A Most Peculiar Sort of Faire

Chapter 1
The Faire

“Man,” said Jen, “remember when this place closed down?”

Austin stared out the window as the car pulled into the parking lot.  In front of him was the main gate to Funville Amusement Park – or rather, what had been Funville Amusement Park, once upon a time.  When he’d been a little kid, this park had been thriving.  Then the competing park two counties over had been bought out by some big national chain, and they’d gone to town upgrading the place.  The results for Funville were entirely predictable: more people went to the other park, which led to a decline in ticket sales; a decline in ticket sales led to a lack of investment; the lack of investment led to diminished interest, which caused more people to go to the other park…the downward spiral had finally ended about a decade ago, when Funville had finally gone belly up and shuttered its doors.

The park was still there, of course, since allegedly there was no buyer for the land and no money for demolition.  It sat as an eyesore just off the interstate, a draw for urban explorer twenty-somethings and teenagers looking to party without being caught.  Last year students from the university he attended had hosted a rave on the premises during spring break, which had led to the cops being called, and now security was tighter…well, “tighter”.  Austin supposed the cops drove a patrol past the place once a night or something, and there were chain-link fences at various points around the outside, but nothing seemed to have changed that much.

But recently, a travelling…circus?...had rolled into town and set up shop on the old Funville grounds.  It had advertised itself in printed flyers on campus as a “MOST PECULIAR SORT OF HALLOW’S EVE ENTERTAINMENT”, a slogan that his childhood friend Jen had described as ‘refreshingly, charmingly weird.’ As soon as she’d seen the flyers, she’d grabbed one and come racing back to Austin’s apartment.

“Austin, we’re going,” she’d said.

Austin’s roommate and fellow engineering major Rich had come out of the bathroom at that point, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a towel.  “Going where?” he asked.

“So there’s this old amusement park near here,” she explained, “and there’s a circus there now, Halloween-themed, and I want to go.  And you two are coming with me.”

Rich was always up for an adventure and agreed instantly, but something nagged at Austin.  And now, a week later, the three of them were pulling into the almost totally empty parking lot of Funville for the “SCREAMS FAIRE”.  He glanced around the parking lot again as they pulled into a spot across from the entrance.  Aside from a single other car, a beaten-up Volvo, there was no one else here.  The entrance itself looked about as decrepit as he’d expected, with the exception of a bright purple and orange banner with the Faire’s logo draped across one ticket booth.  If the organizers were going for a spooky vibe, there probably wasn’t a better place than this for at least fifty miles around.

The three of them got out of the car and stood looking at the gate.  Jen and Rich started forward, but Austin hesitated.  Whatever it was that had nagged at him before was really nagging at him now.

“Don’t worry,” Jen called sarcastically over her shoulder, “I’m sure all the safety permits are legit.”

Austin frowned, but hurried to catch up with his friends.  They walked up to the ticket booth and were greeted by a short man in a costume: purple velvet suit and vest, purple top hat, orange shirt with a black bowtie, a black cape with a high collar, white gloves, and…a hockey mask.  What a weird ensemble, he thought.  The man’s lapel bore a tag that read GREMLIN in neat block capitals.  Austin peered at the man’s mask, but he couldn’t see anything underneath, and the cape’s collar obscured the sides of the man’s head.  Something about him gave Austin the creeps.

“Hi,” said Jen.  “Three tickets.  Do you have student discounts?” 

Gremlin shook his head, then pointed to a sign on an easel next to him.  ADULTS $5.50/EA, it read.

“Dirt cheap,” said Rich.  “If they discounted it any more, it’d be free.”

Austin pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it through the slot at the bottom of the window.  Gremlin produced a trio of tickets, his change, and then tapped gently on a sign that had been taped to the window.

“DEAR GUESTS,” it read in elegant handwritten script, “for your safety, we ask that you follow these rules at all times.  Violators will be punished.  ONE: do not enter areas roped off by staff.  TWO: obey all staff directions.  THREE: obey all posted signs.  FOUR: please wear a mask while in the park for the safety of yourself and others.”

Simple enough, thought Austin.  He pulled a mask out of his pocket and put it on.

Jen cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Really?  This place is totally empty.”

Austin shrugged.  “The sign says to do it,” he said.  “No harm, right?  I’d rather not get kicked out after we drove all the way over here.  It’s over thirty minutes back to campus.”

Jen rolled her eyes but pulled masks out of her bag, handing one to Rich and putting the other one on.  The trio then turned and walked through the gate…

…and into a decaying amusement park.  Aside from a cardboard sign fastened to a lamp post asking them to keep their masks on and to not litter, the place looked exactly like he’d expected it to look: cracked sidewalks, flower beds now filled with knee-high grass and wilting weeds, random heaps of trash piled everywhere.  If this isn’t some kind of scam to charge people to enter a place they could trespass for free, I don’t know what it is, he thought. 

Rich looked around.  “So, you guys used to come here a lot, right?  I’m not from around here, so I don’t know this place.”

“Sure,” said Jen.  “This is just the entrance, there used to be a bunch of gardens and stuff here.  The rides are all over that way.”  She gestured off to their left.  “I don’t know if any of them are running, but we might as well go over there and look for signs or something.”

They walked along the path, kicking dead leaves out of the way as Jen described the history of Funville to Rich.  Although it was October and a gloomy, overcast day, the chill of winter hadn’t yet started creeping into the air.  Austin figured the leaves must have been left over from last year, maybe, who knew.

They rounded a corner, approaching what used to be the Ride Land section of Funville, when they saw a portly middle-aged blonde woman arguing with Gremlin.  Austin blinked.  When had the man passed them?  He hadn’t been especially lost in thought or anything, but there wasn’t a shorter path to this place…but sure enough, it was Gremlin, same diminutive height, same rough build, same costume, same nametag.  As they came closer, Austin could make out the woman’s words.

“…look, I know the sign says no littering.  First of all, I dropped it, and I was going to pick it up.  Am I not allowed to fumble some trash while I’m walking?  Second of all, have you looked at this place?  There’s garbage everywhere…”

Gremlin pointed silently to a copy of the sign from the entry area as the three friends walked past.  Austin shot a glance to Jen, who met it and rolled her eyes.  He could practically hear her voice in his head: “Karens!  Is there anything they won’t ruin?”  As if to underscore Jen’s implied point, he picked out the word ‘manager’ from the woman’s continued rant as they rounded another corner into Ride Land proper.  Karens, indeed.

In front of him sat Ride Land’s carousel, still, dirty, and missing more than a few horses.  He looked around.  It didn’t seem like anything in this part of the park had been touched, and aside from a few more ‘no littering, wear masks’ signs, there was nothing to indicate they should be here.  He turned to his friends.

“Seems like this isn’t where they are,” he said.  “Maybe they set up in the gardens?”

“But I didn’t see anything,” said Jen.  “Maybe they’re further back, in the area they used to do shows?”

“You’d think they’d put up some guide signs or something,” said Rich, shaking his head.

Jen shrugged.  “Well, before we go back there, I want a cigarette.  Let’s sit on that bench over by the roller coaster.”

“Sounds like a plan.  I was just thinking the same thing, actually,” said Rich.

In its day, the Timber Terror had been a fine wooden roller coaster.  The terrain it was built on naturally undulated and sloped down to the west, dipping into a series of ponds just outside the park’s fence line, and the coaster hugged the ground to milk every dip and rise for all they were worth.  Despite the name, it wasn’t an exceptionally fast or exciting coaster; toward the end of its life, its only claim to fame was how much it would rattle you on some of the curves.  “It’ll make your teeth chatter!” was the sarcastic tagline.

They sat down on the bench at the entrance to the queue.  Jen pulled off her mask, pulled out two cigarettes and her lighter from her bag, and lit up for herself and Rich.  They both leaned back and took long drags.

“I sure hope this place isn’t a bust…” Austin mumbled.  It was starting to feel like it might be.

The sharp click of metal on concrete drew his attention to his right.  Gremlin was there, a short black cane with a metal tip in one hand, standing next to a sign and staring at them.  As Jen sat upright, he reach up and tapped the line about masks.

Jen frowned.  “Really?” she said flatly.  “There’s no one here.  There’s not even a ‘no smoking’ sign.”

Gremlin reached up and tapped the line again.

Jen sighed and rolled her eyes.  “Fine,” she said, putting out her cigarette on the bench and pulling her mask back over her mouth and nose.  She pulled a small plastic bag out of her purse and held it up for Gremlin to view.  “Look, I’m not even going to litter,” she said, dropping hers and Rich’s spent cigarettes in before stuffing it back into her purse.  “Are you happy now?” she asked.

Gremlin reached up and tapped a line of small text at the very bottom of the sign.  Violators will be punished. 

Jen’s brow furrowed.  “You have got to be shitting me.”

She stood up and turned to walk away, toward the back of the park, and nearly collided with the barrel chest of another man.  This man was as tall as Gremlin was short, dressed in baggy parachute pants, a purple and orange vest, and a hockey mask.  His bare shoulders and arms were like tree trunks, all solid, rippling muscle.  As if to drive home the point, he crossed his arms across his chest, making his biceps bulge to ridiculous size.  Austin had absolutely no doubt this guy, whoever he was, bench pressed cars for fun.

Jen turned to look at Gremlin, who pointed at her and Rich and then gestured to the path behind him.

“Uh,” said Austin, “I think you should go with them.  Actually, I’m pretty sure you don’t have a choice.”

Jen huffed, but didn’t move.  Gremlin gestured to the path again.

“Look,” said Austin, “I’m sure they’ll just yell at you or something, then let you go.  I’ll meet you in the back by the theater, okay?”

Jen closed her eyes for a moment in annoyance, then said, “Fine.”  The muscle man led her and Rich down the path and out of sight. 

Austin stood up and took a step forward, but Gremlin raised a hand as if to stop him.  He pulled a small, golden ticket out of his jacket pocket, then held it out.

“For me?” asked Austin.  Gremlin nodded.

Austin took the ticket.  The front had an elaborate design reminiscent of circus advertisements from the late 1800s and early 1900s.  “BIZARRO’S show of the WONDERFUL, STRANGE, and MAGICAL,” it read in big letters across the top.  “Come be AMAZED by events NO MAN can explain!  Be AWED by a show that will CHANGE YOUR LIFE!  Only in the Funville Theatre, promptly at TWO THIRTY.”  Austin pulled out his phone and glanced at the clock – 2:19 – then flipped the card over.  On the back, in neat handwriting, was the phrase, “Attendance is strongly suggested.”

“Okay,” said Austin, “I’ll, uh, see you there?  Is someone going to tell my friends?”

Gremlin didn’t say anything, just bowed, turned smartly on his heels, and scurried off down the path to the entrance.

“Uh…guess I’ll…see you there…” said Austin to no one in particular.  He turned and walked deeper into the park.