Carnival (18 page)

Johnny Davis's eyes were still open in shocked death, staring at only God knew what. Or Satan. Gary flipped the sheet over the ravaged and broken body and then stored Johnny in a refrigerated vault. The group walked outside the funeral home.

“I think,” Audie spoke softly, “it's time to run this bunch out of town. What do you people think about that?”

“I agree with you,” Gary said.

“I got a hunch, people,” Martin dashed cold water on that suggestion. “I got a hunch that the townspeople wouldn't let us do that.”

“What do you mean?” Frenchy asked.

“I think we waited too long to act. Don't ask me how I know that. I don't. It's just a hunch.”

Gary paused in the lighting of his pipe. “How do we find out?”

“First let's check the weak links. Any suggestions, Nicole?”

“You know who I'll suggest.”

* * *

“You're gonna do
what?”
Chief Kelson yelled at them from the front porch of his house.

“We're going to run the carnival out of town, Chief,” Martin repeated. “And we'd like your help in doing it. Don't you think that's a good idea?”

“Absolutely, no! What I think is that you're a pure-dee nut, Mayor. And you ain't gonna get my help in hay-rassin' them good people out at the fairgrounds.” He pointed a finger at Martin. “You just try it, Mayor. You just try. And by God, I'll stop you.”

“All right, Kelson, all right. Settle down. I was just getting your opinion on it. Calm down.”

Kelson stomped back into the house, slamming the door.

“This is making me very uneasy, friend,” Gary said.

“It's scaring the hell out of me!” Nicole stated. She stepped close to Audie and the deputy didn't seem to mind putting his arm around her waist. He couldn't hide his grin.

The move didn't escape Martin's eyes. “Never miss an opportunity,” he muttered.

The group drove to the home of a local schoolteacher. She screamed at Martin when he suggested ordering the carnival out of town.

Audie voiced his amazement. “Mrs. Carlson is one of the most level-headed people I know.”

“She still is,” Martin said. “Or will be again as soon as the carnival leaves town.”

“Maybe,” Gary said. “But in what condition they'll leave the town is what concerns me.”

Martin chose not to reply to that.

They drove on. A man threatened to sic his dog on Martin if he didn't leave his property. Another threatened to get his shotgun. A lady cursed him. Several teenagers jeered him and shot him the bird.

“Let's try something else,” Martin suggested.

The two-car caravan, Martin in the lead, drove outside of town and kept going for several miles. Martin finally signaled that he was pulling over.

“Now what was all that about?” Gary asked.

“I wanted to see if they'd let us leave.”

“They meaning? ...” Frenchy asked.

“Nabo and his people. Obviously they don't care what we do.”

“I ... don't understand this,” Nicole said. “Surely we're not the only ones in this whole town who are unaffected by this ... thing?”

“I can't answer that, Nicole. Or if we are, why we are.” A thought came to him. “Satan does love a good game, or so I'm told.”

“Now what does that mean, Martin?” Gary's tone was impatient.

“Let's go back to the house. Talk this town out.”

They called off the impromptu canvassing of homes and returned to Martin's house. Linda and Susan made coffee and they all gathered on the huge front porch, telling Janet and the kids about the evening's surprises.

“Everyone you talked with was indignant about your suggestion?” Janet asked.

“To a person. Male and female. Adults and kids. Even Mr. Noble got hot under the collar about it. And you remember I told you he's the one who was against the carnival coming in—just a few days ago.”

“Let me tell you what the kids just told me about Matt and Diane and Milt and Pat,” Janet said. She informed the gathering.

Gary blinked. “Drunk? Party?”

“That's what they said.”

The group sat in silence and mentally digested that for a moment.

Frenchy broke the silence. “Whoever ‘they' might be,” she said, as the night wound around them, “they sure are clever. The carnival people, that is. They've got it all tied up as neat and pretty as a Christmas package.”

“Maybe not,” Martin said.

“You know something we need to know?” Gary asked.

“A hunch. A guess. We're all pretty much agreed that the carnival came in here for revenge. But just suppose there is another force at work that the carnival doesn't know about.”

“What do you mean, dad?” Mark asked. “What kind of force?”

“Satan.” He tossed it out and waited for someone to pick it up. When no one did, he said, “What if, unknowing to the carnies, Satan saw a golden opportunity for some mischief and stepped in, say, as the carnival passed from the afterlife to the present?”

“Why would he do that?” Janet asked.

“Why not?” Martin countered. “Just think, with the state of the nation, the world, being what it is, Old Nick must be getting bored. People are voluntarily, willingly, rushing headlong into Hell, without Satan having to do a thing. God is struggling, people. The Almighty is in a war for survival.

“So the Devil sees a chance to further hasten things along down the dark path, right here in good ol' Holland, Nebraska. As God is All-Seeing, so is Old Nick. As the carnival slides out from the other side, he just sends some of his minions with it. Perhaps they're even a part of the carnival. Probably so. It might even be Nabo, but something tells me it isn't.” He cut his eyes to Jeanne. “What did you feel when he had his hands on you, Jeanne?”

“Compassion. Regret. Sorrow,” the girl answered.

“But wouldn't he know, dad?” Linda asked. “I mean, he's a part of the ... well, other side.”

“Not necessarily, baby. None of us knows what really lies on the other side of life. Our faith teaches us that there is a Heaven and a Hell. And nothing in between. Other religions teach that there is a middle ground. Still others claim there are levels of afterlife. No one really knows.”

“It must have been a treacherous journey getting back here,” Audie spoke, directing the statement at no one in particular.

“Not if you have outside help,” Martin replied.

“And not knowing that you do,” Frenchy added.

“Yes.”

“Assuming that you're right in this ... Satan theory,” Gary mused aloud. “That means that we don't know who in town is on what side—right?”

“That's the way I see it.”

“You mean that we might be ... all alone in this thing?” Nicole asked.

“Quite possibly.”

“Why, dad?” Mark asked. “Why us and not somebody else?”

“I can't answer that, son.”

“Who can, dad?” Linda asked.

“God.”

“I can't speak for the group,” Audie said. “But I don't recall ever having anything except a one-sided conversation with God.”

“Maybe He is telling us right now,” Jeanne spoke softly. “Maybe this is His way of telling us the direction He wants us to take. Maybe that's why He spared us. Anybody thought of that?”

Out of the mouths of babes, Martin thought. “You just might be right, Jeanne. No, I hadn't thought of it in that way.”

The sounds of music drifted to them, and they all recognized the tune as one almost always played as the merry-go-round whirled.
Oomm-paa-paa oomm-paa-paa,
over and over and over.

“I get the weirdest feeling that somebody, or something is listening to every word we say,” Susan broke the silence. Her eyes were fixed in the direction of the fairgrounds. “Whether it's the ears of good or evil, I don't know.”

“I'm not afraid of Mr. Nabo,” Jeanne said. “Not one little bit.”

The music stopped. The night grew silent.

“I don't know whether I am, or not,” Audie admitted. “But I'm sure scared of something, and I don't know what. I don't know what we're up against. I'll fight a man. But how do you fight something when you can't even see it? Or know, really, what it is?”

The calliope began its lonely pumping, and Martin had to smile ruefully. The tune was “The Long And Winding Road.”

 

—Thomas Babington,
Lord Macaulay

Tuesday.

Martin had never liked to sleep alone. On the rare times that he had gone on business trips without his wife, he had never slept well, and this first night at home with Alicia gone was a miserable one.

He finally got to sleep about three o'clock in the morning and was so tired when he did sleep, he awakened with that loggy, heavy feeling, extremely cranky.

He checked on the kids, making sure they were up and getting ready for school—although he had some doubts about whether they should go, or not, he finally left it up to them—then went back to bed and didn't wake up until ten.

He took a long, very hot, soapy, steamy shower, shaved carefully, and dressed in his normal conservative style. He fixed a light breakfast and while eating, called the sheriff's substation. No answer. He closed the front door—few people in Holland ever locked doors—and drove downtown to his business offices.

As soon as he entered the place he sensed something all out of whack.

“Mary,” he spoke to the woman.

“Mr. Holland. We are going to close at noon Thursday, aren't we? The carnival is in town, you know?”

“We'll be closed all day Thursday, Mary,” Martin informed her. “We won't reopen until Monday morning.”

“That's so nice of you, Mr. Holland,” Edith told him from the desk opposite Mary. “The carnival is in town, you know?”

“Yes, Edith, I know.”

Edith stood up and the others in the office did the same. Then they all sang “For He's A Jolly Good Fellow.” Martin stood, not knowing what to expect next.

As if on some invisible cue, his office personnel sat down and resumed their work.

Thinking some dark thoughts, Martin retreated to his office. He did some routine paper work but his mind was not on it. He would occasionally lift his eyes to gaze at his office staff, at their work stations, the computer screens blinking in various colors. If one met his eyes, they would smile, but their eyes looked odd and their movements were jerky.

Eerie was the word that came to Martin's mind.

They were doing their work, but it seemed to Martin it was all rote.

He gave up on his paper work and drove over to Gary's office. There was not one single car in the parking lot. And Gary usually stayed very busy.

“What you see is what you get, Buddy,” the doctor informed him, spreading his hands. “Not a patient all morning. Not one. And my nurses and receptionist all called in sick.”

“My office crew is behaving as though the wicked witch just cast a spell on them,” Martin replied. “Oddest thing I've ever seen. I had to get out of there. You want to close up and prowl the town?”

“Might as well. I've read every magazine in the place. And you know what? The patients are right. The magazines are boring!”

Gary rode with Martin, their first stop the sheriff's substation.

“I called in,” Frenchy told them. “I wrestled with my better judgment half the night. I told my people what I felt I could tell them without being labeled some sort of nut. I canceled my leave; I'm back on the job.”

“So you have some help coming in?” Gary asked.

She shook her head. “Not anytime soon. We've had a blow-up with some paramilitary groups. So far, it's a standoff; but any extra personnel are a couple of hundred miles east of here. I was told to handle this situation; work with the sheriff's office and the local police departments. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that, with one deputy and one city cop still lucid.”

“You seen Nicole this morning, Audie?”

“Yeah. She just left here. Said the situation over at the P.D. is awful. The guys are functioning, but that's just about it.”

They sat in the sheriff's substation for a moment, looking at each other. Finally, Martin suggested, “Let's check out the high school, people.”

* * *

“I am just thrilled about the upcoming fair, Mayor. It's going to be such fun—I just know it. The carnival's in town, you know?”

“Yes, Bob. I know.” Martin wanted to grab the man and slap him. The principal's eyes were dull and he spoke in a monotone. “Bob, io you have any objections to our walking around the building?”

“Oh, no, Mayor. Not at all. I shall be in my office if you need me. I'm experimenting on how to make a better paper plane. I made one just a moment ago that sailed almost twenty-five feet.” He smiled happily.

“That's ... nice, Bob. Very good. You keep at it and we'll just walk around.”

“Oh, I shall.” The principal winked at Frenchy, and returned to his offi ce, pausing every few feet to do a little dance step.

“Bob Peterson was one of the toughest teachers I ever had,” Audie whispered as the office door closed. “This is weird.”

“And getting worse,” Gary added.

They walked up the hall, stopping at a classroom and looking in. The kids were sitting at their desks, most of them erect, staring straight ahead. The teacher was at her desk, looking out the window. No one was reading or writing. Most were just sitting and staring. But a half dozen young people were talking loudly and profanely.

“I got an idea,” Martin said. “Watch.” He jerked open the classroom door.

The teacher instantly began lecturing, most of the kids writing in notebooks.

Martin stepped back and closed the door. The lecturing stopped, the writing ceased. Teacher and most pupils stared as before.

Martin glanced at Gary. “Find our kids, Gary. Get them out of here. Tell them to go home and stay there. Would you go with him, Audie?”

Doctor and deputy began searching.

“They're sure not cognizant of what's happening around them,” Frenchy stated. “They're in some sort of protective cocoon. The insanity, the spell, whatever, is not touching them. That's the best I can come up with.”

“I'll accept it. I sure don't have any better explanation for it.”

They walked on, looking into classrooms as they passed by. Conditions were the same in every classroom: a few rowdies, male and female, were fully cognizant and engaged in sexual play, while the majority seemed to be in a catatonic state. Martin and Frenchy linked up with Gary and Audie and the kids.

“It was like a dream, dad,” Mark told his father. “I looked up and Deputy Meadows was shaking me. I don't even remember walking into the school this morning.”

“I do,” Linda said grimly. But would not elaborate further.

“Let's get out of this madhouse!” Gary said, pushing Rich and Susan in front of him. “You two go straight home. I'll go over to the elementary and get your brother. And there better not be any hanky-panky going on over there, or somebody's going to get hurt!”

He was moving toward the door before anybody could stop him.

Martin glanced at Audie. “Find Ed Hudson and Jeanne Potter. We'll meet you outside the building.”

Waiting by their cars, Martin noticed that Frenchy had a worried look on her face. “Want to share that concern with me?”

“Yeah. So I insist on help coming in and just looking over the situation here. How much would you like to bet that everything would be normal the instant they arrived?”

“No bet.” He looked at his daughter. “Now you tell me what went on in there.”

“Yes, sir. I remember John Stacker trying to touch me. I kept pushing his hands away. But it was like everything was in slow motion. It was a real effort for me to lift my hands.”

“I shall remember the name John Stacker,” Martin said tightly.

“No, dad,” Mark spoke up, his voice edged with anger.

“You leave John to me. I've been looking for an excuse to whip his ass ever since I caught him trying to cut my tires.”

“You're welcome to him. But watch him. Word I get is that he's just like his dad: a street fighter. He could come up with a knife.”

Son met the father's eyes. “Sounds like you've had trouble with his dad.”

“A long time ago, in high school. I whipped him then, I can put him down now if I have to.”

Within the school building, bells started ringing, and moments later, kids began pouring out of the old two-story school.

“Now what—” Martin muttered.

Mark grabbed a boy by the arm as he passed by the little group. “Steve... what's up, man?”

Steve looked at him through eyes that seemed lifeless. “School's out, man. Nothin' doin' 'til next Monday. Turn me loose or I'll kill you.” He said the last with no more emotion than if he were ordering a burger and fries.

Mark slowly withdrew his hand. Steve turned and walked on.

“Steve?” Mark called.

Steve walked on without acknowledging the call.

“I'm not liking this,” Linda said. Frenchy put an arm around the girl's shoulders.

Cars roared away. School buses rumbled into life and began transporting kids out into the county. In five minutes, the school yard was very nearly deserted. Martin and the others watched as Bob Peterson walked out of the building and ambled over to the flagpole. He unzipped his pants, and urinated on the pole, and then strolled off. Then he got into his car and drove off.

“Insanity!” Frenchy said, and that was the only comment concerning the principal's strange behavior. They waited until Audie came out with Jeanne and Ed.

Jeanne's face was crimson. “They're screwing on the desks in there!” she blurted. “All the teachers have gone nuts!”

“Screwing isn't all they're doing,” Ed said. Even his ears were flaming crimson.

“That's sure the truth,” Audie confirmed. His face was beet-red. “Man, it's wild in there.”

The explanation clicked on like a bulb in Martin's head. “The constraints on personal inhibitions are no longer in place,” he spoke his thoughts aloud. “People are doing what they want to do, when they want to do it. Social and moral codes no longer matter. But that doesn't make them our enemies . . . I think.”

“I don't know what to think,” Frenchy admitted. “I'm totally out of my league. I can deal with thieves and murderers and dopers and the like . . . but this?” She shook her head.

“Everybody go to my house,” Martin said. “I've got to see a man.”

“Nabo?” Frenchy asked. Martin nodded. “I'll go with you. And that is not a request.”

* * *

“I felt it would be you,” Nabo said with that strange smile.

The three of them sat on wooden chairs, outside Nabo's Ten-in-One. The fairgrounds appeared normal, with citizens working on booths, men bringing in prize cattle and sheep and hogs, and ladies putting the final touches on various projects.

And to Martin's eyes, they did not appear to be working as automatons.

“They aren't,” Nabo replied aloud to the unspoken thought.

Martin did not question how the man could see into his mind. Frenchy said nothing, not understanding what was going on.

Martin explained.

Frenchy looked first at Martin, then stared at Nabo, something akin to horror in her eyes.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Nabo assured her. He turned his head to look at Martin. “Neither of you.”

Martin met his own reflection in the dark lenses. “Maybe not. But Nabo ... what would you have us all do?”

“Go home. Stay there. Do not attend the opening of the fair.”

“But you know that I will.”

Nabo shrugged. “You've been warned. If you choose to ignore the warning, then so be it.” A faint smile played around his lips. Like a man who had baited a trap and won.

“I'm not going to sit back and allow you to destroy this town, Nabo.”

“Who said I was going to destroy the town? A few of its citizens, perhaps. But in either case, you couldn't stop me. Forces are at work that neither of you understand. So stay away.”

“Innocent people are going to be killed, hurt.”

Nabo laughed, and it was not a pleasant laugh. “Innocent? Oh, no, Mr. Mayor. I assure you, no innocents will be harmed.”

No one noticed as the Dog Man slipped quietly to the flap of the tent to listen. There was a very strange expression on his canine face. His ears were perked up, listening intently.

“Perhaps not by you, Nabo,” Martin was saying. “But surely you are much more aware than I of Satan's presence.”

“The Dark One is everywhere on earth, friend. At all times. So there is no need to be unduly alarmed by his presence here.”

Frenchy tried to light a cigarette. Her hands were shaking so badly she finally had to give up.

“They're bad for you anyway,” Nabo said with a slight smile.

“I don't believe this!” she slung the words from her mouth. “I'm sitting here talking to a dead man!”

“Dead is relative, young lady,” Nabo once again smiled that strange curving of the lips. “I've been dead many times.”

Frenchy rolled her eyes. “This is crazy!” She got up from her chair and walked a short distance away.

“How can you be so sure your power is stronger than Satan's power, Nabo?” Martin asked.

“I can't. It isn't. But the Dark One will take only those who choose to follow him. The strong-willed will survive. Therefore, your community will be the better for it.”

A small wave of suspicion touched Martin. Nabo spoke of Satan with too much familiarity. Could it be? . . . “Isn't that rather cold-blooded?”

“Not at all. It's reality.”

Martin tried a guess. “You've done this before, in other places?”

Nabo again smiled. “Of course.”