by Paul Finch
She got him one from the fridge. Drew popped it open and took a big swig.
Angela said, "After I found out what happened to Lily, it didn't take me long to figure out what I'd done."
"You figured it out faster than I did," Drew said.
"I went back to the stock photography websites and looked up more information on the photos. I was trying to find a pattern, something that connected them all, but there was nothing. They were all different kinds of shots, taken all over the world. It turned out I was looking at things too closely. I didn't stop to think that the connection might be right in front of me."
"The photographer."
"Yes," Angela said. "The pictures of the Veils were all taken by the same person."
****
"Her name is Cassandra Templeton," Angela said. "She's no Diane Arbus, but she's had a long career in the field, entirely in stock photography."
"I didn't know one could make a career in stock photography," Drew said.
"Sure," Angela said, "if you take enough pictures. And Cassandra Templeton has taken thousands. Hundreds of thousands. She's the veritable queen of stock photography. I found her work in dozens of online catalogues."
"And yet no one's heard of her?"
"It's not the kind of field where anyone cares who the photographer is. As a result, she's gone completely unnoticed all this time."
"Like the Veils."
"Yes."
"Do you think she knows they're in her pictures?"
"I find it hard to believe she doesn't. But who's to say for certain? She has something to do with them, that much I know. The Veils only show up in her photos-specifically, her group shots."
"Do you have a picture of her?" Drew asked.
"No," Angela said. "She's taken all these pictures, but I haven't been able to find a single one of her." She paused. "But I know where she lives."
"Where?"
"A small town in northern Michigan called Kitirack." She took a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Drew. "I thought about finding her and confronting her. Telling her she'd burn in hell for what she's done."
"Why didn't you?"
"I thought maybe she was already there," Angela said. "I thought maybe hell is where she comes from."
****
A plane ticket, a rental car, and a Michigan road map got him to Kitirack. A small town that was not exactly flourishing, but not quite dying either. Kitirack wasn't hell, but it was far from heaven. And far from everywhere else, too, it seemed.
The address Angela gave him for Cassandra Templeton took him to a dirt road north of town. He turned off the highway and entered a tunnel of trees so dense that he had to flick on his headlights to see the road ahead.
A flash of colour on his right side caused him to brake suddenly. He put the car in park and got out to take a closer look.
He crouched down and pulled at something buried in the underbrush. It was a tall wooden sign, shaped like a person's silhouette. The colours were faded but he could make out a cartoon character that bore a strong resemblance to Donald Duck. Except it wasn't Donald Duck. This particular cartoon duck wore pants but no shirt, and instead of a sailor hat, he had a Stetson on top of his head. Fake Donald had a word bubble next to his mouth that said Parking Up Ahead!
Drew got back in his car and continued on.
The road opened into a small parking lot in front of an arch with faded letters that had probably been gold at one time but were now a jaundiced yellow. The letters spelled funtasia. Beyond the arch the main path broke into several smaller ones that led to a scattering of small buildings that looked like a cross between wooden cabins and the mushroom homes of Smurf Village.
Drew parked the car in front of the arch and climbed out. Looking around at the entire place, he was reminded of a small-town Santa's Village. Except Funtasia didn't seem to be themed on any particular holiday. And he was fairly certain the Disney Company didn't have anything to do with this place.
There were more of those cartoon character stand-ups next to the paths that wound around the cabins. One of them looked like Mickey Mouse, except his ears were pink and he had a longer nose. Standing next to him was a dog that was probably supposed to be Pluto, if Pluto had been a Saint Bernard. Some of the characters were completely unknown to Drew, while others were close enough to their Disney counterparts that he wondered how long it had taken before the lawyers had descended to shut down this odd little theme park.
"The mouse is named Marty," said a gravelly voice to Drew's left. He looked in that direction and saw a small, elderly woman in a plaid hunter's jacket and khakis. She was leaning on a walking stick that was taller than she was.
"What's his dog's name?" Drew asked.
The old woman screwed up her face. "What? You don't recognise Neptune?"
"I feel like I've stepped into another universe."
"Welcome to my world," the old woman said in a voice completely devoid of irony.
"You're Cassandra Templeton?"
The old woman approached Drew, clumping along with her walking stick. When he'd first seen her, he'd put her in her sixties, but up close he readjusted his estimate and figured she was in her eighties. Her skin was etched with deep lines, and when she squinted at him, sizing him up, her eyes all but disappeared in her withered old face. "I'm guessing you're not here to ride the Daffodil Express."
"No."
"That's good, because that piece of shit train hasn't run for fifteen years."
"I'm here because of the photos," Drew said. "Your photos."
"Oh," she said. "Them."
"My sister is dead."
"Her and plenty of others," the old woman said. "Come with me."
She led Drew along one of the paths to a wooden building with a sign on the door that said staff. She looked back at him over her shoulder and said, "This is where I live." She opened the door and gestured for him to follow her inside. She let her walking stick fall to the floor and shuffled across the room to an old wood stove in the corner. She went to work building a fire while Drew looked around.
It was a small, cosy place, a single open room with a kitchen, a Formica-topped table with two chairs, and a cot with a couple of blankets folded on it.
"I used to come to Funtasia when I was a child," Cassandra said. "My parents took me here a few times every year. It was cheaper than Disney World, I guess, and a hell of a lot closer." She let out a dry squawk that Drew supposed was her version of laughter. "Have you met my boyfriend?"
She jerked her thumb behind Drew. He turned and saw another of those cartoon stand-ups. This one was supposed to be Goofy except, as far as Drew knew, Goofy didn't have a blond mullet.
"His name's Bonko." Cassandra took out a match, popped it alight on her thumbnail, and tossed it into the open mouth of the stove.
"You own this place?" Drew asked.
"Yep. Got it for a song, too. The original owners were glad to be rid of it." She turned back to the fire, rubbed her dry, cracked hands in front of it, and shivered. "Colder than a witch's titty out there." She looked over her shoulder at Drew. "Is that why you're here? You think I'm a witch?"
"I don't know what you are," Drew said honestly.
"What did you hope to gain by coming here?"
Drew opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The truth was, he didn't know why he'd come. He had planned to confront Cassandra Templeton, but then... confront her with what? Did she cause Lily's death? Now that he was here, at this broken-down amusement park, standing in front of this broken-down woman, he didn't know what he wanted. He had been following a trail, that was all, and it had led him here.
"I just want an explanation."
"I don't have any answers for you," Cassandra said. "I'm sorry." Then her mouth twisted in a thoughtful frown. "But there's something I can show you."
****
As they walked along a path that took them deeper into Funtasia, Cassandra told him about her accident.
&nb
sp; "It wasn't on the Daffodil Express. You'd think it was-that train had always been a deathtrap, and I wasn't a bit surprised when it turned out to be the first thing to break down when this place went to pot. I was always afraid of it, never rode it as a kid. Not even once. I rode the merry-go-round instead. The accident happened when I was eight years old. I had too many hot dogs or one of them was bad. It doesn't matter, the point is I got sick. I was riding the big black horse-Beauty, I called her-the same one I always picked when I rode the merry-go-round. One moment I was fine, the next I felt like I was going to throw up. But I didn't. I fainted instead. Fell right off Beauty's back and all the people watching on the sidelines came running. My parents panicked, as you'd expect. They took me to the hospital and had me checked out. I was fine-physically, anyway-but after that day I started seeing things. People with strange faces. Things covering their faces."
"Veils," Drew said.
"Yes, like veils." She thumped along on her walking stick. "I started having dreams about the accident. Only in the dreams all the people watching on the sidelines didn't do anything when I fell off Beauty. They just stood there with their messed-up faces. Like they didn't care."
"The Veils?"
"Yes, I think so. But don't ask me who they are, because I don't know. I didn't know then and I don't know now." She sighed heavily. "My parents didn't believe me when I told them about the things I was seeing. They sent me to more doctors, but they couldn't find anything wrong with me. For my twelfth birthday, my parents gave me a camera. A very expensive gift at the time. I used it to try and take pictures of the strange people I was seeing. They didn't always show up on the film, but sometimes they did. Eventually I got my parents to look at the pictures and I was able to convince them that there was something wrong with the people in them. They didn't know what to make of it. I didn't either, but I knew that it scared me."
"Your parents died, didn't they?" Drew said.
"One night after dinner, they told me they were going out to Piker's Field to watch the sunset. I thought it was strange they didn't ask me along. Especially since at that point I was really getting into photography and I was always looking for things to take pictures of. But they didn't take me. And later on I found out why. There's a drop-off at the end of Piker's Field. It's a great place to see the sunset. My parents drove to the drop-off and then went right on over the edge. The last memory I have of them is of my mother kissing my head and my father telling her to hurry up because the sky was already starting to turn red."
The path branched at a wooden sign with two arrows. The one pointing to the left said the daffodil express; the one on the right side merry-go-round. Cassandra started down the right path. Drew followed.
The trees closed in on both sides as the path descended. Drew spotted more of the faux Disney characters cavorting in the brush. They came around a bend and the trees pulled back to make a clearing with the merry-go-round sitting in the centre.
Drew felt himself being drawn to it, like iron filings pulled by a magnet. He stepped up to the wide circular platform while Cassandra walked over to lean against the control booth. She stared lovingly at the carousel.
"Pretty, isn't she?"
Drew nodded. The carousel was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. The animals were constructed of wood rather than plastic or fiberglass, which meant this was an old carousel. But it had been lovingly maintained. The paint was fresh and bright, and he couldn't see a single rip or tear in the canvas of the tent-like top. Looking at it, Drew was reminded of the carousel in Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes. The one that caused the rider to get older or younger depending on the direction it turned.
"You've seen the Veils," Cassandra said. "All you can do now is ride the merry-go-round."
Drew looked from the carousel to Cassandra. "Will I faint?"
"Not unless you've got vertigo. You might see something, though."
"What?"
Cassandra shrugged.
Drew climbed up onto the main platform and looked around at all the animals, most of them horses, frozen in mid-gallop. He went over to a big black horse that must have been Beauty. He started to climb on, then stopped and looked questioningly at Cassandra.
"Go ahead," she said. "She still likes a good ride." She went into the control booth, punched a couple of buttons, threw a switch, and the lights came on and the merry-go-round started moving. Slowly at first, then it picked up speed. Calliope music played from the overhead speakers.
Cassandra came out to stand in front of the carousel, leaning on her walking stick. "You're not the first person to come looking for me. I don't get many visitors, but I do get a few. Angela and others like her send them to me. I don't have any answers for them, but I always take them for a ride."
The carousel was going around fast-too fast. Drew gripped the pole that went through Beauty and caused her to go up and down in simulation of galloping. Drew's stomach was galloping too. If he spent much longer on this thing, he was going to be sick.
"Slow it down!" he yelled over the noise of the tinny calliope.
"Sorry!" Cassandra yelled back in her cracked voice. "This is the end of the path and there's no slowing down!"
Drew started to climb off Beauty's back-if the crazy old bat wouldn't stop the ride, then he'd jump off-then clambered back on. The carousel was going much too fast now. If he jumped off he'd probably fall and crack his skull open on the ground.
As he went around and around, he kept looking for Cassandra, trying to see what she was doing, but the carousel was spinning so fast that everything was starting to blur and blend together. He'd see her for a split second-a small dark shape with the taller thinner shape of her walking stick-and then she was gone.
The carousel went faster.
The view beyond the spinning platform should have gotten more distorted with the increased speed, but instead Drew was startled to see things more clearly than he could before. Three people had come out of the woods to stand at different sides of the carousel. Two men and a woman. He could see the shapes of their bodies but their faces were dark blurs. He looked past them at the band of sky visible above the trees. The colour was changing. The sun was going down.
Drew sat while the world spun around him. Soon the sky would be red. He was looking forward to seeing it.
JOE IS A BARBER
Paul Meloy
Joe is a barber.
He works at Tony's.
It's in a cellar
Beneath a recording studio
On Denmark Street.
You go down some stairs
And it's seven pound twenty a haircut
No appointment required.
Tony trains his own boys.
Their uniform is powder blue shirts and pink ties.
They wear their shirt sleeves down
With cufflinks.
Joe's cufflinks are little scissors.
Tony's are dice.
There are four barbers working for Tony.
They are all alike.
They're wannabe Tonys
With a bit of clubland charisma.
They'd all fuck your girlfriend
And brag about their brown wings.
They're the kind of lads who are polite in a copper's way
When he's got you bang to rights.
You have to watch your banter.
If it's not up to scratch
You might notice an exchange of glances
And a smirk.
They'll think you're a bit of a prick.
They are all world weary and cynical.
At their young age they think they've seen it all.
Tony is hard but fair.
He stands behind the barbers as they cut away
Staring at the backs of heads like a judge.
"Scissors all over," Joe says.
"Clippers at the back?"
Tony is watching.
He starts off indifferent
And has to be satisfied.<
br />
It's high pressure stuff.
Tony wouldn't look out of place
As an extra in an East End soap
Or a police drama.
He has a big, plain Londoner's face,
Not handsome but women find it sexy;
It's the violence potential.
It's a face that takes badly to drink
And will grow red and bulky as he ages.
Joe's small talk is patented.
"What do you do then?"
"Lived round here long?"
A few questions, then a bit about himself.
A few opinions and, if you fit in, something mildly phobic:
Tony doesn't mind the occasional
'Foreigner' or 'queer.'
If it's essential. If you're careful.
This chat can make men feel uneasy.
Where else but certain bars do strangers
Talk with such intimate superficiality?
And eye contact reflected back from glass
Makes even crude talk bashful,
Oddly shy.
Joe does a good cut.
Nothing fancy.
You don't go into Tony's and ask for highlights.
Joe was bullied at school.
He was anxious in the showers,
Too watchful.
Nobody likes that.
Tony helped him.
Tony helps them all.
Joe's quite good looking.
His eyes are grey and clear,
His skin is soft and clean shaven,
His hair is short and gelled spiky on top.
The pink tie goes with his eyes.
All the boys have business cards
On a little plastic shelf beneath their mirrors.
Joe has a way of looking at you,
When he puts his face alongside yours
When the cut is done,
When he holds the mirror up behind your head,
"You have a nice nape,"
Joe says in a professional way.
You tip well and this time
Joe presses his card into your palm
As he takes the tenner.
It's got his mobile number on it.
His private one.
Now you wish you hadn't called it.