slowly on a bench near the restaurant, one of those iron and wood improvements that the merchantsâ association put in a few years ago.
He doesnât give up his watch until it gets dark, the stores start to close down, the restaurants are in the middle of their dinner trade. I stay where I am when he leaves. Itâs a long time until midnight and I might as well wait here as wander the streets. I give it until eleven-thirty before I shuffle off, heading across town to Flood Street. By the time I reach the alley behind the Sovereign Building, itâs a little past midnight.
Iâm not sure I even expected it to be there again. Maybe, if Iâm to believe Sammy, in some other world I come here and find nothing. But as I step around the corner into the alley, everything shifts and sways. I walk into a thick mist that opens up a little after a few paces, but never quite clears. The Ferris wheelâs here, but itâs farther away than I expected.
Iâm standing in a field of corn stubble, the sky immense above me, the sound of crickets filling the air, a full moon hanging up at the top of the sky. A long way across the corn field I can see a darkened carnival, the midway closed, all the rides shut down. The Ferris wheel rears above it, a black shadow that blocks the stars with its shape. I pause for a long time, taking it all in, not sure any of this is real, unable to deny that itâs here in front of me all the same. Finally I start walking once more, across the field, past the darkened booths, dry dirt scuffling underfoot. Itâs quiet here, hushed like a graveyard, the way it feels in your mind when youâre stepping in between the gravestones.
It takes me a long time to reach the wheel. The signâs still there above the entrance, âCrowded After Hours,â but the seats are all empty. The spokes of the wheel and the immense frame holding it seem to be made of enormous bones, the remains of behemoths and monsters. The crosspieces are carved with roses, the paint flaked and peeling where it isnât faded. Vines grow up and around the entire structure and its massive wooden base appears to be half-covered with a clutter of fallen leaves.
No, I realize. Not leaves, but masks. Hundreds of them, some half-buried in the dirt, or covered by the vines that grow everywhere like kudzu, their painted features flaked and faded like the roses. But others seem to be almost brand new, so new the paint looks like itâd be tacky to the touch. Old or new, they run the gamut of human expression. Smiling, laughing, weeping, angry â¦
I start to move a little closer to have a better look at them, when a man suddenly leans out of the ticket booth. My pulse jumps into overtime.
âTicket, please,â he says.
I blink, looking at him, an old black man in a top hat, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
âI donât have a ticket,â I tell him.
âYou need a ticket,â he says.
âWhere can I buy one?â
He laughs. âNot that kind of ticket, Spyboy.â
Before I can ask him what he means, how he knows my name, the mists come flowing back, thick and impenetrable for a long moment. When they clear once more, Iâm back in the alleyway. Or maybe I never left. The whole experience sits inside my head like a dream.
I look up to the roof of the Sovereign Building, remembering how it was last night. The door Sammy led me through is right here in front of me. I donât even hesitate, but open it up and start climbing the stairs. When I get out onto the roof, I walk across the gravel once more to where Sammy and I stood last night. The mists are back and I can see the wheel again through them, turning slowly, all the seats filled. I watch for a long time until the harlequin and the man with the blue moon for a head come into sight. The blue moon looks at me and lifts a hand.
Thereâs something in that hand, a small slip of paper or cardboard. I step closer
He doesnât give up his watch until it gets dark, the stores start to close down, the restaurants are in the middle of their dinner trade. I stay where I am when he leaves. Itâs a long time until midnight and I might as well wait here as wander the streets. I give it until eleven-thirty before I shuffle off, heading across town to Flood Street. By the time I reach the alley behind the Sovereign Building, itâs a little past midnight.
Iâm not sure I even expected it to be there again. Maybe, if Iâm to believe Sammy, in some other world I come here and find nothing. But as I step around the corner into the alley, everything shifts and sways. I walk into a thick mist that opens up a little after a few paces, but never quite clears. The Ferris wheelâs here, but itâs farther away than I expected.
Iâm standing in a field of corn stubble, the sky immense above me, the sound of crickets filling the air, a full moon hanging up at the top of the sky. A long way across the corn field I can see a darkened carnival, the midway closed, all the rides shut down. The Ferris wheel rears above it, a black shadow that blocks the stars with its shape. I pause for a long time, taking it all in, not sure any of this is real, unable to deny that itâs here in front of me all the same. Finally I start walking once more, across the field, past the darkened booths, dry dirt scuffling underfoot. Itâs quiet here, hushed like a graveyard, the way it feels in your mind when youâre stepping in between the gravestones.
It takes me a long time to reach the wheel. The signâs still there above the entrance, âCrowded After Hours,â but the seats are all empty. The spokes of the wheel and the immense frame holding it seem to be made of enormous bones, the remains of behemoths and monsters. The crosspieces are carved with roses, the paint flaked and peeling where it isnât faded. Vines grow up and around the entire structure and its massive wooden base appears to be half-covered with a clutter of fallen leaves.
No, I realize. Not leaves, but masks. Hundreds of them, some half-buried in the dirt, or covered by the vines that grow everywhere like kudzu, their painted features flaked and faded like the roses. But others seem to be almost brand new, so new the paint looks like itâd be tacky to the touch. Old or new, they run the gamut of human expression. Smiling, laughing, weeping, angry â¦
I start to move a little closer to have a better look at them, when a man suddenly leans out of the ticket booth. My pulse jumps into overtime.
âTicket, please,â he says.
I blink, looking at him, an old black man in a top hat, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
âI donât have a ticket,â I tell him.
âYou need a ticket,â he says.
âWhere can I buy one?â
He laughs. âNot that kind of ticket, Spyboy.â
Before I can ask him what he means, how he knows my name, the mists come flowing back, thick and impenetrable for a long moment. When they clear once more, Iâm back in the alleyway. Or maybe I never left. The whole experience sits inside my head like a dream.
I look up to the roof of the Sovereign Building, remembering how it was last night. The door Sammy led me through is right here in front of me. I donât even hesitate, but open it up and start climbing the stairs. When I get out onto the roof, I walk across the gravel once more to where Sammy and I stood last night. The mists are back and I can see the wheel again through them, turning slowly, all the seats filled. I watch for a long time until the harlequin and the man with the blue moon for a head come into sight. The blue moon looks at me and lifts a hand.
Thereâs something in that hand, a small slip of paper or cardboard. I step closer
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