Charnel House

by Anderson, Fred

  8

  The evening church service was like any other, about an hour long and mostly boring. Neither Norman nor Amy Carmichael put in an appearance. Sometimes you had to take the bad with the good, Bobby figured. There was lots of singing and witnessing, and Brother Peavey’s short sermon was about the grace of God, something Bobby thought he could use a little bit of after his earlier truth-stretching.

  Afterwards, Mom suggested they stop by Dairy Queen for ice cream, and they sat at one of the outside tables to eat. The night was pleasant, still warm for the time of year but no one was complaining. Winter would be along soon enough, with its dreary gray days and cold nights. Humming sodium lights painted the parking lot a sickly orange, and the moths that still swarmed them cast great swooping shadows on the cars and customers beneath. The restaurant was inundated with people, perhaps wanting something cold after sermons filled with fire and brimstone, Bobby thought. When the Franks were finished, they dropped their trash in the red receptacle and loaded into the car.

  “Who’s up for a drive?” Dad asked.

  “Me!” Dana cried.

  “Sure,” Bobby said.

  Dad pulled out onto the Beltline and cruised into the darkness. Bobby liked seeing the city at night, all the stores with their colorful signs and lights—not many of them were actually open on a Sunday, but the exteriors were still lit—and the expanses of star-filled sky in between. At Sixth Avenue, the main street through the city, he went left, and Bobby started to have an idea of where they were headed. Sure enough, soon he could see the lazily spinning arcs of a double Ferris Wheel over the buildings in the distance, its spokes a bright neon green.

  “I thought you might want to see it at night, since it won’t look like this in the daytime,” Dad said, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Carnivals always look better in the dark.”

  “Awesome,” Bobby murmured. They were closer now, and more of the extravagantly lit rides vied for his attention. There were whirling things aglow in hot pink and purple, spinning cups patriotically pulsing with red, white, and blue light, and a gigantic orange ring track with a car that ran around its interior, dangling people upside down at the top. Ring of Fire blazed across the sign in front of the ride in flashing white bulbs, and just the sight of it made Bobby feel like he had a bowling ball in his belly. That one doesn’t look like much fun.

  Dad turned into the parking lot and made a slow circuit around the outer edge. Even with the windows up Bobby thought he could smell popcorn and cotton candy. Down deep, he knew the carnival was small and kind of lame, nowhere near as good as the county fair, which had been back at the beginning of September out on the much larger fairgrounds, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t had a date with Amy Carmichael to the fair. With her at his side, even a place like Opryland or Six Flags would pale in comparison. He grinned out the window in anticipation. Maybe if he manned up and rode the Ring of Fire, she’d be scared and want to hold his hand. That would be worth the terror of hanging helplessly at the top of the ride.

  Probably.

  “Bobby and Amy, sitting in a tree,” Dana sang, giggling. “K-I-S-S—”

  “Knock it off, goober,” he said, but he was thankful it was dark so no one could see his face, which felt red enough to give some of the neon tubes out there a run for their money. The car turned back out onto Sixth Avenue, but Bobby felt like part of him stayed back at the carnival, waiting for his date.

  9

  Back home, he sat with the rest of the family watching the Sunday Night Movie—The Time Machine, which was really more Dana’s sort of thing than his own—but his mind was elsewhere. Thoughts of the carnival, and Norman, and Brother Peavey, and the Barlowe house stormed in his head. It hadn’t escaped him that things had been calm since the incident at church. Maybe his post dramatic stress had dropped when Amy asked him to the carnival. It made sense to him. A date was a lot less dramatic than what had happened to him in the crawlspace with Norman, that was for sure. Still... it concerned him that he had imagined such crazy things. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

  But had he ever been as terrified as he was under the house with the hobo? He wracked his brain, trying to compose a list of things that had scared him over the course of his life, and what he came up with woefully inadequate compared to the lecherous touch of those hands and tongue, and the dreadful blistered thing Norman had pressed against him. Something like being frightened of a bully or failing a test didn’t really compare to that, he thought. Not even when Dana got meningitis a couple of years ago and he thought she might die was as scary (well, he amended, for her it probably was). Dramatic? For sure. Just not as dramatic.

  When the movie ended he kissed his parents goodnight and even hugged Dana—who flinched away and made a face like a retard, even though he could tell she was pleased—before brushing his teeth and getting into bed. He could take his shower tomorrow, to be as fresh and clean for Amy as he could. He drifted to sleep thinking of the way the blue ribbon in her hair laid across the smooth skin of her neck.

  10

  A cannonade of thunder rocked the house, jolting Bobby awake. He sat up in the darkness, heart pounding, trying to orient himself. Coming for me. The words bounced off the walls of his skull like a rubber bullet. Gradually he calmed, realizing he was safe in his bed and not back under the Barlowe house with Norman. Not anywhere with Norman. All alone. The room flashed white, and another clap of thunder rattled the windows at the same time. Oh no! If it was storming, would the carnival even be open?

  Bobby looked at the analog clock on the bedside table. 7:43. As he watched, the 3 flipped over to a 4. Pale purple-gray light wept into the room around the window shade, far darker than it should be this late in the morning. His heart sunk to somewhere south of his guts. Not fair. He slipped out of bed and padded across the room to the window, where he peeled back the shade and looked out into the back yard. Another brilliant flash of lightning struck, blinding him for a moment. The thunder followed a second later. That was good, right? It meant the storm was moving, he thought.

  Heavy black clouds seethed in the sky, so low they looked close enough to jump up and touch if one were foolish enough to go out there in the maelstrom. The trees—now thoroughly stripped of their leaves—whipped in the wailing wind, their spindly branches clattering like old bones. Needles of rain spiked through the air, nearly blown sideways, the sound of it a dull roar pounding the vinyl siding of the house. Great. Bobby let the shade fall back into place and shuffled back to bed, dejected. He felt like crying.

  He lay there for a while, but instead of giving up he prayed for the weather to clear up, though a small part of him worried it might be retribution for lying to a man of God yesterday. The Bible had plenty to say about God’s vengeance, that was for sure. Gradually, however, the daylight at the window grew brighter. The rain diminished, then stopped completely, and the wind died down. When he got up for good at 8:30, sparkles of tentative sunlight reflecting from puddles out back flickered around the edges of the shade, and the birds were beginning to trill.

  By the time he’d showered and brushed his teeth it was 9:00, and the storms nothing more than bad memories. The clouds had fled in a huff, leaving behind pristine cerulean skies. Mom was in the kitchen making pancakes—a treat whenever they got a day off from school—and the velvety smells of browning flour and melted butter filled the house. His stomach rumbled greedily as he pulled on some clean clothes. He could hear the clink of silverware drifting out of the kitchen. Dana was already eating hers. Lucky. When Bobby came into the den from the hall, trying to decide whether he wanted syrup or apple butter on his pancakes, he found his father waiting on the couch, the morning paper folded on his lap and a cup of coffee gripped in one hand. He motioned Bobby over.

  “A boy’s first date should be something special, don’t you think?” Dad said, his eyes twinkling. He reached into the folded paper and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, which he held out to Bobby.

  �
�Oh my gosh!”

  “Shhhh,” Dad warned, casting a sidelong glance at the kitchen door. “Let this be our secret. Your mom will probably give you a little money, too. You show Amy a good time today. She’s a good girl.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bobby said, and threw his arms around his father’s neck. Uninvited, the image of Joey Garraty’s dad pulling a limp dollar bill from his tattered wallet while snarling for his change from a pack of smokes rose in his mind, and for an instant he was filled with a love so blinding for his father that his heart felt too big for his chest and he squeezed even harder. “Thank you so much. I love you!”

  “Love you too, kiddo. Now what do you say we get some of those pancakes before your sister eats them all?”

  11

  Bobby spent the hour after breakfast alternately trying (and failing) to read an Encyclopedia Brown book he’d checked out from the school library the week before and nervously checking the clock and the weather. His stomach flipped and flopped lazily inside him, twisting itself into nervous knots. Finally he gave up on the book and just sat on the couch, waiting for it to be time to leave and trying his darnedest not to be scared. What if he embarrassed himself by squealing like a fag on a ride, or spilled something on his shirt, or did something truly terrible like let loose with a big juicy fart in front of Amy by accident? The mere thought of such an offense sent his guts into paroxysms and lit his face on fire. She’d probably run away from him screaming, never to speak to him again, much less go steady.

  An eternity later, his mother stuck her head in the bedroom door and said, “Ready to go?”

  Bobby followed her through the house to the kitchen, simultaneously wanting to jump for joy and go hide under the bed. What had he gotten himself into? Amy couldn’t possibly be interested in a dork like him.

  “Relax, you’ll do just fine,” his mother said, picking her purse up from the counter. She smiled reassuringly. “You look like you’re about to upchuck. Amy likes you; it’s as plain as the nose on your face. You should see the way her face lights up when she spots you at church.”

  “Thanks,” Bobby said, unsure of whether he believed her. Moms sometimes told fibs to make you feel better, he knew that. That was part of their job. But Amy did seem happy when he told her he’d go. He remembered the way she had smiled and blushed, and called it a date. Maybe Mom wasn’t fibbing this time.

  “Are we going now?” Dana asked brightly from the doorway behind him.

  “Bobby and I are,” Mom said. “You’re staying here with Dad.”

  “But—”

  “Dana, we talked about this already.”

  Dana’s shoulders slumped. “Yes ma’am.”

  “She can come if she wants,” Bobby said. Maybe her incessant chatter would keep him occupied, so he didn’t have as much time to be terrified of making a fool of himself. “I don’t mind.”

  “Hooray!” Dana cried, and ran across the kitchen and out the door to the garage.

  Bobby grinned and followed.

  12

  The station wagon pulled into the Gateway parking lot almost perfectly at noon and Mom brought it to a stop near a platoon of trucks and trailers that housed the rides and amusements when they were in transit. Not far away, a break in the sawhorse-and-rope fence surrounding the carnival area marked the entrance. A hand-lettered sign hanging from the rope announced that there was FREE ADMISSION FOR VETERANS TODAY. Bobby could see Amy waiting by the ticket booth already, standing with her arms crossed, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, looking even more radiant than the sun.

  “I’ll be back at four to pick you up,” Mom said, opening her purse. She rooted around for her wallet, then opened it and took out a twenty-dollar bill, which she handed him. Holy cow, forty bucks! Smiling, she added, “Have a good time.”

  “Are you gonna kiss her?” Dana asked from the back seat. “Princess Leia thinks you should.”

  “No,” Bobby said quickly.

  But he really wanted to.

  The door clunked shut behind him and the station wagon slipped away in a whisper of warm exhaust. Amy hadn’t noticed him yet. Gosh, but she was so pretty! Beautiful. He crossed the lot toward her on legs that felt as shaky as a colt’s, his stomach a writhing ball of nervous energy that was somehow kind of nice. Praying he didn’t do anything stupid or embarrassing. Then she caught sight of him and ran over, her violet eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and he forgot about everything else.

  “Hi!” she said, and gave him a quick hug that nearly made him faint.

  Bet Tanner and Joey wouldn’t call me a fag now.

  Before he knew what was happening, she had slipped her hand easily into his and fallen into step beside him. Like they were boyfriend and girlfriend. Bobby wondered if it was possible for the human heart to spontaneously pop out of one’s chest from joy. Probably not, but if it was, he would die happy. He handed one of his twenties to the slack-jawed girl manning the ticket booth and received a fist-sized roll of red tickets and a ten in return, both of which he crammed into his pocket.

  They went through the gate together.

  13

  The day was crisp without being cold, perfect for strolling around a carnival with your girlfriend at your side, Bobby thought, later that afternoon. Girlfriend. The word had quite a fine ring to it, didn’t it? Was that what Amy was? He wasn’t sure, but he was starting to think so. She sure was acting like it, touching and hugging him every few minutes, leaning against him while they walked hand in hand, eating off of his ice cream cone.

  Everything but kiss him.

  But it was just a matter of time now, he thought. Besides, initiating the first kiss was his job, because he was the man. If he tried, she would let him. He was certain. All he needed was a little nerve. The mere thought of doing it sent delicious chills up and down his back. They’d been on every ride—even the Ring of Fire, which wasn’t nearly as scary as it had looked the night before, though it had really hurt his waist when they were hanging upside-down at the top of the track—and some of them, like the Trabant and the Scrambler, more than once. They even rode the Merry-Go-Round for little kids like a couple of dorks, so tall on the tiny fiberglass animals their feet dragged the ground.

  He had almost kissed her on the Ferris Wheel, when they were paused way up high and he could see all the way to Point Mallard and the river beyond. It was the perfect spot. She had wanted it, too, he thought, nestled against him in the tight wooden seat, her head on his shoulder. Her eyes had been closed, her lips wet and full and red in the sunshine. But he had chickened out at the last minute. Just like a fag.

  No.

  Just like someone who was nervous. Perfectly natural.

  The sun had trekked across the sky and now marched resolutely toward the horizon. Bobby knew his mom would be back to pick him up before long. Better get a move on if I’m going to do it. They strolled along the edge of the carnival closest to the strip mall stores, where the games of chance were set up to take money from passersby. Amy carried a tiny teddy bear not much larger than her hand that Bobby had won by (accidentally) landing a ring over the neck of a Coke bottle. It had cost him three dollars in tickets and was probably only worth about a quarter, but the big hug he’d gotten made it worth every penny. He still had ten dollars left, folded away in his back pocket for another date. The roll of tickets had dwindled to just a few, but that was okay; they weren’t doing anything but talking now, enjoying one another’s company while they both waited to see if Bobby was going to seal the deal before someone’s parents arrived.

  “Oh my goodness!” Amy said, stopping suddenly. “How did I miss that?”

  The that in question was another ride, sitting between the Pitch Till You Win and the High Striker. Bobby knew why she hadn’t noticed it: when they had passed this way earlier he had carefully steered her across the lane to the Pluck A Duck (where he’d won a purple and green #2 Eagle pencil for his duck plucking efforts), because he was afraid she’d want him to swing the hammer on the H
igh Striker to ring the bell and prove he was TARZAN when everyone knew he’d be lucky if the puck moved above SISSY on the tower. If he could even lift the hammer to swing it, that is. It had looked pretty heavy.

  In his haste to avoid the High Striker he hadn’t noticed the ride, either. It rested on a pair of trailer flatbeds parked side-by-side. Bobby could see the tires peeking from underneath the heavy red canvas skirt. Somewhere nearby a generator rumbled, and the air was heavy with the smell of diesel. It was enclosed—a dark ride, he realized with sudden interest—by a tall plywood facade and walls, and there was a two-car rustbucket of a train waiting on a narrow iron track on the platform in the front.

  The facade had been painted to look like famous cityscapes populated with amateurish knockoffs of famous Disney cartoon lovers. Mickey and Minnie Mouse rode a gondola through the canals of Venice, ignoring the city to gaze into one another’s eyes. In another scene, Lady and the Tramp shared a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of the Eiffel Tower, and further down the mural, Cinderella and Prince Charming danced on a moonlit beach. Among the billowing white clouds that covered the uppermost length of the facade, cherubic versions of the Seven Dwarfs drifted on golden wings, aiming tiny arrows in tiny bows at the people passing by on the midway. Red hearts surrounded the arched entrance in the center, where the train track went under a pair of closed black doors into the darkness. In each heart was a single white letter, spelling:

  A WORLD OF LOVE

  “Come on,” Amy said, laughing at the sheer tacky gaudiness of it all. She tugged Bobby toward the platform. “We have got to go on this. It looks like fun!”

  He let himself be pulled along, his head spinning the way the Scrambler had. Amy was making her point loud and clear, and he didn’t need the brains of either Starsky or Hutch to know why she wanted to go into A World of Love. She wanted to be his girlfriend. Should he ask her to go steady on the ride? Maybe he should wait for that. It was still their first date, after all, even if she was already acting like his girl. Plus, if he could get Mom or Dad to take him to the mall, he could use the ten dollars for a ring or bracelet to give her when he asked. Make it for real. He felt warm despite the coolness of the day, especially in his chest. They walked up the ramp to the platform, and Bobby handed over four of his remaining tickets to the attendant, a doughy man of about forty with close-cropped sandy hair and old acne scars pocking his cheeks. He smiled crookedly down at them.