Carnies Read online

  Paul stood there for a few seconds more, having trouble believing what he’d just heard. Then, as if in a trance, he turned and walked out of the petrol station, pie in one hand, cane in the other. The little bell on the door rang again as he left.

  Ask not for whom the bell tolls, Paul thought vaguely.

  It tolls for thee.

  ‘Hey, mister? Mister Paul?’

  Paul looked over and saw Sarah at the far corner of the station, peeking around it nervously. He walked over, his cane clacking with every second step. He realised when he reached her that they were out of sight of the front window.

  ‘What is it, Sarah?’

  ‘They howl, you know?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The carnival people,’ she explained, looking very serious. ‘They live in the woods. And they howl at night. I hear them sometimes.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ he said, a little dubious. But she didn’t look like she was lying. He thought for a moment. ‘Does that scare you?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘A little. But then I remember Toby’s there too, and it doesn’t seem so scary any more. Maybe they’re just saying hello.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Paul said, still smiling. ‘Bye, Sarah.’

  ‘Bye, Mister Paul.’

  He turned and walked away, heading back down the highway towards town. His stomach was still growling, especially being so close to the pie in his hand, but he didn’t even notice. All he could think of were Sarah’s words.

  They live in the woods, she said. And they howl at night.

  -14-

  David smiled as he pulled into his driveway, grateful to finally be home. It had been a very long drive, especially as he’d become accustomed to being able to get anywhere important in half an hour or less. City living will do that to you, he thought with a wry smile as he pressed the button on his garage remote control. The double door rolled upwards in a smooth motion. He couldn’t even hear its motor from inside the car. He inched the car forwards, then stopped.

  There was a dark blue Honda Accord parked in one side of the garage. He’d expected it to be empty. He blinked, knowing what that car meant.

  Christine was home.

  His feeling of relief quickly evaporated. He was hoping to have the afternoon to himself, to get the story finalised. It was Wednesday, which gave him about twenty-four hours to get it all written, plus choose which photographs to include. That would be a piece of cake, as long as he could focus on it.

  That would be a lot more difficult with his wife there, though.

  For a moment he considered closing the garage again, perhaps heading to the office to work there. But he knew she’d have heard the door go up, so he couldn’t back out now. And at any rate, he wanted - no, needed - to have a shower and get cleaned up. With a soft sigh, he eased his car into the garage, pressing the button on the remote again to close the door behind him.

  David climbed out of the car, retrieved his luggage from the boot and carried his cases to the inside door. He put them down and tried the doorknob. Locked, of course. Christine believed in security, above almost everything else. That’s why she worked in insurance. She could no more leave an unlocked door than dance naked in the streets.

  David found his house key, then unlocked the door and opened it. The house security alarm made a high-pitched beep, warning that he had sixty seconds to key in the four-digit security code. He hurried inside to the kitchen, flipping up the cover on the alarm’s wall mounted control panel and pressed the appropriate keys, the motions so familiar as to be almost automatic by now. As he pressed the fourth one, the beeping stopped.

  He shook his head. It was one thing to keep the doors locked while you were in the house. That was sensible, a necessity these days in fact, although he was certain that it hadn’t been once upon a time, when he was a child. Or perhaps it had been, and they’d been unaware of the danger until more recent times. But to be at home and have the alarm on? It seemed like overkill to him.

  ‘Christine?’ he called, as he wandered back to the garage to get his luggage. ‘I’m home!’

  He thought he heard her reply somewhere in the house, though he couldn’t quite make out what she said. He took his cases upstairs to the bedroom and put them on the king-size bed, then walked down the hallway to her office.

  Christine had set up one of their house’s four bedrooms as her own private space. She had a state-of-the-art desktop computer, plus an ultra-slim laptop, and everything else she needed to work from home if necessary, including wireless network. It was one of the advantages of being a senior executive at an insurance broking firm: the flexibility of telecommuting if needed. Of course, she preferred to actually go to the office and work, but this gave her the ability to work weekends and public holidays when the necessity arose. Which seemed to be fairly often. David sometimes wondered if she wasn’t working harder because she somehow sensed that his own work - and thus his income - was drying up, though he’d worked hard to keep this fact from her. Or perhaps it wasn’t subconscious at all. Perhaps she knew after all.

  The door to her home office was closed. He tapped on it. ‘Christine?’

  ‘Come in, David,’ she said, her voice muffled by the door.

  He entered the room with due caution, as always. Coming in here felt like trespassing on private property. She was facing away from him, sitting at her desk, her fingers pecking at the computer keyboard in front of her. He walked up behind her and kissed her on the top of her head. She didn’t respond, but continued to type. He stood for a little while longer, waiting for some kind of reaction. He was just about to give up and leave when she finally spoke.

  ‘You’re back early.’

  Was that disappointment in her voice? No, he was just being paranoid. ‘I decided to hit the road as soon as I got up this morning. There didn’t seem to be much point hanging around down there.’

  ‘You got the story?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. What there was of it, he added to himself.

  ‘And you’ve dropped Paul home already?’

  David paused for a moment. ‘Uh... no, he didn’t come back with me.’

  Christine stopped typing and turned around at last. Some strands of her ash-blonde hair fell across her face, and she brushed them away, distracted. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He decided to stay down there for a few more days,’ David explained. ‘I tried to talk sense into him, but...’

  ‘That’ll be nice for him,’ she interrupted, a small smile playing across her lips. ‘He could use a break.’

  David felt the same reaction bubbling up in him that he’d felt earlier that morning, when Paul had said much the same thing. What does an unemployed man need a break from? But he swallowed it back down and nodded. He’d discovered through long and often painful experience over their years of marriage that arguing with Christine was pointless.

  Her smile vanished suddenly, replaced by concern.

  ‘How is he going to get home, then?’

  David shrugged. ‘He said he’d catch a train. Personally, I’d wager I’ll get a call from him in a couple of days, asking if I can go and pick him up.’

  ‘And you should,’ she said, frowning a little. ‘He’s your responsibility.’

  Again, he bit back his response to this.

  She turned back to her computer screen. ‘I have to get this done, David. I have a meeting with the underwriters in a few hours, and they wanted these documents prepared by then.’ Her fingers resumed their staccato dance across the keyboard.

  The signal couldn’t have been any clearer. David leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then turned to leave.

  ‘You need a shave,’ she said softly, her attention still on her work. ‘And your breath is foul. You were drinking last night.’ Not a question, a simple statement of fact.

  David didn’t respond to this, but turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He could still hear her typing as he walked down the hall back to the bedroom. He opened the su
itcase on the bed and took out his toiletries bag, then went to the en suite bathroom to shave and shower.

  As he started the tap running and prepared his razor, he looked at his reflection. His eyes were red and his stubble seemed to have traces of grey in it - one reason he always kept himself clean shaven. He looked old, and felt it too. The image in the mirror seemed blurry, then he realised he was trembling. He took a couple of deep breaths, then proceeded to lather his face with shaving foam.

  Shave and a shower, he told himself. Then you’ll feel human again.

  -15-

  ‘Just how dumb d’you think we are?’

  Paul frowned at the two carnies that were blocking his way, unable to think of an answer that wouldn’t involve bodily harm. They’d been standing around the entrance to the carnival when he’d arrived, smoking cigarettes and talking, but they’d spotted him almost immediately and had moved to intercept. He hadn’t even made it as far as the ticket booth. An elderly couple walked out of the carnival and past them, looking over with curious expressions. The threatening demeanour of the two men seemed to deter them from dawdling too much, though.

  He’d had a nap earlier in the afternoon, for about the first time in his adult life. Well, not counting the months he was on heavy painkillers for his ankle, of course. He’d slept during the day quite a lot during that joyful period of his life, especially after long sessions of painful physiotherapy. But he’d decided to lie down for a while after getting back from the petrol station, his fatigue from the night before compounded by the long walks he’d taken during the day. And he knew he had another trek ahead of him later on, so a restful afternoon had seemed a sensible choice. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but the drone of the television had been somehow soothing, something familiar in a strange environment. He didn’t know he’d fallen asleep until he awoke to find a small patch of drool on his pillow. For a few moments he’d panicked, thinking he’d slept through the night, but the sun had gone down, and when he’d checked the time it was late evening. Still time to get to the carnival, he thought, though later than he’d intended. He’d changed his shirt and headed out, with every intention of seeing the fortune teller again.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t banked on the bouncers.

  ‘Y’think you can just sneak back in, hey?’ the second man said, sneering. Both of them were taller and wider than Paul, with quite thick beards. They wore the same rough, warn clothes that he’d seen on most of the other carnies, which looked like they’d been torn and patched more than a few times.

  Once again, Paul knew there was no correct response to the question, so he ignored it. ‘Guys, come on,’ he pleaded. ‘You wrecked the camera already, and I don’t have another one. You can search me. Hell, you can strip and cavity search me, if you’ll let me in afterwards.’

  The first man laughed, a low humourless sound. ‘Not if my fuckin’ life depended on it, weanling.’

  ‘What’s a...?’

  ‘Leave. Now.’

  Paul stood there a moment longer, considering his options. He was smaller and lighter than the two men, and once upon a time he’d have probably been faster too. He could have dodged past them and done a runner, darting through the ropes, hurdling fly lines and ducking into the tent he wanted to find again.

  He could have done all of that a few years ago, before the day a forklift had run over his leg. Now, even with his cane and without a half-hour trudge already behind him, he’d be lucky to make it a few metres before the two men brought him down in a vicious rugby tackle.

  The men stood there, impassive, stone guardians at the gate of Paradise. Paul weighed the odds of getting past them, and concluded that he had a better chance of spontaneously combusting.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, his free hand raised in defeat. ‘I don’t suppose you could pass a message for me?’

  The blank looks on their faces were all the answer he needed.

  ‘Fine, I’m going.’ He turned and limped away a few steps, then looked back over his shoulder. ‘But that’s five bucks you’re missing out on, you know!’

  They didn’t respond, but turned and went back inside the carnival. Paul watched them for a moment, considered trying again, then sighed and continued to walk away, leaving the clatter and laughter beyond the fences behind him.

  He walked for a while in the darkness, keeping a short distance from the road, dejected. He wasn’t sure what to do next. He hadn’t really thought very far ahead, to be honest. His plan had consisted entirely of going back to the carnival and talking to Rachel again.

  ‘Hey!’

  Paul stopped and turned. The voice was feminine, and familiar. Someone was running up behind him. For a moment his wishful thinking took over, and he saw Rachel approaching him, hair flowing behind her. Then reality won out, and he realised it wasn’t her after all. Of course it wasn’t.

  Jasmine jogged up to him, her cheeks flushed. She didn’t seem out of breath, though. ‘Hey, glad I caught you,’ she said, grinning and running a hand through her short dark hair. ‘I see you met the Billys.’

  ‘The Billys?’ Paul asked, then realised who she was referring to. ‘You mean the goons at the gate?’

  She nodded. ‘Both called Billy. Different surnames, of course, but it saves time when talking about them.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ He looked at the girl for a moment, in the dim light here on the edge of the forest. Her manner seemed strange, somehow, though he couldn’t quite figure out how. Just... just not normal. But it was pretty obvious she was interested in him, even to a dummy like Paul. If things were different, he’d have been rather flattered, even tempted to pursue it further. Jasmine was quite pretty, and certainly energetic and enthusiastic. But Paul couldn’t get Rachel out of his head. And he didn’t even understand why.

  Still, he figured he might be able to use the situation to his advantage.

  ‘Hey, Jasmine,’ he said, noticing her smile widen when he used her name. ‘Any chance of getting into the carnival tonight? Like, is there a back way in?’

  She shook her head, still smiling. ‘Sorry, Paul,’ she laughed. ‘Haven’t you learned your lesson yet? One way in, one way out.’

  ‘Shit,’ he sighed. Then he remembered something, something the little girl said at the petrol station.

  They live in the woods.

  ‘Can you take me to where you stay? When the carnival is closed?’

  Jasmine thought about this for a moment. ‘I really shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘You’re an outsider, and outsiders aren’t allowed.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘But there is another way. If you’re interested.’

  ‘Oh, I’m interested,’ Paul said, trying not to sound too eager, but unable to hide his excitement.

  She looked around, nervous, as a car drove past on the road nearby, its headlight illuminating them for a second. He could see a moment of panic in her eyes, as though she felt like she was taking a risk even talking to him. Having seen the way the carnival was run, he didn’t discount that notion. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘follow me.’

  ‘Where?’

  She pointed into the trees. ‘Where do you think?’ Without another word, she turned on her heels and walked towards the forest.

  Paul had to hurry to keep up, limping through the dirt, his cane sinking into the ground with every second step. Then they were amongst the trees, scrappy thin ones to start with, which became bigger as they went deeper. These were old trees, huge and dark, their bark cracked like the surface of an alien planet. The going got tougher as they went along, his cane became tangled in roots and fallen branches time and time again. He started to fall behind.

  ‘Jasmine,’ he panted, as another gnarled root snatched at his cane, making him stumble yet again. ‘Slow down, I can’t keep up!’

  But she ignored him, pressing onwards into the woods. She seemed to be less interested in getting to somewhere, and more in getting away from somewhere.

  He tried again. ‘Please, Jasmine! My leg!’

  S
he pushed through some bushes and vanished. Paul stopped too, and noticed that the forest was completely silent. He was a city boy, born and bred, and even when it was quiet there, he could always hear cars in the distance, or people moving around somewhere or other. Even that morning in the motel room hadn’t been this still. It was as if he’d gone deaf in an instant. He realised that he had no idea where the highway was. His sense of direction had been scrambled in these woods.

  ‘Jasmine?’ he called, alarmed by the squeak of panic in his voice.

  ‘Over here.’ Her voice came from the bushes she’d entered a few moments earlier. ‘We’ve arrived.’

  With a sigh of relief, he trudged onwards again, pushing his way through the scrub. The branches scratched at his face and hands as he struggled through the bushes, but it only took a second to get through. Then he looked around.

  They were in a small clearing, illuminated by the moon above. It was almost a perfect circle, like an alien spacecraft had run out of cornfields to land in and had decided to use this forest instead. In the middle of the clearing was a fallen tree, easily six feet in girth, hollowed out by ants and rain and time. Jasmine sat atop it, swinging her legs to and fro, her heels beating on the wood in a slow rhythm, like a solemn samba.

  ‘Come on up,’ she said, holding out a hand to him. Paul looked around, wary. ‘This... this is where you stay?’ he asked.

  She laughed. ‘No, silly! That’s a good two hour’s hike into the woods.’

  ‘Two hours?’ he said, his heart sinking. ‘I can’t walk for two hours. Hell, I doubt I can make it back to the road.’

  ‘I know,’ Jasmine said, her smile enigmatic. ‘Come and join me on the log.’

  Paul frowned, but other than turning around and trying to find his way back to the highway, he didn’t think he had a choice. He limped to the log and looked up. ‘I can’t climb up there.’

  Jasmine didn’t say anything, just held her hand down to him. Hesitant, he took hold of it.