Sheriff Grundy was keeping me quietly informed of what he, and the rest of the state’s law enforcement, was accomplishing in trying to locate Mr. Weaver, whose real name turned out to be Clyde Witherspoon. It seemed that Mr. Witherspoon was wanted for questioning in the matter of the disappearance of his wife and the man she’d been carrying on with.

The law got even more interested when we found real human bones in the burned out coffin, under the plaster fakes that we’d all seen. The false bottom had held almost two full skeletons worth, along with traces of the lime that had been used to dissolve their flesh. Mr. Witherspoon must have thought that I somehow suspected him after my first visit to the funhouse, and I hadn’t helped that mistaken impression any with my words of provocation.

Why Mr. Witherspoon had chosen to cart those bones around like some kind of keepsake was harder to figure. Maybe he had thought to drop them off, one by one, in each place we passed through. Or maybe, as Karl thought, he was completely bug house crazy. Either way, I wasn’t sure I’d ever quit looking over my shoulder until he was safely locked up.

We were ready, that night, to honor those free passes. As Thomas had taught me, the show must go on. True, we were minus the fun house and the shooting gallery, but Hattie read palms and her smoky crystal ball under a little tent we kept as a spare. I, for one, didn’t miss Mr. Weaver/Witherspoon, but I thought I might start looking around for another funhouse.

A few days later we moved on, right on schedule. My head healed up fine and after about ten days Mavis removed the stitches with a tweezers and her smallest sewing scissors.

Karl kept coming around to check on me and fix me dinner and such and, after a while, I relaxed and let one thing lead to another. Emma came around a lot too, but she always left when Karl showed up, wearing a funny little smile that made my face go red. I couldn’t bring myself to be the first to mention Emma’s ghost, so she and I just smiled at each other and I never told anybody that story ‘til now, except Karl.

Several months later, Sheriff Grundy got word to me by telegram that it was over, they had found Mr. Witherspoon. He had been living in a new town, quietly working as a blacksmith’s assistant. I wasn’t surprised at his choice of profession; it figured that was where he’d learned the metalworking he needed to build the funhouse. No one in the new town had thought twice about him until he turned up dead – kicked to death by a horse he was trying to shoe. We never saw big Sam again, but then all he was most likely guilty of was working for the wrong employer.

Karl and I had taken to sharing the same trailer. Some of the other single men paired up too, but I doubt it was for the same reason. Anyway, even if some suspected what was up between us, I had decided it didn’t matter. We were among friends.

I found myself happier than I could remember since before Thomas died, which reminded me of Hattie’s prediction on that last night, right before the fire. I guess that, if only by the law of averages, Hattie was bound to be right about something, at least once.

End Part 1.

Posted: 11/27/09