This is part 17 of Todd’s story.

—
images as the bodies burn
seen through my eyes
please don’t make me visualize your pain
images and the sounds of war
seen through my eyes
images of rape and gore
seen through my eyes
images of a shadowed world
please help my god
– Chiasm, “Images”
—

Todd brought his clunker to a stop on the gravel and crumbling concrete driveway in front of the loading dock. Sheila flung open the passenger door and stormed out of the car. Thunk deftly squirmed out of the back seat, with none of his usual grumblings or protests about small cars. Todd turned off the engine and pulled the parking brake. He slowly got out of the car, letting his gaze wander over the whole building. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath in through his nose. He could taste the power here, and it reminded him of burnt microwave popcorn.

A pebble went sailing straight for his head, and he brought his hand up just in time to catch it. “What the FUCK, Todd!” Sheila had a handful of gravel pebbles, and whipped another one at him. “Are you trying to prove some stupid point?!” Her eye makeup was running. She was crying and pissed as hell. “You knew this whole time, and you let me feel guilty for not telling you? You let me wallow in being a shitty girlfriend, and you knew all along?!” She limply threw the rest of the handful at him, and burst into wracking sobs.

“Sheila, what the hell are you talking about?” Todd’s confusion was plain on his face. Thunk was watching them both very carefully. Sheila turned around and stormed off, bawling, into the warehouse. Todd’s mouth hung open, as if he’d been slapped. Thunk kept his calculating look on Todd.

“Why did you bring us to this warehouse, Todd? The Carnival isn’t here. Of all the places in Chicago, why here?” Thunk took out a Helix cigar that he’d stolen from Ralph’s house, bit off the end, and spat it onto the gravel. He clamped it between his teeth and lit it, staring at Todd the whole time. Thunk seemed a lot older than he was.

“There’s something here that I need before we get to the Carnival.” With that, Todd spun around angrily and followed Sheila into the warehouse. He was no longer the only one who wasn’t entirely what he seemed. Thunk followed, wearing the same cheshire grin that he’d worn on the way to Ralph’s basement.

The evening sunlight lit the warehouse well, if not in the glittering magic that Sheila remembered from the morning after the party. Shadows were forming and deepening in the corners and beneath the rafters. Her tears stopped as memories of the party, closed to her until now, came flooding back. She slowly walked toward the warehouse proper. For a second, she was sure that she heard Todd’s footsteps behind her, but they’d stopped almost immediately after she had registered the noise.

Something crunched under her boots as she walked. It wasn’t gravel. She looked down, feeling like she was caught in a dream, and saw millions of shattered, tiny pieces of crystal. She followed her path forward with her eyes, and noticed that they covered the floor all the way to the center of the warehouse – right where she was headed. She shook her head and banished her fear. She would not go into this like some dumb blond. Fuck her mistake; now she had a score to settle.

Thunk entered the warehouse last, after giving Todd some time to wander around and get lost. The place hadn’t changed much in a year. There were more jars in the rafters, but that was to be expected. There was broken crystal all over the floor, but it didn’t seem to come from any of the jars. He squatted, inspecting the crystal pieces more closely. The pieces were too small and too numerous to try and piece them back together. Upon a closer look, Thunk could see tracks in the crystal. One set was small, light, and recent enough to be made by Sheila’s Hot Topic boots. The other two sets were older by a few days and much larger. The similar walking patterns implied that they had been of similar weight and height. Dr. Celestine and Mr. Weaver. It had to have been.

Panic rose in Thunk’s throat. The Man was not easily killed, but those two weren’t exactly normal, run-of-the-mill thugs. Not only that, but Dr. Celestine had bore an eerie resemblance to The Man. Fatter and older, sure, but almost the same. Thunk took off into the warehouse at a jog, his panic making him forget all about Todd’s missing tracks.

Sheila came upon the machine and stopped, gaping at how complicated and clockwork the whole thing seemed. Two jars rotated on small platforms, crossing each others’ paths often. There had been a third, but the jar looked as if it had been blown apart from the inside, and the platform no longer moved. An old journal sat there, and Sheila immediately thought of Old Ralph’s writing table. Still in jars were her work ID badge, still on its lanyard, and Thunk’s grandmother’s spoon collection. The whole machine conveyed a sense of broken symmetry.

Thunk came rushing up behind her, and skidded to a halt on the crushed crystal. He saw the machine, registered it, and looked around frantically for something else. “Sheila, they came here, those two assholes from the Carnival. Dr. Celestine and Mr. Weaver!” He kept looking around, searching for something.

“So?” Sheila scowled at Thunk, not liking how familiar with this place he seemed.

“He is merely concerned for my well-being, Sheila. To say that we are not friends is understating the animosity between the Doctor and myself.” The Symmetrical Man walked out of the office and toward them. Now, his sinister intent was unquestionable. Thunk heaved a sigh of relief. “Welcome to my home.”
—
Eine halbe Tasse Staubzucker Ein Viertel Teeloffel Salz Eine Messerspitze turkisches Haschisch Ein halbes Pfund Butter Ein Teeloffel Vanillenzucker Ein halbes Pfund Mehl Einhundertfunfzig Gramm gemahlene Nusse Ein wenig extra Staubzucker … und keine Eier.
– Tool, “Die Eier von Satan”

This is part 16 of Todd’s story.

—
Squishy transmission was caught in drive
Spider man was squinting at the sand in the sky
Spider woman in the front seat, screamin’ “Go, Go, Go,”
He’s ridin’ the accelerator down to the floor with his fuzzy little toe
– The Presidents of the United States of America, “Dune Buggy”
—
Todd drove down the highway humming to himself and smiling. Sheila was slouched in the front passenger seat, scowl on her face and arms crossed beneath her breasts. Thunk was laid across the back seat, staring at the sky through the back window. It wasn’t that Chicago was that far away from Jackson. It wasn’t that they’d be missing school or work because of the spontaneous road trip. It was that the Carnival was in Chicago.

Sheila had been in Chicago recently. It had been a few months since the whole ordeal, and she’d tried to put it behind her. Todd and she had been fighting. They were practically broken up, then, so it’s not like she’d cheated on him. She’d used her fake ID to get into a club, where she and her cousin had run into some of her cousin’s friends. They knew about a party – the news would have probably called it a rave, they were so out of touch – that was going on at a warehouse nearby. An hour later, they were bored with the club and in line to get into the party.

She’d taken a pill, and it made her feel so good and so free. She spent most of the night alternately dancing and making out with a twenty-something martial artist. He had been so muscular and sleek, with his reddish-brown hair and Scottish jaw. There were sections of the night that she couldn’t remember, except for the feeling of his feline form and the way that he’d known just how to touch her. Then there was nothing. She woke on a mattress in an office of the warehouse. The sunlight had come in through the windows and caught beautifully in hundreds of cracked and broken glass jars that lined the rafters. She sat up and shivered when the tips of her hair brushed her shoulders.

The horror slowly dawned on her. Nearly a foot of tediously-cared-for hair had been crudely cut off. She looked down at the mattress, and next to her lay a pair of old rusty scissors. She clamped her mouth shut so that she wouldn’t scream, and frantically looked for her clothes. They were scattered all over the office, and her hips were sore enough to tell her that she’d had quite a bit of sex the night before. She cursed her stupidity as she quickly dressed and headed for the office’s door. The smell of cigarettes, sweat, beer, and sex was all over her and her clothes, and she was already fighting back tears.

He laughed. His laugh came from deep within him, and its rebounding sound overrode her scream. Around his neck hung her Hot Topic work ID badge and lanyard. It shined and shimmered in the early-morning light as if it was glowing.

She ran then, out of the warehouse and into the city. She had thanked God that the man had left her cell phone, and that she’d been able to ride the el to get to her cousin’s place. The ID badge had been easy to replace, but the lanyard had been a gift from Todd on her first day working at Hot Topic. They’d gotten back together quickly after that, and all of her pregnancy tests had come back negative. She and Todd had been stable and happy since then, until the thing with Thunk at Ralph’s house.

She stole a glance at Todd, who was still driving along with a chipper grin on his face. She resented him for being so happy and relaxed amidst all of this weird. She resented him for being the center of it, instead of her. But most of all, she resented him for making her love him, even now. She had no idea what she’d been thinking when she let Thunk kiss her. When she’d kissed back, hard. She had never stopped loving Todd. She looked back over her shoulder as Todd swapped CD’s. Thunk seemed caught up in a daydream.

Thunk saw Sheila’s look out of the corner of his eye. He kept his gaze focused on the clouds. He had never imagined that giving up something that everyone said was so vital would give him so much power and control. She’d been so easy to push that he wondered if everyone wanted so badly to have the choice taken away. He’d given up his free will; watched it fill a mason jar like the one in Ralph’s basement, only cracked, and had been given the power to take it away. Trick was, you had to want it gone, just like he had. Sheila wanted it gone, and bad.

Thunk had never thought that it would be this much fun to do the work of The Man.
—
close your eyes and take me in
the way you know is soon to change
alive inside the species grows
the silent fate
will dominate
you are your own enemy
– Chiasm, “Enemy”
—

This is part 15 of Todd’s story.

—
You think that you are complicated, deep mystery to all
Well it’s taken me a while to see, you’re not so special
All energy no meaning, with a lot of words
So paper thin that one real feeling, could knock you down

And I’ve seen, tonight, what I’d been warned about
I’m gonna leave, tonight, before I change my mind
– Dido, “See You When You’re 40”
—
“TODD!” He snapped awake, sitting upright and leaving a small puddle of drool on his English Literature book. His teacher, Dr. Kopf, was staring down at him through his spectacles. The skeletal man snorted. “Seriously, Todd, the least you could do is stay awake. It’s not like we’re memorizing sonnets, here.” Dr. Kopf was a little off, according to the other English teachers at his high school.

Todd looked down at his notepad. He’d drawn a crude archway and big top in the background. In the foreground was an amazing sketch of Sheila. She was wearing her work goth outfit, with her ID badge hanging from a Hello Kitty lanyard. His parents said that he should go to art school in college, but they had snooped his notebook after a parent/teacher conference. It’s not like they understood art.

Todd looked back up at Dr. Kopf, who was talking about English literary figures breaking down conventions, only to set up new ones that would later be broken down by writers across the globe. Maybe nobody understood art. Maybe artists didn’t get it either. They just did it, because it w as coming out of them, one way or another.

Todd dropped his head into his hands, pulling his hair between his fingers. He hadn’t slept in the two nights between finding the mason jar in the basement and today. The smell of oranges still enveloped him every time he began to drift off. He couldn’t even look at an orange without getting chills. “Now, as a sidebar, many bands of actors that actually spread the fame of the playwrights would wander the countryside, doing shows wherever the audience was available. After a while, they attached themselves to wandering carnivals and freak shows, because they also traveled, and already drew an audience.”

Todd stifled the scream that tried to bubble up his throat. He wiped up the puddle of drool with a few quick swipes of his hoodie’s sleeve. He flipped to a new page in his notebook, and began to sketch viciously. Inside the Big Top, Dr. Celestine stood. He leaned on his walking stick with one hand, and held a sheaf of papers aloft with the other. Disapproval and disappointment were evident on his face as he shook the papers. Yeah, it came out of them, one way or another. He added the finishing touches to the sketch, and he suddenly felt as though the cabling that held his life in place had snapped, whipping around and destroying what was in its path.

There was a knock at the door, and an office aide handed a note to Dr. Kopf. He glanced at Todd and nodded to the aide, who left. “Todd, you’re wanted at the office.” There was a general murmur that rose as Todd packed up his things. Dr. Kopf rolled his eyes at the students and handed the pass to him. “I’ll give your homework to Sheila next hour, if I don’t see you first.” Todd nodded, and took the pass out into the hall. He had the sensation of floating down a slow river in a boat. The current would take him where he needed to go, whether or not it was where he wanted to end up. He walked into the office, and was told to sit and wait. He set his bag on the floor between his feet, and rested his head on the hard, painted cinder-block wall.

He was surrounded by warm sunlight and the smell of oranges.

A hard kick to his shin woke him up, and he looked up into Thunk’s face. “Slacker.” Todd smirked as Thunk sat down next to him. “What’re you doing here?” Todd shrugged and showed him his pass. Thunk whipped out a pass as well. “Secretary told me to sit and wait. You too?” Todd nodded. “You talk too much.” Todd smiled and laid his head back against the wall.

“We’re going to be getting out of school early, I think. They’re going to forget we’re sitting here, forget they wrote the passes, and look the other way when we go past the hall monitors and security guards.” He could almost smell the oranges.

“No way, dude. What about Sheila?” Todd smirked again as Sheila walked into the office, loudly chewing gum. “No way.”

Sheila shot them a questioning look, and they both held up their passes. She held up hers, and then sat down on Todd’s other side. “So, what’s the deal?”

Todd closed his eyes again. “We wait. But not long.” Sheila gave Thunk another one of her worried looks, but all he did was shrug. After ten minutes of pure boredom, Todd stood up and hefted his backpack. “Ready?” They both shrugged and hefted their own bags. They walked right past the normally dour hall monitors – who smiled warmly at them – and then the security guards. They strolled unaccosted to Todd’s clunker and filed in. He coaxed it to life, and drove off of school property.

All three heaved a sigh of relief. Sheila eyed Todd from the passenger seat as they made a left onto the freeway on-ramp. “Where are we going?”

Todd smiled. Sheila was taken aback; she swore that she’d never seen such an honest expression of happiness on his face before. “Chicago.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to a carnival!”
—
A little blind spider took the wheel
Navigatin’ grass blades completely by feel
Got a sassy chassis, sparklin in the sun
All four small bald fat tires
rockin through the sand and burnin’ up
– The Presidents of the United States of America, “Dune Buggy”

This is part 14 of Todd’s story.

—
Cruel be the wind as it quells my words
I shout out to the rain
Incantations I’ve so hope you’ve heard
That you live again
From deep earth brings forth rebirth
Witness but I shant believe
From below a chilling glow on all
– Type O Negative, “Hallow’s Eve”
—
Todd flicked on the basement light, his eyes as round as teacups. With Sheila and Thunk behind him, he figured that they looked like the Scooby Doo team exploring an old, haunted mansion. He snickered, and started walking down the stairs. Thunk and Sheila gave each other a worried glance, and then followed him down.

The basement was unfinished, but immaculately clean. No cobwebs, no musty smell, and no mice skittering away. There wasn’t even any dust that anyone could see. The light switch at the top of the stairs had lit overhead banks of flourescents that hung from the ceiling on small chains. They blinked to life as the three reached the basement landing.

Lining the walls were plastic garage organizers, each with about six tupperware drawers. As the three spread out in the basement, they could see that each drawer was labeled with a country and a range of dates. In the back of the basement were two doors that seemed to go to storage rooms. Sheila immediately began to open drawers while Thunk inspected the labels. Todd was drawn to the two doors. He opened the one on the left, discovering the water heater, furnace, and laundry area. He frowned and closed the door. He opened the one on the right slowly, and was bathed in a swirling light.

“Holy fucking shit, Todd! It’s money! Every single one of these drawers is full of a different kind of money!” Sheila looked up at Todd, two banded stacks of 10,000 yen bills in each hand. “Todd?” He was standing in the doorway of the room on the right, and some weird light was splaying out over him. She looked over at Thunk, who had looked up from the labels at her shout. He motioned to Todd, and she nodded.

Both rose and went to Todd, peeking over and around him to see what had enraptured him. There was one rickety card table in the center of the room. On it stood an old masonic jar, filled with a hurricane. The light pulsed and swirled out of the jar as the storm roiled inside it. “Hey, Todd.” Thunk pushed Todd, sending him tumbling into the room. He caught himself before he fell, but had to shake his head to clear it. “You all right, man?”

“Yeah.” Todd’s gaze drifted back to the impossible jar. “This is what those two have been looking for. IT’s why they came today. They want it back.” Todd slowly approached the card table, and the house’s support beams creaked. Todd froze in his tracks, Sheila backed out of the room, and Thunk flinched. Todd backed away from the card table and brought Thunk out of the room with him. He shut the door and heard a whispered sigh. “Not yet. We don’t take it yet.”

Thunk nodded, and then Sheila grabbed Todd’s arm. They both jumped. “Cash money, Todd. Every drawer. This basement has millions of fucking dollars just sitting here, Todd. Millions. Of. Dollars. TODD!” He looked down at her, not really recognizing her. He looked at his left hand, which still had the box containing the golden ticket.

“It’s like a movie, Sheila. One of those ones with a plot so big that money is small. Unimportant.” He played with the hinge, and finally opened it, succumbing to temptation. He pulled the ticket out and held it up to show them. Something boiled across the surface of the ticket, changing it. The gold bubbled away, leaving a glossy black. The black letters boiled to gold foil. Todd flipped the inverted ticket over to inspect the list of visited attractions. Only one was marked off: Bloody Mary Black’s Freak Show. “Compared to this, money is nothing.”
—
Mr. Weaver walked forward slowly, making sure that each step was firm and solid. It would not do to lose footing now. The path before him was laid with strands of red hair, as though some twisted flower girl had come here days ago. There was power in the path of hair. It was dangerous to them because it was like them. Every strand that touched his boot crystallized, becoming harmless, and shattered. Every strand that touched that one would do the same, until the power of his step was used. Every strand needed to be destroyed in this manner. Otherwise, something bad would happen. Crossing the streams bad.

Dr. Celestine walked somewhat impatiently behind him, grumbling about his lack of flair. Eventually, they came to the center of the warehouse proper. The dust and dirt on the floor to the left seemed marred by shuffled footsteps. There was also a full-length mirror stood up against a support beam. To their right was an incredibly complex clockwork machine that reminded Mr. Weaver of the hag’s celestial model from Dark Crystal. Three objects rested inside of cracked jars that rotated and circled in erratic orbits on the machine. Despite this, the machine conveyed a sense of balance and symmetry.

Each object crossed another’s path at several points. The innermost was an old journal. The second was a Hot Topic employee ID card on a lanyard. The outermost object was a display box filled with collectible spoons. “He’s manipulating their wills.”

Dr. Celestine tapped an arm of the machine with his walking stick as it went past. Angry sparks sprayed to the ground. “Of course he is.” He moved to the mirror and inspected his clothes. He then gestured to the rafters, which were lined with broken and shattered jars. “Follow me.” They both walked about fifty yards bast the mirror, and turned left around a stack of boxes. There, setting atop a four-foot tall mound of broken shards of glass, sat a photo of Todd as a child, sitting next to Ralph at his calliope. “I will end you, or I won’t. Do not mistake me for one who wants to take your place.”

“What?” Mr. Weaver couldn’t take his eyes off of all the broken glass.

“We have a Carnival to set up. Let’s stop wasting time here; we have a job to do.” Celestine kicked at a jar lid and headed toward the exit. Mr. Weaver heaved a sigh and followed.
—
And if you find one day, find some freedom and relief
With this freedom maybe, maybe you will find some peace
With this peace baby, I hope it brings you back to me
Bring you home, take me home
– Dido, “Stoned”
—

This is part 13 of Todd’s story.

—
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”
—