Carnival (9 page)

For revenge.

“And now,” Gary summed it up to a silent and very captive audience, if not all-believing, “almost to the day, Karl Steele and some of his trashy friends confront Jeanne in almost the same spot where those two girls were raped thirty-four years ago. Coincidence? No, people. I don't believe that for a minute.”

“Let me break in here,” Audie spoke for the first time. “What's this kid's name that you saw today, Doctor?”

“Alma Sessions. She had the meanest eyes I have ever seen on a child.”

“Uh-huh,” Audie leaned back. “That kid has been in trouble ever since she was old enough to crawl. Her parents have taken her to every shrink in three states at one time or another. You talk about some kids just being born bad? She's one, and her entire little group is just as bad. That shrink from the visiting mental health van, Dr. Lamply? He told me—off the record-that Alma practically oozed evil.”

“And Jimmy Harold was a bad one, you said?” Martin looked at the deputy.

“One hundred percent.”

“What are you getting at, Martin?” Eddie asked.

“I don't know, really. Something jumped into my head just then and went out as fast as it came in. I couldn't get a handle on it.”

“I had a dream last night,” Janet confessed. “More than a dream. A nightmare.” She looked at her husband. “It was all so jumbled. That's why I was so restless. It kept switching around. First there was this open fiery pit, all filled with people that I knew from here in Holland. It was horrible! Then when I heard about Linda's ... well, visions, I almost fainted. We shared the same nightmare. Then I was in this house of horrors, sort of, a wax museum thing. And again, they were people that I knew. But their faces were all burned and scarred and melted down ...” She shuddered.

“The carnival has a wax museum and a house of horrors,” Martin spoke softly. “I know. I was in them a long time ago.”

“So was I,” Gary added.

“Okay! Okayl” Eddie held up a hand. “I'm sorry, folks, but I am not convinced. I think you've all let your imaginations run away with you. You're going to have to show me some proof before I believe.”

“You'll believe,” Gary said, standing up and reaching for his jacket.

“Where are you going?” his wife asked.

“To see my father. And this time, he's going to give me some answers.”

* * *

“I don't have to tell you a thing, boy!” the old man said. He stared at his son. Could it be? Dear God in heaven. Please-not all three of them!

Gary's mother sat on the front porch, saying nothing. His brothers were not present and Gary did not expect them to show while he was there. Pete and Frank did not like Gary and the feeling was shared mutually. His brothers thought Gary was smart-alec and uppity. Gary felt his brothers were ignorant and proud of it.

“Yes, you do, dad. I want the truth about that fire and what led up to it. Now, tell mel”

“You don't order me, boy!” His father twisted in his chair, and Gary could see that the old man's eyes were frightened. He experienced a strange sense of power from his father's fear.

“Then stop lying and hiding the truth from me, dad!” Gary shouted.

His mother flinched at the hard words.

They did not have to worry about being overheard. They could have emptied a pistol into the air and disturbed no one. The brothers lived miles away, and the old home place was located far outside of town.

“I told them young fellows in town not to get no carnival in here. I warned them. That's all them insight people was waitin' on. 'Course, they probably helped it along, too.”

Gary blinked. “What young men? Who helped what along? And what do you mean by insight people?”

“That's all them carnival people been waitin' on. Tryin' to find that crack in the wall that can't no mortal person see. They just slipped right on through and here they are.”

“Dad . . . have you been drinking?”

“Ain't had a drop in years. Ask your mother.”

“What young men, dad?”

“Them young men that meet every week at the cafe for lunch. The Young Holland Club.”

“They brought the carnival in?”

“The carnival come in on its own, boy. You can't tell a dead person what to do. The Young Holland Club just opened the crack in the wall.”

Gary sighed. Rubbed his face. “Who, ah, suggested contacting the carnival?”

“Don't know.”

“What did you mean by insight people?”

“The power, boy. Nabo had it. I knew that back in '54.”

“Power?” Gary was silent for a moment. “Do you mean intuition, dad? Something like the ability to foretell the future?”

“Something like that. Yeah, I reckon that's it. Son, you're the first Tressalt to get past high school, and I'm proud of you for that. You got lots of sense. Now use that good sense and pack up your family and get gone from this area.”

That shook Gary. He didn't know what he was expecting to hear from his father, but it wasn't that. He stared at the man. “Leave? Why?”

“'Cause they've come back for revenge, that's why.” The man's words sounded weary, and touched with more than a note of fear.

“Dad, did you have anything, anything at all, to do with that fire back in 1954?”

“I suspected it was going to happen. No, that's a lie! I knew it was going to happen. I heard the talk right after we-me and Martin-found the boy all bloody in the pavilion. The girls were still in there. Tryin' to repair their torn dresses. They told us who raped them. But by then it was too late. Steele and Watson had done started spreadin' their lies, I took you right on home, right out to this house, and here you stayed with your mother. I went back to town and joined up with Martin. The doctor sent young Martin on to the city; told Martin he'd best stay. All hell was gonna bust loose. Sure did.”

“And you did nothing to stop the madness?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Nothin' I could do, boy. Me or Martin or Doc Reynolds or none of the few of us with any reason left us. Fifteen hundred wild people, all liquored up and carryin' guns and ropes and whips. And the heavyweights eggin' them on.”

“The heavyweights?”

“Steele, Watson, Cameron, Clark. And the silly bastards who followed them.”

“Including my brothers, Pete and Frank?”

“Yeah.” There was disgust in the man's voice. “Dumb shits!” And I wonder, boy: Are you just like them. Oh, God, don't let it be.

“Lyle Steele and Jim Watson raped the girls?”

“Yeah.”

“Mary Mahoney and June Ellis?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't the girls come forward with the truth?”

“The boys' daddies threatened them with death. The girls believed them.”

“All right. I can believe that. Now what is all this talk about insight?”

“Nabo ain't ... well, I don't think he was quite human even back then. He, and some of the others, they can see, sense, evil. They had, have, the power. Don't ask me how. I don't know. It's a death carnival, boy. They come to town, and people die.”

“Dad, that's nonsense!”

“No, it ain't neither. I had a book about them. Your brother Pete took it and burned it. It was about this carnival that would come into town and see evil in people; the people would give their hearts to the devil.”

“Where'd you get this book? There has to be more than one copy.”

“Martin found it somewheres. I think you've probably figured out what happened to him. Boy, take your family and get gone from this area.”

“No.”

“Then I got to say that I sired three fools, then. Maybe you'll come to your senses before it's too late.”

“Are you and mother leaving?”

“No. We wouldn't be allowed. It's just too late for us.”

“Who would stop you?”

“Things.”

“Things?”

But the old man would only shake his head.

“Things?” Gary persisted.

“That book Martin found, it told about shape-changers. I believe that too. Things.”

Gary sighed heavily. “What really happened to Martin's dad?”

“Another dark spot on my mind. Lyle Steele and Jim Watson killed him. Years ago. Martin's dad still owned the paper back then. He was gonna open up that carnival fire story. Get some state people in here. Lyle and Jim knew they couldn't allow that. Their daddies were dead by then. So Lyle and Jim, along with Cameron and Clark, ambushed my old friend Martin. Killed him. Buried his truck-with him in it-up near the state line; bulldozed earth over the pit.”

“God!” Gary muttered. The word felt nasty to his tongue. He didn't understand that. “Dad, why didn't you go to the police with this information?”

“I didn't know it then. By the time the talk began to filter out-night whispers—it was too late. Besides, there was no proof. Just talk. But it'll soon be over and done with. The carnival's done come back, and pretty soon, so will my old friend, Martin.”

Gary's skin broke out in a cold sweat. He rubbed his arms. His jacket was no protection against the fear-sweat. He looked at his father, something akin to horror in his eyes. “Dad, what are you talking about?”

The old man's voice was soft, but charged with emotion. “I'll tell you what I'm talking about boy. Flames jumpin' five, six hundred feet into the air. People bein' burned alive, just for spite and sport. Runnin' with no way to escape. Flesh bubblin' and crackin'. Them poor animals that was a part of the show, screamin' in fear and agony as they burned up. And let me tell you about that man called Nabo. Man all dressed in black. Just standin' there in the middle of all the flames and fiery death, his arms folded crost his chest, them eyes of his burnin' just as hot as the flames.” The man shuddered in his chair. “He didn't make a sound when the flames touched him. But his eyes! Them white eyes of his touched every man of us with hate and contempt. I had run down there to help, not to torch the place. But I was too late. Me and Martin got there'bout the same time. We both seen your brothers, Pete and Frank, laughin' at the pain and sufferin' all around them, pushing people and animals back into the fires. It got so hot, me and Martin had to back off a good five hundred feet. The volunteers in the fire department was sprayin' water on the townspeople so's they could keep them poor carnival folks in the flames. Both me and Martin seen the bodies of some of the carnival folk that'd been hung. Stripped ‘em nekked and horse-whipped 'em and then hung ‘em. At that, I reckon they was the lucky ones; dead 'fore the flames burned them up.”

The father looked hard at the son. “And don't you kid yourself none about the good people of Holland, boy. There was over half the town down there. Little boys and girls and women and men took part in that night's awfulness. It was like a disease that spread with the wind; like a wildfire sweepin' crost the prairie. They was hundreds of townspeople and ranchhands and others took part in the evil of that night. And now they, and their offspring who hold the bad seed, well, they got to pay.”

Gary felt strangely elated. He wished he could have seen the fire. What a wonderful sight that must have been! Then all thoughts of that left him. “Dad ... what you said about the carnival people coming back for revenge, back from the grave ... that's impossible.”

“Sure it is, boy.” The father stared at the son. “Impossible as we humans see the overall plan. But we don't know what's on the other side of that Dark River. But boy,” he touched Gary's arm, “we're about to find out.”

The father and mother watched the son walk to his car. “Just like his brothers,” the old man whispered.

“No.”

“Yeah, old woman. He's one of them. I don't know why God punished us. But he did.”

“We have to tell Martin. He's got to know. We have to tell him.”

“Can't, Mother. We can't do it. We'd be dead soon as we set foot off this porch.”

She sighed, knowing it was true.

“Don't come back here, boy!” his father called after him. “I don't want to see you again.” But he knew he would. One more time. “Just get gone!”

Gary had mumbled something under his breath and stumbled into his car.

He didn't even remember the drive back to Martin's house. The confusing events of the visit to his parents had been wiped from his mind.

Most of the others had left when he pulled into the driveway at Martin's. He felt like it must be midnight, at least. He looked at his watch. Seven-thirty. He walked slowly up to the porch.

Martin met him on the porch, took one look at Gary's almost gray face and quickly led him inside. He sat him down on the couch and poured him a stiff snifter of brandy. Gary slugged back at least half of the drink, shuddered as the brandy impacted with his empty stomach, and then leaned back, telling them everything his father had said. Linda and Mark and Susan had gathered around, Gary Jr. was in the rec room, watching TV with Rich.

“Maybe they're shape-changers,” Mark said. “I've read about them. The Indians believed strongly in them.”

Linda and Susan fixed a platter of sandwiches and a pot of coffee. Gary shook his head at the offer of another drink and chose food and coffee instead.

“Then my memory was correct,” Martin said. “It was Mary Mahoney and June Ellis in that pavilion.”

“According to dad.”

“Are we leaving town, daddy?” Susan asked.

“No. I think the very idea is ridiculous. Your grandpa was overreacting, that's all.” His dad had told him to leave, hadn't he? He couldn't remember. “But I do want you kids to stay away from the fairgrounds until, or if, Martin and I can make some sense out of what's happening.”

Martin wondered if he really believed his dad had been exaggerating or if he was merely saying that for the benefit of the kids?

“Now what, Gary?” his wife asked. “I'd be lying just a bit if I said this wasn't beginning to scare me. I feel like I want to start peeking into closets and looking under the bed.”

“I second that motion,” Linda said. Susan just looked plain scared.

Alicia looked dubious about the whole matter; but there was a strange smile on her face.

“Everybody just calm down,” Gary told the group. “And don't discuss what you've heard tonight with anyone.” He looked at Janet. “You stay here with Alicia and the kids, honey. Please. Soon as I rest a second, I'm going over to the fairgrounds with Martin. We're to meet Audie there.”

“And do what?” Janet's voice was a bit on the shrill side.

“Watch the crowds and try to figure out what is happening around this town,” Martin answered the question.

She opened her mouth to protest. The ringing of the phone closed it. Martin stilled the ringing. “All right, Audie. Yes. I'll tell him. I'll come over with him. See you in a few minutes.” He turned to Gary. “Hank Rinder just stuck a pistol in his ear and pulled the trigger. Audie thinks it just happened. Hank left a note. Come on. I'll ride with you.”

* * *

I CAN'T MAKE THAT THING LEAVE ME ALONE. I CAN'T MAKE IT GO AWAY. I'VE SAID I WAS SORRY. IT'S AWFUL. I BEEN ASHAMED OF WHAT I DONE THAT NIGHT FOR OVER THIRTY YEARS. I CAN'T TAKE IT NO MORE. THE WHOLE TOWN IS DOOMED TO BURN FOREVER IN THE PITS OF HELL FOR WHAT WE DONE. GOODBYE AND FORGIVE ME.

The note was signed Hank Rinder.

Martin sniffed the air. “Smells like wood smoke in here to me.”

“Yeah,” Audie agreed. “All mixed up with gunsmoke and something else I can't get a fix on. But there's too much gunsmoke for just the one head wound.”

Gary was busy with the body. But when he had read that part about the “thing,” he recalled his father's words and shuddered.

Martin had noticed and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

“What thing is he talking about, Audie?” Martin asked, still trying to identify the third and still-elusive smell in the house. Martin thought then about the shape-changers. He shook that away, as best he could.

“Beats me, Mr. Holland.” His eyes widened. “Look over there!” he pointed. “And over there and there. Those are bullet holes. Must be twenty or thirty of them in that wall. He sure was shooting at something.”

“Real or imagined,” Martin offered.

“It was real,” Audie argued in defense of the dead Hank. “My father and Hank used to buddy together. Hank is the one who fought that bear off my dad over in Wyoming years back. Fought him off with nothing but an empty rifle. Swinging it like a club. Hank was a very brave man, Mr. Holland.”

“Yeah,” Martin's reply was desert dry. “I'm sure he was. I'm sure it takes a lot of courage to deliberately burn up men and women and children and helpless animals in a fire.”

Gary stood up from the body, stepping between the two men before the exchange might turn physical-although he didn't think that was much of a possibility. Audie knew perfectly well that Martin was physically and emotionally capable of breaking him in many pieces and scattering the bones. “All right, Audie. How are you writing this up?”

Audie dropped his gaze from Martin's calm, steady eyes. “Well, I bagged his hands for residue testing just before you got here-as you can see. There is nothing missing in the house-that I can tell—or from the body. More than a hundred dollars in his wallet and he's still wearing his diamond ring and watch. I'd rule out robbery. I don't know anyone in this town who would kill Hank.” He pointed to the pistol. “That's his gun fully loaded except for one round which was recently fired. I'd call it a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.” He hitched at his gunbelt and looked up at the high ceiling of the old house. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled.

Martin and Gary looked up. It was the face of Hank Rinder, and it had been burned into the ceiling. The expression on the face was one of pure, blind terror.

The men stood frozen in shock for a moment. Gary was the first to react. He pushed Audie toward his camera, sitting on a table. “Get some pictures of that, Audie. Take several shots. Go on-do it!”

“How could that possibly? ...” Martin said. He stood staring at the burned-in image on the ceiling.

Then the face began to slowly fade.

“Hurry, Audie!” Gary yelled. “We're losing it.”

Gary fumbled with the 35mm and aimed it at the ceiling. He got off a series of shots before the face finally faded into nothing. The ceiling was bare, void of any burn marks.

Gary lowered the camera, still staring at the ceiling. “What? ...” was all he could say.

“I don't know,” Gary said. “But it was there. I saw it.”

“So did I.” Martin shifted positions, angling himself for a better look at the ceiling. But nothing was left of the face of Hank Rinder.

“Get away from me!” Audie screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Gary. Horror was stamped on the young man's face, his skin color ashen.

Gary stepped toward him. “What's the matter with you, Audie?”

“I'll kill you!” Audie yelled, his right hand dropped to the butt of his pistol. “I'll kill you if you don't leave me alone! ”

Martin jerked the deputy's hand from his gun butt and slapped him, openhanded and hard, rocking Audie's head. Gary grabbed the other arm and together, they put the deputy on the floor and held him there.

After only a few seconds, Audie's eyes lost their wildness and he blinked, shifting his gaze from man to man. “I'm all right now.” His voice was firm. “Really, I am. You can turn me loose.”

They did, cautiously, and eased back, both men ready to grab the young man again. Audie sat up, an embarrassed smile on his lips.

“What happened to you?” Gary asked.

“I feel like an idiot, Doc! Your face, it was . . . no offense now . . . but your face was like, well, a wax person that was all melted. That's the best I can come up with. I mean you were some hard to look at. Scared me to pieces.”

Martin glanced at Gary. “Just like my hallucinations. They jarred me, too.”

“Thank goodness, I've been spared them.”

“So far,” Martin tossed cold water on that.

“Thanks. You're a real comfort to me.”

The men helped Audie to his boots and Gary checked his pulse and BP. Both were high, but steadying down.

“About the face on the ceiling,” Audie said. “I don't think I want to report that to Sheriff Grant just yet—personal reasons.”

“I understand,” Martin agreed. “Wise decision. But sooner or later, we're going to have to bring him into this thing.”

“Yeah, I know. But let's make it later. First I want to get a hook on this thing.”

The other men agreed, Gary saying, “Well, it happened outside the city limits, so the city cops don't have to be brought in.”

“Gee!” Audie snapped his fingers. “I forgot. It was the city who called me on this thing.”

“Where are they?” Martin looked around.

“I don't know. It's the first time I've remembered. What's wrong with me?”

“Who called you?”

“I ... It was Jack.”

A low whimpering drifted to the men. All three looked up. Cut their eyes to one another. The painful whimpering seemed to be coming from the second floor of the old house.

They listened, their breathing very shallow.

“Hank was a widower,” Audie whispered. “Nobody lived here with him. And he almost never had company of any kind. His kids live far away. He never saw any ladies; swore off women years ago. Said he knew he'd never find one to take the place of Ethel.”

The whimpering continued.

The men seemed mesmerized by the sound.

Martin broke the silence on the first floor. “That is not a child's whimpering.”

“No,” Gary agreed.

All three men continued to look up at the dark landing of the second floor.

“Leave me alone!” the voice sprang at them, the words slurry and difficult to understand. “Please don't hurt me no more.” Then a scream ripped through the house, jarring the men standing on the ground floor, moving them into action.

They ran up the stairs, Audie in the lead, his pistol drawn.

The whimpering had changed into a low moaning that cut at the men's already raw nerves.

They began working their way up the darkened hall, pausing at each closed door, listening. They stopped at the next to the last door.

Audie sniffed the air. “What's that smell. Smells kind of sweet.”

Gary and Martin knew what it was. They'd both smelled it before. Martin as a combat vet, Gary as a doctor.

“That's the smell of cooked human flesh,” Martin told him.

Then Audie remembered that wreck he'd worked, where that drunk driver had plowed into the back of that station wagon, exploding both vehicles, trapping those in the station wagon, burning them alive.

“I can't stand the pain!” the voice wailed. “Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus—help me!”

Gary turned the door knob, pushing open the door. Darkness struck them, bringing with it the sickening odor of seared human flesh.

“Jack!” Audie called. “Jack, is that you. Where are you?”

A long wail of pure agony was the only reply, the screaming hanging in the air, reverberating around the musty-smelling room.

It came from a closed closet door.

The men stood for a moment, staring at the closed door, not wanting to open that door, but each knowing that it had to be.

Martin swallowed hard, shook his head to clear away the tension—it didn't work—and found the light switch, flooding the dusty room with brightness. He walked to the closed door, put his hand on the knob, hesitated for just a second, then turned the knob and jerked open the door.

Martin grunted in shock. Gary hissed his shaky feelings. Audie vomited on the floor.

It was Jack. What was left of him, that is. The man was naked, with only scraps of his uniform remaining, and that was burned into his flesh. His leather Sam Browne belt was partially intact; some of it seared and melted into his flesh. His lips were gone, burned away; his gums were bloody from the flames, the teeth stark white and bloody red. His hair was gone, his scalp a mass of bubbles and blisters His ears only blackened stubs on the side of his head. His boots had melted into his feet and ankles and calves.

He could not close his eyes. The lids were burned away.

Audie cursed himself and regained his composure. Second time in his cop career that he'd puked. First time was years back. Thought he'd gotten over that. He knelt down in the open doorway, facing Jack, who was wedged into the closet space. Jack's stark white kneecaps were sticking out where the flesh had once been.

“Who did this, Jack?”

“Thing!” Jack pushed the word out of a raw throat and past where once his lips had been.

Martin and Gary exchanged glances. Thing?

“What kind of thing, Jack?” Audie questioned.

Jack tried to shift positions in the cramped closet. The movement brought a wild scream of agony from the man.

“Jack, listen to me.” Audie scooted closer to the man. “What kind of thing?”