Authors: Matthew Crow
I took off my clothes and put on a nightshirt. For the first time in living memory I cleansed the night before from my face in the bathroom mirror; wiping thick gloop across my
eyes and lips until I was as blank as nature intended. All the while plans of our escape rose in my mind like a sapling in spring until it became the only thought left in my head.
Eve groaned as I got into bed and turned over to face me, though allowed herself to remain in the lull of a light doze. I edged into the curve of her body and felt her chest move to the beat of
her heart. Her arm pulled me tighter towards her once and then relaxed as I felt myself fall to sleep, mimicking the soothing rhythm of her breath.
With love,
Verity
Dearest Verity,
It seemed like the whole town had turned up just to watch. Girls from the coffee shop sat sobbing into their prayer books; one or two of the regular customers clustered together
and seemed bemused, as though still waiting to be asked how they preferred their eggs. Towards the beginning of the service a lady collapsed in the third stall and two men cussed at the top of
their voices, damning the still at-large culprit.
The mood settled as the procession continued. Three rows ahead of me, Aimee held tightly onto the arm of Levi. She had no reason to be there, and I found myself wondering whether or not she was
simply observing how one behaves in such situations, preparing herself so that, if emotions failed her that day, she could method act her way through the imminent funeral of her dearest compatriot.
She rested her head on his frail shoulder, her blonde hair bobbing up and down as she struggled silently for breath between sobs. Levi seemed unmoved, though he did find time to scribble occasional
musings in a discreet notepad he had tucked within the central pages of his hymn sheet.
I was the only man from the site in attendance. Harlow said he hadn’t known the lady and the rest seemed to have shifted their attentions to other atrocities. This seems to be a common
trait of the masses. Their devotion to a disaster cools with the corpse. The kinetic burst of tragedy can captivate an audience like little else whilst the long, grey aftermath holds no such sway
over those not directly involved.
I stayed for the burial. Having known Mary in life as well as being the first - or, more accurately, second or third - to experience her death, there seemed an obligation on my
part to complete the cycle. A flock of starlings dimmed the sky above us whilst the final prayers were spoken before parting, as the sun rose sharply through two mountainous clouds, tracing
Mary’s descent with fierce blade of light.
“Earth to earth... ” he said with his head bowed. “Ashes to ashes... ” I felt a hand touch my arm and then link me from behind. “Dust to dust... ”
Aimee pressed her head into my arm as the coffin lowered into dirt. Handfuls of mud showered the wooden lid and then instinctively the congregation dispersed like steam through
a window.
“You’ll walk me to the wake though?” she asked, as though the culmination of a long and fruitful conversation that had gone before.
“I’m not going that way. Got the impression it was friends and family only.”
“I thought you were her friend,” she said, pulling her arm from mine. “Daddy said you found her body. Said it’d been so horrible it’d messed your head up real
bad.”
“I knew her to talk to. Couldn’t tell you a thing about her though, except where she worked. Fact is I didn’t even know her last name until half an hour ago.”
“Me neither,” said Aimee, shaking her hair so that it covered her face. “I only came along because Levi wanted to take some notes. Then he went and ditched me with those nurses
he’s been getting friendly with,” she shot a stony glance behind her and then returned to me. “You sure you won’t come with me?”
“I’m sure. Think I’m going to take the rest of the day to myself. You take care though.”
“And you,” she said, gently pressing her lips into my cheek. “I’ll be seeing you at the fair.”
I walked home alone. In the centre of town, Maxwell was back to his old tricks. He was manning his soap box with particular zeal for a weekday afternoon, perhaps in part to
show indignation towards recent attempts upon his person. The only evidence of his misfortune was the oozing bandage where his right eye had once been.
“Ladies and gentlemen I beg of you to heed my call,” he cried. “For the devil has come to this small town!”
Even those who could afford the luxury of an afternoon stroll didn’t care to process his wisdom. I continued on my way, as he grew more animated with each syllable.
“He walks among us, upright and presentable. He has no forked tail. He has no cloven hooves. But rest assured that Satan’s work is being carried out right beneath our very noses...
ladies and gentlemen I have felt the devil’s wrath and lived to tell the tale... ”
The next night was the state fair. It had taken all my energy just to rise to the occasion. The whole day I had been sanding my new structure, now almost complete. The roof had
been tacked to the shed and the wood treated as to protect it from the elements. I had even managed to dig out the most shoddy of foundations in case a winter breeze carried it swirling into
another world so it stood staunch and unmoveable. Inside I arranged my pristine tools and accessories. At first by size, then colour, and finally I just pushed them to the farthest edge of the tiny
room and sat quietly, on a creaking sun lounger, proudly observing my masterpiece from within.
I must have dozed off as when I came to, the light had begun to dilute and a cool breeze had caused my breath to steam.
I showered and changed as quickly as I could, and grabbing a four pack of beers from the refrigerator began my trek to the transformed fields just south of Harlow’s yard.
You could see the fair for miles around. Lights every colour of the rainbow flashed and spun. Children’s cries and the insincere screams of those who rode the rickety old
rollercoaster made the air seem thick.
It was already in full swing as I entered. Along the entrance, leading towards the main deluge of lights and energy, a small petting zoo bordered the walkway. Children pushed carrots towards the
mouths of restrained beasts. Baboons howled and shrieked as they pounded their paws against the bars of their world. Two baby lions snarled and jerked, as their muddy tethers grew looser by the
second; a horse arched its hooves as though cursing the skies.
There were the usual additions. Cotton candy stalls. A game in which an eager adult was dunked into an icy pool once a beanbag had hit the giant red button. Two fortune tellers sat in Romany
caravans opposite one another. A girl in angel wings sitting on a cushioned throne turned and growled at me with drawn on whiskers and tiger stripes as her young transformer clouded a jar of water
with a fine paintbrush.
I flinched as I felt something touch my ear.
A man in a top hat spun on the spot, brandishing the King of Hearts. “Well look what we have here!” he yelled to the dispersing crowds, all shuffling in unison towards the rides at
the heart of the fair. “Let’s see what else we’ve got in here... ” He placed his hand to my head once more but I picked up my pace, not entirely comfortable in my position
as glamorous assistant.
Beside the funhouse, which shuddered against the heaving mechanism of the rollercoaster, various offshoots were free for those not willing to pay the minimal entrance fee.
Children trailed red-faced parents through hanging beanbags which pinged and snapped on the elastic which held them in place, knocking you to the cushioned floor. I walked through a darkened dome
of mirrors, each one showing a different version of myself. One moment I was grossly huge, my edges uncontained by the reflection, then I was long and lean, stretching up like some nursery rhyme
monster. I was wavy and curved and blurred and shrunk. As I stepped out, twin redheads pushed past me to reach the teacups.
“Those brutes nearly had you flat on your ass,” said a pretty woman, wearing a glued-on moustache and a top hat. Her velvet jacket trailed in the mud and the paintwork of her kiosk
was beginning to fade around her.
“I’ll have my revenge,” I tried, half-heartedly. It’s been so long since anyone showed even the slightest bit of interest that my default setting is now suspicion.
“Dare to enter the house of mirrors?” she asked with a raise of her sculpted eyebrow, in no way enthused about the mystic treats on offer.
“I don’t know, just how magical is it in there?”
“Those who live to tell the tale have never been the same again,” she said with a sly grin. “Also,” she said, this time more hushed, “you give me one of those beers
you can walk right in there for free. God knows I can’t do this sober much longer.”
“Well, I admire your nerve,” I said, handing her the full pack. “Help yourself. I’ll pick up whatever’s left when I make it out.”
“If you make it out alive!” she said, cracking open a can and taking half of it in one gulp.
“Here’s to hoping,” I said, stepping onto the wooden step and peeling back the curtains.
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the matinee dark of the labyrinth. I stepped forwards with my hands pressed, groping for safety, until I reached the first mirror. As I grew
accustomed to the light my image came at me time and time again. I stretched as far as I could see in synchronised clones. I moved forward to what I thought was an alleyway but found myself bumping
headfirst into another pane of glass. I heard the laughter of two invisible children.
I slid forward and sideways, multiplying and dividing as I went. The toe of my boots clanking on the enforced glass each time I took a wrong move. More footsteps echoed around me. I walked
forwards three paces before reaching a dead end and wished I’d kept at least one of those beers on me.
I heard the sound of cheers as a separate group of players must have reached their destination. I turned three times but became more and more agitated despite the structure’s implied
enjoyment. To my far right, at the final version of myself before I curved into a vortex of blurred shapes and light, I saw a glint and the shadow of an arm touching mine. I turned but no-one was
there.
I pressed onwards. Footsteps grew closer behind me. Wood creaking in every direction. I took a sharp left turn and saw Michael’s scars, magnified and swirling they zoomed towards me before
retreating. My movements became less controlled as I forced my way forward. Ceiling length mirrors began shifting and scratching against the floor as they stretched on their hinges. The sound of
breathing behind me, so close it warmed my ear. I turned to face an empty void. I jammed my way in a diagonal stretch as my reflections became distorted, my body circling in and out of itself over
and over again. A cool breeze on my face. My palms began to sweat. I saw his body come towards me a hundred times over like determined cavalry. I pressed myself backwards against a mirror and felt
it shift as I saw him moving forwards, the scrape of his knife dragging in a painful screech across the mirror. I felt something give and I tumbled backwards towards a shaky wooden barrier and felt
the night air surround me.
The mirrors turned black the moment I escaped, as though they had never been there at all. Inside the maze was silent. No footsteps, no shouting. I steeled myself and walked shakily towards the
stand at the front of the enclosure.
“A brave man,” said the moustached woman, pointing at me with a magic wand. “Who has survived the horrors, but will he ever be the same again?” A gang of colour coded
children laughed and ran inside, followed less enthusiastically by two begrudging parents. “You were a while inside. I had two. How’d you like the house of mirrors?”
“Well, two probably won’t cut it.”
“That bad?”
“You could say that,” I cracked open a beer and drained the can right on the spot. “You see the men who followed me inside?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” she said, tapping me on the forehead with the tip of her wand, then, dropping back to her own voice. “But if you scout any more supplies
I’ll swap my company for a can any day. Fucking kids make me want to torch the whole damn place. It’s no work for a graduate. Not a sober one at least.”
“You’ll be the first to know if I do,” I said already fleeing the vicinity, the second can inches from empty.
I made it to the nucleus of the fair. Those places were designed to spook you, I told myself. Already the biggest attraction had been the medical tent, where faint women dipped
their heads into buckets as though freshly guillotined, and children lay delirious from an influx of sugar and speed.
It was all in my head.
I followed the scent downhill towards a hexagonal cluster of food tents. Escaped balloons floated high overhead and the ping of the strong-man bell sounded triumph as fathers shrugged
no-big-deal shrugs as they discreetly massaged their torn shoulders. The smell of fat off the hot dogs overwhelmed, the grease of onions coating everything like ash after an eruption. But through
it all that gentle buzz of chilli carried me to where they were, my throat scratching and tickling with the heat as I grew closer and closer.
Somewhere in the distance a bang exploded like a car backfiring as a rocket shot up to the sky and scattered its innards in a deafening waterfall of reds and greens.
“Well I’ll be! Come on back here and sample the fruits of our labours,” said Harlow, edging Barbara to the edge of the counter as they scooped angry red slop
into paper cups for the masses.
I skipped the line with pride as opposed to the shame such dupes would usually elicit. The hungry mob didn’t seem to mind, focused as they were on the ever nearing promise of
sustenance.
“How you doing, darling?” asked Barbara, unable to look up as she changed notes for coins and passed steaming bowls to the wall of grasping hands.
“I’m good thank you. I see business is booming.”
“You bet your ass it is, best damn chilli in the state. And don’t let no-one tell you any different. People sniffing around here with their suggestions and their tips... ”