by Val Crowe
The lit-up park pulsed at me, and I could feel tendrils reaching out and clinging to me, pulling me inside.
Fine.
It wanted me to go in there. I’d go.
I went under the archway, following the brick walkway. Follow the yellow brick road, chirped a voice in my head. Except it wasn’t yellow, and I wasn’t going off to see a wizard. I was going to see…
I didn’t know what, but I wasn’t sure it was going to be a good thing. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to see anything. But my feet seemed to know where to take me. I walked all the way into the park, directly to the center, where the mirror maze was standing, all lit up and bright. Unlike the rest of the park, Slappy Happy’s Maze had been restored to pristine perfection. It was perfectly painted and clean. None of the mirrors inside were broken.
I walked up to the mouth of Slappy, stepped onto the tongue.
I cringed, half expecting it to come alive at any moment and swallow me whole, like I thought it might do to my mother. It was a dream, after all. Anything could happen.
A sweet smell came from within… a rotten smell.
“Deacon!” called a singsong female voice.
I recoiled. That sounded like my…
“Mommy’s hungry,” snarled the voice.
The words went through me with a jolt, and then I woke up face down in the pillow on my bed, the sheets and blankets tangled around my neck and my limbs. I gasped for breath.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was morning. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows of the Airstream, and I was feeling rested and heavy, as if I’d just had the best sleep of my life.
How had I gotten back to sleep after that dream last night?
Had I even woken at all?
Best not to go down that rabbit hole. If I did, before long I’d be questioning whether I was even awake now. That way lay madness.
I could smell coffee brewing. I peered out the window to see that my mother had several big French presses full of coffee sitting out on the table next to her motorhome. She had a griddle on her grill and she was cooking bacon and eggs.
My stomach growled.
I threw on a shirt and jeans and went over there with one of my coffee mugs. I seized one of the French presses and realized that the press hadn’t been pushed down. I started to do that.
“Wait, it’s not ready, Deacon,” said my mother from the grill.
I grunted, disappointed.
She beamed at me. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
I eyed the coffee. My mouth was practically watering for it. I could taste it. God, it smelled good. The mingling smell of coffee and bacon smelled like morning. Smelled like home, even though I’d never even really had a home—unless you counted this motorhome my mother lived in. And she never woke me up with breakfast cooking as a kid. I ate cereal for breakfast every day. Usually sugary cereal with a cartoon character on the front. What was going on with my mom?
What was going on with me?
“Oh, it’s probably all right now,” said my mom, gesturing to the coffee. “Go ahead.”
I sprang forward and pressed down the press.
“I think you have the cream in your fridge,” she said. “I couldn’t find it in mine.”
Oh, that was right. My mother had insisted on buying a carton of heavy cream. At the time, I’d been annoyed with all of her groceries. Now, I was grateful. Coffee was going to be so much better with that cream.
I dashed back into the Airstream to find it and came back. I poured myself some coffee. There was sugar sitting out. I fixed myself up—little bit of sugar, a lot of cream. And then I settled into my camping chair to sip at the coffee. Bliss.
My mother transferred the bacon to a platter. She piled eggs next to it. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” I said.
She was still beaming. She set the platter down in the middle of the table.
I started to dip food onto a plate. “Hey, Mom, about that mirror maze.”
“What about the mirror maze?” she said. “It looks dangerous in there, all that broken glass. I said that already.”
“Uh… I’m thinking we should go there. Me and you.” I wasn’t even sure if I’d been thinking this before, at least not in so many words. But as I was saying it out loud, I knew that it felt right. It was what needed to happen. My mother and I had to go to the maze. That was how I was going to get my answers. Maybe it would even help her remember.
She straightened, knitting her brows together.
I waited for her to speak.
“Something smells amazing,” came the voice of Oscar, as he came out of the door of my mother’s motorhome. His hair was wet and he was already dressed and shaved.
I fingered my own shaggy chin and glared at him. To be fair, I wasn’t big on shaving. I mean, I also wasn’t big on growing a beard, so I shaved. When it became abundantly necessary, that is. “Well, good morning, Oscar,” I said in my most sickly sweet voice.
My mother caught my tone and glanced at me. “I let him use the shower is all.”
“Right,” I said. “That makes sense. We’re not hooked up to water, so let’s waste all our resources on showers. Excellent idea.”
“Took a navy shower. Soaped up with the water off,” said Oscar. “Won’t be doing that every morning, of course, but your mother offered—”
“We’re not so far from civilization,” said my mother. “If we run out of water or fuel for the generators, we can get in your truck and go buy more.”
“Of course,” said Oscar.
But then we all gazed at the gate, which seemed very, very far away.
“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” my mother murmured. She turned to Oscar. “Please, sit down. Eat.”
“I’ll be back in a moment,” said Oscar. “Let me take this back to my tent.” He held up a bundle of clothes. He disappeared around the edge of my mother’s motorhome.
My mother turned on me. “What is your problem?”
I pointedly shoveled some eggs into my mouth and chewed.
“I never dated while you were growing up. Maybe I should have. Maybe you wouldn’t be behaving like a child.”
I swallowed the eggs, giving her a sour look. “I don’t like him.”
“Why not? Because he likes me?’
“Because he’s a phony,” I said. “Because he’s exploiting Lily and Patrick. Because—”
“None of those things are true,” she said. “He performs a service, just like I do. And if people want to believe it and want to pay for it, that’s their business.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right, right. I forgot. You’ve got a rationalization for everything.”
She clucked her tongue at me.
I ate some more eggs. And even though we were arguing right now, I had to admit that it wasn’t such a bad thing. It made me feel… normal. We were just a regular mother and son who had some differences. The food was good, and the weather was nice—a bit of crispness to the morning air, but otherwise pleasant. I could imagine that if every day was just like this, I might be incredibly happy. I smiled to myself.
And my mother smiled back. She ruffled the hair on my head. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve missed you too.”
Her eyes shone, and she looked away.
I picked up a piece of bacon. “But about the mirror maze.”
She shook her head, wandering back over to her griddle. “We’re here for Molly Fletcher. That’s what we should be concentrating on.”
* * *
And that was her final word on the matter. I tried a few other times to convince her, but my mother wasn’t having it. She was focused on her job and that was that.
Even the friction between us about that couldn’t dampen my mood. I felt good. After I finished my breakfast, I stayed outside her motorhome and drank my coffee.
Oscar came back and got some food and coffee. He and my mother made small talk for a bit.
H
e told a story about a podcast he’d done about a haunted house that had only started to manifest after the owner had rented out a room to help out with paying off her mortgage.
“When she bought the house, she moved in with her late husband. But then, a few years later, her husband was killed in a tragic car accident, leaving her there alone,” said Oscar. “She naturally thought that the spirit was her husband, and that it was manifesting because it felt threatened by this new roommate, who was male.”
“And that wasn’t the case?” my mother said.
“No,” said Oscar. “You see, the two of them were attracted to each other, but she was holding back on making any moves toward the roommate, because she didn’t want to anger her late husband. But I came in and observed a bit, and it became clear to me that the spirit wanted the best for the two of them. It was acting up because it wanted them to get together. Once they did, all the mysterious occurrences in the house stopped.”
“Oh, what a lovely story,” said my mother, who was still cooking even more food at the grill.
“What you’re actually saying is that a haunting started and then mysteriously stopped, and you don’t really know why,” I said. “You have an interpretation, but you can’t be sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” said Oscar. “Because I know that the haunting stopped once they were romantically involved.”
“That could be a coincidence. You didn’t see the ghost, I guess?”
“What, a full-bodied specter?” Oscar chuckled. “This isn’t a Hollywood movie, boy.”
“I see them,” I said. “And they talk to me. They tell me what they want. And I’ve never met a ghost who gave a flying fuck about the living. They’re very obsessed and selfish. They have something that they have to do or to see or take care of. It’s never about being a matchmaker.”
Oscar eyed me. “You see them? With your eyes?”
“No, with my toes,” I said sarcastically.
“I only meant that sometimes people refer to a sort of metaphorical seeing, in their minds’ eye—”
“The ghosts are out there,” I said. “I can see them.”
“And you haven’t seen Molly?” It was Lily’s voice.
I turned to see her at the edge of the awning that was attached to my mother’s motorhome. Patrick was coming out of their RV, heading this way as well.
“Oh, good morning,” said my mother to Lily. “Are you hungry?”
“It smells amazing,” said Lily. “Really, you didn’t have to go to this much trouble.”
“Have some coffee,” said my mother.
Lily turned back to me. “You haven’t seen Molly, have you?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen any ghosts here.”
“Oh, why do you think that is?” said Oscar, lifting his chin.
“I really don’t know,” I said. “I know there’s power here. I can feel it.”
“Well, so can I,” said Oscar, his voice lowering in pitch as if daring me to challenge him.
I decided it wasn’t worth it.
We passed a pleasant breakfast after that. I had another cup of coffee and just sat out with the others while they ate. After we were done, we all sat out for another hour or more, taking in the morning air and chatting about pointless things like the weather and musicians. I was struck again by how comfortable it all seemed, how civilized, how welcoming.
Finally, my mother said that we should attempt to contact Molly. “We’ll need to clean up breakfast,” she said. “And then set up for a seance. I think I can pitch my tent over there.” She pointed to a stretch of uncracked asphalt not too far away. “Maybe you can help me with that, Deacon?”
I arched an eyebrow at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Mom. I think maybe we should do the seance inside the park. Maybe near that roller coaster.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” said my mother.
I chuckled. “No?” Because if we did that, she wouldn’t be able to rig her tent to spit out smoke and make fake sound effects. She needed to be close to the motorhome and a power source to make it all work.
“Trying to carry all my equipment out to that roller coaster would be ridiculous.”
“But you don’t need the equipment, do you, Mom?” I said.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Well, it does help.”
Lily spoke up. “Um, I think that it makes sense to try to make contact with Molly inside the park, too.”
I spread my hands. “Well, there you go, Mom.”
She sighed. “Oh, fine, we’ll do it your way, Deacon. You’re a little shit, you know that?”
I stiffened.
And she winced. She cleared her throat. “Um, we need to clean up after breakfast regardless.”
“Oh, I’ll help out,” said Oscar, already on his feet.
“Me too,” said Lily.
“I’ll bring your table and your crystal ball out to the roller coaster,” I muttered. “Patrick, maybe you could give me a hand?”
“Sure,” said Patrick.
* * *
While Patrick and I dragged a table and some chairs—enough for all of us—out to the area in front of the roller coaster, he talked to me about what my mother would be doing.
“She can get in touch with Molly?” he said. “Ask her anything?”
“Well, that’s what she says, anyway,” I said.
“You and your mom have some kind of family drama, huh?”
I decided to leave it at that. If it had been Lily asking me pointed questions, maybe I’d have blown my mother’s cover entirely. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t. Maybe I had more loyalty toward my mother than I realized. Or maybe I realized if I sabotaged all this, everyone would leave, and I’d never convince my mother to go out to the mirror maze with me. And I needed that to happen.
Pretty much as soon as we had everything set up, the other three appeared, having finished the breakfast cleanup.
My mother took her seat at her table, which was a round table with a crystal ball in the middle. The table was swathed in a tablecloth covered in swirling symbols and designs, which had no particular meaning but looked authentic, which was what my mother was concerned with. There were two seats at the table for Lily and Patrick, opposite my mother.
Oscar and I took seats a few feet back, looking on.
My mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she had taken on her medium persona, which was like a character she played. Whenever she spoke in that persona, she made her voice a little richer and she spoke with a tinge of a British accent. I wasn’t sure if she did that on purpose or not, but it always set my teeth on edge. It was so ridiculous that I didn’t see how anyone fell for it. “I will attempt to summon the spirit realm,” she said solemnly, “but I must admit that I can’t be sure how successful I will be without my supplies.”
“That’s okay,” said Lily. “Just try to reach Molly.” She looked around. “I have to admit, the last time we were here, I felt something… and I don’t know if I feel it anymore.”
It was true.
Last time I’d been in the park, I’d had warring feelings of being drawn to the place and then being repulsed. Now, I felt nothing at all. It looked like a rundown amusement park. There was nothing here.
I looked up at the sky. There were storm clouds on the far horizon.
My mother reached out her hands to Lily and Patrick. “Let us join hands,” she intoned.
They all linked their hands.
My mother bowed her head. “I seek the spirits here in supplication. Please give us a sign if you are present.” I had to admit the line did better in a darkened, candlelit tent. Here, in the bright sunlight in front of a rusted out roller coaster, it sounded pretty silly. That had been my intention, I suppose, to out my mother, show off her weaknesses. I thought it would make me feel triumphant, but it only made me feel ashamed. Why had I done this to her? It was as if I had stripped her dignity away.
I had a lot of things to be angry with m
y mother about, even if she hadn’t abused me. But I now realized that getting back at her was an ultimately hollow act. I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want to take away from her. I wouldn’t do this to her again. I bowed my head.
My mother raised her head and I could see that she was going to attempt to pretend to channel someone. She had that odd look of confusion in her eyes.
So, I was glad when there was the sound of thunder in the background.
I stood up. “Um, I think it’s going to rain. We should probably pack it in for now.”
“Oh, yes,” said my mother, turning to me gratefully. “I think the seance would be more effective at night, anyway. Spirits are far more active then.”
* * *
But that night, it was still raining.
The rain rolled in around lunchtime, and we were all confined to our respective campers for lunch, the first meal that we’d had alone. I had a fridge full of food, but all of it required a lot of preparation.
I was actually a decent cook. I had gotten a job washing dishes at a restaurant in high school, and had managed to work my way up doing prep cook work as well, and then finally filling for the cooks there. I watched what they did and asked a lot of questions. Also, it maybe didn’t hurt that the head cook, the guy who owned the restaurant and ran the kitchen was gay, and I think he thought I was cute.
I mean, he was very professional. He never so much as winked at me. But, you know, one thing I learned from my mother was to use any advantage you have, because life isn’t fair, and trying to pretend it is only means that you lose.
Maybe my mother went a little overboard with the pressing of advantages.
Anyway, I could cook. But I didn’t much feel like it, so I ended up eating a really sorry lunch of chips and rolled-up cheese slices.
As the rain pounded down outside, all the comfort I’d felt before seemed washed away. I peered out at the wet parking lot and the gate didn’t seem that far away after all. It would be nothing to go, and I should. Under the pounding downpour, the park seemed bedraggled and sad. That feeling of horribleness that I’d noted before, it was stronger.
I didn’t like the way the forms of the old Ferris wheel and the free-fall tower cut into the horizon. A pervasive feeling of wrongness slashed into me when I looked at them. They made me feel physically uncomfortable, almost ill. I wanted to get away from them as soon as possible. This soggy, dilapidated place was dreadful. It was… abominable.