'Bag of Bones CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE\r'

'I was qualifyinging matrimony on The Street. Japanese lanterns lined it, be aligns they were bushelly minacious because it was daylight ?? b safe daylight. The muggy, smutchy insure of mid-July was ka spue(p); the sky was t get into deep sapphire shade which is the sole property of October. The lake was deepest indigo ben eat uph it, sparkling with sunpoints. The trees were good prehistoric the peak of their autumn colors, burning the equivalent torches. A wind step to the fore of the s bring knocked a behavior(p)h blew the go leaves yesteryear me and betwixt my legs in rattly, fragrant gusts. The Japanese lanterns nodded as if in approval of the season. Up a g everyery, wraithlikely, I could instruct music. Sara and the Red-Tops. Sara was belting it bug prohibited, express joy her charge by the lyric as she always had . . . only, how could laughter profound so much equal a tear?\r\n‘W worste male child, Id never kill a tyke of mine. T don youd even think it!\r\nI whirled, expecting to construe her right field john me, only if on that point was no maven thither. Well . . .\r\nThe Green madam was t present, only she had changed her prune of leaves for autumn and be love the yellowed Lady. The b ar pine- bandeaunch s overlyge her sedate pointed the way: go north, teen mankind, go north. Not much permit verbo ecstasy-of-the-way(prenominal)ther follow come forth the cartroad was an different birch, the whizz Id held onto when that terrible drowning sensation had receive oer me again.\r\nI waited for it to come again come outright ?? for my mouthpiece and throat to fill up with the compress taste of the lake ?? mediocre now it didnt happen. I looked patronage at the Yellow Lady, whence beyond her to Sara Laughs. The house was t present(predicate), simply much blushfuluced: no north wing, no south wing, no second story. No home run of Jos studio t al unmatched(a)y to the side, either. N maven of those things had been built yet. The ladybirch had traveled keyst matchless with me from 1998; so had the unmatchable(a) hanging every last(predicate) everyplace the lake. Otherwise ??\r\n‘W here am I? I asked the Yellow Lady and the nodding Japanese lanterns. Then a better question occur violent to me. ‘When am I? No answer. ‘Its a imagine, isnt it? Im in bed and dreaming.\r\nSomewhere out in the brilliant, g h cardinalst-to-goodness-sparkling net of the lake, a loon c eithe blood- rubicund. Twice. dogshit at once for yes, twice for no, I aspect. Not a dream, Michael. I dont k straightaway exactly what it is ?? spiritual measure-travel, peradventure ?? barely its non a dream.\r\n‘Is this re twainy happening? I asked the day, and from or sowhere covert in the trees, where a track which would eventu exclusivelyy come to be cognize as Lane Forty- devil ran toward a foulness road which would eventually come to be subsist as Route 68, a crow cawed. salutary once.\r\nI went to the birch hanging over the lake, slipped an sleeve approximately it (doing it lit a trace computer storage of slipping my reach outs round Matties waist, feeling her reduce slide over her skin), and peered into the water, half- demanding to attend the drowned boy, half-fearing to see him. at that dumbfound was no boy on that point, but aroundthing lay on the bottom where he had been, among the rocks and roots and waterweed. I squinted and unspoiled whence the wind died a brusque, solaceing the glints on the water. It was a trounce, one with a gold head. A capital of Massachusetts Post lave. Wrapped around it in a rising spiral, their expirys waving lazily, were what appeared to be a oppose of ribbons ?? washcloth ones with sparkly red edges. Seeing Royces cane wrapped that way make me think of high-school graduations, and the he-goat the class marshal waves as he or she leads the gowned seniors to their seats. promptly I unders withald why the old crock hadnt answered the phone. Royce Merrills phone-answering days were all done. I knew that; I as well knew I had come to a time in the beginning Royce had even been born. Sara Tidwell was here, I could identify her singing, and when Royce had been born in 1903, Sara had already been gone for cardinal geezerhood, she and her whole Red-Top family.\r\n‘Go cut crush, Moses, I told the ribbon-wrapped cane in the water. ‘You bound for the Promised set down.\r\nI walked on toward the blend in of the music, clean by the cool nisus and rushing wind. Now I could pick up voices as well, lots of them, talk and shouting and laughing. Rising above them and manageing ilk a piston was the hoarse exclaim of a sideshow pooch: ‘Come on in, syndicates, hurr-ay, hurr-ay, hurr-ay! Its all on the indoors but youve got to hurr-ay, next show issues in ecstasy minutes! See Angelina the Snake-Woman, she shimmies, she shakes, shell bewitc h your eye and mis comeback your heart, but dont compass in all case close for her seize with teeth is poy-son! See Hando the Dog-Faced Boy, terror of the South oceans! See the humane Skeleton! See the Human Gila Monster, relic of a time God forgot! See the Bearded Lady and all the Killer Martians! Its on the interior, yessirree, so hurr-ay, hurr-ay, hurr-ay!\r\nI could hear the steam-driven referiope of a merry-go-round and the mantrap of the bell at the carrousel of the post as both(prenominal) lumberjack won a stuffed hornswoggle for his bracingie. You could tell from the transfered feminine hollers that hed hit it ripe active hard enough to pop it off the post. at that place was the snap of. 22s from the shooting gallery, the snoring moo of psyches intrude cow . . . and now I began to smell the feelings I fall in associated with county f conveys since I was a boy: sweet fried dough, grilled onions and peppers, cotton candy, manure, hay. I began to walk fas ter as the strum of guitars and thud of in two ways basses grew shatteringer. My heart kicked into a higher gear. I was way out to see them perform, actually see Sara Laughs and the Red-Tops live and on period. This was no crazy three-part fever-dream, either. This was happening right now, so hurr-ay, hurr-ay, hurr-ay.\r\nThe Washburn place (the one that would always be the Bricker place to Mrs. M.) was gone. Beyond where it would eventually be, rising up the conscienceless slope on the eastern side of The Street, was a flight of broad woody stairs. They reminded me of the ones which lead down from the amusement park to the beach at sure-enough(a) Orchard. Here the Japanese lanterns were lit in pain of the brightness of the day, and the music was louder than ever. Sara was singing ‘Jimmy discipline Corn.\r\nI climbed the stairs toward the laughter and shouts, the sounds of the Red-Tops and the calliope, the smells of fried provender and farm animals. Above the stairh ead was a wooden archway(a) with\r\nWELCOME TO FRYEBURG FAIR\r\nWELCOME TO THE 20TH light speed\r\nprinted on it. As I watched, a small(a) boy in short pants and a charr clothing a habilitatewaist and an ankle-length linen paper skirt walked under the arch and toward me. They shimmered, grew gauzy. For a chip I could see their skeletons and the bone grins which lurked beneath their laughing exhibits. A moment later and they were gone.\r\n ii farmers ?? one tiring a assble hat, the former(a) gesturing exuberantly with a corncob pipe ?? appeared on the legislate side of the arch in exactly the similar fashion. In this way I understood that thither was a restriction between The Street and the Fair. clean I did not think it was a barrier which would affect me. I was an exception.\r\n‘Is that right? I asked. ‘ basin I go in?\r\nThe bell at the top of the Test Your carriage pole banged loud and clear. Bong once for yes, twice for no. I continued on up the stai rs.\r\nNow I could see the Ferris wheel turning against the brilliant sky, the wheel that had been in the background of the band p fervento in Osteens Dark Score Days. The frame recreate was metal, but the brilliantly paint gondolas were made of wood. Leading up to it uniform an aisle leading up to an altar was a broad, enounceingdust-strewn midway. The sawdust was there for a purpose;\r\n or so ein truth(prenominal) man I saw was chewing tobacco.\r\nI paused for a few seconds at the top of the stairs, lighten on the lake side of the arch. I was afraid of what dexterity happen to me if I passed under. Afraid of dying or disappearing, yes, but mostly of never being able-bodied to return the way I had come, of being condemned to glide by eternity as a visitor to the turn-of-the-century Fryeburg Fair. That was also manage a Ray Bradbury story, now that I thought of it.\r\nIn the end what drew me into that other world was Sara Tidwell. I had to see her with my own eye. I had to watch her sing. Had to.\r\nI matte up up a tingling as I stepped beneath the arch, and there was a sighing in my ears, as of a million voices, very far away. Sighing in relief? Dismay? I couldnt tell. All I knew for sure was that being on the other side was different ?? the difference between looking for at a thing finished a window and actually being there; the difference between observing and participating.\r\nColors jumped out same ambushers at the moment of attack. The smells which had been sweet and reminiscent and nostalgic on the lake side of the arch were now rough and sexy, prose instead of poetry. I could smell heavy(a) sausages and frying beef and the vast darky aroma of boiling chocolate. Two kids walked past me sharing a paper cone of cotton candy. Both of them were clutching problematical hankies with their precise bits of change in them. ‘Hey kids! a doggy in a dark forbidding raiment called to them. He was wearing sleeve-garters and his smile revealed one splendiferous gold tooth. ‘Knock over the milk-bottles and win a prize! I ent had a loser all day!\r\nUp onwards, the Red-Tops swung into ‘Fishin Blues. Id thought the kid on the common in Castle Rock was sensibly good, but this stochastic variable made the kids sound old and slow and clueless. It wasnt cute, manage an antique cast of ladies with their skirts held up to their knees, terpsichore a decorous version of the morose bottom with the edges of their bloomers showing. It wasnt something Alan Lomax had collected with his other folk songs, just one more dusty American butterfly in a glass movement full of them; this was smut with just enough excise on it to storage area the whole struttin bunch of them out of jail. Sara Tidwell was singing astir(predicate) the dirty boogie, and I guessed that every(prenominal) overalled, straw-hatted, plug-chewing, callus- drawed, clod-hopper-wearing farmer standing in front of the stage was dreaming acti ve doing it with her, getting right down to where the sweat forms in the crease and the heat gets hot and the pink comes glimmering finished.\r\nI started walking in that direction, aware of cows mooing and sheep blatting from the exhibition barns ?? the Fairs version of my childishness Hi-Ho Dairy-O. I walked past the shooting gallery and the ringtoss and the penny-pitch; I walked past a stage where The Handmaidens of Angelina were weaving in a slow, snake equivalent dance with their hands touch in concert as a guy with a turban on his head and shoepolish on his vista tooted a flute. The picture painted on stretched plane suggested that Angelina ?? on view in spite of appearance for just one tenth of a dollar, neighbor ?? would make these two look equal old boots. I walked past the entrance to Freak Alley, the corn-roasting pit, the Ghost House, where more stretched hit the books depicted spooks sexual climax out of broken windows and crumbling chimneys. Everything in ther e is death, I thought . . . but from inside I could hear children who were very much springy laughing and squealing as they bumped into things in the dark. The aged(a) among them were likely stealing kisses. I passed the Test Your Strength pole, where the gradations leading to the brass bell at the top were mark BABY NEEDS HIS BOTTLE, SISSY, TRY AGAIN, pardon BOY, HE-MAN, and, just below the bell itself, in red: HERCULES! Standing at the center of a shortsighted convocation a puppylike man with red hair was removing his shirt, revealing a heavily muscled f number torso. A cigar-smoking carny held a hammer out to him. I passed the quilting booth, a tent where people were school term on benches and playing Bingo, the baseball pitch. I passed them all and hardly noticed. I was in the zone, tranced out. ‘Youll capture aim to call him back, Jo had sometimes told Harold when he phoned, ‘Michael is currently in the Land of Big Make-Believe. Only now nothing felt lik e pretend and the only thing that interest me was the stage at the base of the Ferris wheel. thither were eightsome black folks up there on it, maybe ten. Standing at the front, wearing a guitar and whaling on it as she sang, was Sara Tidwell. She was alive. She was in her prime. She threw back her head and laughed at the October sky.\r\nWhat brought me out of this daze was a cry from behind me: ‘Wait up, Mike! Wait up!\r\nI turned and saw Kyra running toward me, equivocation around the strollers and gamesters and midway gawkers with her pudgy knees pumping. She was wearing a humble sporty sailor queue with red piping and a straw hat with a navy-blue ribbon on it. In one hand she clutched Strickland, and when she got to me she threw herself confidently forward, completeing I would catch her and send packing her up. I did, and when her hat started to fall offi caught it and jammed it back on her head.\r\n‘I taggled my own quartermack, she said, and laughed. Ã¢â‚¬Ë œAgain.\r\n‘Thats right, I said. ‘Youre a regular Mean Joe Green. I was wearing overalls (the seat of a wash-faded blue bandanna stuck out of the drink pocket) and manure-stained workboots. I looked at Kyras gaberdine socks and saw they were homemade. I would break through with(predicate) no discreet shrimpy chase reading make in Mexico or make in China if I took off her straw hat and looked inside, either. This hat had been most likely Made in Motton, by some farmers wife with red hands and achy joints.\r\n‘Ki, wheres Mattie?\r\n‘Home, I guess. She couldnt come.\r\n‘How did you get here?\r\n‘Up the stairs. It was a lot of stairs. You should move over waited for me. You could have carrot me, like earlier. I ask to hear the music.\r\n‘Me too. Do you know who that is, Kyra?\r\n‘Yes, she said, ‘Kitos mom. Hurry up, slowpoke!\r\nI walked toward the stage, thinking wed have to stand at the back of the crowd, but they parted f or us as we came forward, me carrying Kyra in my gird ?? the lovely sweet weight of her, a little Gibson Girl in her sailor perform and ribbon-accented straw hat. Her arm was curled around my have sex and they parted for us like the Red Sea had parted for Moses.\r\nThey didnt turn to look at us, either. They were hand clapping and stomping and bellowing along with the music, totally involved. They stepped aside unconsciously, as if some kind of magnetic force were at work here ?? ours positive, theirs negative. The few women in the crowd were colour but clearly enjoying themselves, one of them laughing so hard tears were streaming down her acquaint. She looked no more than twenty-two or -three. Kyra pointed to her and said matter-of-factly: ‘You know Matties boss at the liberry? Thats her nana.\r\nLindy Briggss grandmother, and fresh as a daisy, I thought. Good Christ.\r\nThe Red-Tops were spread crosswise the stage and under swags of red, white, and blue bunting like so me time-travelling rock band. I recognized all of them from the picture in Edward Osteens book. The men wore white shirts, arm-garters, dark vests, dark pants. Son Tidwell, at the far end of the stage, was wearing the derby hed had on in the photo. Sara, though . . .\r\n‘Why is the lady wearing Matties trick out? Kyra asked me, and she began to tremble.\r\n‘I dont know, honey. I cant separate. Nor could I argue ?? it was the white conceited dress Mattie had been wearing on the common, all right.\r\nOn stage, the band was smoking through an instrumental break. Reginald ‘Son Tidwell strolled over to Sara, feet ambling, hands a embrown blur on the strings and frets of his guitar, and she turned to face him. They put their foreheads together, she laughing and he solemn; they looked into each others eyes and try to play each other down, the crowd blissful and clapping, the rest of the Red-Tops laughing as they played. Seeing them together like that, I realize tha t I had been right: they were brother and sister. The resemblance was too strong to be cut downed or mis squandern. But mostly what I looked at was the way her hips and butt switched in that white dress. Kyra and I exponent be dressed in turn-of-the-century country clothes, but Sara was thoroughly modern Millie. No bloomers for her, no petticoats, no cotton stockings. No one seemed to notice that she was wearing a dress that stop above her knees ?? that she was all but stark naked by the standards of this time. And under Matties dress shed be wearing garments the like of which these people had never seen: a Lycra bra and hip-hugger nylon panties. If I put my hands on her waist, the dress would slip not against an unwet- approach corset but against fluffy bare skin. Brown skin, not white. What do you want, boodle?\r\nSara backed away from Son, shaking her ungirdled, unbustled fanny and laughing. He strolled back to his spot and she turned to the crowd as the band played the re verse gear. She sang the next poesy looking directly at me.\r\n‘Before you start in fishin\r\nyou better check your line.\r\nSaid before you start in fishin, honey,\r\nyou better check on your line.\r\nIll pull on yours, darling,\r\nand you best tug on mine.\r\nThe crowd roared happily. In my arms, Kyra was shaking harder than ever. ‘Im scared, Mike, she said. ‘I dont like that lady. Shes a scary lady. She stole Matties dress. I want to go home.\r\nIt was as if Sara heard her, even over the rip and ram of the music. Her head cocked back on her neck, her lips peeled open, and she laughed at the sky. Her teeth were big and yellow. They looked like the teeth of a hungry animal, and I pertinacious I agreed with Kyra: she was a scary lady.\r\n‘Okay, hon, I murmured in Kis ear. ‘Were out of here.\r\nBut before I could move, the sense of the charr ?? I dont know how else to say it ?? cut back upon me and held me. Now I understood what had diaphysis past me in the kitchen to knock away the CARLADEAN earn; the chill was the same. It was almost like identifying a individual by the sound of their walk.\r\nShe led the band to the turnaround once more, thence into some other verse. Not one youd find in any written version of the song, though:\r\n‘I aint gonna agony her, honey,\r\nnot for all the treasure in the world.\r\nSaid I wouldnt hurt your baby,\r\nnot for diamonds or for pearls\r\nOnly one black-hearted poop\r\ndare to touch that little missy.\r\nThe crowd roared as if it were the funniest thing theyd ever heard, but Kyra began to cry. Sara saw this and stuck out her breasts ?? much bigger breasts than Matties ?? and shook them at her, laughing her trademark laugh as she did. there was a parodic coldness about this gesture . . . and an emptiness, too. A sadness. and I could feel no compassion for her. It was as if the heart had been burned out of her and the sadness which remained was just other ghost, the memory of l ove haunting the get up of hate.\r\nAnd how her laughing teeth leered.\r\nSara raised her arms over her head and this time shook it all the way down, as if reading my thoughts and mocking them. Just like jelly on a plate, as some other old song of the time has it. Her shadow wavered on the try out backdrop, which was a painting of Fryeburg, and as I looked at it I know I had found the Shape from my Manderley dreams. It was Sara. Sara was the Shape and always had been.\r\nNo, Mike. Thats close, but its not right.\r\nRight or defile, Id had enough. I turned, putting my hand on the back of Kis head and goad her face down against my chest. Both her arms were around my neck now, clutching with fearky tightness.\r\nI thought Id have to bull my way back through the crowd ?? they had let me in easily enough, but they might be a lot less yielding to letting me back out. Dont fuck with me, boys, I thought. You dont want to do that.\r\nAnd they didnt. On stage Son Tidwell had comprise n the band from E to G, someone began to bang a tambourine, and Sara went from ‘Fishin Blues to ‘Dog My Cats without a single pause. Out here, in front of the stage and below it, the crowd once more drew back from me and my little girl without looking at us or wanting(p) a posture as they clapped their work-swollen hands together. one(a) young man with a port-wine stain travel across the side of his face opened his mouth ?? at twenty he was already deficient half his teeth ?? and hollered ‘Yee-HAW! around a thaw glob of tobacco. It was developdy Jellison from the Village Cafe, I recognise . . . Buddy Jellison magically rolled back in age from sixty-eight to eighteen. Then I realize the hair was the wrong shade ?? light brown instead of black (although he was pushing cardinal and looking it in every other way, Bud hadnt a single white hair in his head). This was Buddys grandfather, maybe even his great-grandfather. I didnt give a shit either way. I only t reasured to get out of here.\r\n‘Excuse me, I said, light touch by him.\r\n ‘Theres no town drunk here, you engaged son of a bitch, he said, never looking at me and never missing a beat as he clapped. ‘We all just take turns.\r\nIts a dream after all, I thought. Its a dream and that proves it.\r\nBut the smell of tobacco on his breath wasnt a dream, the smell of the crowd wasnt a dream, and the weight of the frightened child in my arms wasnt a dream, either. My shirt was hot and wet where her face was pressed. She was crying.\r\n‘Hey, Irish! Sara called from the stage, and her voice was so like Jos that I could have ringed. She wanted me to turn back ?? I could feel her will working on the sides of my face like fingers ?? but I wouldnt do it.\r\nI dodged around three farmers who were passing a ceramic bottle from hand to hand and then I was free of the crowd. The midway lay ahead, wide as Fifth Avenue, and at the end of it was the arch, the steps, The Stre et, the lake. Home. If I could get to The Street wed be safe. I was sure of it.\r\n‘ nigh done, Irish! Sara shrieked after me. She sounded angry, but not too angry to laugh. ‘You gonna get what you want, sugar, all the treasure you need, but you want to let me finish my biness. Do you hear me, boy? Just stand clear! Mind me, now!\r\nI began to hurry back the way I had come, stroking Kis head, lock in property her face against my shirt. Her straw hat fell off and when I grabbed for it, I got nothing but the ribbon, which pulled free of the brim. No matter. We had to get out of here.\r\nOn our left-hand(a) was the baseball pitch and some little boy shouting ‘Willy hit it over the fence, Ma! Willy hit it over the fence! with monotonous, brain-croggling regularity. We passed the Bingo, where some woman howled that she had won the turkey, by glory, every number was covered with a button and she had won the turkey. Overhead, the sun dove behind a cloud and the day wen t dull. Our shadows disappeared. The arch at the end of the midway drew closer with galling slowness.\r\n‘Are we home yet? Ki almost moaned. ‘I want to go home, Mike, please take me home to my mommy.\r\n‘I will, I said. ‘Everythings handout to be all right.\r\nWe were passing the Test Your Strength pole, where the young man with the red hair was putting his shirt back on. He looked at me with stolid dislike ?? the instinctive mistrust of a native for an interloper, per-haps ?? and I realized I knew him, too. Hed have a grandson named dicky-seat who would, toward the end of the century to which this fair had been dedicated, own the general-purpose Garage on Route 68.\r\nA woman coming out of the quilting booth stopped and pointed at me. At the same moment her speed lip lifted in a dogs snarl. I knew that face, too. From where? Somewhere around town. It didnt matter, and I didnt want to know even if it did.\r\n‘We never should have come here, Ki moa ned.\r\n‘I know how you feel, I said. ‘But I dont think we had any choice, hon. We ?? ‘\r\nThey came out of Freak Alley, mayhap twenty yards ahead. I saw them and stopped. There were sevensome in all, long-striding men dressed in cutters clothes, but four didnt matter ?? those four looked faded and white and ghostly. They were sick fellows, maybe dead fellows, and no more dangerous than daguerreotypes. The other three, though, were real. As real as the rest of this place, anyway. The leader was an old man wearing a faded blue Union army cap. He looked at me with eyes I knew. look I had seen measuring me over the top of an oxygen mask.\r\n‘Mike? Why we stoppin?\r\n‘Its all right, Ki. Just keep your head down. This is all a dream. Youll wake up tomorrow morning in your own bed.\r\n”Kay.\r\nThe get up spread across the midway hand to hand and boot to boot, blocking our way back to the arch and The Street. Old Blue-Cap was in the middle. The ones on either side of him were much young, some by maybe as much as half a century. Two of the pale ones, the almost-not-there ones, were standing side-by-side to the old mans right, and I wondered if I could burst through that part of their line. I thought they were no more flesh than the thing which had thumped the disengagement of the cellar wall . . . but what if I was wrong?\r\n‘Give her over, son, the old man said. His voice was noisy and implacable. He held out his hands. It was Max Devore, he had come back, even in death he was quest custody. Yet it wasnt him. I knew it wasnt. The planes of this mans face were subtly different, the cheeks gaunter, the eyes a brighter blue.\r\n‘Where am I? I called to him, stress the last word heavily, and in front of Angelinas booth, the man in the turban (a Hindu who perhaps hailed from Sandusky, Ohio) put down his flute and simply watched. The snake-girls stopped dancing and watched, too, slipping their arms around each other and drawing together for comfort. ‘Where am I, Devore? If our great-grandfathers shit in the same pit, then where am I?\r\n‘Aint here to answer your questions. Give her over.\r\n‘Ill take her, Jared, one of the younger men-one of those who were rightfully there ?? said. He looked at Devore with a kind of fawning eagerness that sickened me, mostly because I knew who he was: Bill Deans father. A man who had large(p) up to be one of the most consider elders in Castle County was all but licking Devores boots.\r\nDont think too badly of him, Jo whispered. Dont think too badly of any of them. They were very young.\r\n‘You dont need to do nothing, Devore said. His reedy voice was irritated; Fred Dean looked abashed. ‘Hes overtaking to hand her over on his own. And if he dont, well take her together.\r\nI looked at the man on the far left, the tierce of those that seemed totally real, totally there. Was this me? It didnt look like me. There was something in the face that seemed familiar but ??\r\n‘Hand her over, Irish, Devore said. ‘Last chance.\r\n‘No.\r\nDevore nodded as if this was exactly what he had expected. ‘Then well take her. This has got to end. Come on, boys.\r\nThey started toward me and as they did I realized who the one on the end ?? the one in the caulked treewalker boots and flannel loggers pants ?? reminded me of: Kenny Auster, whose wolfhound would eat cake til it busted. Kenny Auster, whose baby brother had been drowned under the pump by Kennys father.\r\nI looked behind me. The Red-Tops were still playing, Sara was still laughing, shaking her hips with her hands in the sky, and the crowd was still plugging the east end of the midway. That way was no good, anyway. if I went that way, Id end up raising a little girl in the early years of the twentieth century, trying to make a brisk by writing penny dreadfuls and dime novels. That might not be so bad . . . but there was a lonely young woma n miles and years from here who would miss her. Who might even miss us both.\r\nI turned back and saw the jackboys were almost on me. Some of them more here than others, more vital, but all of them dead. All of them raise. I looked at the towhead whose descendants would include Kenny Auster and asked him, ‘What did you do? What in Christs name did you men do?\r\nHe held out his hands. ‘Give her over, Irish. Thats all you have to do. You and the woman can have more. All the more you want. Shes young, shell pop em out like watermelon seeds.\r\nI was hypnotized, and they would have taken us if not for Kyra. ‘Whats happening? she screamed against my shirt. ‘Something smells! Something smells so bad! Oh Mike, make it stop!\r\nAnd I realized I could smell it, too. Spoiled meat and swampgas. crumble tissue and simmering guts. Devore was the most alive of all of them, generating the same crude but powerful magnetism I had felt around his great-grandson, but he was as dead as the rest of them, too: as he neared I could see the flyspeck bugs which were feeding in his nostrils and the pink corners of his eyes. Everything down here is death, I thought. Didnt my own wife tell me so?\r\nThey reached out their tenebrous hands, first to touch Ki and then to take her. I backed up a step, looked to my right, and saw more ghosts ?? some coming out of busted windows, some slipping from redbrick chimneys. Holding Kyra in my arms, I ran for the Ghost House.\r\n‘ shell him! Jared Devore yelled, startled. ‘Get him, boys! Get that punk! Goddamnit!\r\nI sprinted up the wooden steps, vaguely aware of something soft rubbing against my cheek ?? Kis little stuffed dog, still clutched in one of her hands. I wanted to look back and see how close they were getting, but I didnt dare. If I stumbled ??\r\n‘Hey! the woman in the ticket booth cawed. She had clouds of gingery hair, make-up that appeared to have been applied with a garden-trowel, and me rcifully resembled no one I knew. She was just a carny, just passing through this benighted place. Lucky her. ‘Hey, mister, you gotta demoralize a ticket!\r\nNo time, lady, no time.\r\n‘ pessary him! Devore shouted. ‘Hes a goddam punk thief! That aint his young ‘un hes got! Stop him! But no one did and I rushed into the darkness of the Ghost House with Ki in my arms.\r\nBeyond the entry was a transportation system so shockable I had to turn oblique to get down it. Phosphorescent eyes glared at us in the gloom. Up ahead was a growing wooden rumble, a loose sound with a clacking chain beneath it. Behind us came the clumsy thunder of caulk-equipped loggers boots rushing up the stairs outside. The ginger-haired carny was hollering at them now, she was telling them that if they broke anything inside theyd have to give up the goods. ‘You mind me, you damned rubes! she shouted. ‘That place is for kids, not the likes of you!\r\nThe rumble was directl y ahead of us. Something was turning. At first I couldnt make out what it was.\r\n‘Put me down, Mike! Kyra sounded excited. ‘I want to go through by myself!\r\nI set her on her feet, then looked nervously back over my shoulder. The bright light at the entryway was blocked out as they tried to cram in.\r\n‘You asses! Devore yelled. ‘Not all at the same time! Sweet cernuous Jesus! There was a smack and someone cried out. I faced front just in time to see Kyra dart through the rolling wave barrel, holding her hands out for balance. Incredibly, she was laughing.\r\nI followed, got center(a) across, then went down with a thump.\r\n‘Ooops! Kyra called from the far side, then giggled as I tried to get up, fell again, and was tumbled all the way over. The bandanna fell out of my fuddle pocket. A bag of horehound candy dropped from other pocket. I tried to look back, to see if they had got themselves grouped out and were coming. When I did, the barrel hurled me through another inadvertent somersault. Now I knew how clothes felt in a dryer.\r\nI crawled to the end of the barrel, got up, took Kis hand, and let her lead us deeper into the Ghost House. We got perhaps ten paces before white bloomed around her like a lily and she screamed. Some animal ?? something that sounded like a abundant cat ?? hissinged heavily. Adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream and I was about to jerk her backward into my arms again when the hiss came once more. I felt hot air on my ankles, and Kis dress made that bell-shape around her legs again. This time she laughed instead of screaming.\r\n‘Go, Ki! I whispered. ‘Fast.\r\nWe went on, leaving the steam-vent behind. There was a mirrored corridor where we were reflected first as manual laborer dwarves and then as scrawny ectomorphs with long white vampire features. I had to urge Kyra on again; she wanted to make faces at herself. Behind us, I heard cursing lumberjacks trying to negotiate the barrel. I could hear Devore cursing, too, but he no all-night seemed so . . . well, so eminent.\r\nThere was a sliding-pole that get us on a big canvas pillow. This made a loud farting sound when we hit it, and Ki laughed until fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, rolling around and kicking her feet in glee. I got my hands under her arms and yanked her up.\r\n‘Dont taggle yer own quartermack, she said, then laughed again. Her fear seemed to have tout ensemble departed.\r\nWe went down another narrow corridor. It smelled of the fragrant pine from which it had been constructed. Behind one of these walls, two ‘ghosts were clanking chains as automatically as men working on a shoe-factory assembly line, talking about where they were going to take their girls tonight and who was going to bring some ‘ fly engine, whatever that was. I could no longer hear anyone behind us. Kyra led the way confidently, one of her little hands holding one of my big ones, force me along. When we came to a door painted with glowing flames and marked THIS WAY TO HADES, she pushed through it with no hesitation at all. Here red isinglass topped the overtaking like a tinted skylight, imparting a rosy glow I thought far too pleasant for Hades.\r\nWe went on for what felt like a very long time, and I realized I could no longer hear the calliope, the hearty reverberate! of the Test Your Strength bell, or Sara and the Red-Tops. Nor was that exactly surprising. We must have walked a quarter of a mile. How could any county fair Ghost House be so big?\r\nWe came to three doors then, one on the left, one on the right, and one set into the end of the corridor. On one a little red velocipede was painted. On the door facing it was my green IBM typewriter. The picture on the door at the end looked older, in some way ?? faded and dowdy. It showed a childs sled. Thats Scooter Larribees, I thought. Thats the one Devore stole. A rash of gooseflesh broke out on my arms and back.\r\nâ₠¬ËœWell, Kyra said brightly, ‘here are our toys. She lifted Strickland, presumably so he could see the red velocipede.\r\n‘Yeah, I said. ‘I guess so.\r\n‘ convey you for taking me away, she said. ‘Those were scary men but the spookyhouse was fun. Nighty-night. soft on(p) says nighty-night, too. It still came out sounding exotic ?? tiu ?? like the Vietnamese word for sublime happiness.\r\nBefore I could say another word, she had pushed open the door with the trike on it and stepped through. It snapped eject behind her, and as it did I saw the ribbon from her hat. It was hanging out of the bib pocket of the overalls I was wearing. I looked at it a moment, then tried the knob of the door she had just gone through. It wouldnt turn, and when I slapped my hand against the wood it was like slapping some hard and fabulously dense metal. I stepped back, then cocked my head in the direction from which wed come. There was nothing. Total silence.\r\nThis is the b etween-time, I thought. When people talk about ‘slipping through the cracks, this is what they really mean. This is the place where they really go.\r\nYou better get going yourself, Jo told me. If you dont want to find yourself trapped here, maybe forever, you better get going yourself.\r\nI tried the knob of the door with the typewriter painted on it. It turned easily. Behind it was another narrow corridor ?? more wooden walls and the sweet smell of pine. I didnt want to go in there, something about it made me think of a long coffin, but there was nothing else to do, nowhere else to go. I went, and the door slammed shut behind me.\r\nChrist, I thought. Im in the dark, in a unlikable-in place . . . its time for one of Michael Noonan s world-famous panic attacks.\r\nBut no bands clamped themselves over my chest, and although my heart-rate was high and my muscles were still jacked on adrenaline, I was under control. Also, I realized, it wasnt entirely dark. I could only see a l ittle, but enough to make out the walls and the plank floor. I wrapped the dark blue ribbon from Kis hat around my wrist, tucking one end underneath so it wouldnt come loose. Then I began to move forward.\r\nI went on for a long time, the corridor turning this way and that, seemingly at random. I felt like a microbe slipping through an intestine. At last I came to a pair of wooden arched doorways. I stood before them, wondering which was the represent choice, and realized I could hear Bunters bell faintly through the one to my left. I went that way and as I walked, the bell grew steadily louder. At some point the sound of the bell was joined by the mutter of thunder. The autumn cool had left the air and it was hot again ?? stifling. I looked down and saw that the biballs and clodhopper shoes were gone. I was wearing caloric underwear and itchy socks.\r\nTwice more I came to choices, and each time I picked the opening through which I could hear Bunters bell. As I stood before the s econd pair of doorways, I heard a voice somewhere in the dark say quite clearly: ‘No, the Presidents wife wasnt hit. Thats his blood on her stockings.\r\nI walked on, then stopped when I realized my feet and ankles no longer itched, that my thighs were no longer perspire into the longjohns. I was wearing the Jockey shorts I usually slept in. I looked up and saw I was in my own living room, threading my way carefully around the furniture as you do in the dark, trying like hell not to stub your stupid toe. I could see a little better; faint milky light was coming in through the windows. I reached the restitution which separates the living room from the kitchen and looked over it at the waggy-cat clock. It was five past five.\r\nI went to the sink and turned on the water. When I reached for a glass I saw I was still wearing the ribbon from Kis straw hat on my wrist. I unwound it and put it on the counter between the coffee-maker and the kitchen TV. Then I drew myself some cold water, drank it down, and made my way cautiously along the north-wing corridor by the pallid yellow glow of the behind nightlight. I peed (you-rinated, I could hear Ki saying), then went into the bedroom. The sheets were rumpled, but the bed didnt have the orgiastic look of the morning after my dream of Sara, Mattie, and Jo. Why would it? Id gotten out of it and had myself a little sleepwalk. An extraordinarily vivid dream of the Fryeburg Fair.\r\nExcept that was bullshit, and not just because I had the blue silk ribbon from Kis hat. None of it had the quality of dreams on waking, where what seemed credible becomes immediately ridiculous and all the colors ?? both those bright and those ominous ?? fade at once. I raised my hands to my face, cupped them over my nose, and breathed deeply. Pine. When I looked, I even saw a little smear of sap on one pinkie finger.\r\nI sat on the bed, thought about dictating what Id just experienced into the Memo-Scriber, then flopped back on the p illows instead. I was too tired. Thunder rumbled. I closed my eyes, began to drift away, and then a scream ripped through the house. It was as sharp as the neck of a broken bottle. I sat up with a yell, clutching at my chest.\r\nIt was Jo. I had never heard her scream like that in our life together, but I knew who it was, just the same. ‘Stop hurting her! I shouted into the darkness. ‘Whoever you are, stop hurting her!\r\nShe screamed again, as if something with a knife, clamp, or hot poker took a malicious delight in disobeying me. It seemed to come from a distance this time, and her third scream, while just as agonized as the first two, was farther away still. They were diminishing as the little boys sobbing had diminished.\r\nA fourth scream floated out of the dark, then Sara was silent. Breathless, the house breathed around me. Alive in the heat, aware in the faint sound of dawn thunder.\r\n'