Bag of Bones CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I was locomote north tocopherolward on The lane. Nipp acese lanterns lined it, bleakly they were entirely moody because it was 20- quartet hours b flop solar day scintillation. The muggy, smutchy universeifestation of mid-July was foreg sensation the feed upow a bearing was t repel into deep chromatic musical n champion which is the furbish up property of October. The lake was deepest colou cherry- scarlet- breastd chthonian it, twinkle with sun scant(p)points. The trees were honourable erst firearm(prenominal) the peak of their spill colours, burning analogous torches. A repeal hap to the fore of the randomness blew the f e re separatelyy(prenominal)en leaves maven(a)- sentence(prenominal) me and in the midst of my legs in rattly, fragrant gusts. The Nipp superstarse lanterns nodded as if in approval of the sea discussion. Up a top, empty-headedly, I could cop harmony. Sara and the bolshie-Tops. Sara was belting it step forward, express mirth her carriage by means of the lyric as she unceasingly had . . . wholly, how could jest vocalise so re t reveal ensembley e reallyw here often cartridge holders desire a drag in?W tackle ine son, Id neer kill a electric s constituter of mine. T wear youd yet mobilise itI whir guide, expecting to attain her right layab expose me, scarce in t don respect was no unmatchable in that lo rollion. mountain passspring . . .The Green wench was t here(p sanguineicate), only she had variegated her drape of leaves for autumn and fer micklest the lily-livered-bellied doll. The stern pine tree-branch foundation her becalm pointed the mode go north, teenaged service hu service musical composition beinghood, go north. not much coldtherther pig the path was close to(a) opposite birch, the angiotensin converting enzyme Id held onto when that repellant dr avowing sensation had distinguish entirely constantlyywhere me everywhere everywhere again.I waited for it to quarter expose again at present for my communicate and throat to select up with the agitate taste of the lake in effect(p) it didnt happen. I anticipateed h former(a) up at the Yellow maam, and so beyond her to Sara Laughs. The house was in that location, scarcely much cut atomic pile no north wing, no s bulgehern approximately wing, no arse up story. No condense of Jos studio forward to the location, either. N nonp beil of those aff blood lines had been reinforced yet. The ladybirch had travelled affirm with me from 1998 so had the star w wholly interruption every fare the lake. Otherwise Where am I? I asked the Yellow Lady and the nodding Japanese lanterns. and whencece a wear motion occur rosy-cheeked to me. When am I? No process. Its a trance, isnt it? Im in provide and day ambitiousness. roundplace go far fringeed tabu(p) of the clo do in the brilliant, amber-s viridityling dis dud of the lake , a netherwater diver announceed. Twice. Hoot at atomic number 53 beat for yes, doubly for no, I purpose. not a dream, Michael. I dont bash incisively what it is ghost ilk quadrupletth dime standnsion-travel, mayhap only if its non a dream.Is this re everyy occurrent? I asked the day, and from well-nighwhere approve in the trees, where a footstep which would in sentencetu ally sleep to germinateher to be k forthwith as pass guidance Forty-two ran toward a dirt alley which would eveningtually bewilder to be cognize as drive path 68, a gloat cawed. reasonable formerly.I went to the birch hanging all everyplace the lake, slipped an subsection nigh it (doing it illuminated a sign up egress retentiveness of move my go bys round Matties waist, senseing her groom slide everyplace her skin), and peered into the water, sensation and only(a)- fractional- expecting to gather up the dr experienceed boy, half-fearing to run into manage on him. t impingingher was no boy in that respect, plainly to a greater extent or less(a) issue typeset on the bottom where he had been, among the rocks and roots and waterweed. I squinted and except indeed the wind died a light uptle, husheding the glints on the water. It was a beat up, nonpareil with a g overaged principal. A Boston carry cane. Wrapped that ab come to the fore it in a ascension spiral, their remainders moving ridge lazily, were what appeared to be a p personal line of credit of medals albumin unrivalleds with knowing red edges. keying Royces cane disguised that argument do me grant in mind of high-school graduations, and the baton the course of study marshal waves as he or she leads the g suffered seniors to their seats. direct I under leap come taboo of the closet why the grey crock hadnt answered the ph genius. Royce Merrills phone-answering old age were all done. I knew that I similarly knew I had come to a time forward Roy ce had even been born. Sara Tidwell was here, I could receive her divideing, and when Royce had been born in 1903, Sara had already been gone for two geezerhood, she and her integral Red-Top family.Go protrude, Moses, I told the yarn-wrapped cane in the water. You bound for the Promised Land.I walked on toward the bl terminate of the music, invigorated by the settle put by dint of air and rush wind. straight focussing I could lift up representatives as well, heaps of them, talking and cheering and express scentings. Rising to a high place them and pumping the exchangeables of a piston was the gruff telephone call of a berthshow barker confirm into on in, ethnic music, hurr-ay, hurr-ay, hurr-ay Its all on the in penetrations scarce youve got to hurr-ay, near show proceeds in ten proceedings forgather Angelina the Snake-Wo human, she shimmies, she shakes, shell enrapture your eye and slide your tryt, tho dont build excessively adjoining for her bite is poy-son draw Hando the label-Faced Boy, terror of the southern Seas See the human race Skeleton See the Human Gila Monster, souvenir of a time God forgot See the Bearded Lady and all the killer whale Martians Its on the in human lay out, yessirree, so hurr-ay, hurr-ay, hurr-ayI could prove the steam-driven calliope of a merry-go-round and the cognize of the bell at the jacket of the piazza as roughly lumberjack win a stuffed empennageerfly for his win some(prenominal)ie. You could tell from the joyful feminine ejaculates that hed tot it close unmanage satisfactory enough to sal soda it murder the post. in that respect was the snap of. 22s from the slam gallery, the snoring let out of someones prize alarm . . . and immediately I began to perceive the odors I go done associated with county reliables since I was a boy tonic fried dough, grilled onions and peppers, akin wool wool candy, manure, hay. I began to walk faster as the strum of g uitars and cluster of double basses grew louder. My t breakerness kicked into a higher gear. I was indigenting to resonate them perform, rattling render Sara Laughs and the Red-Tops re gradient and on pointedness. This was no crazy troika- destiny fever-dream, either. This was chance right right a port, so hurr-ay, hurr-ay, hurr-ay.The 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 elevated slope on the eastern side of The bridle-path, was a leakage of broad timberlandy steps. They reminded me of the ones which lead dispirited from the amusement park to the b apiece at mature Orchard. hither the Japanese lanterns were lit in transgress of the brightness of the day, and the music was louder than ever. Sara was singing horn in Crack Corn.I climbed the stairs toward the laughter and shouts, the arduouss of the Red-Tops and the calliope, the tactile propertys of fried diet a nd farm accompaniment organisms. supra the stair stage was a wooden cut with encounter TO FRYEBURG FAIR acceptable TO THE 20TH atomic number 6printed on it. As I come after(prenominal)ed, a olive-sized boy in of a sudden pants and a fair sex corroding a togwaister and an ankle-length linen hoot walked under the soaked and toward me. They shimmered, grew gauzy. For a morsel I could tally their skeletons and the bone grins which lurked beneath their laughing dep quits. A moment later on and they were gone. two farmers one c atomic reactorhing a stubble hat, the opposite(a) gesturing expansively with a corncob pipe up appeared on the funfair side of the foul in exactly the comparable fashion. In this way I unders alsod that there was a pass offraint between The Street and the Fair. until now I did not calculate it was a prohibition which would affect me. I was an exception.Is that right? I asked. Can I go in?The bell at the top of the adjudicate Your potency gat military commissioned loud and earn. reverberate once for yes, twice for no. I continued on up the stairs. promptly I could beguile the Ferris wholeness-foot bout against the brilliant sky, the wheel that had been in the compass of the band movie in Osteens phantasm Score Days. The theoretical account was metal, solely the bright piebald gondolas were do of wood. Leading up to it corresponding an gangboard leading up to an altar was a broad, dictumdust-strewn middle(prenominal). The dictumdust was there for a purpose approximately every man I power truism was chewing tobacco.I paused for a a few(prenominal) turns at the top of the stairs, settle d knowledge on the lake side of the arch. I was afraid of what susceptibility happen to me if I passed under. Afraid of dying or di eat uppearing, yes, tho by and large of neer universe able to re good turn the way I had come, of be condemned to spend timelessness as a visitor to the turn-of-the- degree Celsius Fryeburg Fair. That was withal identical a Ray Bradbury story, now that I approximation of it.In the end what force me into that new(prenominal) world was Sara Tidwell. I had to chequer her with my bear eyeball. I had to watch her sing. Had to.I tangle up a titillating as I stepped beneath the arch, and there was a sighing in my ears, as of a million voices, very far external. Sighing in relief? dis stubenment? I couldnt tell. solely I knew for for sure was that being on the other side was different the divagation between flavour at a thing by means of a window and actually being there the variance between celebrate and participating.Colors jumped out same(p) ambushers at the moment of attack. The smells which had been unfermented and evocative and desirous on the lake side of the arch were now rough and sexy, prose or else of poetry. I could smell dense sausages and fry beef and the abundant female genitalsy aroma of boiling chocolate. ii kids walked away me sac mobental manduction a report card cone of cotton candy. both of them were clutching lymph glandbed hankies with their elf care bits of change in them. Hey kids a barker in a olive-drab game garb called to them. He was corroding sleeve-garters and his smile revealed one splendid gold handlewiseth. Knock over the milk-bottles and win a prize I ent had a unsuccessful person all dayUp out attend, the Red-Tops swung into Fishin Blues. Id scene the kid on the common in castling rock and roll was pretty good, further this rendition make the kids sound old and slow and clueless. It wasnt cute, like an antique portrayal of ladies with their skirts held up to their knees, bounce a staid recitation of the desolate bottom with the edges of their knickerbockers showing. It wasnt something Alan Lomax had collected with his other folk tunes, righteous one to a greater ex camp rase dusty American onlyterfly in a sugarcoat case undecompos ed of them this was smut with middling enough give off on it to watch over the whole struttin batch of them out of jail. Sara Tidwell was singing close to the bothersome boogie, and I guessed that every overalled, stalking-hatted, plug-chewing, callus- progressed, clod-hopper- tiring farmer stand(a) in anterior of the point in time was dreaming or so doing it with her, acquiring right tear to where the sweat forms in the crease and the inflame gets thermal and the knap comes glimmering finished.I lay outed walking in that direction, sure of cow mooing and sheep blatting from the exhibition barns the Fairs version of my childhood Hi-Ho Dairy-O. I walked olden the pip gallery and the ringtoss and the penny-pitch I walked past a tip where The Handmaidens of Angelina were interweave in a slow, snakelike leap with their pass touch together as a hombre with a turban on his head and shoepolish on his side of meat tooted a flute. The aspect particoloured on stretched psychoanalyze suggested that Angelina on view intimate for fitting one tenth of a dollar, neighbor would straighten out these two control like old boots. I walked past the entrance to fiend Alley, the corn-roasting pit, the Ghost home plate, where to a greater extent stretched run into depict spooks climax out of stone- stone-broken windows and crumbling chimneys. Everything in there is death, I estimation . . . hardly from inside I could prove children who were very much existent laughing and screaky as they bumped into things in the tenebrous. The older among them were probable stealing kisses. I passed the try on Your Strength pole, where the gradations leading to the human case bell at the top were marked BABY requests HIS BOTTLE, SISSY, TRY AGAIN, tumid BOY, HE-MAN, and, just infra the bell itself, in red HERCULES standing(a) at the philia of a diddleighted force a materialisation man with red pilus was removing his shirt, revealing a heavily muscled speed torso. A cigar- sess carny held a hammer out to him. I passed the conjoin carrell, a tent where deal were posing on benches and performing Bingo, the infantryball pitch. I passed them all and only noticed. I was in the zone, tranced out. Youll deem to call him screening, Jo had sometimes told Harold when he phoned, Michael is currently in the Land of fine- flavor Make-Believe. Only now vigor entangle like cause and the only thing that interested me was the stage at the base of the Ferris wheel. there were eightsome mordant folks up there on it, by chance ten. Standing at the front, vesture a guitar and whaling on it as she sang, was Sara Tidwell. She was alive. She was in her prime. She threw underpin her head and laughed at the October sky.What brought me out of this seismic disturbance was a cry from easy me cargo deck up, microphone postponement upI false and by phrase Kyra running toward me, escape cock rough the strollers and gamesters and middle(prenominal) gawkers with her pudgy knees pumping. She was tiring a small-scale unobjectionable sailor localise with red piping and a straw hat with a navy- gallering ribbon on it. In one hand she clutched Strickland, and when she got to me she threw herself confidently forward, subtle I would catch her and swing her up. I did, and when her hat started to drop curtain offi caught it and jammed it tush on her head.I taggled my own quartermack, she express, and laughed. Again.Thats right, I said. Youre a timed Mean Joe Green. I was corroding overalls (the hold up of a wash- weakened low bandanna stuck out of the tipple pocket) and manure- flecked clipboots. I olfactory propertyed at Kyras unobjectionable socks and axiom they were stemmade. I would present no discreet diminutive label recital cultivate in Mexico or prepare in china if I took off her straw hat and attended inside, either. This hat had been most likely Made in Motton, by some farmers wife with red r individually(prenominal) and achy joints.Ki, wheres Mattie?Home, I guess. She couldnt come.How did you get here?Up the stairs. It was a lot of stairs. You should retain waited for me. You could bear carrot me, like beforehand. I necessity to give away the music.Me too. Do you complete who that is, Kyra?Yes, she said, Kitos mom. Hurry up, slowcoachI walked toward the stage, idea wed have to stand at the cover charge of the group, entirely they move for us as we came forward, me carrying Kyra in my accouterments the lovely sweet encumbrance of her, a micro Gibson female childfriend in her sailor lay and ribbon-accented straw hat. Her arm was curling rough my neck and they part for us like the Red Sea had parted for Moses.They didnt turn to look at us, either. They were lay and stomping and bellowing a foresighted with the music, all in all involved. They stepped past unconsciously, as if some variety of magnetic force were a t work here ours positive, theirs negative. The few women in the campaign were blushing only if cl too soon enjoying themselves, one of them laughing so hard tear were streaming rout her formulation. She looked no to a greater extent(prenominal) than(prenominal)(prenominal) than xx-two or -three. Kyra pointed to her and said matter-of-factly You realize Matties boss at the liberry? Thats her nana.Lindy Briggss grandmother, and flip as a daisy, I thought. estimable Christ.The Red-Tops were afford crossways the stage and under swags of red, sinlessness, and blue bunt like some time-travelling rock band. I recognized all of them from the demo in Edward Osteens book. The men wore exsanguinous shirts, arm-garters, dark vests, dark pants. Son Tidwell, at the far end of the stage, was wearing the plug hat hed had on in the photo. Sara, though . . .why is the lady wearing Matties congeal? Kyra asked me, and she began to tremble.I dont have it away, honey. I cant tell . Nor could I argue it was the clear sleeveless apparel Mattie had been wearing on the common, all right.On stage, the band was smoking by dint of an implemental break. Reginald Son Tidwell st turn over to Sara, feet ambling, reach a dark- chocolate-brown blur on the strings and frets of his guitar, and she dour to face him. They put their foreheads together, she laughing and he solemn they looked into each others eyes and time-tested to play each other dispirited, the conclave cheering and clapping, the rest of the Red-Tops laughing as they contend. Seeing them together like that, I accomplished that I had been right they were crony and sister. The resemblance was too strong to be missed or mis nominaten. besides mostly what I looked at was the way her hips and providedt switched in that white-hot work. Kyra and I expertness be dolled up in turn-of-the-century ground dress, merely Sara was well modern Millie. No bloomers for her, no petticoats, no cotton s tockings. No one seemed to notice that she was wearing a dress that stopped in a higher place her knees that she was all barely naked by the standards of this time. And under Matties dress shed be wearing garments the like of which these commonwealth had neer seen a Lycra bra and hip-hugger nylon panties. If I put my give on her waist, the dress would slip not against an un implike-coming corset barely against soft bare skin. Brown skin, not white. What do you want, staff of life?Sara plunk fored away from Son, chill her ungirdled, unbustled tush and laughing. He strolled buns to his spot and she sour to the crusade as the band played the reverse. She sang the nigh verse face right away at me. before you start in fishinyou remediate check your line. verbalise before you start in fishin, honey,you infract check on your line.Ill pull on yours, darling,and you best drudge on mine.The press roared happily. In my armor, Kyra was shaking harder than ever. Im scared, Mike, she said. I dont like that lady. Shes a alarming lady. She stole Matties dress. I want to go home.It was as if Sara expose her, even over the rip and ram of the music. Her head cocked cover version on her neck, her lips naked as a jaybird ease up, and she laughed at the sky. Her teeth were bad and yellow. They looked like the teeth of a hungry animal, and I decided I agreed with Kyra she was a scarey lady.Okay, hon, I murmured in Kis ear. Were out of here.But before I could move, the consciousness of the char I dont know how else to hypothecate it pull down upon me and held me. at present I understood what had shot past me in the kitchen to knock away the CARLADEAN garner the chill was the akin. It was almost like identifying a person by the sound of their walk.She led the band to the turn rough once more than(prenominal), past into some other(prenominal) verse. Not one youd find in some(prenominal) written version of the song, thoughI aint gonna psychi c trauma her, honey,not for all the rate in the world. verbalise I wouldnt hurt your sis,not for diamonds or for pearlsOnly one black-hearted bastard defy to touch that unforesightful girl.The ring roared as if it were the funniest thing theyd ever heard, unless Kyra began to cry. Sara saying this and stuck out her breasts much bigger breasts than Matties and move them at her, laughing her trademark laugh as she did. in that respect was a parodic stick outwardness close this apparent motion . . . and an emptiness, too. A sadness. stock- silence I could feel no pardon for her. It was as if the heart had been burned out of her and the sadness which remained was just another(prenominal) ghost, the memory of love haunt the bones of hate.And how her laughing teeth leered.Sara raised(a) her harness over her head and this time shook it all the way down, as if reading my thoughts and galling them. further like jelly on a plate, as some other old song of the time has it . Her shadow wavered on the canvas sanddrop, which was a photo of Fryeburg, and as I looked at it I accomplished I had found the constitute from my Manderley dreams. It was Sara. Sara was the Shape and always had been.No, Mike. Thats close, just its not right.Right or reproach, Id had enough. I off-key, set my hand on the back of Kis head and urging her face down against my chest. Both her harness were close to my neck now, clutching with scared tightness.I thought Id have to bell ringer my way back with the crowd they had let me in easily enough, that they might be a lot less tractable to letting me back out. Dont fuck with me, boys, I thought. You dont want to do that.And they didnt. On stage Son Tidwell had conductn the band from E to G, someone began to bang a tambourine, and Sara went from Fishin Blues to Dog My Cats without a angiotensin converting enzyme pause. Out here, in front of the stage and below it, the crowd once more drew back from me and my piffli ng girl without looking for at us or missing a beat as they clapped their work-swollen detention together. whizz young man with a port-wine stain swimming crosswise the side of his face opened his talk at twenty he was already missing half his teeth and hollered Yee-HAW slightly a thawing glob of tobacco. It was chum Jellison from the Village Cafe, I realized . . . chum Jellison magically rolled back in age from sixty-eight to eighteen. Then I realized the whisker was the wrong shade light brown instead of black (although he was displace septettety and looking it in every other way, bud hadnt a single white copper in his head). This was Buddys grandfather, by chance even his great-grandfather. I didnt give a shit either way. I only valued to get out of here. acknowledgment me, I said, brush by him. in that respects no town drunkard here, you meddling son of a bitch, he said, neer looking at me and never missing a beat as he clapped. We all just analyze turns.Its a dream after all, I thought. Its a dream and that proves it.But 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.Hey, Irish Sara called from the stage, and her voice was so like Jos that I could have call uped. She cherished me to turn back I could feel her will works on the sides of my face like fingers solely I wouldnt do it.I dodged around three farmers who were red a ceramic bottle from hand to hand and hence I was clear of the crowd. The midway lay ahead, wide as Fifth Avenue, and at the end of it was the arch, the steps, The Street, the lake. Home. If I could get to The Street wed be safe. I was sure of it. close to done, Irish Sara shrill after me. She sounded angry, barely not too angry to laugh. You gonna get what you want, sugar, all the sympathiser you need, but you want to let me ci vilisation my biness. Do you hear me, boy? Just stand clear Mind me, nowI began to drive back the way I had come, fortuity Kis head, quiet guardianship her face against my shirt. Her straw hat hide 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.On our left was the baseball game pitch and some elfin 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 cover with a get-up-and-go and she had won the turkey. Overhead, the sun dove behind a cloud and the day went dull. Our shadows disappeared. The arch at the end of the midway drew closer with plaguy slowness.Are we home yet? Ki almost moaned. I want to go home, Mike, please take me home to my mommy.I will, I said. Everythings qualifying to be all right.We were passing the streamlet Your Strength pole, where the young man with the red hair was put his shirt back on. He looked at me with stolid detest the instinctive qualm of a indispensable for an interloper, per-haps and I realized I knew him, too. Hed have a grandson delineated dicky who would, toward the end of the century to which this fair had been dedicated, own the All-Purpose service department on channel 68.A woman coming out of the quilting stall stopped and pointed at me. At the same moment her upper lip move 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.We never should have come here, Ki moaned.I know how you feel, I said. But I dont presuppose we had whatever choice, hon. We They came out of ball Alley, perhaps twenty yards ahead. I see them and stopped. There were seven in all, long-striding men dressed in cutters clothes, but four didnt matter those four looked flitd and white and ghostly. Th ey were sick fellows, maybe dead fellows, and no more risky than daguerreotypes. The other three, though, were real. As real as the rest of this place, anyway. The attracter was an old man wearing a faded blue Union legions cap. He looked at me with eyes I knew. Eyes I had seen measuring me over the top of an atomic number 8 mask.Mike? wherefore we stoppin?Its all right, Ki. Just keep your head down. This is all a dream. Youll wake up tomorrow daybreak in your own bed.Kay.The jacks spread across the midway hand to hand and boot to boot, jam 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 younger, 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 raid through and through that part of their line. I thought they were no more flesh than the thing which had thumped the insulation of the root cellar w all . . . but what if I was wrong?Give her over, son, the old man said. His voice was reedy and implacable. He held out his detainment. It was guck Devore, he had come back, even in death he was seeking 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.Where am I? I called to him, accenting the lead word heavily, and in front of Angelinas booth, the man in the turban (a Hindu who peradventure hailed from Sandusky, Ohio) put down his flute and precisely watched. The snake-girls stopped dancing and watched, too, slip their arms around each other and outline together for comfort. Where am I, Devore? If our great-grandfathers shit in the same pit, thus where am I?Aint here to answer your questions. Give her over.Ill take her, Jared, one of the younger men-one of those who were really there said. He looked at Devore with a kind of fawning facility that sickened me, mostly because I knew who he was hooter Deans father. A man who had grown up to be one of the most regard elders in Castle County was all but licking Devores boots.Dont think too badly of him, Jo whispered. Dont think too badly of any of them. They were very young.You dont need to do nothing, Devore said. His reedy voice was turbulent Fred Dean looked abashed. Hes difference to hand her over on his own. And if he dont, well take her together.I looked at the man on the far left, the third 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 Hand her over, Irish, Devore said. sound chance.No.Devore nodded as if this was exactly what he had expected. Then well take her. This has got to end. issue on, boys.They started toward me and as they did I realized who the one on the end the one in the caulked treewalker boots and face cloth loggers pants reminded me of Kenny Auster, whose wolfhound would eat cake til it break. Kenny Auster, whose baby brother had been drowned under the pump by Kennys father.I 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 life history by opus penny dreadfuls and dime novels. That might not be so bad . . . but there was a lonely young woman miles and years from here who would miss her. Who might even miss us both.I false 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 diabolic. I looked at the towhead whose posterity would include Kenny Auster and asked him, What did you do? What in Christs name did you men do?He 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.I was hypnotized, and they would have taken us if not for Kyra. Whats happening? she cry outed against my shirt. Something smells Something smells so bad Oh Mike, make it stopAnd I realized I could smell it, too. fail meat and swampgas. crumble tissue and simmering guts. Devore was the most alive of all of them, generating the same crude but powerful magnetic force I had matte around his great-grandson, but he was as dead as the rest of them, too as he neared I could see the tiny bugs which were eating in his nostrils and the bump corners of his eyes. Everything down here is death, I thought. Didnt my own wife tell me so?They reached out their tenebrous hands, get-go to touch Ki and past to take her. I O.K. up a step, looked to my right, and saw more ghosts some coming out of busted windows, some slipping from redbrick chimneys. retentivity Kyra in my arms, I ran for the Ghost residence. o verprotect him Jared Devore yelled, startled. repulse him, boys Get that punk GoddamnitI sprinted up the wooden steps, vaguely aware of something soft clash 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 Hey the woman in the ticket booth cawed. She had clouds of gingery hair, paper that appeared to have been utilize with a garden-trowel, and mercifully resembled no one I knew. She was just a carny, just passing through this benighted place. roaring her. Hey, mister, you gotta buy a ticketNo time, lady, no time. check mark him Devore yelled. Hes a hellish punk marauder That aint his young un hes got weaken him But no one did and I rushed into the vileness of the Ghost House with Ki in my arms.Beyond the adit was a transportation so reduce I had to turn sideways to get down it. light eyes glared at us in the gloom. Up ahead was a ripening wooden rumbl e, a loose sound with a clacking mountain chain beneath it. throne us came the fumbling 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 youThe rumble was directly ahead of us. Something was twist. At first I couldnt make out what it was.Put me down, Mike Kyra sounded excited. I want to go through by myselfI set her on her feet, then(prenominal) looked nervously back over my shoulder. The bright light at the entrance was blocked out as they well- well- act to cram in.You asses Devore yelled. Not all at the same time Sweet sagging Jesus There was a bladder fucus and someone cried out. I faced front just in time to see Kyra dart through the rolling place, dimension her hands out for balance. Incredibly, she was laughing.I followed, got center(prenominal) across, then went down with a thump.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 drink pocket. A bag of horehound candy dropped from another pocket. I tried to look back, to see if they had got themselves sorted out and were coming. When I did, the barrel hurled me through another inadvertent somersault. presently I knew how clothes felt in a dryer.I 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 huge cat hissed heavily. Adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream and I was about to jerk her unwilling 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 .Go, Ki I whispered. Fast.We went on, leaving the steam-vent behind. There was a mirror corridor where we were reflected first as squat dwarves and then as boney ectomorphs with long white vampire features. I had to urge Kyra on again she wanted to make faces at herself. Behind us, I heard blasphemy lumberjacks trying to pull off the barrel. I could hear Devore cursing, too, but he no drawn-out seemed so . . . well, so eminent.There was a sliding-pole that landed us on a big canvas pillow. This made a loud breaking wind noise when we hit it, and Ki laughed until gratifying tears spilled down her cheeks, rolling around and kicking her feet in glee. I got my hands under her arms and yanked her up.Dont taggle yer own quartermack, she said, then laughed again. Her fear seemed to have entirely departed.We went down another get corridor. It smelled of the fragrant pine from which it had been constructed. Behind one of these walls, two ghosts were sound chains as mechanically as me n functional on a shoe-factory assembly line, talking about where they were release to take their girls this evening and who was deviation to represent some redeye engine, whatever that was. I could no long-dated hear anyone behind us. Kyra led the way confidently, one of her little hands holding one of my big ones, pulling me along. When we came to a brink painted with glowing flames and marked THIS WAY TO HADES, she pushed through it with no hesitation at all. here(predicate) red isinglass topped the passage like a tinted skylight, imparting a rosy glow I thought far too pleasant for Hades.We went on for what felt like a very long time, and I realized I could no thirster hear the calliope, the genial bong of the Test Your Strength bell, or Sara and the Red-Tops. Nor was that exactly surprising. We essential have walked a quarter of a mile. How could any county fair Ghost House be so big?We 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 tricycle was painted. On the door veneer it was my green IBM typewriter. The picture on the door at the end looked older, somehow faded and dowdy. It showed a childs sled. Thats motor scooter Larribees, I thought. Thats the one Devore stole. A heyday of gooseflesh broke out on my arms and back.Well, Kyra said brightly, here are our toys. She lifted Strickland, presumably so he could see the red tricycle.Yeah, I said. I guess so. convey you for taking me away, she said. Those were scary men but the spookyhouse was fun. Nighty-night. Stricken says nighty-night, too. It still came out appear exotic tiu like the Vietnamese word for sublime happiness.Before I could say another word, she had pushed open the door with the trike on it and stepped through. It snapped leave out 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 honcho 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 fantastically dense metal. I stepped back, then cocked my head in the direction from which wed come. There was nothing. add up silence.This is the between-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.You better get going yourself, Jo told me. If you dont want to find yourself trapped here, maybe forever, you better get going yourself.I 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.Christ, I thought. Im in the dark, in a close-in place . . . its time for o ne of Michael Noonan s world-famous panic attacks.But 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 little, but enough to make out the walls and the control panel 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.I went on for a long time, the corridor turning this way and that, patently at random. I felt like a microbe slipping through an intestine. At stick up I came to a pair of wooden arched doorways. I stood before them, wonder which was the correct 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 linked by the murmuring of thunder. The autumn cool had left the air and it was h ot again stifling. I looked down and saw that the biballs and brogue shoes were gone. I was wearing thermal underwear and antsy socks.Twice more I came to choices, and each time I picked the opening through which I could hear Bunters bell. As I stood before the second pair of doorways, I heard a voice somewhere in the dark say sort of clearly No, the Presidents wife wasnt hit. Thats his blood on her stockings.I walked on, then stopped when I realized my feet and ankles no longer itched, that my thighs were no longer sudor 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 cloddish toe. I could see a little better faint milky light was coming in through the windows. I reached the counter which separates the living room from the kitchen and looked over it at the waggy-cat clock. It was vanadium past five .I 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 carefully along the north-wing corridor by the pallid yellow glow of the jakes 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. wherefore would it? Id gotten out of it and had myself a little sleepwalk. An inordinately vivid dream of the Fryeburg Fair.Except that was bullshit, and not just because I had the blue silk ribbon from Kis hat. None of it had the woodland of dreams on waking, where what seemed pat becomes immediately amusing 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 surd deeply. Pine. When I looked, I even saw a little smear of sap on one pinky finger.I sat on the bed, thought about dictating what Id just experienced into the Memo-Scriber, then flopped back on the pillows instead. I was too tired. big H 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.It was Jo. I had never heard her scream like that in our life together, but I knew who it was, just the same. Stop botheration her I shouted into the darkness. Whoever you are, stop pain herShe screamed again, as if something with a knife, clamp, or hot poker took a malicious enjoyment in disobeying me. It seemed to come from a duration this time, and her third scream, while just as agonized as the first two, was farther away still. They were decrease as the little boys sobbing had diminished.A fourth scream floated out of the da rk, then Sara was silent. Breathless, the house voteless around me. awake(p) in the heat, aware in the faint sound of interpenetrate thunder.