Chapter 1
It's Saturday night.
Colored lights everywhere, everywhere you look. Wrapped around poles, climbing like ivy along the tent edges, crisscrossing over the midway like bizarre, electric spider webs…
And the smells. The wonderful, unmistakable smell of a carnival: peanuts roasting; candied apples cooling; cotton candy swirling; bratwurst links simmering on an open grill… Sweet, magic aromas that sweep you away and take you back in time to when you were a child. The smells every bit as enticing now as they were back then.
And then there are the sounds. The exhilarating, festive noise a carnival makes - the clamor of the crowd, music spilling from loudspeakers, calliope melodies drifting through the air like wisps of smoke...and the callers - men in green or red derbies, wearing white, collarless shirts underneath plaid vests. They beckon you into their tents, they do, luring you in with promises of the unbelievable and the amazing. Their canes sweep through the air as they usher the crowd through open tent flaps as if herding sheep into a pen.
And everywhere, from every direction, the sound of metal wheels clacking and banging against steel rails. It is the rides that once terrified you as a child and thrill you still as an adult.
And then there is the most important sound of all: the raucous screams and laughter of the people themselves. All of whom have come tonight for the same reason - to be entertained.
And entertained they are.
In all, the place is like a giant kaleidoscope of sensations, a surrealistic explosion of sights, sounds, and aromas of the most captivating and tantalizing type.
Allison and Muriel stroll down the carnival's midway in no certain hurry to get to nowhere in particular. They saunter through the crowd, enjoying their cotton candy, giggling the way girls do, and try to decide on the next ride or attraction.
Tough choice. They love them all. Despite the fact that they have done them all a thousand times over, they enjoy the attractions and rides no less tonight than they ever have. It may all be familiar territory by now, but it's still, to them, a cherished experience and one they look forward to every year.
Both are twenty-two, friends since childhood, and for ten years now, ever since the carnival began its annual stops here in their quaint town of Melsburg, the two young women have done what they are doing now - cruising the midway, watching the boys watch them, and occasionally ducking into an attraction or climbing aboard a ride. It's the same routine every year. Same rides, same attractions, same boy's ill-intended stares; the latter being the main reason they even come. For them, carnival time is synonymous with mating season, and the two of them are prime and ready for breeding.
And tonight, they've come dressed for the occasion: tight jeans, tube tops too small, high heels that exaggerate the sideways flick of their asses, and last but not least, no underwear. No bras, no panties. Standard procedure for these types of situations.
So, they walk the midway, the girls do, strutting along, showing off their wares, and casting their bait, so to speak, into the murky waters of male libido. And from what they can see, the fishing is fine.
They had just emerged from the mirror maze, passed on the fun house, and were en route to the Ferris wheel when Muriel spots it first. Something new. Something the carnival has never had before. She stops and turns to Allison…
''Hey, what's that over there?''
Allison looks...
''Over where?''
''Over there!''
Muriel points to the strange contraption standing somewhat separate and alone from the rest of the attractions. Allison stuffs another wad of candy in her mouth and shrugs...
''uhh aah oowwaahhh'' (cotton candy speak for 'Fuck if I know!').
Whatever it is, it has piqued Muriel's curiosity. She's twelve-years-old again…
''Oooohhhhh! Let's check it out!'. C'mon! C'mon! Hurry! Let's see what it is!''
She says this while jumping up and down and jerking on Allison's arm as if it were a pump handle…
''Alright! Alright, already! Quit yanking on me, bitch! You're gonna pull my arm out its socket!''
But she doesn't. Muriel doesn’t stop. She continues to tug and pull until finally, Allison gives in, and the two do it. They check out the carnival's new attraction.
Muriel's the first to get there with Allison in close tow behind her, still being dragged by her arm and doing her best to hang on to her cotton candy. The two girls stop just short of the - for lack of a better word - 'thing’. Neither of them has ever seen anything quite like it, so they stand side by side and, together, try to figure out what it is, exactly, they're looking at.
For sure, it's a machine of some sort. That, they're certain of. Like a robot thing, maybe. Whatever it is, it looks old, almost ancient. Like some kind of retro thing. Like some type of throwback to the forties or something. Definitely old school. Vveerryy old school. And big, with the whole thing being roughly the same size and shape as an old phone booth. Or a refrigerator, even, only a little taller.
They move in for a closer look and give the strange contraption a good going over, cautiously touching it here and there and marveling at its authentic, antique appearance as if it were a rare collector's item. Which, for all they knew, it probably was.
The lower half of the machine is boxed in with sheet metal painted in bright carnival colors: yellows and oranges interspersed with greens and reds, all swirling together and around each other like some psychedelic album cover from the sixties. Then, painted across the front on top the colorful pattern, bold white lettering that reads...
THE AMAZING ZOLTAR
Teller of Futures, Reader of Fortunes
And then, under that, in much smaller letters...
Accurate fortunes guaranteed
or your money back!
The upper half of the machine is a glass enclosure of sorts, encasing the figure of a strange, mysterious-looking man from the waist up. A robot of some kind. Some Ali Baba-looking thing wearing a yellow satin shirt with billowy sleeves and no buttons, one side simply wrapping around the other. Very Lawrence of Arabia.
The face is exotic but stiff and lifeless, with fixed eyes that stare out at nothing and painted lips that never move. He has a thin, Middle Eastern-style mustache that curls on each end and a goatee that comes to a point in front of his chin, the point of which curls upwards as well. And lastly, gold hoop earrings that dangle from each of his lifeless, robotic earlobes.
All very exotic and mystifying, but the thing that completes the whole look, the finishing touch, is the turban the fortune teller wears atop his head: shiny white satin with a large, gleaming green gemstone embedded on its front.
Overall, the thing looks like a genie, or half of one, anyway. Like what might have popped out of Aladdin's lamp.
The top of the machine—the roof, if you could call it that—is painted gold and shaped like a spire, like something you'd see in a photo of the Taj Mahal. All very exotic and, for sure, very, very cool.
On the lower part of the booth's front, just below the white lettering, is a smallish chrome plate that features a coin slot and a metal coin return button. Raised lettering near the slot reads 25¢.
Allison looks at Muriel, who's trying to remove a sizable gob of cotton candy from the tip of her nose but not having much luck. She pulls on the gooey wad, but it doesn't come off. Instead, it stretches like some long, rubbery booger, almost as if it were a piece of taffy being pulled from both ends.
Allison ignores the disgusting display, hoping no guys are watching, and asks...
''Whatcha think? Should I do it? I mean, it's only a quarter, right? What's the worst that can happen?''
She glances back at the white lettering on the front of the machine: 'Or your money back.'
Muriel just shrugs. At the moment, she's not overly concerned about Allison's fortune being told. Right now, she has problems of her own. Namely, the cotton candy booger she can’t seem to get rid of. Every time she tries to pull it off, the goo just stretches further and further. The thing's at least two feet long now, and there seems to be no end to it. Making matters worse is the fact that fighting with the booger from hell has caused her eyes to cross.
And this is a problem. Her arms are only so long, and this fucking thing keeps stretching like some novelty shop prank. She'd ask Allison to help, but she knows that's never gonna happen. No way she'd be caught dead pulling on someone’s cotton candy booger. Not even with a pair of those yellow dishwashing gloves. In Allison's mind, there are simply some things friends shouldn't ask other friends to do, and pulling on boogers, cotton candy, or otherwise, is near the top of that list.
Sorry, but Muriel's on her own with this one, stupid bitch.
Anyway, Allison gives her friend an agitated sneer and leaves the retard to her booger activities. She turns her attention to her handbag and begins digging through it in search of her coin purse. She finds the purse, fishes a quarter out, and quickly feeds it into the fortune teller's slot. Instantly, in a terrifying burst, the machine awakens. Inside, wheels begin to spin. Cogs start to rotate, and gears begin turning other gears. The entire machine begins to shudder and shake and tremble. Inside the glass enclosure, small light bulbs begin to blink in sequence like a theater marquee, and the robot man known as Zoltar comes to life.
Weird.
Too weird.
The contraption, with all its clamor, is starting to freak Allison out, thinking maybe the fucking thing's about to explode. She takes a step back just as the machine's shaking and rumbling grows even more intense, almost violent, even. Zoltar's eyes suddenly light up like red lasers, and he begins swiveling at the waist from side to side while his arms begin moving up and down as if beating an invisible drum.
And then, out of nowhere, an eerie, mechanical voice suddenly roars out with hair-raising volume...
''I AM THE AMAZING ZOLTAR! GREAT MYSTIC OF THE EAST, TELLER OF FORTUNES!''
The voice is immediately followed by an evil, equally mechanical, and equally loud laughter...
“BBBWWWAAA. HHHHAAA HHHHAAAA HA HA HA HA!’’
And finally, a blinding blue bolt of lightning shoots from the top of the spire, creating a bursting crack of thunder so loud and frightening it causes both girls to leap backward in stark terror. They drop their cotton candy and clutch onto each other for dear life.
The girls are terrified. The hairs on their arms are standing straight, and chills race up and down their spines. Their first inclination, both of them, is to bolt and run for their lives, but they soon come to their senses, and cooler heads prevail. They realize they're being silly about the whole thing. After all, it's only a machine, right? A robot? Besides, isn't that why they came to the carnival in the first place? For thrills and excitement?
Sure, it is.
And that's what they're getting. Thrills and excitement. Twenty-five cents worth, to be exact.
So, they don't run away. Instead, the two stay where they are, still clinging to one another, and wait to see what the robot will do next; both of them completely drawn in, at this point, by the machine's mysterious, almost hypnotic, allure.
In the meantime, Zoltar reaches under his card table and produces a stack of tarot cards. He lays the top five cards down, face up and side by side, on the table in front of him. His head begins to nod up and down, over and over, and again, the terrifying mechanical voice bellows...
''I AM THE AMAZING ZOLTAR, TELLER OF FUTURES! BEHOLD, I HAVE TOLD YOURS!''
Another terrifying lightning bolt, accompanied by yet another clap of deafening thunder.
And then...
Nothing.
Zoltar rests his hands on the card table and quits moving. His eyes turn dark, and his head tilts slightly downward. The lights inside the booth quit blinking as well, and the whole machine falls silent and still as if having turned itself off.
But then, suddenly, another noise. A clacking of sorts, like the sound of someone typing on an old typewriter. At the same time, a slender white piece of paper begins emerging from a slot in front of the machine, feeding out more and more as the clacking continues.
After a few moments, the typing sound stops, and the long, slender paper ejects. It flutters softly and silently to the ground like a bird's lost feather.
The two girls look at the paper and then look at each other, neither really knowing what to do, and neither really wanting to do anything. Least of all, getting close enough to the machine to pick the paper off the ground.
Again, Allison reminds herself that it's only a machine. A carnival attraction. She swallows hard and then releases her grip on Muriel. Cautiously, she approaches the now silent machine until she's standing a mere foot in front of it. She reaches down and picks the paper up from the ground, and notices there are words printed on it. No doubt her twenty-five-cent fortune. She stretches the paper out in front of her and reads the words out loud so that Muriel can hear…
You have less than two minutes left to live.
''What?''
Allison's face scrunches in confusion...
''What the fuck is this? My fortune? What kind of fortune is that?''
She's pissed, angry. She's just been had by a machine. No way she's about to die, which means this robot-scamming piece of shit has just robbed her of a quarter. Sure, it's only twenty-five cents, but it's not about the money. Principals are in play here. She's just been scammed by some swarmy, stupid-ass, two-thousand-year-old antique.
She becomes enraged. Her face knots in an angry scowl, and she begins kicking the robot machine as hard as her legs will let her...
''You phony piece of shit! You fraud! I want my fucking money back! Give me back my quarter, you…you ASSHOLE! I want a refund! You hear me? I want a refund, you piece of shit!''
But Zoltar remains dark and silent and quite unaffected by the girl's tantrum.
Zoltar’s lack of response enrages Allison even more, so she kicks the machine even harder, while at the same time, begins banging on the front glass with her balled fists. Hard.
Zoltar wakes. He's seen this before. He is in danger of having his front glass broken, so he decides to take corrective measures. Again, his eyes glow red, and the lights inside blink once more. Likewise, the mechanical noise returns as well.
The girl ceases her assault for the moment and just looks at the insipid machine. She's confused. She's not quite sure why the robot suddenly decided to turn itself on again. Maybe it's seen the error of its ways. Maybe that’s it. It sees that it has made a mistake and is going to refund her money after all. So, in light of this fact, Allison stands where she is, arms crossed, face scrunched, foot tapping, and waits for her twenty-five cents. But, like so many other events in Allison's life, tonight, things don't turn out quite the way she wants.
Not quite.
Zoltar, not being a complete idiot, has heard the girl's complaint and, as such, decides to address the matter accordingly. He reaches under the table and retrieves something he's sure will resolve the problem once and for all: a .38 revolver. He cocks the hammer, aims it at the irate bitch in front of him, and pulls the trigger. Instantly, two things happen: 1) A hole appears in the booth's front glass, one that happens to match the hole in the now-dead bitch's face. 2) She quits complaining.
KAPOW!
The back of Allison's head explodes, and she slumps limp and lifeless to the ground. Zoltar fans the smoke away with his hand and then returns the weapon to its previous spot. The matter settled, he then turns himself off again, his point clearly made - there will be NO refunds issued tonight.
Again, the clacking sound.
Another slip of paper emerges from the slot and floats downward, eventually coming to rest on the dead girl's body. It reads…
Told you so.
More clacking. Another slip of paper. It, too, floats down and lands next to the previous slip. This one simply reads...
Bitch.
