and then it stopped and cocked its head and stared down at her with
what appeared to be curiosity.
“Please,” she said. “Please let me go. Please.”
She had never expected to hear herself begging anyone for anything.
She prided herself on her strength and toughness. But she was begging
for her life now, and she found it easy to grovel when so much was at
stake.
The freak began to sniff at her as a hound might sniff at a new
bitch.
His wide nostrils flared and quivered as he snorted with increasing
excitement.
“Smell good,” the freak said.
Liz was startled to discover that he could speak.
“Smell woman,” he said.
A spark of hope flickered in Liz.
“Pretty,” the freak said. “Want pretty.”
My God, Liz thought, almost giddy now. Is this what it comes down
to?
Sex? Is that the way out for me? Why not? Hell, yes! That’s what
it’s always come down to before. That’s always been my way out.
The freak shuffled closer, raised one of its huge, rodent claws.
It gently stroked her face.
She tried to conceal her revulsion. “You . . . you like me, don’t
you?”
she asked.
“Pretty,” he said, grinning, showing his crooked, sharp, yellow
teeth.
“You want me?”
“Real bad,” he said.
“Maybe I could be nice to you,” she said quaveringly, trying hard to
slip back into the role of the sexpot, the teaser, the fun girl, the
party image she had sanded and buffed and polished until it was smooth,
comfortable, and splinter-free.
The thing’s wickedly taloned hand slid down from her face to her
breasts.
“Just don’t hurt me, and maybe we can work something out,” she said
shakily.
The thing licked its black lips, its tongue was pale and speckled,
utterly alien. It hooked one claw in her T-shirt and shredded the thin
fabric. One razorlike nail made a long, shallow cut across her right
breast.
“Wait,” she said, wincing. “Now wait a second.” Panic rose in her
again.
The freak pushed her against the purring machine.
Liz squirmed, tried to shove the creature away. It seemed to be made
of iron.
She was powerless against it.
The thing appeared to be far more excited by the thread of blood that
decorated her bare breast than it was by her nakedness. It tore off
her shorts.
Liz screamed.
The freak slapped her, almost rendering her unconscious with that
single blow, and then bore her down onto the floor.
A minute later, as Liz felt the creature spreading her legs and
entering her, she also felt its claws piercing her sides. As a cold,
maroon darkness swept over her, she knew that sex was indeed the
answer, as always, but this time it was the final answer.
Amy thought she heard Liz scream. It was a distant sound, a short,
sharp cry of terror and pain. Then nothing but the usual funhouse
noises.
For a moment Amy continued to listen, but when she couldn’t hear
anything except the eerie music and the laughing clown, she turned to
Joey again. He was standing to the left of the barker’s corpse, trying
not to look at it. Amy had untied the boy. Although tears were
streaming down his face, and although his lower lip was quivering, he
was trying to be brave for her.
She knew that her opinion mattered more to him than did that of anyone
else, and she saw that even now, even under these circumstances, he
was concerned that she think well of him. He wasn’t sobbing. He
wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t going to break down entirely. He even made
an effort to be nonchalant, he spat on his ropeburned wrists and gently
smeared the saliva over the angry red marks, soothing the chafed
skin.
“Joey?” He looked up at her.
“Come on, honey. We’re going to get out of here.” “Okay,” he said, his
voice cracking between the syllables. “How?
Where’s the door?” “I don’t know,” Amy said. aBut we’ll find it.” The
feeling of being watched over and protected was still with Amy, and it
buoyed her.
Joey took hold of her left hand.
Holding the barker’s pistol in her right hand, Amy led the boy through