Freeks

by Amanda Hocking

  “I’ve been going around collecting applications for the Summerfest in June,” she went on. “It’s been hard getting everything I need, since so many people went to the Equinox Festival over in Tangipahoa Parish. But you’re here, Deputy, so maybe you can start filling out the form, if you’re not too busy?”

  Bob pushed aside our form and reached for the stack of papers the woman had set on his desk. “What did you want me to fill out?”

  “Oh, just grab any old form in there as long as it’s empty.” She waved him off. Then she turned to face us fully. “I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on and on, while you’re been standing here, looking lost. Are you new in town?”

  “They’re with the traveling carnival,” Deputy Bob told her with a sneer.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, and put her manicured hand to her chest. “I’m so excited to have you here. I’m with the mayor’s office and work on planning community events, and I’m thrilled to have a fun attraction here like this to compete with all the hullabaloo going on in Tangipahoa Parish and down in New Orleans. I’m always telling the mayor, we gotta keep the excitement up if we wanna keep the kids here.”

  “I’m sure these people have work they need to be doing,” Deputy Bob chastised her. “You should stop bothering them.”

  She rolled her eyes, but offered us an apologetic smile. “He’s right, I’m sorry.” Then she stuck her hand out at Gideon. “I’m Della Jane, by the way.”

  “Gideon Davorin,” he said gruffly, shaking her hand.

  “Mara,” I replied when she took my hand. Her grip was soft but firm, and she smiled so brightly, her blue eyes twinkled. Della Jane reminded me of a less buxom Dolly Parton, and I couldn’t help but warm to her despite the unease in my stomach.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you while you’re here,” she said when she released my hand. “Anything at all.”

  “We’re actually looking for my friend,” I blurted out, causing Deputy Bob to glare at me. “Her name’s Blossom Mandelbaum, and she travels with us. She went out last night, and we haven’t seen her since.”

  “She’s sixteen and she’s a runaway,” Deputy Bob interjected. “There’s not—”

  “She didn’t tell anyone where she was going?” Della Jane’s brow furrowed with concern, and she moved so she was standing in front of Bob, blocking his view of me and Gideon. “Does she usually disappear like this?”

  “Not really,” I said, feeling sheepish. But something about the way Della Jane was looking at me, so hopeful and worried, made me feel as if I had to be totally honest with her. “She did hang out with a commune once for a few days, because she liked the music. But she told us before she left.”

  Della Jane snapped her fingers. “I got it. She probably went over to the Tangipahoa Parish music festival. They have all kinds of bands, going on for the next week to celebrate the equinox. Does that sound like something she would enjoy?”

  “It does…” I admitted reluctantly. “But she would’ve told us.”

  “Maybe she just hitched a ride and didn’t have a chance,” Della Jane suggested. “But I can see that you’ll be worried until she shows up again. So I’ll tell you what—”

  Abruptly she turned her back to us and hurriedly wrote something down on the corner of a flier. Then she tore off the corner and faced us again, handing me the paper with Della Jane and her phone number scrawled in beautiful loopy handwriting.

  “If you haven’t heard from your friend in the next day or two, give me a call,” Della Jane said. “I’ll look into it personally and see if we can’t find her. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds great. Thank you.” I smiled at her, but it felt weak.

  “Thank you again,” Gideon told her, and when I didn’t move, he put his hand on my back to gently usher me out of the police station.

  As soon as we stepped outside, Gideon let out a sigh of relief. With the sun shining brightly above, it was a warm spring day, and thanks to Della Jane, things had gone better in the police station than I had hoped for. She’d given a logical explanation for where Blossom probably was—safe and sound listening to bands.

  Despite all that, I couldn’t shake the chill inside my chest, like my heart had been encased in ice.

  7. night terror

  I had no idea where I was, since I was completely surrounded by black. And in that darkness, a face began to emerge. An old woman, her face gaunt, and the folds of gray flesh wrinkled and shriveled to the point of mummification.

  She began to move toward me, as if gliding through the emptiness. Her gown billowed out around her, a dark fabric making her appear larger and more threatening. Not that she needed the help. Her gray hair stuck out maniacally around her head, like a crazed halo, and her eyes were black as coal.

  “What do you want?” I asked, trying to say something to stop her from coming at me.

  She opened her mouth then and began to scream—her words came out rapid fire, shrill and furious. It made it impossible to understand, but what little I did pick up wasn’t a language that I knew.

  “I don’t know what you want! I can’t understand you!” I told her, but that only made her angrier.

  Her wails grew louder, echoing through my skull, and then she extended her hands toward me. Her fingers were long and the nails were yellowed, and somehow I knew that if she got me, she’d never let me go.

  I turned to run away from her, but the ground fell out from under me. There was nothing to grab on to, no matter how I tried to reach out, and I tumbled down into a bottomless pit of blackness.

  Then, just as I felt my body slam into the hard ground, I opened my eyes and sat up.

  Panting heavily, I realized with great relief that it was only a dream. I was safe in my own bed, but I couldn’t seem to stop my trembling and slow the panicked racing of my heart.

  The room was dark, with the only light coming in from the hall and spilling in through the narrow gaps between the strings of beads. Still, I could make out the familiar shapes of my room, and after the nightmare that felt all too vivid and intense, I took comfort in taking inventory of the normal things in my room that weren’t screaming banshees.

  Posters adorned my half of the room, covering the narrow bits of paneling that weren’t covered by windows. I only had one full-size poster, tacked up on the side of the closet, of David Bowie. The rest were smaller ones, like a tour poster for the Cure, ticket stubs for Aliens, and a flier for the sideshow from a state fair last summer.

  Books were stacked to the brim on my nightstand. I kept as many as I could, but eventually, Mom would make me part ways with them to make room for new ones. My stereo and cassette tapes were stacked on the small vanity at the end of my mom’s bed next to the closet-size bathroom.

  Across from my bed was Mom’s own narrow twin bed, neatly made the way it always was. Her half of the room was much cleaner and more organized than mine, but she had extra scarves and jewelry hanging from tacks above the window, since she’d run out of room everywhere else.

  After we’d gotten back from the police station and delivered what little news we had to my mom, I’d finished helping set up, and then I’d snuck back to my trailer to take a quick nap. I couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hours of sleep last night at Gabe’s house, since we’d stayed up so late talking.

  My mom had made the curtains from dark upholstery fabric and black lace, making them almost impenetrable to light, and I peeled them back from the windows. The sun had almost completely set, which meant that I’d overslept.

  I swore, then hurried to get ready. The AC had gone out in the trailer, so my mom and Gideon had put a window air conditioner in the dining room. It stayed in place with duct tape, bungee cords, and a hope and a prayer.

  I’d only just turned it on when I came inside, so it had been crazy hot and I’d stripped down to a tank top and panties to sleep in. Now I hurried to pull on a light dress. The carnival would be opening soon, and though I didn’t perform in any sho
ws or run any stands, I worked hard as a gopher for everyone else.

  I flicked on the vanity light and grabbed my makeup from the drawer and quickly put on eyeliner and mascara, finishing it off with scarlet lipstick that popped against the caramel tone of my skin.

  Then I noticed the scrap of paper with Della Jane’s number was tacked to the top of the mirror, with one of Blossom’s necklaces dangling over it. Blossom kept most of her stuff in her own trailer, but since she spent so much time here, some of it ended up left behind.

  But that’s not what made my gaze stop short. I’d left Della Jane’s number on the table in the kitchen, and Blossom’s necklace hadn’t been in here at all.

  Mom must’ve come in and put it up here. Strange that I hadn’t woken up when she came in, but I had been very sleepy.…

  I tried to shrug it off, and on impulse, I grabbed Blossom’s necklace and dropped it over my head. There was no time to worry about anything else, or even think about the nightmare that still left me feeling jumpy. I had to see if my mom needed any help.

  As soon as I stepped out of the Winnebago, with the door creaking shut behind me, I heard the sound of the carnival. The music came from the midway—happy-go-lucky circus tunes from speakers set up along the booths—but mixed with that, I could hear laughter and talking. It was already under way, which meant I was very late.

  Gathering my skirt, I dashed toward the carnival. The fairgrounds hadn’t felt so far away earlier when I’d been helping out with the museum and my mother’s booth, but as I dodged between trailers and nearly ran into Betty, it seemed to be miles away.

  I couldn’t remember where the gate was that kept our motorhomes fenced off from the carnival. I ended up finding a gap in the chain link where it had been cut and slid through it and ran to my mom’s tent.

  Her tent was small—only big enough for three chairs and a tiny table. The fabric was a dark violet that shimmered, even in the fading twilight. Fortune Teller was painted on the sign above the door, along with several mystical-looking symbols that really meant nothing.

  There was another sign, pinned to the curtain that served as a door, with the words Mystic Lyanka—Sees All, Knows All. It featured a fairly nice painting of my mom that Gideon had done years ago. She’d been younger then, so her skin had been smoother, her eyes brighter, her smile wider. But even in the painting, there was an air of mystery about her.

  “The message in the cards is clear, though the vision is hazy,” my mom was saying, and I peeled back the curtain, just enough so I could peek in.

  An intricate rug of black and gold covered the expanse of the tent floor, and while it did have a rather luxurious appearance, in reality, Mom had picked it up at a garage sale for a dime two years ago. The same with the velvet throw pillows that lined the edges of the tent.

  A chandelier hung from the center of the tent above the table, lit with thin white candles. The table and chairs were a matching set, and actually were antiques that my mom had inherited from her mother. From what I understood, my grandma had conned them out of a rich woman she’d met at a flea market.

  Most things in here were props, set up for mood, but the tarot cards and stones were real. Mom even had a crystal ball, though she almost never used it, because she said it rarely worked. She might take money from strangers for her gift, but my mom never lied about the things she saw. Or didn’t see.

  Mom sat facing the door to the tent, her eyes focused on the cards in front of her. She still had a deck of cards in her hand—the images faded and worn from years of use—and she absently shuffled them.

  The chairs across from her had two teenage girls sitting in them. Their backs were to me, so they didn’t notice me peeking in on their reading.

  “You need to trust your heart.” Mom tapped a card in front of one of the girls. “That’s very clear. There’s going to be a change, and the outcome can be good or bad depending on how well you listen to your heart.”

  “So should I break up with Dean?” the girl asked.

  “I can’t say.” Mom shook her head. “But a change is needed.”

  I let go of the curtain, letting it slide shut, and waited beside the tent until Mom had finished. My mom was always truthful about her visions, but what people wanted from her usually had less to do with fortunes and fates than it did therapy.

  Most of the time, people just wanted someone to listen, and even when she didn’t have much to help them in the way of her gift, Mom was always happy to help.

  Once the girls had finished their reading, thanking my mother profusely as they exited, I slid inside to see how she was doing.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here before,” I said as she slid the cards back into a pile. “Do you need anything?”

  She shuffled the cards and stared down at the rug. “You can get me aspirin and water.”

  “The headaches are already starting? How many readings have you done?” I asked.

  “That was my second one.” She motioned to the door, where the girls had just left. “But the first one was more intense.”

  I frowned. “Mom.”

  “I’m fine.” Mom looked up at me. The scarf wrapped around her head kept her dark hair out of her face, and her eyes were grave. “It’s the life that chose me, and it’s fine. Can you get me the water and pills before the next customer comes?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” I gave her a contrite smile. “I’ll be back.”

  8. the magician

  I ran back to the campsite, once again using the hole in the fence since I couldn’t find the gate. I grabbed the water and aspirin from the trailer, but as I went to leave, I noticed the door to Gideon’s trailer was open and warm light was spilling out.

  I went over and climbed up the metal steps to his door. He stood next to his desk, going over something among stacks and stacks of paperwork. Black suspenders hung down around his waist, and his shirt was off. His muscled torso was heavily tattooed, but my eyes were always drawn to the one on his back.

  It angled from the side, going from above his hip toward his spine. The letters were wobbly and barely legible, but Gideon had been fighting it the whole time he’d gotten it. It was more of a brand than a tattoo. Gideon said they’d used the sharp end of a metal pipe, heating it over fire, then dipping it in ink, before they’d written the word “freak” into his flesh.

  That had been his first tattoo, and the only one he’d gotten that he hadn’t wanted. He’d only been fifteen at the time, and three weeks later, he left England forever. He’d hoped it would be better in America for people like him, and when he found it wasn’t, he decided to make it better. That’s why he’d started this sideshow—to create a place where people who didn’t belong could belong.

  I leaned against the doorframe. “Gideon?”

  “Are people already showing up?” he asked without looking up at me.

  “Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you about my mom.”

  He looked up, concerned. “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah … Well, no.” I shook my head. “She says she is, but all of this is really taking a toll on her.”

  He grimaced, then scratched the back of his neck. “The break didn’t do anything for her?”

  “Not really. She’s only just started, and the migraine is already setting in.”

  “I would like her to quit as much as you would, but she won’t.” He sighed. “Not right now. We need the money, and she knows it. Maybe after this, if we get a big enough of a payday, she can take a break for a while.”

  “I was thinking…” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe we could talk about me taking over for her.”

  Gideon shook his head. “Lyanka would never let you do that. You know that.”

  “But it’s getting too hard on her,” I insisted. “Nobody’s meant to do a thousand readings a year for twenty years straight. She’s exhausted.”

  “Which is why she’d never let you do it.” He gave me a knowing look. “Once you open your mind to the spirits, you
can’t shut it again.”

  “I don’t even think I can open my mind to the spirits. I don’t have the same gift as her. But I can still read a deck of cards.”

  “That’s even worse,” Gideon argued. “Then you’d just be a hustler, and you know how Lyanka despises frauds.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether she likes it or not. Mom isn’t going to be able to do this stuff much longer, and if I don’t start stepping in to take her place, she’s gonna end up destroying her mind and going insane.” I paused. “Just like her mother did.”

  “I know, and I agree with you, Mara. But it’s not up to me.”

  “Why not? You’re the boss,” I reminded him. “You have the power to hire and fire people.”

  “I can’t exactly fire my girlfriend.” He looked back down at the papers in front of him. “And it’s not that simple.”

  “Gideon. We need to do something,” I told him firmly.

  He chewed the inside of his cheek, staring off for a moment, then finally relented with a heavy sigh. “All right. I’ll talk to Lyanka, but in the end, she’ll do what she wants to do. You know how she is.” He pointed to the bottle of pills in my hand. “If her head’s already hurting, you better get that aspirin out to her.”

  I ran back to the carnival, and when I reached my mom’s tent, a client was inside with her. I ducked in, apologizing as I did, and gave Mom the water and the aspirin. Then I quickly exited and looked around to see if anybody else needed help.

  Since the carnival had just started, everything was well stocked, and nobody seemed to need anything. I walked along the edge of the fairgrounds, preferring to stay in the shadows behind the tents and exhibits than mingling with the crowds.

  A burst of light came from the other side of the fence, and I looked over to see Roxie playing with a small ball of fire in the palm of her hand.

  “You should be careful with that,” I said as I walked over to her.

  She shrugged, letting the flames burn blue and yellow a second before closing her fist, extinguishing them. Whenever she was bored or anxious, Roxie resorted to playing with her pyrokinesis.