"Peter And The Carnival Of Evil" Page 13

Dill slowly, sloooooowly moved his arm up and away from the wall. Peter tried, too; it was incredibly difficult, like invisible rubber bands were holding him down. He could move against them, but the farther he tried to extend his arm, the harder it became.

The sound inside the bucket was loud as a jet engine now. But then came a louder sound: KRAAAANG. The floor dropped away beneath Peter’s feet – yet he stayed exactly where he was, like a giant hand was pressing him against the wall. He could feel his skin pull back from his cheeks. Everybody inside was screaming now. One kid’s baseball cap had come off his head and was plastered against the bucket wall.

“Wooooooooooooo!” Dill yelled beside him, and Peter laughed.

Suddenly, KRANG – the floor was back beneath his shoes. The whirring sound diminished, and the invisible rubber bands grew slacker. The kid’s baseball cap fell from its place on the wall and toppled to the floor. Within fifteen seconds it was all over. The room had stopped, the door opened, and Peter and Dill stumbled out into the night, trying to keep their balance as the ground spun crazily beneath them.

“Was that awesome or what!” Dill cried out.

“I didn’t puke!” Peter cheered.

“Tickets,” shouted the bored, toothless carny behind them as Peter and Dill disappeared into the crowd, looking for the next thrill.

***

They went on the rollercoaster next, which happened to be a lot scarier than the Whoop-De-Whirl. Not because it was an awesome ride – Peter had been on rollercoasters that looped upside down and plummeted hundreds of feet, while this one barely got higher than twenty yards off the ground. Which was scary enough – Peter hated heights, and this one made him extremely nervous as their roller coaster car rattled and clicked up the hill before it started its downward plunge.

No, the main reason it was terrifying was because it was old and rickety. Peter could almost feel the planks groaning beneath the rattling wheels of their car. He imagined the whole thing collapsing like a Jenga tower, and then spent the rest of the ride trying to push that image out of his head. He was thankful when the coaster came to an end and Dill had no interest in riding it again.

“Laaame-uh,” Dill said as they disembarked. “Come on, let’s get some food.”

A corn dog and cotton candy later, they were walking through the crowd when they came upon the Freak Show. It was a large canvas tent, thirty feet high, held in place with ropes staked into the ground. A heavy man with a hairy wart on his nose was taking tickets at the door as a few people filed in.

“You wanna?” Dill asked.

Fear crept back into Peter’s stomach as he remembered his dream. “I dunno.”

“Come on, man. This is where you can prove it to yourself: either you see the guys from your dream, and we know something is up, or you don’t, and we know you’re a wussy crybaby.”

Peter scowled. “I’m not the one who wets my pants.”

“HEY!” Dill snapped, and looked around to make sure no one had heard.

But Dill’s argument made a certain amount of sense. Either the dream was real, and something to be concerned about…or it was just a dream.

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Copyright © 2009 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.