Carnival

by William W. Johnstone

  Alicia looked around her. “You naughty boy, you! You’ve been having a party without me.” Her eyes settled on Frenchy. “And who is this?”

  “Sgt. Frenchy McClain of the Nebraska State Police.”

  “Oh, really? You must tell me about it sometime. Something to do with the children, I’m sure.”

  “The children are fine, Alicia. It’s a long story.”

  She waved that off. “And a boring one, I’m sure.” She looked at a diamond wristwatch. “Why don’t you pick me up about elevenish, Martin. At my place. We’ll ride over to the fairgrounds together.”

  “All right, Alicia. I’ll see you then.”

  She smiled sweetly and looked at Gary. Martin could have sworn she winked at him, and he returned the wink. No. Impossible.

  Martin glanced at Audie who had just entered the room. “Audie?”

  “I just drove downtown, Martin. Everything is normal. The gas stations are open, grocery stores are open. Everything is running as usual. I saw a couple of the guys who were in the mob around here last night. They acted like nothing had happened. I asked if there was any excitement last night and they said no. I didn’t push it any further.”

  “Nothing about the men who were killed?”

  “Not a peep. It’s like nothing has happened.”

  “You think it’s over?” Joyce asked.

  Martin shook his head. “No. I think it’s just the quiet before the storm. I think we’re all being suckered.”

  “Do we go to the fair, Dad?” Mark asked.

  “I . . . don’t know. I don’t know what to do. ” He met the eyes of all in the room. “Let’s vote on it.”

  Only Jeanne and Janet and Amy voted not to go to the fairgrounds.

  “You want to stay here and take care of the kids?” Gary asked his wife, more than a touch of irritation in the question. Again, Martin felt that odd.

  She shook her head. “No way am I staying alone. I think Gary will be safer in a crowd than here.”

  * * *

  Martin found the equipment he’d been issued by the Holland County Sheriff’s Department years back, after he’d graduated from the eight-week academy course. He found his .38 Colt Commander, loaded a clip full, jacked a round into the chamber, and replaced the round, filling the clip full. Easing the hammer down, he laid the autoloader aside. He slipped into the shoulder holster rig, after finally figuring out how to untangle and work the straps and buckles and elasticized rig. His sport coat concealed the .38. He put two full clips into his jacket pockets and then inspected himself in the mirror. As long as he kept the jacket unbuttoned, the gun bulge was not that noticeable.

  Wild thoughts filled his head: Maybe he should cut some sharpened stakes and take them instead. To pierce the heart of the Undead.

  “Oh, come on, Martin!” he muttered. But he wasn’t all that certain the idea was a bad one.

  He tried to laugh at the idea of carrying around sharpened stakes in his golf bag. The laugh didn’t quite make it.

  He checked his watch. He still had about a half an hour before picking up Alicia. And he wasn’t looking forward to that, either.

  He looked in on the kids. First Mark, who was ready to go, then the girls, who were still primping. For whom, Martin had no idea.

  “It makes us feel better,” his daughter told him.

  “Right. Now listen, gang,” he cautioned them. “One solid group unless otherwise suggested. No one is going to forcibly split us up, understood?”

  It was understood.

  Downstairs, he handed Gary a Colt Diamondback, two and a half inch barrel, and a handful of rounds.

  “I haven’t fired a pistol in twenty years, Martin,” the doctor told him.

  “It’ll come back to you.” He looked at Eddie. The lawyer patted his hip pocket.

  “Snub-nose. If I tried real hard, I could maybe hit that wall over there.”

  “Not exactly the A-Team,” Martin said with a smile.

  “I’m going to pick up Alicia,” Martin told the group. “Wish me luck. Let’s all meet at the speaker’s platform just before noon.”

  He looked at the faces of his friends. New and old. Strained faces; worried eyes. The expression one of uncertainty. He stepped out onto the front porch and paused for a moment. Everything appeared normal. Kids were playing in the soft fall air. Cars moving up and down the street. People waving at one another and stopping to chat. But there wasn’t a dog in sight and none could be heard. Not one bird flew or sang.

  “They’ve got more sense than we have,” Martin muttered, as he stepped off the porch and walked to his pickup, wondering if Alicia was going to pitch a fit about riding in a truck?

  She didn’t have a word to say about it. She began chattering like a magpie when she opened the door and didn’t shut up during the entire ride.

  “I’m so excited, Martin. We’re going to have a Shakespearean pavilion. And we’ll be putting on a production every afternoon and evening. And guess what? I’m starring!”

  “That’s nice, Alicia.”

  “Thank you. I knew you’d be thrilled. Now you must come see me perform, Martin.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  Martin would steal glances at her from time to time. Her eyes were dead. Totally lifeless. And her conversation seemed to be mechanical; there was no voice inflection. He decided to take a chance.

  When she paused for a breath, he said, “Alicia, you have a snake on your shoulder.”

  “That’s nice. I think I’ll make a marvelous Lady Macbeth, don’t you, Martin?”

  “Just wonderful, Alicia. Dear, there is a great big spider in your hair.”

  “That’s nice. Did you know that Pat Gilmer is going to be in the play, too? The first production will be this evening, Martin. Now do try your best to attend. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’ll do my best, Alicia.” Martin turned into the fairgrounds and found a parking place close to the front gate, backing the truck in for a faster getaway—just in case. “Here we are, Alicia.”

  “Yes. That’s right. Here we are.” She began clapping her hands. “Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man.” She got out of the truck and smiled at him through the open window. “Straighten your tie, Martin. Remember, you are the mayor.”

  “Yes. I’ll remember.”

  “I’ll be listening to your speech, Martin. Ta-ta!”

  He watched her walk off. Knew that person was not the Alicia he had known for most of his life.

  He had detected something . . . evil about her during the short ride. And that had frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

  Martin felt sick to his stomach and his palms were sweaty. The shoulder holster rig was chafing his skin and he was perspiring under the leather.

  And he was scared. Just plain scared. Should he go back to the house and get the others and get out of this crazy place?

  He knew that wouldn’t do any good. Gary was firm that he was staying. So was Eddie.

  He got out of the truck and walked toward the midway, his eyes moving. The fairgrounds was filling up rapidly. He spotted Pete and Frank Tressalt. Lyle Steele and Jim Watson. Tom Clark and Dennis Cameron. All their hands were in attendance, and they all appeared to have been drinking.

  He saw Missy Hudson with Karl Steele and his gang of thugs. Martin paused when he saw Dick Mason walking toward him.

  “Morning, Dick.”

  The men shook hands. “I got so wrapped up here I forgot to come by your place, Martin.” He looked around him and shook his head. “It’s all out of whack, Martin. It’s a beautiful day, and the people are all behaving normally. But something is wrong. I feel it.”

  He told the man about the one-sided conversation with his wife.

  “Weird! I’m glad I sent my family out of the state. You seen Lyle?”

  “From a distance.”

  “He’s got something up his sleeve. I don’t know what it is, but you can bet it’s not pleasant.”

  “I’m sure. Dick, y
ou didn’t by any chance bring a change of clothing with you, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Why?”

  He explained about them all staying at his house and invited the foreman to join them.

  “That’s a good idea. I guess. I appreciate the offer. Thanks.”

  Martin caught sight of his kids. “There’s my group, Dick. Come on.”

  Introductions made, Gary said, “It’s about time for you to kick this thing off, Martin. I just wish I was sure we’re doing the right thing.”

  “I had a burst of second thoughts a few minutes ago,” Martin admitted. “I guess, Gary, I’m doing the only thing I know to do.”

  “How do you feel after killing those two men last night, Martin?” Ned asked.

  That shook the foreman. “Say . . . what?”

  Frenchy explained. And it was obvious to all that her feelings toward Martin had turned from friendly to something a lot deeper.

  The foreman looked at Martin, realizing there was a lot of tempered steel in the man.

  “I did what I had to do,” Martin assured the minister. Martin glanced at his watch and with a sigh, said, “Let’s get this show on the road.” He walked toward the speaker’s stand.

  The high school band was tuning up.

  The town council was already seated on the platform. And Martin was very dubious about turning his back to them.

  With a sigh, Martin climbed the short flight of steps and took his place behind the rostrum.

  Then he looked out over the crowd and came very close to losing his breakfast.

  Carnival people were all mixed in with the townies, and their faces had changed, along with many of the townspeople.

  Martin’s personal, unspoken and unshared suspicions had become reality.

  He was staring out at a mixed crowd of innocents and demons; at men and women he had grown up with, whose features had changed into grotesque hideousness. Perhaps one out of every ten townspeople had changed into something from the pits of Hell. They stood grinning up at him, their faces piggy-snouts and snake heads, twisted ape features and half-human grotesqueness. They were the faces of monsters and creatures that defied description.

  Martin struggled to keep a scream from passing his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the faces of townspeople and carnies looked up at him. No monsters or demons or hideousness among them. No hellish creatures.

  But he knew he had not imagined it, not after meeting the dark lenses of Nabo, standing with his arms folded, in the front row, smiling at Martin.

  Then he met the eyes of Alicia, and wanted to run screaming from the platform as her face changed into a huge horrible reptilian object. Her tongue danced out of forever-smiling lips, forked and red. Mike Hanson stood beside her, his head replaced with that of a goat. There was Lyle Steele standing behind Mike, the rancher’s skin all rotted.

  Chief Kelson stood in the center of the crowd, his head now as pointed as a pin, his ears elfin, his eyes large round black circles set in a face that was barely recognizable as his own.

  Again, Martin blinked. The hideousness vanished and the crowd was filled with familiar faces, all staring up at him, waiting for him to begin.

  Martin got through his short speech, not remembering a word he’d said, and rejoined his friends.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Eddie suggested.

  They moved several hundred yards away from the speaker’s platform.

  “I wanna ride the rides!” Gary Jr. hollered.

  They were standing next to the merry-go-round. “The merry-go-round,” Gary said. “Go with him, Susan. And stay with him. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  “Gary!” Janet protested.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.”

  Frenchy met Martin’s eyes and he lifted one eyebrow, then nodded at his own kids. The young people trooped off, Gary, Jr. in tow.

  Nabo suddenly appeared at their side. “Not a very inspiring speech, Mayor. Are you ill?”

  Martin turned, meeting the mocking smile with a grim expression. “I feel fine, Nabo. Or should I call you the Devil?”

  Nabo laughed. “Oh, no, my dear man. Nothing so dramatic as that.” He turned his head to look at Ned. “You have more willpower than I gave you credit for possessing, Preacher.”

  The pastor stood his ground and met the dark lenses and the evil behind them. “Thanks to a lot of help from Martin.”

  “Ummm,” Nabo said. Martin could feel the eyes return to him. Nabo lifted his arm and looked at his watch. “Seven and one half hours, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Until what, Nabo?”

  “Hell, its fury and our revenge.”

  “You planted some seeds thirty-four years ago, didn’t you, Nabo? Among the townspeople?”

  “Actually, no,” the man surprised him by saying. “I did not. I was a Christian then, as were many of the people in the carnival. It took a fire to convince us that being a Christian among so-called Christians was not the way. Shall I say that, ah, after our untimely demise, most of us struck a deal.”

  “With the Devil.”

  “You don’t seem surprised to hear that.”

  “I guess I’m not. I put it together a couple of days ago. But it did startle me to see so many townspeople take the form of . . . creatures.”

  “Their kind is in every community, Mr. Mayor. But a catalyst is needed to bring them to the fore, so to speak.”

  “I see. So I suppose that I am looking at that catalyst?”

  Nabo bowed slightly. “At your service, Mr. Mayor.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait a minute!” Martin’s sharp words stopped him and turned the man around.

  Nabo stepped close to Martin. The eyes behind the dark lenses seemed to radiate evil. The smile on the lips was mocking. “Yes, Mr. Mayor?”

  “You just walk away?”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Tell us what we’re up against. What do we do?”

  Nabo chuckled. “Why . . . enjoy the shows, Mr. Mayor. It’s carnival time.”

  FOUR

  To a stranger, the mood would have seemed festive. Music from the rides was joyous and the mixture of food smells, from cotton candy to hot dogs, hamburgers, popcorn and candied apples scented the air. The laughter of the young and the young at heart—evil as both groups might be—was everywhere.

  Martin and his little group stood in a tight knot and stared grimly at the midway.

  “Nabo said seven and a half hours,” Frenchy said. “By my watch that reads eight o’clock this evening and the lid blows off.”

  “I guess that’s what time it blew off back in ’54,” Eddie replied. “Do we just stand here and go down with the ship, so to speak?”

  “I for one still do not understand, like Janet, why we all just don’t leave?” Joyce’s voice was surprisingly calm. “Will somebody please explain that to me?” Martin could detect no fear in her voice and wondered about that.

  “Where would we go?” her husband told her. “And what would we do or say once we got there? Like Martin said: no one would believe us. We’d have to come back. This is our home. Every dime we own in the world is tied up right here. Nearly every investment we have is right here in Holland. And Joyce, do you want to go off and leave Missy? Or try to force her to leave with us?”

  “We could try to do that, I suppose,” Joyce said, without one ounce of conviction in her voice.

  “I demand to know why I cannot leave these grounds!” a woman’s scared and shrill voice reached the group. They turned as one, watching a woman from out of town argue with Chief Kelson, who was blocking the main gate. They also noticed that the gate was closed and locked.

  “Now we know why that expensive eight foot high chainlink fence was put up,” Janet said.

  “We can’t get out of this crazy place!” Janet said, a definite edge to her voice.

  Two carnival workers moved swiftly toward the woman as the artificial laughter from the crazy hou
se was turned up, pumping through the outside loudspeakers. Martin and his group watched as the carnival workers, roughnecks from the look of them, led the woman away. She screamed and struggled to free herself. Nobody else seemed to notice.

  Audie started to move toward the woman. Martin’s hand stopped him. “No. It may be a set-up to separate us.”

  “And if it isn’t?” Nicole asked.

  “Then I made a mistake.”

  “It’s wild! It’s crazy! It’s fun!” the loudspeakers blared from the crazy house. “Come one, come all. Bring the entire family.”

  “I’ve got nineteen .38 rounds that says no one is going to keep me in here against my will,” Martin said grimly.

  “I have six in my gun and twelve in my pocket,” Eddie said.

  “Same here.” Gary looked at the tent where the men had taken the woman. He looked over at the merry-go-round. The kids were safe, watching his son ride the wooden horses as the music played. No one noticed the strange smile on his lips. Or on the faces of two others in the group.

  “I’ve got a shotgun and a rifle in my truck,” Dick spoke, his tanned face hard. “And a couple of boxes of rounds for each. Any time you folks opt for a bust-out, we’ll bust out.”

  “You have a short gun, Dick?” Martin asked.

  “Under the seat.”

  “Let’s get it. The rest of you stay put and keep an eye on the kids.”

  The men walked over to the foreman’s truck and Dick unlocked the door, getting his pistol. He jacked a round into the government model .45 and refilled the clip up to six. He eased the hammer down and tucked the big autoloader behind his belt. “Now I feel some better.” His smile was tight.

  Together, they walked over to Chief Kelson, standing by the closed and locked gate. The pinhead, Martin recalled. “What happened to the woman who wanted to leave here, Kelson?”

  “What woman?” the chief replied, a very faint smile playing around his thick wet lips.

  “Fun! Fun! Fun for everyone!” the loudspeakers called, the words overriding the too-loud music. “Bring the entire family to the house of mirrors.”

  “The woman those carnival workers led away from this spot! Now give me an answer.”