Dead Spots

by Rhiannon Frater

  “1982. I was twenty. Well, I guess I still am.”

  Sickened by the horror of Tildy’s circumstances, Mackenzie exclaimed, “You’ve been going through this for thirty years?”

  “Is that how long it’s been in your world?” Tildy gawked at her, then wagged her head. “It doesn’t matter. This is all one long nightmare.”

  “Time will eventually have no meaning for you,” Grant informed Mackenzie. “It just becomes something that used to matter long ago.”

  “You two are not cheering me up,” Mackenzie grumbled.

  “I’m sorry.” Tildy lightly touched Mackenzie’s hand, then slid her fingers around it. “I’m sorry for everything that is going to happen to you. I wish I could save you, but I can’t even save myself.”

  Mackenzie clutched the woman’s hand. The sincerity in Tildy’s voice and manner touched her deeply. Tildy had experienced horrors that Mackenzie couldn’t even imagine, yet she was tenderhearted and kind.

  Grant made a noise in his throat and looked away, clearly not pleased with the topic of conversation. While she had known him a very short period of time, Mackenzie could tell that Grant liked to remain focused on the objectives of his choosing. Though his eyes were haunted by loss and pain, he didn’t seem inclined to indulge in emotional displays. That had been apparent since she met him. Yet, he was also adept at giving her just enough encouragement and compassion to keep her from faltering.

  “We need to keep moving.” Grant again started off down the road at a quick pace. From the set of Grant’s shoulders it was apparent he still wasn’t pleased with the situation.

  Tildy gave Mackenzie a questioning look.

  Mackenzie shrugged.

  The road twisted away from the serene pasture and field, plunging through a thick gnarl of woods. The trees reached overhead, forming a roof of thick branches and leaves. Mackenzie thought it was rather like walking into a tunnel.

  “The motel has a little restaurant attached. I could really go for a chicken-fried steak.” Tildy walked closer to Mackenzie, looking unsettled, but obviously trying to keep her mind off the Clown by chatting.

  “I’m sure I can arrange that.” It was nice being able to help someone else. It had been a long time since Mackenzie had felt needed and now both Grant and Tildy were dependent on her to some degree.

  A slight breeze ruffled the grass along the edge of the road and the canopy of branches looming overhead began to creak.

  “And I’d really love a hot bath. The rooms have big tubs. I hate it when the tubs are so small you’re all folded up like an accordion,” Tildy rambled on, her voice rising in volume. Still clutching Mackenzie’s hand, her palm was sweaty and her ice-cold fingers were quivering.

  The light tapping of Grant’s walking stick against the pavement ceased. Mackenzie looked at him sharply and saw that he was holding it in both hands, his gaze directed into the trees.

  “… I like it when the beds are soft. Hard beds are just annoying.…” Tildy continued to chatter on, but her wide eyes and trembling hands spoke of her fear.

  Mackenzie felt jittery, her body on high alert as her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. The oppressive wave of anxiety was rising, threatening to fall at any second. She drew the knife, the scorched, bubbled plastic handle biting into her palm.

  Movement in the trees yanked her attention to the left. Her breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening around her weapon. The shadows were undulating, slipping from tree to tree. Bulbous forms hidden in darkness bobbed through the murk.

  “Are those people?” Mackenzie whispered.

  Grant gripped her arm and jerked her forward. “Keep moving.”

  Ahead, the tunnel of trees gave way to a length of asphalt before the amusement park. Shrugging off Grant’s hold, Mackenzie raised her weapon, ready to fight. The shapes in the gloom were moving faster. The bouncing black shapes lurked just shy of the dappled sunlight.

  “Run!” Grant ordered, breaking into a sprint.

  The forest writhed, alive with unseen shadowy forms. Mackenzie’s blistered, bruised feet protested with every step as she fled. The wave of anxiety hit like a sledgehammer, robbing her of coherent thought. Ragged breaths dragged very little air into her already burning lungs and her heart thundered in her ears. The amusement park rose to their left opposite the parking lot to their right. They’d have to venture off the road to escape the dead spot and whatever was stalking them.

  The group was almost to the end of the cover of trees when the bounding shapes exploded out of the forest. A cloud of brightly colored balloons trailing long silvery iridescent ribbons enveloped the three people. The swarm danced and bobbed around the humans, their long streamers sparkling in the sunlight. Twisting around in a circle, Mackenzie knocked away the bouncing forms with the knife. Beside her, Tildy whimpered while shoving through the sea of brightly colored orbs.

  Mackenzie gasped when the long string of one of the inflated objects wrapped around her wrist. It tightened, biting into her flesh, then yanked her forward, causing her to nearly lose the knife. Tildy scurried forward, slapping the balloon away. The balloon bounded back, smacking Mackenzie’s face. The rubbery surface felt like it encapsulated concrete, not air, and her head swam. Another balloon collided with Mackenzie, knocking her onto her knees. The dangling iridescent streamers tangled in her hair and lashed her face and neck. Panicked, Mackenzie flailed at the balloons with the knife. The ribbon around her wrist tightened painfully, making her cry out.

  “Give me the knife!” Tildy hunched over Mackenzie in an attempt to shield her from the assault while she scrabbled at Mackenzie’s wrist, attempting to unwind the ribbon.

  Another blow to the head sent Mackenzie reeling. The bobbling balloons hit like they were filled with wet sand, not helium. Her vision spinning, Mackenzie relinquished the knife to Tildy. The rubbery surface of the balloons pressed against Mackenzie from all sides. Gripped with claustrophobia, she frantically slapped at the balloons assaulting her with her free hand. Meanwhile, Tildy sawed frantically at the peculiarly resilient ribbon wrapped around Mackenzie’s wrist. Somewhere nearby Mackenzie could hear Grant grunting while he fought his way through the onslaught.

  The balloon holding her captive jerked upward, the ribbon digging into Mackenzie’s flesh and causing blood to well along the edges. The persistent thumping of the balloons against Tildy’s body knocked her about, but she kept hacking at the glittering ribbon.

  Tears streamed along Tildy’s bruised and frightened face. “He’s here, Mackenzie. He’s here!”

  “It’s the dead spot fucking with us, Tildy!” With a mighty shove, Mackenzie managed to get to her feet. Through the chaos of color, she caught a glimpse of Grant closing in on them, fighting his own battle. “Don’t give in to it!” Her edict sounded ridiculous even to her as the band of fear gripping her chest tightened even more.

  “I’m trying. I am!” Another balloon hit Tildy in the face, blood splattering the rubber surface. Tildy bit her lip with determination and ignored her profusely bleeding nose. With one last swipe, she cut Mackenzie free. “Got it!” Tildy’s exclamation was triumphant. She fiercely stabbed at the yellow balloon that had held Mackenzie captive, but the blade simply skidded across the rubbery surface as it bobbed away.

  “We need to get out of here!” Mackenzie grabbed Tildy’s forearm and aimed them in what she hoped was the direction of the parking lot.

  It was difficult to see past the swirling shapes spinning and bouncing around them. Mackenzie held her hand before her face, trying to deflect the attacks away from her already battered face. Her head was throbbing, her wrist was smarting and still bleeding, and she was in a full panic. The rainbowlike tails of the balloons whipped against her exposed flesh, leaving painful tiny cuts. The balloons were everywhere, encompassing the women in a colorful, terrible swarm. The swarm continually butted the two women, nearly knocking them off their feet.

  Tildy’s arm was abruptly wrenched free of Mackenzie’s grip.


  “Mackenzie!” Tildy screeched.

  Spinning about, Mackenzie gaped in horror. The balloons massed around Tildy, their streamers wrapping around her legs and arms. Like writhing tentacles, they captured Tildy in their glittering grip. Still clutching the knife, Tildy slashed at the ribbons, her face twisted in anguish and fear.

  “Grant!” Mackenzie screamed. “Help us!”

  Pummeling the balloons that blocked her way, Mackenzie fought through the dense cluster. Despite her own fear, Mackenzie was determined to save her new friend.

  “Mackenzie!” Tildy shouted. “Just run!”

  “I’m coming, Tildy!”

  The blond woman’s arms were sharply yanked over her head as the swarm of balloons ascended. Caught in the web of their streamers, Tildy was lifted off the ground. The scream that burst from her lips sliced through Mackenzie. It was the cry of someone who knew she could not fight the inevitable. It reminded Mackenzie starkly of her own cry when she had been told Joshua’s heart was no longer beating.

  With a cry of despair, Mackenzie watched the balloons hoist Tildy’s struggling body high into the air before coasting steadily toward the amusement park. A muddy sandal spun downward and landed at Mackenzie’s feet.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Grant!” Mackenzie shouted, twisting about, searching for him among the straggling balloons creeping upward.

  Sweeping his walking stick in an arc, Grant deflected one final attack. The brightly colored balloons bobbed away from his wide sweeps before following the dense swarm carrying Tildy. Bruised and bleeding from the tiny cuts covering his face and hands, Grant arrived at her side and clasped her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “They got her! We have to save her!” Mackenzie’s words tumbled out of her mouth in a mad rush. She could barely breathe and her heart felt like it was about to explode.

  “We need to get out of here!” Grant started to drag her along the now empty road and past the abandoned amusement park.

  “No! We have to save her!” Mackenzie stumbled, her blistered feet protesting every step. Wrenching free of Grant’s grip, she rushed toward the entrance. “Oh, God!”

  Broken boards were heaped along the rotting wood fence adorned with clowns dancing, laughing, and performing acrobatic feats. The painted face of a grinning clown surrounded by masses of blue hair encompassed the entrance. Beneath the clown’s red nose, constructed out of a cluster of broken red lights, its mouth formed the opening to the park. Her heart stuttered in her chest. It was difficult to talk. Her throat was constricted with fear and her tongue felt heavy and dry in her mouth. Instinctively, she knew Tildy wasn’t just at the mercy of the dead spot, but that the Clown was in control of it.

  “He’s here! He’s doing this!”

  “It’s the dead spot, Mackenzie! We need to go now before it turns its attention to you. It snagged Tildy because her fear was strongest.” Grant again tried to drag her after him.

  Mackenzie fought Grant, slapping away his hands. The resolve in his eyes only made her angrier, which helped slice through her fear. “I’m not leaving her! The Clown is here and he’s in control of the dead spot. The danger is him, not the dead spot anymore. I know it!”

  “Leave her, Mackenzie,” Grant ordered, his tone biting.

  “You saved me when you found me, remember? Why is she different?” Mackenzie winced with each step. A few of the blisters on the balls of her feet felt as though they had burst.

  “She’s not as alive as you are. She’s nearly lost to this world, Mackenzie. She’s close to becoming a wraith. Look at her.”

  Grant’s comment was chilling, not necessarily because of the impassive delivery, but because Mackenzie believed him. Above, Tildy’s thin, worn frame dangled from the balloons, looking like an odd scarecrow. Tildy being so close to becoming a wraith was all the more reason to save her.

  “This is what the dead spots do. They eat you up, Mackenzie, until you are empty.”

  The rushing waves of anxiety that had flooded the innermost parts of her soul and mind began to recede as Mackenzie accepted a terrible truth: she already felt dead. She had felt that way since the moment Joshua’s heartbeat couldn’t be found during the ultrasound. She felt as empty as the grave she feared. There was no one to save Joshua. No one to save her. They had fallen into that abyss together. If she could save someone else, it gave her hope that maybe she could be saved, too.

  “I’m going to save her, Grant. You can’t stop me.”

  Mackenzie stomped over to the stack of fallen planks. Picking one riddled with rusty nails, she hoisted it over one shoulder and headed toward the foreboding entrance. In the daunting gloom, she discerned two ticket booths standing like sentinels before the gate to the midway. The craziness of her situation hit her once again and she faltered. What could she do against a killer? Yet, how could she not try to help? She lifted her makeshift club higher and stalked forward.

  She heard an exasperated sigh as Grant followed. Shivering, she slipped through the peeling, painted lips of the gruesome clown entrance. It was a little too symbolic of her being swallowed by the dead spot. Above, the cloud of balloons and their captive sailed over the ruins of the old midway rides, food vendor booths, and gaming alley. Weeds and grass sprouted through the cracked concrete and vines strangled benches and fences. The wind slithered through the foliage, rustling it lightly, creating soft whispers that set her even more on edge. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her swollen, pinched feet, she limped forward.

  “Mackenzie, you need to reconsider,” Grant said.

  Grant’s voice was close. A swift look over her shoulder revealed he was following in her wake. He held the walking stick like a sword ready for an attack. His disheveled appearance spoke of the battle he had already fought against the dead spot. His lip was cut and puffy from a blow to the mouth.

  “Mackenzie, you need to save yourself.”

  “I am,” Mackenzie answered.

  Hobbling, she kept her eye on the balloon swarm. Each step moved her closer to the roller coaster, the wooden skeletal frame silhouetted against the gray sky above. The entrance to the ride came into view and Mackenzie stuttered to a stop. Breathing heavily, she pressed one hand to her chest, feeling her heart pounding beneath her fingers. Grant joined her, slightly winded, and looking very ill at ease.

  The rusted metal archway leaned slightly to one side, the elements having taken their toll. It was heavily laden with creeping vines and had been fashioned to look like the roller coaster track. A wood cutout of a clown joyously riding a roller coaster was attached to the frame and appeared freshly painted. The clown’s blue hair, red nose, and white outfit with massive blue frills at the throat and wrists glistened wetly in the murky daylight.

  “See, Grant. I’m right. That’s him. He’s controlling the dead spot.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because there is no way the original design included Tildy strapped to the tracks.” The cartoon visage of a woman screaming while the clown riding the roller coaster barreled toward her looked exactly like Tildy.

  Grant stared incredulously at the sign overhead, his lips slightly parted, speechless.

  The midway curved and dipped downward beyond the entrance. The receding storm clouds cast a ghostly pall over the area and shadows dwelled under the wood frame of the old ride. Attached to the support beams were more cutout signs, cartoons of Tildy and the Clown depicted in scenes of terror. Evisceration, vivisection, rape, and other horrors were illustrated in bright colors, the execution playful and childish. Mackenzie felt her stomach heave and she covered her mouth with her free hand.

  “We should go.”

  Grant’s words made sense, but instead of retreating, Mackenzie took a hesitant step forward. The ghastly depictions of the Clown’s torture and murder of Tildy made it difficult to move. Ice was seeping into her blood, freezing her in place, seizing her brain, and making it difficult to draw a breath. Her fingers flexed, then tightened on her wea
pon.

  “We can leave now.” Grant warily scrutinized the area. “We can leave now before he decides to turn his attention toward us.”

  Shaking her head, Mackenzie forced herself to take a step. Her body felt cold and disassociated from the world around her. The anguished cries of the woman held aloft by the demonic balloons drew Mackenzie’s eyes upward. Tildy hung among the brightly colored ribbons, her mouth twisted in a cry of despair, her body swinging about wildly as the swarm descended toward the roller coaster.

  It was then she saw the Clown. He stood on one of the higher slopes of the roller coaster watching the approach of his favorite victim. The entire amusement park was filled with the images of this particular clown. Slight in build, but tall in height, he was clad in a white satin jumpsuit with frills of blue satin at his neck, wrists, and ankles. Vibrant blue hair surrounded a face covered in white makeup. A garish downturned mouth was painted in bright red and the black diamonds around his eyes gave the impression of empty sockets. Unmoving, the Clown waited in silence.

  A touch on her shoulder made her start. Grant gestured for her to be silent and follow him. Shaking her head, she swept her gaze along the tracks trying to ascertain how to climb to where the Clown stood. Near the station a maintenance stairway twisted upward to the higher tracks. The thought of climbing the narrow stairs was intimidating, but one look toward Tildy floating ever closer to the terrible clown was all the incentive she needed.

  With determined but agonizing steps, Mackenzie advanced on the ramp leading to the station. The soft patter of Grant’s footsteps behind her was reassuring. After such a short time together, it was clear that he was dedicated to being at her side. While cutting across the barricades that used to keep the line of riders in order, Mackenzie kept an eye on the Clown and Tildy. She was almost to the bottom of the ramp to the station house when the Clown twisted his head in her direction. Lifting her chin, she stared at him defiantly. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought he was scrutinizing her, taking in her appearance and weapon. The air around her grew colder while they locked gazes, her teeth beginning to chatter. She was no longer certain that the darkness around his eyes was paint. A tangible, oily miasma of energy washed over her, and Mackenzie gripped the rail next to her to keep from falling.