Buzz returned, holding his hand up for them to see. There was blood on
one of his fingers.
, “What happened?” Liz asked.
“Must have been a sharp seam on the jar,” Buzz said.
“You better go to the first-aid station,” Amy said. “The cut might be
infected.” aNah,” Buzz said, determined not to let a crack show in his
macho image. “It’s only a scratch. Funny, though, I didn’t see any
sharp edges.” Maybe you didn’t cut it on the glass,” Richie said.
“Maybe the thing in there bit you.” “It’s dead.” “Its body is dead,”
Richie said, “but maybe its spirit is still alive.” “A minute ago you
told us the goddamned thing was just a rubber fake,” Amy said.
“I’ve been known to be wrong,” Richie said.
“How do you explain it biting through the jar?” Buzz asked
sarcastically.
“A psychic bite,” Richie said. “A ghost bite.”
“Don’t give me the spooks,” Liz said, hitting Richie on the shoulder.
“Ghost bite?” Buzz asked. “That’s stupid.”
The thing in the bottle watched them with its clouded, emerald,
moon-lamp eyes.
The name Ellen seemed to burn brighter on the sign than any of the
other words.
Coincidence, Amy told herself.
It had to be a coincidence. Because if it wasn’t, if this really was
Mama’s child, if Amy had been brought to the carnival by some
supernatural force, then the other premonitions might also be true.
Liz actually might die here.
And that was unthinkable, unacceptable. So it was coinciaence.
Ellen.
Coincidence, damn it!
Amy was relieved when they left Freak-o-rama.
They rode the Shazam and took another turn on the Loop-de-Loop, and
then suddenly they were all starving. It was a drug-induced hunger,
the insatiable appetite familiar to all serious pot smokers. They ate
hot dogs, ice cream, and candy apples.
Eventually they found themselves in front of the funhouse.
A big man in a Frankenstein costume capered on a low platform,
threatening the people who were boarding the cars to go into the
funhouse. He waved his arms and snarled and jumped up and down in a
terrible imitation of Boris Karloff.
“He’s a real ham,” Richie said.
They moved a few feet to the barker’s plat form, where a tall,
distinguished-looking man was ballying the passing crowd.
He looked down at them as he talked, and he had the bluest eyes Amy had
ever seen. After a few seconds, she realized that the giant clown’s
face atop the building had been painted in the barker’s image.
“Terror-fying! Terror-fying!” the barker shouted. “Goblins, ghosts,
and ghouls! Spiders larger than men! Monsters from other worlds and
from the darkest bowels of this one! Are all of the creatures that
stalk the funhouse merely make i. believe . . . or is one of them
real? See for yourself! Learn the truth at your own peril! Can you
stand the test, the tension, the fear?
Are you man enough? Ladies, are your men strong enough to comfort you
inside . . . or will you have to comfort them? Terror-fying!” “I love
to go through the funhouse when I’m high as a kite,” Liz said. “When
you’re really, truly wrecked, it’s a gas. All those dumb plastic
monsters jumping out at you.”
, “sO let’s gO,” Richie said.
“No, no,” Liz said. “We’ve got to save it until ~ we’re really high.”
“I’m really high now,” Amy said.
“Me too,” Buzz said.
“Oh, we’ll get more wasted than this,” Liz said. “This is nothing.”
“If I get more wasted than this,” Richie said, “I’ll have to be
institutionalized.” “Make it a cell for two,” Buzz said.
“That’s the idea,” Liz said excitedly. “You’ve got to be really
wrecked to fully appreciate the funhouse.”
Not me, Amy reminded herself. No more dope tonight. No more dope
ever.
They bought tickets for a ride called the Slithering Snake. The man at
the controls was a dwarf, and while Liz waited for the ride to start,
she teased the little man, made jokes about his height. He glared at
Liz, and Amy wished her friend would shut up. When the Slithering
Snake finally began to move, the dwarf got his revenge, he gave it much