Amber

by Dan-Dwayne Spencer

  “I know what he means, numbnuts,” Jimmy blustered.

  “Anyway, look out for yourself, Miss Flower,” Walter warned. “You might consider moving the commune to another state. It’s what I would do if I were you.”

  “We’re not moving as long as Paul owns the land. He’s even promised to bequeath it to us in his will. He made the commune what it is and without him, we’re nothing more than a group of ragtag hippies.”

  “No, you’re not Miss Flower. I know exactly how special you are.” He touched the bill of his cap, smiled, and returned to his car.

  Flower leaned my way and said, “If we’re careful, a gifted person, especially a healer, can help people without letting them know you are sharing your gift with them. Down through the years, I’ve learned, it turns out better if people in the outside world don’t know.”

  I scratched my head. “I get it, but why? I wouldn’t expect people to understand any of this gifting business. Why would they care?”

  All the answer I got was a smile. With the fuzz gone, we all piled into the van and headed for mysterious Eudora.

  Chapter Eleven

  Flechia

  Jimmy was the first to lean over onto the van’s window and trail off into dreamland.

  Rose scooted near him and rested her head on his shoulder before she too dozed off.

  Roger rode shotgun and remained wide awake, entertaining Flower with his mouthy wit as she drove. He was, after all, the one who got the most rest on the road yesterday.

  I struggled with the thought of sleep. The last time I slept, I had a dream about my parents, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t only a dream. There was something in their mystic conversation that made me think I had been seeing them for real. That was when I heard the term The Gift used for the first time.

  What would happen if I tried to close my eyes for more than a moment? I didn’t know. Still, I yawned…I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The gentle rocking of the van and the vibration from the engine finally lulled me to sleep.

  Where was I? Glancing around, I found myself standing in some dusty wilderness. On the barren landscape, rocks jutted out of the dry sand like petrified remains of the ancient dead reaching for the sunlight.

  From inside a sage bush, Mr. Dark’s gravelly voice called out. “Hey, Freak, you’re in the back of the van. This isn’t real.”

  It sure looked real to me. Everything from the grainy sand in my shoes to the sun’s radiant heat beating down sure felt real. Especially the cloudless, crystal blue sky. High above, dozens of ravens glided around in a circle.

  I reached into my waistcoat and took out a folded photograph, all brown and tattered from exposure to the weather. I don’t know how I knew it was there, I just did. Slowly, I unfolded it and peered at the image. A knock-out, teenage chick wearing a high-necked, corseted top stared back at me. She looked familiar, however, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name even though my heart ached for her.

  I folded the photo and stuffed it back where it came from. Desperately, I longed to be with her, but how? Standing still was no way to get to her, so I walked in the general direction of the circling birds. Dry sand found its way into everything and every crevice. After kicking sand up with every step, a powerful thirst took root in my dry throat. Eventually, I managed to reach a small pond over which birds circled.

  I leaned down and put my lips to its silvery surface, inhaling the life-giving liquid. Drawing back on my heels, I took in my surroundings. The birds landed flocking around the pond—surrounding me. What had been only twenty birds, turned into fifty, no, seventy-five…perhaps a hundred ravens landed on the dry sand. In unison, they turned and gazed at me. Some tilted their heads and squawked mournful cries.

  One raven, larger than the others, hopped close. He spoke. I saw the beak move up and down, but his voice was the harsh voice of Mr. Dark.

  “Why have you come so far only to be trapped here by this pond?” the Raven growled.

  “This is only a place to rest,” I replied. “It’s not the end of my journey. I will be leaving soon.”

  “It is a pity there is no water near enough for you to survive the journey.”

  “What do you mean? If I cannot continue to search for my Lady-Love, I could always go back the way I came.” I was talking like Flower. Like they did in the old days.

  “Sadly, the water well you passed has also gone dry. You lack water in any direction from here. If you leave this pond, you will surely die of thirst before you reach another.”

  “I shall walk on and dig a well to fill my need.”

  “Oh, intrepid one. It would take far too long, and you would have to dig far too deep. You would die of thirst before you were successful. No, you should give up your goal. Stay here and live the rest of your days in happiness by this silvery pond.”

  A deep sadness welled up inside me. Feelings I had never known before overtook me, and I determined there was no point in living. I wanted to die…and yet, I stayed by the well day after day and lonely night after night because of the promise of further life. Suddenly, I realized my futile situation and knew the truth; I was a coward. I could not face my death to achieve a life better than the one I had there by the pond. My love for my lady was not greater than my love for life itself—I wept bitterly.

  From somewhere in the distance I heard my name, “Arland. Arland, we’re here. Wake up.” I opened my eyes to see Flower. She leaned in through the sliding door, shaking my foot. I stretched and made my legs move. I started to speak but noticed everyone else still slept. Even Roger had finally leaned over and was out like a light.

  I climbed through the open door and stretched again. Glancing all around, I realized we were standing at the edge of a meadow, out in the middle of nowhere, by a dirt road where there weren’t even fields.

  “I thought we were going to a town—Eudora, Kansas. Where are we?”

  “Presently, the township has been moved to its current location. Well, it was moved a century ago.” Flower explained, “I’m sure no one remembers why the founding fathers moved it, but I will explain. This is where the original town of Eudora originally stood. The town was the dream of one Elmer Cumberland. His wife had died many years before he came to Kansas, and his only living family was his beautiful daughter, Flechia.

  “Mr. Cumberland wanted to find a permanent home for his carnival, The Cumberland Circus of the Bizarre. He thought his roadies and carney-folk could build homes here. He found out freaks aren’t welcome anywhere. The whole thing turned out to be a total failure, but Elmer wouldn’t give up on his dream, so he found the one way he could keep his dream alive—or so he thought. The story goes to keep from declaring himself a failure he sold his soul to one of the fallen angels. The sad thing about making deals with devils is they never give you what you think you’re getting. His dream carnival continued to operate, but only during the month of angels, the eighth month of the year. The rest of the year it is nothing but a vacant meadow.”

  “So, what happened to the people who ran it?” I asked.

  “They are still here, no more than spirits—ghosts if you like the word better. They regain their humanity one month out of every year.” She swallowed hard. “When I realized our prophet came to us in the eighth month, I should have known events would lead us here.”

  “Okay, I get it. This place is creepy. But what I don’t get is, why do we need to be here?”

  “We’re here to talk to a fallen angel.”

  “I’ve got to wake Jimmy and Roger. They have to see this.” I started to shake Jimmy, but Flower stopped me.

  “I know they came along, but I think it would be best if only you and I went in. It’s not without danger.” She walked with me to the end of the meadow where a hill hid whatever lay beyond it.

  After seeing how Jimmy reacted to something as simple as gifting, I can’t imagine how he would act if he knew there was an angel here. “You’re right. We should let him sleep,” I replied.

  “Don
’t go”, said Mr. Dark. I ignored him and went on with Flower’s conversation.

  “You’re kidding me. A real angel…A fallen angel is here at the carnival? Why would he stick around after he made the deal with Mr. Cumberland?”

  “Because he found love. You see, he fell in love with Cumberland’s daughter. Knowing his curse would trap her here, he bound himself to this place. But God surprised him with something he least expected. His curse on the carnival didn’t touch his lover. She walked away unharmed.”

  “What? How did she do that? I mean, everyone else became ghosts, and she just walked away.”

  “She was special—she was gifted. For years, her father had exploited her gift to feed his greed. But after the angel spoke the curse, she walked away free of her father and the oppressive angel.”

  “So, people with gifts aren’t affected by curses?”

  “You don’t know. Just because it happened once you can’t count on it happening again.” Mr. Dark’s voice trembled. “Flower says this girl wasn’t affected, but do you really want to take that chance?”

  “That’s what I gathered from the story, but, Arland, I don’t want to test the theory today. We must leave the carnival before the clock strikes on the hour.”

  “Clock? What clock?” I looked around and still saw only the meadow.

  “You will see. Just remember, anyone who is on the carnival grounds when the clock strikes is also cursed and will spend eternity there in The Cumberland Circus of the Bizarre.”

  “Don’t go over that hill. It’s not safe,” Mr. Dark insisted.

  I nodded. Maybe Mr. Dark was right. Uncertainty filled me with despair. Was facing a cursed carnival worth talking to an angel? I inhaled and found the courage to follow Flower over the hill.

  “There will be hell to pay for this. Yes, indeed—when this little adventure of yours blows up in your face, remember what I said,” Mr. Dark uttered the words before he shrieked and his dark form fled, moving from shadow to shadow for cover.

  I gritted my teeth and said, “Keep quiet.”

  Flower heard me and gave me a sideways glance, “You’re not talking to me are you?” It was like she understood.

  I answered as politely as I could, “No ma’am. I’m not.”

  “You have a familiar, don’t you?” she enquired with more worry on her face than I had seen before.

  “I don’t know what a familiar is. But there’s this shadow I call Mr. Dark. No one but me can see him, and sometimes he tells me things.” I swallowed hard. “He doesn’t want me to go to the carnival. He says it’s not safe.”

  “I’ve heard of familiars, of course, but I’m not very knowledgeable on the subject. Later, we’ll sit down with a cup of hot cocoa and discuss what I know, but for now—he’s right. It isn’t safe. Promise me you will stay with me at all times.”

  “I promise.” Those have been the famous last words for so many people. I just wasn’t sure if they would be mine.

  We walked up the hill’s steep incline. Apprehension balled in my stomach, and when we topped the hill, the carnival materialized before our eyes. What only second before was a dry patch of barren ground, full of dead weeds, cactus, and discarded trash, took shape and became a spectacular sight. Colorful tents, placards, lively music, and the unmistakable smell of buttered popcorn filled my senses.

  We walked a distance along the wrought-iron fence until we reached a ticket booth. From what I could see as I peered through the fence—it was all extraordinary. I wasn’t expecting a ghostly carnival to be so real, and so beautiful. A multitude of people crowded around every attraction, and without exception, they sounded happy—laughing and talking. Nothing about what I saw warned of eternal damnation.

  Flower went to the ticket booth, which stood beside an arched gate. The banner above the arch read: The Cumberland Circus of the Bizarre. The wrought-iron gates were open, and the fence attached to it appeared to go on as far as I could see. Beyond the arched gate, a cobblestone walkway beckoned me to enter. I could feel it drawing, pulling me forward like steel to a magnet. I sensed it, this carnival desired me to enter.

  Flower called out, “Stay in view of the ticket booth until I get our tickets. Do not wander off.”

  “Sure thing,” I replied as I stepped through the arch and onto the stone path. It led past a couple of popcorn vendors and one advertising something called Fairy Floss, a pink puff on a stick looking suspiciously like cotton candy.

  The cobblestones continued past a series of frames made of metal piping containing large illustrated canvases. These oversized placards promoting the carnival’s biggest crowd-pleasing features were strapped into the frames with stout cords. Gigantic painted faces of clowns and roaring lions glared down at me. Beyond the portable billboards, the walkway encircled the entrance’s principal attraction—a grand Victorian carousel.

  Oddly dressed people crowded around it, all talking and laughing hollow-sounding hoots, chuckles, and chortles. Some others rode the ornately carved horses with bouquets on each harness. Satin ribbon adorned a variety of brass hoops and loops attached to the ceiling above the horses. They streamed like pastel flags as the carousel slowly revolved. The wooden beasts moved up and down on brass rods as the carousel turned. In the center of the finely crafted merry-go-round, an impressive calliope organ stood on a stationary platform. The decorative horses orbited around its shiny pipes and tilted mirrors, all reflecting the image of the tall, pale man who played the hauntingly strange carnival music. I assumed the melody echoed throughout the carnival as it was the same tune I heard as we walked along the iron fence.

  The organ master paused like a singer taking a breath, only to play again. In the brief silence, a loud ticking drew my attention away from the miraculous wonder. It emanated from somewhere off to my left. I stepped off the walkway, following the ticking as best I could. It came from somewhere behind the canvas billboards. To my surprise, there stood a collection of magnificent, three-story dollhouses. They were all grouped around a miniature clock tower. A tiny placard above the dial read: Established 1851 - Eudora, Kansas. The whole thing reminded me of a shrunken town square.

  Wondering if it represented the original township to scale, I leaned close to inspect the detailed work better. The courthouse and tower stood six feet tall, with an ornate, antique clock installed in the side facing the arched gate. As the second hand moved loudly around the clock’s dial, I noticed the time indicated was, 11:01. I stood up and thought: It was afternoon when we arrived. The time on the clock is wrong.

  Again leaning in and looking closely to inspect the top floor of one of the miniature houses, I peered into a tiny window. To the last detail, the room was furnished like a proper house—down to the little automated man drinking tea at the tiny table. He couldn’t have been over four inches tall and outfitted in tailored woolen trousers and a cardigan sweater. When the miniature man lifted his cup and smiled at me, I stepped back, almost tripping on the edge of the walkway.

  The overpowering smell of popcorn filled the air and with it, my sudden fear of the Lilliputian-sized man dissipated. I was back on the cobblestones. I should have been looking for Flower. She said for me not to wander away, but the thought was far away, like a distant memory. Regaining my composure, I looked back toward the colorful horses gliding around and around.

  The walkway encircled the carousel, and behind it stood a tall Ferris wheel. I stepped up closer to get a better look. The Ferris wheel rotated, suspended from several steel rods twisted into Art Deco designs. Carved flowers, painted red, adorned the center of the giant wheel and each gondola. Mirrors, set on half-spheres along the wheel’s spokes, reflected the sunlight in tiny circles, making them dance on the ground as the Ferris wheel turned.

  Down the sides of the midway stood placards, enticing the crowd to view the oddities for a price. Four hundred feet of painted canvases, one after the other, advertising the sideshows. To my right, three Hoochie Coochie girls danced to the exotic rhythm of thundering dr
ums while their dealer hawked the grind, enticing young men to come in and see.

  One of the three was exceptionally striking—a timeless beauty with a flawless figure. Her chestnut hair, cut in a bob, swished in her face every time her shoulders swiveled. Her flimsy dress; the way she pursed her heart-shaped lips; and even the way she let her hands slide down her thighs, everything about her exacerbated the seductive swing of her hips. Our eyes lock together for a moment, and in that instant, with a doubtless certainty I knew, she was the sexiest woman I’d ever met…or ever would.

  The dealer called out, “Boys, meet Calypso. The most desirable woman in the world. In her dance, she shares the secrets of love. Trust me, fellows, just watching her will make your hair curl and your hearts race.”

  He ushered them all into the tent, first the dancing girls, then the men. Calypso turned in my direction before she joined the others. As if she had invisible arms reaching out for me, I could feel her pulling and inviting me inside the attraction.

  A part of me wanted to follow, but I reminded myself of the promise I made to Flower. I had to stay in view of the ticket booth, so there I stood at the side of the grand carousel, listening to the calliope music.

  Beyond the dancing girls, the tattooed man changed poses as he took off one garment at a time, revealing different parts of his decorated body. Signs for Finn the Human Pretzel and Sasha the Female Fire Eater announced the performers on the left, while farther down, more painted canvases advertised Xerxes: Mysterious Sage to the Pharaohs and Glenda the Bearded Lady. Dozens more sideshows stood in between them with alluring banners, making the exhibits appear to be both exciting and inviting.

  Everything at the carnival looked beautiful until I looked past the thin, translucent paint; in contrast, underneath the flimsy superficial polish, all the surfaces were dirty and pale, like the color had been washed out of it a century ago. The paint, similar to the hollow laughter of the crowd, appeared to be cheerful when in fact a depressing shadow loomed just out of sight. Even the carnies who should have been elderly were all ruggedly handsome men and gorgeous women. This too, I supposed, was some side effect of the curse. They got what they wanted—eternal youth.