Page 5 of Runt's Haunted Ride
"You're one of the ground patrol guys, right?" he asked.
"That's right. Problem?"
"I was told to tell you guys—we've got some VIP guests coming through Friday night. Rich folks who paid extra for the full experience. They might get a little rowdy, especially if they've been drinking."
"I'll make sure the guys know," I assured him.
The carny nodded and walked away, disappearing into the maze of tents and attractions. I made to take a step but stopped. Coming toward me was the cast of a horror movie. Five man-sized clowns were walking like a well-practiced unit, each having their own terrifyingly distinct look, but they all had the white face and the white jumpsuits most clowns wore. The blue-haired one appeared to have spikes covering his face. The neon orange-haired one's cheeks stretched to a pointed smile, his eyebrows triangled into his hairline. The green-haired one's face was made up of puzzle pieces, and I couldn't help but wonder if they rearranged themselves based on his mood. The purple-haired clown had deep scratches starting at the corner of his forehead, meeting over his nose and then continuing over his cheeks to his jawline.
The red-haired one had a mean, angry look. Even with his bushy eyebrows and a classic red nose, he looked like he would beat the tar out of you, then stand over your body and tell you a joke.
"What in the ever-loving hell are they?" Bulldog asked, stepping next to me.
"Ah, the entertainment?" I said, not averting my eyes.
"Entertainment isn't the word I would have picked." Bulldog took a stance, shoulder to shoulder with me.
"Oh, my goodies," the orange clown giggled, doing a little jig. "Look what I see." He pointed at us.
"Yummie," the purple clown licked his lips as he made a point of hovering his eyes between Bulldog and me.
"NO," barked the red one. "Not now. Remember, we have to be quick."
"Aww, no fun," the blue clown stuck his lip out.
They parted and flowed around us as if we were a boulder in a stream.
"What happened to happy fun clowns?" Bulldog asked as we spun around, watching them walk away.
"That orange one looked happy," I said, side-glancing at him. Bulldog blew out his breath and walked after the clowns. "You're following them?"
He turned to face me. "I figure the safest place is behind them." He shrugged and returned the way he had been heading.
I made my way back toward the main midway. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on with this carnival. Something sinister. But what did I expect? This place felt like there were eyes in the shadows and voices calling, luring you as you passed the booths. Not to mention that damn music. I blew out a breath forcibly. By the end of the week, if I'd gone crazy, it would be because of that music.
The Carnival of Shadows was definitely living up to its name. But whatever secrets it was hiding, whatever valuable merchandise the President was after, it was sure to be bad news.
A creak that sounded like a scream washed over the space, causing me to half-shift into my gorilla form. The closest booth carny called out, "Whoa, big boy, we just opened. Chill the hell out."
I saw the first visitors begin streaming from the parking area, so I headed to the end of the midway near the entrance. Might as well make sure people saw there was security on the premises. Once there, from my vantage point, I could hear and see the ticket seller. I watched a group of college-aged women dressed in micro-mini skirts and decorative bras. Most carried matching zippered sweatshirts to ward off the October chill after the sun went down. Everyone had parts of themselves out on display.
Someone's gonna love them. Literally.
As the ladies bounced toward the ticket booth, their laughter died.
"Sorry, darlings," the ticket seller called out, her voice honey-sweet but with an edge that made my skin crawl. "This is an adults-only establishment."
One woman from the group gestured to her friends. "We're all twenty-one."
"Oh, not you, pretty things. You're more than welcome to come in and play tonight." The ticket seller's eyes gleamed. "Them." She pointed to a young couple approaching with a stroller. The college girls stepped to the side and allowed the couple through, silently watching.
I too watched, fascinated and disturbed, as the ticket seller addressed the couple.
"You will have to find a babysitter. We're an adults-only establishment."
"He's just a baby. He's not going to ride anything," the mom explained.
"Even worse. No, no." The ticket lady shook her head. "Believe me, go home, get a babysitter, and come back."
