behind which she expected to find a comfort station within a couple of
hundred feet. The public restrooms were in cinder-block buildings
scattered around the perimeter of the fairgrounds.
AB she made her way through the crowd, a pitchman at a duck-shoot game
gave her a loud wolf-whistle.
She grinned and waved in reply.
She felt terrific. Even though she was temporarily stuck in Coal
County, she had a wonderful, sparkling future. She knew she was
good-looking.
She had a lot of smarts, too. With those qualities she could carve out
a niche for herself in the big city in record time, easily within six
months.
Currently she was a typist, but that was strictly short-term.
Another pitchman, this one working a wheel of fortune, heard the first
barker’s whistle, and he whistled at her, too. Then a third carny
joined the fun, whistled, called to her teasingly.
She felt as if she would live forever.
Ahead of her the big clown’s face atop the funhouse laughed shrilly.
The funhouse, which stood next to Freak-o-rama, was at the eastern edge
of the midway, and Chrissy figured there would be a comfort station
somewhere behind it. She turned in beside the big, rambling structure,
with the freak show on her right, and she walked through the narrow
alley between the two attractions, away from the crowds and the lights
and the music.
The air was no longer redolent with cooking food. It smelled of wet
wood shavings, grease, and gasoline from the large, thrumming
generators.
Inside the funhouse, chains clanked, banshees howled, ghosts laughed
spookily, ghouls cackled, the wheels of the cars clattered incessantly
along the winding track, and haunting music swelled and faded, swelled
and faded. A girl screamed. Then another. Then three or four at
once.
They’re acting like little kids, Chrissy thought scornfully.
They’re so pathetically eager to be thrilled, so willing to accept the
shabby illusions in there, anything to be briefly transported from the
drab reality of life in Coal County, Pennsylvania.
An hour or two ago, when she had ridden through the funhouse with Bob
Drew, she had screamed, too. Now, remembering her own hysteria, she
was a little bit ashamed of herself.
AB she stepped over cables and ropes, cautiously picking her way toward
the rear of the funhouse, she realized that, a few years from now,
after she had had a chance to experience classier thrills, after she
had grown accustomed to more sophisticated excitements, she would find
the carnival tawdry and juvenile instead of exotic and glamorous.
She was almost at the end of the long, narrow passageway. It was
darker here than she had expected.
She stumbled over a fat electric cable. – “Damn!”
She regained her balance, squinted at the ground ahead.
There was just enough light to create impenetrable, purple-black
shadows on all sides.
She thought of turning back, but she really had to pee, and she was
sure there was a bathroom nearby.
At last she reached the end of the alley and turned the corner into the
darkness behind the funhouse, looking for one of the brightly lighted
comfort stations.
She almost walked into the man.
He was standing against the rear wall of the funhouse, in an
exceedingly deep pool of velvety shadows.
Chrissy yelped in surprise.
She couldn’t see his face, but she could see that he was big.
Very big. Huge.
An instant after she registered his presence, even as she gasped in
shock, even as she saw how large he was, she realized that he was
waiting for her.
She started to scream.
He struck her on the side of the head with such brutal force that it
was a miracle her neck didn’t snap.
The scream died in her throat. She dropped to her knees, then toppled
onto her side in the dirt, stunned, numbed, unable to move, struggling
desperately to remain conscious. Her mind was a dully glinting blade
skating on a crescent of silvery ice, with mile-deep, black water on
both sides.
She was vaguely aware of being lifted and carried.
She coultln’t rcict him- chf h:l no strenœth A door creaked noisily.
She forced her eyes open and saw that she was being carried out of the