Dastardly Bastard(45)

“Just a Pepsi. Or a Coke. Whatever they have,” Mom said.

“I’ll take chili cheese fries and a Coke.” Dad pulled his wallet from his back pocket and paid the man.

“Dad, can we go on the Ferris Wheel next?”

“Whatever you want to do,” Dad said as he replaced his billfold.

Mom ruffled Lyle’s hair, and he pulled away. “Stop it. Sheesh.”

“One of these days, you won’t mind so much.” Dad chuckled. “You’ll probably grow to miss it when she stops.”

Lyle sighed. “As if.”

The man put their order on the counter, and Lyle grabbed his corndog before following his parents. Milling through the crowd, Dad found an empty table beside Trevor’s Tiny Teacups. Lyle devoured his meal to the squeal of the spinning ride.

“Can I go look around by myself?” he asked, his mouth still working on his final bite. “I mean, while you guys finish eating. I won’t be long, and I’ll come right back.”

“Well…” Dad started.

“Let him go. It’s not like we’re going anywhere soon,” Mom said.

“All right. Go on, Brody.”

“Yes!” Lyle squealed, his voice cracking. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” He erupted from his seat and dove into the crowd.

“Be back here in fifteen minutes!” Dad called after him.

“Gotcha!”

Lyle passed by The Wickedly Wondrous Willy Walters Magic Show while in search of the funhouse, which he’d been dying to see since they’d arrived. Ohh’s and ahhhh’s came from inside the tent. He’d seen the show a couple of times last year and hadn’t been all that impressed. It was just crap magic followed by a disappointing finale.

To Lyle’s right, a guy in front of Fred’s Fantastic Frights exclaimed, “I gotta piss like a thoroughbred, dude!”

Lyle laughed at the comment and kept pressing forward. Out of the corner of his eye, Lyle spotted Mark’s Merry Madams up ahead. The attraction was an adult venue he’d never get inside no matter how hard he tried.

Carny barkers barked. Rides clattered and whined. Lyle kept an ever-widening smile on his face.

“Tread, if you dare, through his one-eyed stare,” a man called through a megaphone. He was straining, trying to sound mysterious. “This dastardly bastard is neither here, nor there.”

The fun house loomed tall and ominous behind the barker. Its neon sign flashed and pulsed, drawing the crowd. Lyle was sucked in by the building’s sheer presence. He pushed through the mass of onlookers until he was at the front of the line. No one said, “Hey, stop cutting,” or “Get to the back of the line.” Nothing.

The carny, a gaunt man with a patch over his left eye, blared, “Beware, child fair, of what you find there. His lies, how they hide in the shadows he wears!” The barker waved his hand, landing it on his stomach as he bowed. “Free for you, Brody.”

Lyle’s smile faded. “Brody? My dad calls me that.”

“Tarry not, young fellow! The Bastard awaits!” The carny placed a hand on Lyle’s back and shoved him forward.

Lyle stumbled into the door of the funhouse. A wavering mirror image of himself caught him off guard, and he let out a small scream. He was in a labyrinth.

“Great,” Lyle said, a little disappointed. Then, he heard whispers and shrieks of fellow funhouse travelers from deeper inside the building as the amusement shocked and entertained. Sounds like it gets better, though.

Outside, the barker continued his practiced lines. “Counting his spoils, his eye how it digs…”

Lyle slid his hands over the mirrors to feel his way through the distorted images of himself. He ran into two dead ends before he found the dark passage that led deeper into the attraction. Walking down a long, smelly corridor, he let his hands trail across the slimy walls. He progressed, one foot at a time, until a furry beast with shiny fangs and claws sprang from the wall. Lyle wailed, stumbling backward. The thing was bouncing, springs creaking from somewhere hidden. Lyle relaxed when the faux monster retreated back into the wall.

Twenty feet ahead, the hall opened into an enormous ballroom. He gazed in wonder at the vaulted ceiling that seemed to go on forever. In the middle of the room, misty specters, more than likely from projectors, danced about in period garb. Their old-timey dress reminded Lyle of Mary Poppins. The floating ghosts spun and swung around the expanse of the chamber. Every face held hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, ghoulish features that made Lyle’s heart beat just a little faster.

“Cool,” Lyle breathed as he moved farther into the room.

“Young master, may I have this dance?” a voice whispered.

He spun on his heels, almost tumbling. Beside him stood a wispy woman, dressed like Betsy Ross—Lyle remembered the woman’s picture from history class. A white bonnet was pulled snug around her head, and her pink dress fanned out at the waist into what looked like a huge umbrella. Her pale skin looked real enough to touch as she leaned down, hand outstretched.

“You wouldn’t deny a lady? Would you, Brody?” She glowered at him with dead eyes.

“W-wha… how’d you—”

“We all you know you here, Brody. It’s all right. We mean no harm.”

“I gotta go. M-my parents… they’re waiting for—”