Carnies Read online

  There was also an assortment of dogs running around the fire, their sizes ranging from puppies to... Paul blinked a few times. Some of the dogs seemed bigger than they really should have been. He’d known a family in his teens that had owned an Irish wolfhound. It had weighed nearly a hundred kilograms and was longer than him. These dogs seemed a similar size, but they didn’t look like the kinds that should grow that large. They looked more like mongrels - all different colours and shapes. Paul watched for a moment longer, then something caught his attention, something away from the fire.

  He looked over, and saw Jasmine walking into the crowd. His breath caught in his throat, as she made her way past most of the revelling carnies and approached a man seated calmly, a large mug in his hand. He seemed to be watching the others with an almost paternal affection.

  It was the manager, Amos.

  The young woman walked to the manager’s side and knelt down, whispering something in his ear. He frowned then, and looked around, past the fire to the tents beyond.

  Swearing under his breath, Paul darted past the gap in the tents and continued the way he’d been shown. He didn’t know if Jasmine had given him up or not, but he knew the longer he stayed in one place, the more likely it was that he’d be caught. He didn’t want to be thrown out of the carnival twice in one night.

  He hobbled past a few more tents, keeping an eye out for a larger one. The noise of the party faded a little behind him as he put some distance between it and himself. He didn’t see the tent Jasmine had told about, and after seeing her talking to Amos, he suspected she’d sent him on a wild goose chase.

  There was a low growl from behind him. He froze, then turned around.

  No, not a wild goose chase. A wild goose trap. And he was the goose, wild or not.

  Paul couldn’t make out what was making the noise. All he could see in the darkness was the silhouette of a huge shape hunched by one of the tents. He figured it was one of the dogs he’d seen earlier.

  Then it stood up, and he realised he was very much mistaken. This was no dog. It was huge, like a bear, but its arms and legs were too long. It growled again, the sound coming from deep within its chest, and bared its teeth, which glinted in the moonlight.

  Paul realised he’d seen this creature before, earlier that night. It had been on a chain then, terrifying a small audience. And he’d taken a photograph of it. He hoped it didn’t hold a grudge.

  It loped towards him - almost gliding along the grass. Its gaze remained fixed on him, even as its body turned with each lithe step.

  Paul decided not to test his hope. He turned and ran as best he could.

  All hope of stealth gone from his mind, he raced down between the rows of tents, taking long steps on his right leg and short ones on his left, leaning hard on his cane. He hoped he could find his way out before that... that thing caught up with him. Perhaps its size would slow it down. He chanced a quick peek over his shoulder.

  It was close. Very close. And getting closer.

  With a panicked yelp, Paul turned away and redoubled his efforts. He pumped his legs as hard as he could in their uneven motion, his arms moving in time. For a moment he felt like an Olympic (or perhaps a Special Olympic) sprinter - every part of his body in perfect co-ordination, the dah-dit rhythm of his limping gait becoming a smooth pace across the ground.

  It didn’t last long. Soon his steps faltered, and his breath caught in his throat. His thighs were burning from the effort, his bad ankle was sending distress signals to his brain and his head was spinning. But still he ran, ran past the tents on both sides, panting so loud he was sure the whole carnival would hear him. Whatever was behind him was quiet, almost silent, but he was certain it was still there, closer than ever. He could sense it.

  Then something hit him in the face hard, and he bounced back with a cry of pain. He fell over backwards, his head thudding on the grass hard enough to make his teeth ache. His cane flew from his hand. He lay there for a moment, stunned, then sat up and looked at what had stopped him.

  The fence. He scrambled to his feet, trying not to think about how much time he’d wasted on the ground, how much closer the beast might be, and stumbled up to the fence, leaping onto it and grabbing it in desperation. He climbed up madly, not caring how or where he got his handholds, just making his way to the top as fast as he could. Then he was over it and falling, tumbling onto to the wet grass beyond. He rolled a few times, feeling his clothes tear under bits of rock and gravel, and ended up face down on the ground.

  He didn’t stay there long, he couldn’t. Quickly he clambered to his feet. He realised he’d left his cane on the other side of the fence, but at that point he didn’t care. He’d hop back to the motel if he had to. He looked behind him.

  The creature was loping away from the fence, back through the tents. Paul would have breathed a sigh of relief, if he wasn’t panting and coughing. It had given up.

  Then it stopped and turned back, hunching down a little, tensing up, and Paul understood. It wasn’t giving up.

  It was taking a run-up.

  Paul was frozen, too exhausted and horrified to do anything but watch the creature move towards him at incredible speed. He wondered why it hadn’t caught him before, if it could move so damn fast. Then it leapt into the air in a graceful arc, clearing the top of the fence by over a metre, and landed right at Paul’s feet on all fours. It stood up then, towering over him, taking a deep breath. Paul could only look up at it, eyes wide, not even breathing. He realised it had something in its mouth, something long and thin. Its jaw opened, revealing jagged teeth, and the object it had been holding fell to the ground. Paul looked down.

  His cane.

  When he looked up again, the creature was galloping back towards the fence. Again it sprung over the fence like a movie ninja, and stopped on the other side. It turned and faced him, eyes clearly visible in the moonlight. Then it raised its head and howled.

  It was as if Paul had been in a trance, and someone had snapped their fingers. His body came to life all at once. He bent over, grabbed his cane, then turned and ran again, ran towards the highway, towards the town, towards the motel, towards safety. He didn’t sense the creature behind him any more, but still he ran, his rational mind overcome by his pure animal instinct to flee.

  As he ran, he could hear something behind him, even over his own frenzied breathing, getting fainter as he went. It sounded like laughter.

  -10-

  David had been working at his laptop on his story for some hours now, trying to find something, anything, to hinge the story on. He had some decent photographs, and plenty of things to say, but an article had to be more than that. It needed an angle, and apart from the hostility of the carnival management towards the press, which wouldn’t make a good story for the colour magazine, it really didn’t have one. He’d been certain that one would emerge from the chaos of information he’d accumulated, but it just wasn’t happening. Still, at least Paul had been quiet.

  He stopped typing then, and listened. A little too quiet, in fact. He got up, stretching the aches from his arms and back, then walked to the partition separating the tiny bedroom area from the rest of the motel room. He pushed it aside.

  The room was empty.

  David looked around, more annoyed than concerned. He figured Paul had gone out to find some more to drink. They’d pretty much emptied the minibar earlier, though David had only had a few drinks himself. It had mainly consisted of cheap beer anyway, not too surprising, considering the quality of the motel. Then David had excused himself and gone to sit on the bed and write, pulling the partition closed. He’d been so wrapped up in getting the details of the story down that he hadn’t even noticed that Paul had left. Until now.

  He shrugged, and sat down in front of the tiny television. There was no remote, so David had to turn it on by hand, then he sat on the lounge chair. Not much point worrying, he thought to himself. Paul’s a grown man. He can take care of himself. Still, he wondered where he was,
if he was okay. Their father had charged David with looking after his younger brother during his final days, when he was in the hospital. He’d wasted away to almost nothing by then, a shocking shadow of his former hale and hearty self. The cancer in his gut had swallowed him almost completely, leaving next to nothing left. As he held the fragile, bony hand of the man who had raised them until then, David had promised to look after Paul. It wasn’t a promise he took lightly.

  But what could he do now? Go out and look for him? It was late, or perhaps early, well and truly past the witching hour. He always found he worked best at night, after he’d had the whole day to absorb information. He liked to let it simmer away beneath his conscious mind while he got on with the day-to-day business of living. By late evening, he could uncover what had been stewing there and serve it up. Tonight was different, though. There was no story. Plus he was distracted, of course, though he really couldn’t use that as an excuse. He hadn’t even known Paul was missing until a few minutes earlier.

  Late-night television was even worse on the rural stations than it was in the city, it seemed. The best thing on was a black-and-white drama, which seemed to revolve around a dance hall of some sort. A third rate Fred Astaire look-alike was the central character, wooing some blonde woman with impossibly dark lips. David shook his head and decided to call it a night. He stood up and turned off the television.

  In the sudden silence he heard something. It sounded like heavy breathing from just outside the motel room door. Then the door handle rattled.

  David took a few steps backward, a little panicked. He assumed it was Paul out there, but it didn’t sound much like him. The breathing was ragged and shallow, panting like some kind of animal. At least he locked the door when he went out, David thought with some trace of gratitude.

  The lock on the handle turned and popped out. David gasped as the door flew open.

  Paul staggered in, leaning hard on his cane, his face a dark shade of red, almost purple. He was shaking, sweat pouring down his face. He closed the door behind him without looking, then bent over, with his hands on his knees, trying without success to catch his breath. He looked like he’d just run a marathon.

  ‘For God’s sake, Paul,’ David hissed, hoping no other patrons at the Inn Tillbrook were awake and hearing this. ‘What happened?’

  Paul tried to speak, but ended up coughing even more. Then he stood upright again, his legs shaking, and stumbled into the back of the motel room, heading for the bathroom. The thin door slammed behind him, and David heard the unmistakable sound of retching. That’ll be the booze, he thought. Serves him right. Though even alcohol couldn’t explain his exhausted state. What the hell had he got up to?

  After a long time, the vomiting ended, and David heard his brother cough up as much phlegm as he could and spit it out. He flinched at the noise, disgusted. He’d never been that drunk in his life, never been out of control. The thought repulsed him. There were a couple of seconds of near silence, some random rustlings of movement, and then the shower started up.

  David went to the door. ‘Paul?’

  There was a noise from inside the bathroom that may have been a reply, it was hard to tell, because the pipes groaned and rattled while the water was running.

  ‘What happened to you, Paul? Where were you?’

  Paul said something, he wasn’t sure what. It was quite a long sentence, anyway, and only had one word that David could make out.

  ‘Monster? What do you mean?’

  But now there was just gargling, as Paul filled his mouth with water from the showerhead and spat it out. David decided to call it a night. It had been a long day, and he didn’t feel like interrogating his brother through both a door and the noise of running water.

  ‘I’m going to bed, Paul. Good night.’

  Another gargle was the only response, and he walked to the bed and lay down on it, moving his laptop down to the floor. He curled up on his side, thinking about the long drive ahead of them in the morning and how he needed to rest, but sure that he’d never fall asleep with the racket of the water and the pipes in the bathroom going on.

  He was wrong, though.

  -11-

  It loomed in front of him, black as night, black as sin. He could hear its engine rumbling as it got closer, its prongs pointed at him like twin spearheads. He wanted to run, but was frozen in place, so could only watch helplessly as it approached. Its rumbling grew louder and louder, until it seemed to fill his head. There was something balanced across the prongs, rolling back and forth as the thing drew near. Then it stopped, and the object fell onto the concrete floor with a clatter. Paul knelt down and picked it up. It was his cane.

  When he stood up, the thing before him had changed. Now it wasn’t a machine with two steel prongs any more, it was a beast, huge and hulking, covered in spiky black fur. Its snout was no more than an inch from Paul’s nose, its breath hot on his cheeks.

  It roared in his face.

  Paul woke, stifling a yell. He lay there very still for a few moments, panting, as the nightmare vision quickly faded. He blinked a few times, unsure of where he was for a long moment before it came back to him. As did the events from the night before.

  Jesus, he thought, shaking a little. I could have been killed.

  But somehow he didn’t feel frightened any more. In fact, it seemed more exciting than scary, like a rollercoaster ride. And as for his nightmare... well, he’d been having those since the accident. Although the monster at the end was a new twist, he had to admit. Like all nightmares, it dwindled once awake, leaving him feeling a little foolish for having been afraid. He smiled to himself, and looked around a little.

  Pale sunlight filtered through the flimsy curtains across the window in the kitchenette, making beams in the dusty air before landing on his face. He closed his eyes tight again, trying to keep it out, but it was no use. He twisted on the uncomfortable couch, a thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and tried to block the light with his body, but that made his neck hurt. With a sigh, he sat up and stretched his arms and legs. He was very sore from his exertions of the previous night, particularly his ankle, which was pounding in time with his pulse in a steady drumbeat of pain. Ow-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow... He suspected it was early, simply because it felt entirely unnatural to him. He wasn’t often awake before noon, especially since he’d broken up with...

  That thought stopped him in mid-yawn. He hadn’t even thought about Belinda in a while, the longest period he’d managed since the break-up. Not since he and David had gone to the carnival the previous night, in fact. And even now, thinking about her, he felt nothing, no longing or loss, no anger or regret. Just wry memory. It was as if the emotions had been taken from him. Or replaced by something else. Someone else.

  He could still see her in his mind: her velvet dress, her long hair, her dark eyes. He’d suspected - perhaps even hoped - that a night’s sleep might lessen her impact on him, put some distance between them, but she was as clear in his vision now as she had been in that tent the evening before. Rachel, he thought, his smile widening, the blanket still around his shoulders like a shawl. A small part of his mind was warning him about all this, though. He’d fallen for many an unattainable woman in his time before, most often because they were unattainable. Once he had them, all the fun usually went out of it. But he was sure that it was different this time, that there was something special about her, something unique. She intrigued him. And he was determined to know more.

  A soft noise distracted him, coming from the front door of the motel room. At any other time of day, in any other part of the world, that noise would have gone unnoticed, buried in the noise of traffic and conversations and distant television sets. But this was the middle of nowhere, and it was very early, so the only noises were the soft calls of birds and insects. And the rustle that came from the door. Paul looked over and saw an envelope lying on the floor, just inside the door. He raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was from the motel owners, the same way some hotels
left a card advising you of checkout times and the like. He didn’t think that was likely, though. He’d seen the owner, and doubted he’d be vigilant enough to deliver things like that.

  So what was it?

  He got to his feet, favouring his right foot. A deep throbbing headache wound its way from his eyeballs to the back of his neck. He didn’t know where his canes were, though he had a vague recollection of leaving the one he’d used the night before in the bathroom. And a not-so-vague recollection of it dropping from the mouth of... He stopped that memory dead in its tracks. He had to focus. He limped over to the door and bent over, his back aching. Jesus, am I unfit or what? he thought as he picked up the envelope and hopped back to the couch, lowering himself back onto it. One night’s exercise and I’m a wreck.

  He looked at the envelope. It was blank on the outside, and sealed. Shrugging, he ripped it open and pulled out a scrap of paper. It had something written on it, in small, scrawled handwriting.

  They’re not what they seem. Dig deeper.

  The note was unsigned. Paul read it three times, hoping it would make some sense on a repeat viewing, but it remained as cryptic and unhelpful as the first time. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. He wondered if he should show David, but decided against it. After all, digging deeper was exactly what Paul wanted to do, but if David found out about it, he’d probably ruin everything. At the very least, he’d do his best to dissuade him. His decision made, he crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it on the floor, along with the envelope. Then a belated thought occurred to him, a question he should have asked earlier.

  Who had left the note?

  He got up again, ignoring the complaints from his back and legs, and made his way back to the door. The chain was in place, and he fumbled with it for a few seconds before freeing it and opening the door up, glancing around.