hole in the ceiling, as if he weighed only a few pounds.
Overhead, a trap door banged shut.
The attack had transpired in only three or four seconds.
For a moment Amy was too stunned to move or speak. She stared at the
darkness above, where Richie had disappeared, and she couldn’t make
herself believe what she had seen. It had to be a trick, part of the
funhouse tour, an incredibly clever illusion.
Apparently Liz and Buzz thought the same thing, for they, too, were
mesmerized.
Gradually, however, Amy realized that Richie was really gone and that
no carnival in the world would risk injuring a customer with a trick as
dangerous as that one.
Liz said, “Blood.”
That single word broke the spell.
Amy and Buzz looked at her.
Liz was turned part of the way around in the front seat. She was
holding up her arms. They were spattered with something wet and
dark.
Even in the green light, it was obvious that Liz was spotted with
blood.
Richie’s blood.
Amy screamed.
As SOON AS Conrad switched off the power to the tracks, stranding the
carload of teenagers, he went down the boarding ramp toward the
midway.
He intended to walk around to the back of the funhouse, enter by the
rear basement door, lock it after him, and locate Gunther. He wanted
his son to kill three of those kids, but not Amy Harper. Amy, of
course, would have to suffer for several days before she died, she
would have to be well used, perhaps by both himself and Gunther, that
was the way Conrad wanted it, the way he had dreamed of it for
twenty-five years. He had instructed Gunther carefully, but he wasn’t
sure that Gunther would be able to control himself once the killing
began. Gunther needed to be reminded, he needed constant guidance
through the next critical hour.
But when Conrad reached the bottom of the ramp, as he was about to head
for the walkway between the funhouse and Freak-o-rama, he saw the
boy.
Joey Harper. Amy’s little brother was standing over by the second set
of castle doors, through which the gondolas exited the funhouse.
He must have seen his sister go inside, Conrad thought. He’s waiting
for her.
When she doesn’t come out, what will he do? Go for help? Seek out a
security guard?
Joey glanced at him.
Conrad smiled and waved.
He would have to do something about the damned boy, and quick.
Buzz climbed onto the ledge where the axmurderer display was bathed in
green light, and he pulled the ax out of the skull of the mannequin
that was crumpled at the foot of the mechanical madman. Ax in hand, he
jumped down into the gondola channel, where Amy and Liz were huddled
together, waiting for him.
“It’s a real ax,” he said. “Not very sharp, but it ought to be of some
use.”
“I just don’t understand,” Liz said shakily. “What is going on here?
What the fuck is this all about?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Buzz said. “I can only guess. But you saw
that hand .
. .”
“It wasn’t a hand,” Liz said.
“Claw, paw, whatever you want to call it,” Buzz said. “Anyway, it was
just like the hands on the thing in the jar, that dead freak we saw
pickled in formaldehyde over at Freak-o-rama. Only this hand was a lot
bigger.”
Amy had to make an effort to speak. She was surprised she could talk
at all.
“You mean . . . you , think we’re trapped in here with a freak that
kills people?” “Yeah,” Buzz said.
“It didn’t kill Richie!” Liz said, her voice cracking. aRichie isn’t
dead. He’s alive. He’s. . . somewhere . . .
and he’s alive.” “It’s possible,” Buzz said. “Maybe it’s just a
kidnapping scheme or something.
Maybe they’re just going to hold Richie for ransom. It’s possible.” He
and Amy exchanged looks, and although it wasn’t easy to read his
expression in the green light, Amy knew that Buzz felt the same way
about it as she did.
Richie couldn’t possibly be alive. There wasn’t one chance in a
million that he would ever smile at them again. Richie was dead, gone,