This is part 13 of Todd’s story.
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Your lives are open wide,
The V-chip gives them sight,
All the life running through her hair,
The spiders all in tune,
The evening of the moon,
Dreams are made winding through my head,
Through my head,
Before you know, Awake
– System of a Down, “Spiders”
—
Todd snapped the box shut, and both Thunk and Sheila sat bolt upright. The walls whispered of forgetfulness, and Todd stood up. “We need to explore the basement.”
Sheila, who was now fully clothed, took a deep breath. “Todd, are you sure? I mean, maybe we should go…” Todd made a cutting motion with his hand and shook his head.
“Not yet. Look, as soon as I saw those guys, I remembered the nightmare that kept me up all night. The one with the hat, Dr. Celestine, he was in it.”
“Todd, both of those guys were in the pictures upstairs. That’s not possible.” Thunk slowly stood up.
“Not only there, but I’m betting that they’re in photos all over the house. I saw them across the street yesterday, before I headed out to the mall. They were staking the house out, probably for today’s little visit. The one with the hat, he runs that ‘mysterious carnival’ with all the ads and newspaper articles. The other one, he’s a carnie, like all the others in the pictures.” Todd was gesturing wildly with the box.
“Okay, so that explains why you freaked and ran into the bathroom, but why did they come here? Are they the ones that took the journal?” The house creaked, settling. Thunk flinched.
Todd turned the box toward them, and opened it. Sheila gasped and stood up, almost lunging at it. He snapped it shut again, and she stopped, seeming to sag. “It’s so pretty. What is it, Todd?”
Todd frowned, and shared a glance with Thunk. “It’s old Ralph’s ticket to that guy’s carnival, Sheila. It’s probably what started all of this bullshit. Pretty?” Sheila blinked and took a couple of steps back. She frowned and shook her head, trying to clear it. Her shoulder-length red hair splayed out, then dropped back into near-perfection. She sat on the arm of one of the guest chairs and sighed. “Todd, what did that ticket do to Ralph? What did that carnival and those people do to him? What are they doing to you? To us?” She looked on the verge of tears again, and Todd couldn’t stop himself from hugging her to bring some kind of comfort. She immediately melted into his arms.
After a few moments, Thunk coughed into his hand. Todd and Sheila unwrapped themselves from each other. “So you think that something as weird as all of this went down with Ralph when he went to that dude’s carnival-”
“Weirder.”
“-and that there’s more here to help us figure out what the hell that was. Why, Watson? You think that will clue us in on why he tracked them, why they tracked you, and why you can close doors without touching them?” Thunk re-lit his cigar and took a couple of Holmes puffs.
“Yeah.” Todd shoved his fists into his hoodie’s pocket. “So?”
Thunk grinned widely around the cigar, and Todd was reminded of the wolf-like woman in the photograph upstairs. “You are one optimistic motherfucker.”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Thunk.” They headed for the basement stairs, Thunk grinning like the cheshire cat.
—
Mr. Weaver brought the Olds to a stop on the gravel and crumbling concrete driveway in front of the loading dock. Dr. Celestine immediately threw open the passenger door and hopped out. He strode up to the trailer docs and stood there, nose to the wind, trying to sniff out his prey. Mr. Weaver sighed as he put the car in park and turned off the engine. The collar of his trench was lined with pins in the shape of spiders.
The stone crunched under his boots as he approached the Doctor. When he stopped, Celestine said, “He’s left this place, but he hasn’t taken anything with him. Go and call your brother.”
Mr. Weaver scowled. “He’s busy. He won’t even be at the rides until opening night tomorrow.” Celestine sighed. “I’m not entirely useless, you know.”
“Yes, but your brother is quite a bit more intimidating. Very well. You get to go first. Clear the way, so to speak.” He tapped Mr. Weaver on the shoulder with his silver dragon-tipped walking stick. Mr. Weaver nodded, and led the way into the dilapidated warehouse.
—
Autumn in her flaming dress
Of orange, brown, gold fallen leaves
My mistress of the frigid night
I worship pray to on my knees
– Type O Negative, “Green Man”
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