Chapter 10 - Revenge of the Autumn People - Deep Thoughts

 

                                   Chapter 10 – Deep Thoughts

Deep in the center of the Midway, a sign read “Old Wishing Well – Take a Chance at Making Your Wish Come True”. Dana sat in a folding chair trying to read a paperback titled “Cujo” by Stephen King. The crowd this morning had been steady for the Wishing Well booth. Malcomb was taking tickets and answering questions about the carnival attractions nearby and featured showtimes.

Currently Electric Jack was doing a performance in which he would allow people from nearby towns to bring appliances on stage. Jack would electrify them by simply taking hold of the power cords. In these demos, usually, when a townsperson turned on his home radio it would play or when a housewife would activate her blender it would whir. Tickets were two dollars apiece to watch the spectacle. Five if you brought your own appliance on stage for Jack to touch it, and an additional five if you wanted Jack’s autograph on a carnival poster or the appliance.

I probably should point out the operational mechanics of the Josiah Pandemonium Carnival. First and foremost, as is the case with most carnivals, it is a business. Nothing is free. Not to the public at least. Second, and more interesting, is that appearances can be very deceiving.

Take the case of “Electric Jack: The Human Live Wire”. His morning and afternoon acts are rigged. Jack touches light bulbs that are specially constructed to light up to his body heat. On warm days such as today they are kept in an ice chest lest they spontaneously light up to room temperature alone. There is a lottery before every show. Seven or eight people present in a crowd before the act begins are selected to go up on stage. They are shills. They all work for the carney and wear disguises in many cases. Their device will activate when Jack touches it because it has been rewired to do so. The electricity is provided via a battery that the shill’s activate in various clever ways.

People would not be surprised that they are being tricked. They have come to expect it from a carnival. Here is the twist. Jack really can project electricity through his body, but he is a blunt instrument. Most home appliances fry or blow up if he projects through them. He can make them explode or fizzle at will. To enhance his credibility, a real customer, not a shill but a real member of a naive audience (a mark), will be permitted on stage. Jack will touch their appliance and fry it on the spot. Then he will chuckle and say “whoops”. The mark will get a voucher that they can redeem at the gate for the cost of the radio, blender, toaster, etc., whatever was ruined. Oddly enough, most don’t want to part with their appliance. They even pay to have it autographed and happily take the souvenir, and the story of how they thwarted Electric Jack, back home with them.

His night shows are something else. Jack blows up car batteries with just a touch of his hand. He grabs 220-volt live wires and activates connected dryers and air conditioners. Professional repair men locally are invited to bring volt meters or other equipment to validate that Jack is not a fake, even though most in the crowd believe what he does is done through clever trickery. For a finale the carney blacks out the entire Midway by switching off generators and Jack lights the place up using his own power. The irony of the act is that this performance is legit. Jack is spent after that feat. Drained of real magic. Or so Dana told me later. People would be terrified if they knew the truth. They come to expect deception. They are comfortable with the belief that it all is illusion. But this carnival is unique.

A large tent surrounded the Old Wishing Well. Dana sat next to the attraction while visitors waited outside. Covered in moss and mystery, the ancient well was the only exhibit that was not brought to Carter’s field by train.  It had always been here. Few people went on the corporately owned property. The well itself was a simple stone structure that had stood for centuries. The carnival and Josiah simply took advantage of its abilities. It was at the carnival’s last stop before the Great Mist. Its magic was very powerful. It was the only thing that would be left behind. Even the powers of Josiah/The Autumn King couldn’t affect The Old Well.

Dana’s job was to babysit the customers or marks. No pictures were permitted. When the electric camera came of age, Electric Jack wasn’t the only one who could disrupt the device. The Old Well could easily make a mess of a standard polaroid instamatic or any recording device. The Well had been part of paintings from memory, however. It seemed to be able to obscure its presence from those it didn’t like. A large amount of its magic was devoted to not being discovered. Being left alone.

The Old Well was ringed by carved symbols, half eroded by wind and water.  The stones were smooth and somewhat cool to the touch. The magic was quite legitimate and ancient. The Old Well housed a playful spirit. The spirit tolerated Dana and trusted her to guard its many secrets.  One startling secret that The Old Well chose to reveal to some was that it could speak. It could speak rather bluntly sometimes.

I remember when I first met Dana and Malcomb. Tim Fury had left to peddle his wares to others in town. The old iron monger left a present when he heard that we might run up against the Autumn King, now incarnated as Josiah Pandemonium. I had stuck it in my pocket to give to Alice later.

Knuckle Butt and I rode out in his old pick-up truck. My shoulder wasn’t up to riding Patsy. Dorthy said the bouncing on the back of a Harley and the potholes of Dusk Thorne could set back my healing time. Surprisingly, the aged necromancer accompanied us on our reconnaissance of the carnival. Knuckle Butt drove us while I rode shotgun. Dorthy rode between us.

We passed two Deputy Sheriff patrol cars parked just beyond the carnival grounds. They were taking turns watching the entrances with binoculars. I could tell at a distance that one of the men was Lawrence Goodwin who was running for Sheriff this year. The other man was Deputy Sheriff Bradly Beerman.

“I imagine they are keeping tabs on carnival people heading towards town.” Knuckle Butt yelled. The weather was hot, and we were driving slowly down a Winkler County dirt road with the truck windows down. “Probably logging comings and goings. I recall they did that last time they were in town.” The old biker reasoned.

“Was Larry even old enough to vote last time this carnival was in town?” I quipped.

“Kyle, you know Lawrence hates to be called Larry.” Dorthy gave me a rare little smile. “Back then Lawrence was still in high school. His uncle Wilbert was Sheriff. And, yes, Wilbert was a cautious man around that carney bunch.”

“What is your business with them this afternoon Dorthy, if I may be so bold?” Knuckle Butt asked.

“Well, to tell the truth Grant, I think this bunch has one of my possessions. I need to talk to a friend of mine to confirm it. Been missing it for seventeen years with no way to retrieve it while Josiah’s people were hiding behind the Great Mist.” Dorthy confided.

I looked at Dorthy riding next to me. My voice took on an evil edge. “Someone stole something?  From you? They must be crazy! Don’t worry, Dorthy. We’ll help you get it back.” We pulled into the parking lot of the carnival grounds.

                                                      *     *     *

Outside the Old Wishing Well’s tent Malcomb sold tickets and advised the crowd concerning the spectacle they were about to witness.

“No more than six at a time, three minutes per person. Step on up. Tickets are five dollars. After you have had your turn move on out. No gawking.” Malcomb instructed.

“That’s pricey…why so much.” Yelled a short blonde man with acne and greased back hair.

“The Old Well is legit magic. You may never see the likes of what it can do again in your life. While you are there, nearly anything is possible. If you place a wish in the bucket, you will get something back.” Malcomb stated. “That’s a better deal than you get in some churches, I guarantee."

Just as he spoke a woman walked out with her husband. “Worth it. Every penny.” She announced.

“What did you wish for?” asked Malcomb.

“To communicate with my dead mother, I miss her so much. I wrote that on my slip of paper and gave it to the lady inside. She put my wish in the bucket and lowered it into the well. When it came back up this was in it.” She held up an envelope. “It was a letter from my mother. It is in her handwriting. I can tell you from the address. She addressed it to our old house. It somehow must have gotten lost in the mail. It is sealed and dated twelve years ago.” She was in tears.

It was true that she asked to communicate with her dead mother. The letter wasn’t the same thing, yet it was, in some ways. This was how The Old Well generally answered wishes. Although requests for lost objects often were accompanied by a suggestion of where the object might be, sometimes the actual object would be in the bucket. It worked a lot like an old claw machine at an arcade. Sometimes you got exactly what you wanted, sometimes you got something almost as good. Sometimes you didn’t get anything. Admittedly it was a gamble. It also seemed to be related to the purity of the request. Selfish requests were seldom rewarded.

People wrote their wishes down on paper outside of the tent. Inside the tent Dana read the mark’s request. Never aloud, but she was required to read it never-the-less. If it was completely ridiculous, she would tactfully tell the customer so and refund their money. But if the well gave the mark anything in return, there would be no refund.

The little man’s request was “I need to know who will win the next Superbowl Game and what the final score will be.” Dana looked up at the man with the greasy blonde hair after silently reading his note.

“I’m sorry sir. This is an attempt to gamble using inside information. That is illegal in this state as well as most states.” Dana whispered. “I will refund your money.”

“Aw come on ‘girly’, I’m the one taking the risk.” He snatched the paper from her and dropped it down the well before Dana could stop him. She gasped. The small group assembled in the tent included a woman he had been holding hands went silent as Dana’s face went white. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

She cried out “Malcomb.  We have a situation in here.”

Malcomb blasted into the tent. “Want me to get Bell?” he said. There was tension in his voice.

Suddenly there was a rumble deep down in the well. Then a voice that sounded as if it was coming from all about them said "Well polish my stones! Looks like we have a gambler in our midst.”

The small blonde man looked around a bit confused. “Me? Are you talking to me?”

“Are you Earl Washburn of 481 Monroe Street, Clod, Iowa?” Boomed the voice of the Old Well.

“That’s Cloud, Iowa!”

“Clog, Iowa?” Said the voice

“Cloud, Iowa!” Insisted the man.

“Clot? That can’t be right…Dammit…it’s a long way down here, speak up.” Complained the voice.

“No, Cloud…Cloud, Iowa!” Screamed the small man. He was nearly livid now.

“I’m coming up. Just a minute.” The voice said rather playfully this time.

There was a horrible scratching sound and scraping noise down in the well. Dana was starting to get scared.  “Malcomb! Get Bell. Now!” She said emphatically. 

Everyone seemed frozen for the moment listening to what sounded like a very large animal ascending a rock wall. Then a green scaley hand poked out of the well to rest on the edge. It waved at the small group and then drummed its slimy clawed fingers on the rim.

“Okay. Whew, I’ve got to lay off those late-night worms and pickled toads. I barely fit through this damn hole these days.” The voice boomed. The woman the blonde man had accompanied to the carnival had fainted dead away.

This is the scene that I encountered the first time I ever saw Dana Preston.

I looked at the green hand and got the impression it could see me as well. I looked at the woman on the ground and bent down as she was coming back into consciousness. I picked her up. She didn’t seem to weigh much. But my system was in overdrive, and I had an adrenal boost going on. I surreptitiously smelled her. Her body odor was emitting a confusing mix of anxiety and sex hormones.

Dorthy came up behind me and reached up as if to tap me on the shoulder then thought better of it, lest I drop the woman. She also glimpsed the scaley green hand hanging a little further now out of the well.

“Doc, I didn’t come out here to watch you pick up women. You shouldn’t be picking up anything because of your shoulder injury, remember?” Dorthy chided me.

I started to set the woman down. “This must be the ever gallant Dr. Kyle Franklin. Um, no, not there. Please set her down by my edge. I have some advice for her.” The Old Well said in a gravelly voice.

“Dorthy, how does it know my name?”  I said dumbfounded.

“That is my friend Jacob. He is the one I need to talk to. Jacob is a very old spirit. He is omniscient and it is very annoying. He knows everything that is going on for miles around here. He has more information in his consciousness than most of the surrounding libraries put together.” Dorthy shook her head. “I’ve never gotten used to it.” Dorthy adjusted her black frock and ankle length brown leather traveling cloak. In this heat I don’t understand how she tolerated so many layers.

“And he lives in this well?” I said with some astonishment.

“Don’t judge.” She said sternly. “You live in the house of a deceased gangster’s mistress.”

“Well, I suppose you might have a point.” I set the woman down. When she saw the green hand, and then an arm emerging from the well she cringed and hugged me. I put my own arm around her. Her nose twitched a bit and she turned away from my shoulder.

“Look, my dear,” The voice grew quieter as if just speaking to her. “Your name is Hester, correct?”

She simply nodded.  

“And I assume that you have a wish of your own. Perhaps to make your fondest dream come true?”

Again, she simply nodded.

“Then quit hanging out with Earl. He’s married.”

Upon hearing this her back straightened and she no longer needed my support. She broke from my grip and stormed past the little blonde man with acne. There was even a bit of a breeze that followed her as she bolted out of the tent.

“Well thank you very little.” The blonde man shouted. What did I get from this outing. Nothing!”

Jacob pointed a scaley finger at the small blonde man. “Earl, you need to reevaluate your life. Go back home to Cob, Iowa to your wife.”

“It’s Cloud! Cloud, Iowa! You slimy green bastard.” Earl threw his popcorn at The Old Well in a rage and drama-blasted out of the tent. Jacob gave him a green scaley middle finger before he left.  

I felt the ground tremble a bit. Gordon Bell stomped into the tent. “Is someone bothering you Dana?” Dana slowly shook her head. The giant assistant manager looked at me and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose. “What is that stench?” He glared at me. “You need a bath buddy. Get out of the tent this minute and air out for Pete’s sake.”

There was a moment of tension. I locked my gaze upon Gordon Bell. I felt “The Change” creep upon me. My eyes started to take on a golden shine. I growled low and loud.

Hearing this, Knuckle Butt stepped into the tent and said, “Doc no!”

Then, abruptly…

“You need to learn some manners Abomination.” Dorthy squared off with Bell.

“Who said that!” Bell growled. Then he looked down. Dorthy was practically standing on his enormous feet.  She was glowing bright red. There were trails of smoke curling from her four-foot ten-inch frame. Bell barked “Yipes!” like a dog that had just been stung on the nose by a wasp.

Her voice was gentle storm inside the head of everyone in the tent that day. Jacob seemed to be the sole exception.

“That smell is medication for his injured shoulder. Mr. Franklin is under my care. I can assure you he bathes more regularly than most werewolves. Currently he is sick. I understand you have certain high standards to adhere to in your place of business, but I find your manner discourteous and abrupt. I won’t tolerate it! Do we understand each other?”

“Alright witch. I’m gonna’ let this one go.” Bell sneered.

Dorthy stamped her cane once and thunder peeled forth from a clear sky. Bell jumped back and scowled at her.

Trying to save face, he said, “Jacob, are you alright? Better crawl back into your hole before the boss sees you.” 

“I’m right as rain Gordo!” The Old Well chuckled. The scaley green hand gave me and others a “thumbs up” sign.

“Keep the line moving” Bell shouted at Malcomb. “Everything is fine. Nothing more to see here!” Gordon Bell stomped off.

“I know I shouldn’t be so judgmental, but Hester was wasting her life with that loser.” Jacob the Well confided in me.

“Well, I guess I can see your point. You are a sentient well. People come to you for help and advice.” I replied to the green hand.

“I sorta’ see his attraction to her. I mean, did you see the cans on that bimbo?” Jacob remarked.

“Huh…I mean what did you just say?” I felt like I was not holding up my end of the conversation very well.

“Skip it werewolf.” Jabob said. “Dorthy! It’s been a long time! What brings you to Carter’s field?”

“Jacob, I hate to bother you while you are working but it is about my bird.” Dorthy looked anxious.

“Your Raven?” The deep voice replied.

“Yes. I think Josiah has stolen Peck.”

“Peck is part of the carnival now. I thought you sold him.”

“No. My friends and I are here to take him back!” Dorthy said sternly.

Knuckle Butt and I shared a look. "We might need to involve a few more friends in this endeavor." I suggested.