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”
—

This is part 12 of Todd’s story.

Giving in to what has got me
Feeling claustrophobic, scarred
Severed me from all emotion
Life is just too fucking hard
SNAP! Your face was all it took
Cuz this need ain’t doin’ me no good
Fall on my face, but can’t you see?
This fucking life is KILLING ME!
– Slipknot, “Me Inside”
—
The front door to Old Ralph’s house swung shut slowly, creaking. It latched shut, and the only noises were Thunk’s rasping breath and Sheila’s strangled sobs. Todd didn’t acknowledge, or really seem to register, that he hadn’t touched the door. He walked into the library, sat in the overstuffed chair, and put his cigar out in the ash tray. He slowly let his head sink into his hands, and he desperately tried to forget everything that had happened in the past few days.

Eventually, Thunk and Sheila sat down in the two chairs that faced Todd. He hadn’t moved much, but the tips of his fingers were white from the pressure of pressing against his skull. “My best friend and my girlfriend, making out, while two guys from crazy-town talk to me down here. What. The. Shit.” Todd could hear Sheila crying again. He could hear Thunk’s regular breathing. He could hear the house creaking. He could hear whispering in the walls. He could hear apprehension whispering to him from the creak and settle of the house.

“Todd, man.” He slowly looked up at Thunk, whose eyes refused to meet his. “This… this was on the seat before I sat down.” Thunk’s shaking hand held a carved wooden box with a brass plate on the top. Todd took the box, and ran his thumb over the plate. It was heavily tarnished with age, but the engraving was still legible.

“Old Ralph.” It came out as a choked whisper, and Todd could see Thunk flinch as if hit. Todd open the box slowly, relishing the feel of the wood and the creak of the hinge. Inside this box was anesthetic for his pain, straight from the mud of Dr. Celestine’s Carnival of Souls. Inside this box, lying peacefully on blue velvet, printed on foil paper, was a golden ticket. Its stub was already torn. “Uncle Ralph went to the Carnival. He’s been tracking it ever since.” Todd looked up at his friends, temporarily forgetting their transgression. They were afraid of him, and maybe even for him. “I have a lot to tell you, but you have to stay to explore the rest of the house. Okay?” They both nodded, as if stuck in a dream.
—
Mr. Weaver slammed the door of the Olds shut and gunned the old engine to life. The Doctor sat next to him heavily, wheezing a bit with each breath. Mr. Weaver buckled his own seat belt and glared at the Doctor. “What did you do to those kids upstairs?”

Dr. Celestine put on a shocked and wounded look, immediately followed by one that was sly and calculating. “I had sincerely thought that you were past that sort of question. It’s true that I might resort to something like that in more playful circumstances, but I assure you that I had no hand in it.” The doctor gripped the handle of his door with white knuckles.

Mr. Weaver put the car into drive, and pulled out into the residential street. “You know how hard it was to perform those parlor tricks in there, don’t you? I nearly fell to pieces. Those two kids, they gave me the creeps. Felt like I had two little clowns by the neck. They aren’t yours, are they?” Mr. Weaver sailed the boat around a semi as he entered the highway. The enormous engine roared a challenge to other cars on the road, but they knew their stations and stayed put. Mr. Weaver came to the end of his patience as the speedometer buried its needle, and spat out, “Well?”

The Doctor had closed his eyes. “You have been taking anger management classes from your brother again, haven’t you?” Mr. Weaver took a deep breath and let it out. His spider pins skittered off of his coat, and began to affix themselves to parts of the Olds.

“Where to, Doctor?”

“Chicago.”

“The new site?”

“By way of a certain warehouse.”
—
I don’t think you trust,
In… my… self righteous suicide,
I… cry… when angels deserve to die
– System of a Down, “Chop Suey”

This is part 11 of Todd’s story.

—
Cast the calming apple
Up and over satellites
To draw out the timid wild one
To convince you it’s alright
And I listen for the whisper
Of your sweet insanity while I formulate
Denials of your affect on me
– A Perfect Circle, “A Stranger”
—
Todd, against every instinct in his being, opened the front door. Behind Dr. Celestine stood his armor-plated brother. “Good morning, Todd. How good to finally meet you in the flesh, so to speak.” The doctor smiled broadly, and swept a bow. This was nearly too surreal to handle. “May we come in?”

Something clicked inside of Todd, and he realized that this was his home, and he was still in control here. “Of course. It’s a mess, but I doubt you’ll mind.” Todd mentioned them to the library. The one with the armor half-nodded, half-bowed as he entered the building.

Todd walked with them to the library, which now housed three chairs. Todd sat in the overstuffed one, and the other two took the guest chairs. An odd sense of calm had settled over him. He felt much older than either the hat or the cigar had made him feel. He offered a Nat Sherman to Dr. Celestine, and a Helix cigar to his brother, completely operating on instinct. Both accepted. He lit both of them, then leaned back in the overstuffed chair. He puffed on his own cigar, then asked, “So, now what?”

Dr. Celestine exploded into laughter. It seemed to shake its way out of him. When it finally passed, he wiped a tear from his eye. “Let us begin with introductions. My name is Celestine, and I am the proprietor – and owner – of a carnival. But I suspect you already knew that. This man is Mr. Weaver; he runs the rides at my carnival.” The armored man nodded.

“Dr. Celestine’s Carnival of Souls,” Todd whispered.

“Ah, yes, so you’ve heard of us. Well, you would have, if you are now in possession of Ralph’s house.” The ceiling made a thunk noise, as if something heavy had impacted it. They all looked up for a moment, and then back at each other. “How exactly did that happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Todd took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at it. “He left all of it to me, in his will. I hate that it makes me a vulture, and I hate that I suddenly have no idea who Ralph really was. All of this is way more than someone like me should have to deal with, right? It’s just all so overwhelming.”

Dr. Celestine nodded. “Just so.” Another noise from upstairs raised their eyes. Just what were Sheila and Thunk doing up there? Directly above them was the guest room.

Mr. Weaver stood up. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to check that out.” Both Todd and Dr. Celestine nodded, despite Todd’s irrational concern for their lives. He did a double-take at Mr. Weaver as he left. It looked like he had tons of tiny metal spiders pinned to the hem of his coat. They nearly scraped the hardwood floors. Mr. Weaver calmly ascended the staircase, as if none of this was out of the ordinary.

Dr. Celestine finished his cigarette, and put it out in the ash tray. “I’m not here to hurt you, Todd, at least not directly. I am here because I intend on continuing to exist, in this form, or one very close to it. I like to size up my competition.”

Todd nodded, as if he understood, which he sure as shit did not. There was a whispering near his hear, and Todd whipped around in his chair, and then back to Dr. Celestine. “Problem?” Todd found himself nodding. He was suddenly very sure that he did not want Mr. Weaver to return down the stairs. He was definitely sure that he didn’t want to know what Sheila and Thunk had been doing. Despite his most pleading hopes, the stairs began to creak with enormous weight. Mr. Weaver’s boots. The hem of Mr. Weaver’s coat, now missing the spider pins. The dangling, struggling feet of Thunk, and then of Sheila.

Mr. Weaver brought them downstairs. HE was holding each by their neck, and they were struggling uselessly. Earlier, normal, flesh-colored hands had just poked out of the cuffs of his coat. Now, giant metal girder constructs vaguely shaped like hands thrust out and held his friends high. His friends, who in their struggling, admitted their betrayal. Sheila’s hands were wrapped around Mr. Weaver’s, trying to pry them free. She hadn’t bothered to try and hide that she was completely topless.

The anger, hurt, odd arousal, and strangeness overwhelmed Todd. His face drained completely of color. Dr. Celestine sat watching him. Sizing up his competition. “Mr. Weaver, please let go of my friends.” He did, and they dropped to the floor, gasping. Sheila covered her breasts with her arms, and began to sob. Todd looked back to Mr. Weaver, whose hands were normal, and whose coat had spider pins lining the sleeves. “Thank you.”

Todd turned to Dr. Celestine and offered him another Nat Sherman. He accepted, and began to pat himself down for a light. “Now get out.” Todd pointed at the door, and it swung open.

Dr. Celestine swept a fancy bow, then took his leave. Mr. Weaver followed without a word. Outside on the porch, Celestine remarked to Weaver, “And this is why I keep telling you that friends are over-rated. If not for friends, I would know where Molly was, and we’d have proper transportation.”
—
I’ve felt the hate rise up in me…
Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves…
I wander out where you can’t see…
Inside my shell, I wait and bleed…
– Slipknot, “Wait and Bleed”

This is part 10 of Todd’s story.

—
Come along follow me as I lead through the darkness
As I provide just enough spark that we need to proceed
Carry on, give me hope, give me strength
Come with me and I won’t steer you wrong
Put your faith and your trust as I guide us through the fog
To the light at the end of the tunnel
We gonna fight, we gonna charge, we gonna stomp, we gonna march
Through the swamp, we gonna mosh through the marsh
Take us right through the doors (c’mon)
– Eminem, “Mosh”
—
Todd put his foot on the first step, and a train’s horn went off somewhere in the distance. He looked up the stairway, and it seemed to elongate. He took a puff from the cigar to steel himself. Step after step, he pulled himself up to the second floor. That the house felt like a home to him was no longer comforting. Instead, it added to the strangeness that filled the air. He remembered someone accidentally calling him Ralph once, but he couldn’t place it. The sounds from his friends kept him sane as he stepped onto the second floor landing.

It looked like there were two bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor. Come to think of it, Todd hadn’t noticed a bathroom on the first floor. The doors were all open, so they could see that the guest room and bedroom were both sparsely furnished, painted in pale colors, and decorated with seemingly random photographs. They all let go of their held breath at once, and then exploded into a fit of giggles as the tension broke. They all filed into the master bedroom. There was a desk with a blotter and an expensive-looking pen. The thin drapes let in almost all of the morning light from outside. Thunk sat heavily on the bed while Sheila let her fingers trail across the photos.

Todd sat at the writing desk, and looked more closely at the blotter. “Man, this feels like serious detective shit. Check this out. There’s an outline, like a darker shape, in the middle. Like when you take a poster off your wall, and the paint hasn’t faded there yet.” He traced the edge of the darker shape with his thumb.

“Maybe a diary or journal or something?” Thunk was stealing glances at the windows, like he expected someone to show up. “I mean, if he only wrote in that, and did it every day, why would he move it?”

Todd nodded. “But then, why is it gone now? Where did it go? Who moved it?” He leaned back in the roller-chair, and it screeched in protest.

“Good question, Watson. But a better question would be: What was in the journal that would make it so important that someone would enter the house and either move it or steal it, after good old Ralph passed from this world?” Thunk took a couple of puffs from the cigar, obviously thinking. Todd and Sheila just gaped at him. After a few moments, he noticed and blushed furiously. “What? You guys know I love Sherlock Holmes stories. This totally feels like one.” He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

“That was really fucking smart, Thunk. That IS a better question.” Todd shook his head; he was getting tired again.

“These pictures are amazing. They’re all old silver prints, like in the old west days. Right out of 3rd hour history! You guys should see this! They’re all carnies.” Todd sat up, and Thunk crawled across the bed. Sheila took one down from the wall, and brought it to them. It was of a young woman. She had a cigar clamped between her teeth, and her fists were on her hips. Her wild brown hair made her look a little wolfish. “Isn’t she intense? Check this guy out!” She took the woman back, and handed them one of a fairly large man. He had long hair, tied back, and the angular goatee that was the style at the time. He wore a long, black duster, and was on the portly side. In his hand was a metal spider.

Todd took a step back. There were metal plates on the man’s duster. He had seen the man yesterday, across the street from the house. The man had stared him in the eyes. Sheila flipped the picture over. “Hey, it’s stamped with the year. Eighteen seventy-three.” Todd searched the carnies on teh wall frantically, his legs nearly turning to Jell-o. There he was. The brother to the one who had stared at him. Neither of them had aged a day.

“Todd, you OK?” Thunk and Sheila were looking at him in concern.

“I… I don’t feel so good. I need to hit the bathroom.” He rushed out of the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He turned the cold water spigot on all the way, and splashed his face over and over again. Cult carnival obsession, right. Just something that old people did. He splashed the water on his face again. He would not pass out. He would not. Splash with the cold water again.

He heard the floorboards outside the door creak right before there was a knock. “Hey, man, somebody’s at the front door, knocking pretty loud.” Thunk. He turned the water off and towel-dried his face. He opened the door, and faced his concerned best friend. “You ok?” Todd nodded and headed down the stairs.

“Probably a Jehova’s Witness.” Todd looked in the peep-hole and his heart skipped a beat. The man’s name floated up in his mind, and Todd remembered the nightmare from last night.

Dr. Celestine was standing on his front porch, and he did NOT look happy.
—
Threw you the obvious
And you flew with it on your back
A name in your recollection
Down among a million, say:
Difficult enough to feel a little bit
Disappointed, passed over.
When I’ve looked right through,
To see you naked and oblivious
and you don’t see me.
– A Perfect Circle, “3 Libras”

This is part 9 of Todd’s story.

—
Now I will tell you what I’ve done for you
50 thousand tears I’ve cried
Screaming Deceiving and Bleeding for you
And you still won’t hear me
– Evanescence, “Going Under”
—
Todd sat on the porch of Ralph’s house, swinging slowly back and forth in the old porch swing. A lit cigar was clamped between his teeth. The remnant of his earlier smoke was finally down to a reasonable length. The nicotene and triple latte from Starbucks were all that were keeping him alert. He had not slept well. In fact, he hadn’t caught a wink since he’d woken up in last night’s thunderstorm.

He had tried to get back to sleep. He’d even been able to drift off a few times, but the instant he began to dream, the scent of oranges sent him into a panic, and he flew awake. The real shit of it was that he couldn’t remember a bit of the nightmare that had spooked him so badly. The only thing that kept coming back was the smell of fresh oranges, like at that lawyer’s office. Todd took the cigar out from between his teeth and took a gulp of the coffee. The taste made him wince, but it was doing a good job of keeping him awake.

Sheila’s hybrid car buzzed around the corner at the end of the street, and flew toward Ralph’s drivway. She expertly handled it into the driveway and to a stop mere inches behind Todd’s beater. Both doors opened, and the car spat out Sheila, looking dog-tired, and a struggling Thunk. “God damned small cars. I need a fuckin’ shoehorn!” Sheila giggled and Todd grinned. They both knew he did that sort of shit for the attention. Once Thunk was fully upright, they both headed up to Todd. Sheila wrinkled her nose at the cigar.

“You look like I feel, sugar-bear.” She took Ralph’s hat off of her head and smushed it onto his. “Didn’t sleep well?” Todd shook his head. “Me neither. I kept having these bad dreams. I think I kept getting eaten by dragons, but it’s hard to remember.” She grabbed Todd’s coffee and took a drink. He was too tired to protest.

Thunk was looking at Todd’s cigar with envy. Todd grinned, clamped it between his teeth, and took a couple of puffs. “So, who’s up for the grand tour of my humble home?” Sheila rolled her eyes, and Thunk held out his hand to help Todd up. Todd accepted, and showed them inside. They all looked the closet up and down, staring at the myriad of hats, coats, canes, walking sticks, and shoes. “Not exactly a spoon collection.” They all giggled. Sheila winked at Todd, and they went into the living room. “I got a bit of a head start. There were piles of magazines stacked all over the place in here. I started looking though them, and, well, check it out.” He picked one up from the pile on the couch, and flipped in a few pages. He handed it to Thunk. He took another one, at random, and handed it to Sheila. She flipped through, then stopped.

“So what?” Thunk shrugged his big shoulders. “It’s an ad for a weekend carnival. I mean, it’s a cool old magazine and all, but why is this circled? In red, even?”

“Hey, mine’s circled in red, too. Advertisement for a Carnival of the Mysterious. Ooooo, spooky!” Sheila closed the magazine and tossed it at Todd. He handed her another. She flipped through the pages. “what the… it’s almost the same ad. So, your uncle was tracking some cult carnival? What’s the big deal?”

Todd grinned. “That’s totally what I thought. But the magazines go back for almost a hundred years, and every ad is nearly the same. I checked, to keep from falling asleep. Hold on.” Todd disappeared into the library, and came out with a cigar, a clipper, and a zippo. Thunk grinned as he handed all of these over. The end was cut, the cigar was lit, and the Thunk was pacified. “Anyway, I was able to do a little more checking before you got here. Check out the article clippings on the walls.” Todd puffed on his own cigar as they examined the wall decorations. Every single one of them was about someone missing or dead, and a mysterious carnival was under suspicion. The dates were sporadic, but ranged from the mid-1800’s to the present.

Sheila shook her head. “So, your Great Uncle Ralh had a pet conspiracy theory about carnivals.”

“Small hands. Smell like cabbage,” Thunk said in a bad English accent.

Sheila shot him a glare. “That explains the huge organ. But… I don’t get it. Old people do stuff like that. Spoons, you know.” She shivered. “How come it’s so creepy? I mean, it is. Creepy.” She took another drink of Todd’s coffee. Todd hadn’t even realized that she’d never given it back.

“Yeah, it’s wierd. That’s why I was on the porch. I kinda freaked.” He sighed and adjusted the hat. “Oh, there’s one more thing that I found.” He went into the kitchen, and they followed. He showed them the lack of food, appliances, and marks of use.

“Meals on Wheels?” Thunk seemed to be grasping at anything he could think of.

“No,” Todd said. “Just another reason to be creeped out. What if old Ralph didn’t eat?” He shivered and something rang true from his dream, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “So, what should we explore next? All that’s left down here is the library, and there’s just tons of books, cigarettes, and cigars in there. That leaves the basement and upstairs.”

Sheila and Thunk chimed in in unison. “Upstairs.”
—
Hi kids! Do you like violence? (Yeah yeah yeah!)
Wanna see me stick Nine Inch Nails through each one of my eyelids? (Uh-huh!)
Wanna copy me and do exactly like I did? (Yeah yeah!)
Try ‘cid and get fucked up worse that my life is? (Huh?)
My brain’s dead weight, I’m tryin to get my head straight
but I can’t figure out which Spice Girl I want to impregnate (Ummmm..)
– Eminem, “My Name Is”

This is part 8 of Todd’s story.

—
I will devour you
Take all the pain away
I cannot stay my hand
From reaching out so that I can
Empower you
For all eternity
It seems to ease my mind
To know that you’ve brought
Meaning to my life
– Disturbed, “Devour”
—
Todd stands in the orange grove once more. The trees and fruit nearly glow with the sunlight that hits them, but the rest of the world is gray and drab. He wheels around, and all of the trees pulse with the light of life, the light of the sun. He tilts his head back, and the clouds of the hurricane swirl madly above him.

Florida. Florida is where oranges come from. Florida is being rocked by hurricane after hurricane. Todd knows that the hurricane seeks to devour him and forever close out the light of the sun.

Ahead of him, the beautiful rows of orange trees begin to sink into the mud. Rain begins to fall in earnest, and many of the trees tip over, sinking even faster. The mud reaches up, seeking to dull and drown the heartbeat of sunlight that makes the trees what they are. Lightning crashes somewhere. The wind whistles around him, and he can hear screams, laughing, and shouting. It feels as if the earth is trying to pull itself apart. Lightning crashes again, and the lake of mud begins to bubble. Things begin to rise from the mud, covered in it. But the rain is cleansing. The rain washes the mud free of its spawn. In the pool of mud sit tents, wagons, and shambling people. An arch, wooden and old, rises directly in front of him. Once more, the mud is washed free, and the sign becomes legible. Last, but certainly not least, ferris wheels and roller coasters pull themselves free of the mud. Finally, Todd allows his eyes to drift back to the text of the sign, and the carved face.

“Dr. Celestine’s Carnival of Souls.”

A voice, rich with command, authority, and a bit of madness, assaults Todd from behind him. “And who else? We’ve been looking for you for some time, Ralph.” Todd slowly turns around, and recognizes one of the freaks from the Oldsmobile. His top hat seems impossibly tall and intimidating. He has a walking stick that is topped by a writhing, hissing, metal dragon. The fires of hell shine in his eyes.

Which, for a moment, flutter wide in shock. Lightning crashes, and Dr. Celestine’s expression becomes enraged. “You have stepped into a pile of shit that is deeper than your beleaguered imaginings, son. You have no right and no place to assume Ralph’s role in this. Your trickery will soon come to an end. This, I assure you.”

Todd pats Uncle Ralph’s hat, making sure that it is still on his head. He says words in Ralph’s old voice, words that he doesn’t understand. “I am your undoing. I am your antithesis. You provided me a way to come into being, and your carnival causes me to continue. I will end you, or I won’t. Do not mistake me for one who wants to take your place.” Todd plucks an orange from a nearby tree. He tears a piece of peel away, and bites into sunlight made whole.

Dr. Celestine scowls. “This will not do.” He holds his walking stick high into the air. Swooping down low and fast, a dragon made of night grasps the stick and pulls Dr. Celestine up and back into the storm.

Todd turns slowly back to the Carnival’s entrance. Drifting faintly through the rain is the haunting melody of the calliope. He takes his time finishing the orange. It tastes very good.

When the orange was done, Todd could only feel the rain on his face. He blinked his eyes a few times, slowly realizing that he was in bed. A few more drops of water hit his face as thunder crashed outside. Fall thunderstorm. He’d left the basement window open. Cursing, he shut it, and went upstairs to find a towel.

This entry is not the first in the Todd series. The back entries have been copied from to here, and can be seen either by going back in this journal, or in their entirety by going to .

—
I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find Him laughing
– Depeche Mode, “Blasphemous Rumors”
—
The waitress slowly unloaded her heavy burden. “Who had the smothered cheese fries with bacon? Thunk? Here you go. I’ll get our extra side of ranch in a second. Let’s see. Grilled chicken salad. That’s you, right Sheila? And last, but certainly not least, is the Grand Slam, eggs over easy and white toast. There you are, Todd.” Thunk’s older sister smiled down at them. “Need a refill on those cokes?” Everyone nodded. “Be right back.” They liked to eat at the Denny’s outside the mall after Sheila’s shift ended. You could hang out for hours without getting bitched out. It was right outside Sheila’s work, and Thunk’s older sister always made sure that the drinks never showed up on the bill. Of course, they teased Thunk incessantly about it.

Todd started slathering his toast with strawberry jelly. Sheila was picking at her salad while Thunk was wolfing down his heart-attack-in-a-platter. Sheila mercilessly stabbed through a piece of onion, lettuce, and into a crouton. “How much do you think your uncle’s place is worth, Todd?” Todd looked over at Sheila, toast almost in his mouth. He took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully.

“I dunno. I don’t even know how much a house usually goes for. I guess I’d have to get an inspector or something. And there’s so much stuff, you guys. I mean, you could probably spend months just going through it all.”

“So what?” Sheila carefully dipped her salad in the little bowl of low-fat dressing. “Tons of boring old man junk. Probably better off in the trash.” She crunched through her greens.

“No way!” Thunk actually put his fork down. Todd and Sheila just stared. “No way, man. All that stuff, all that junk… Todd’s uncle kept it for a reason, right? I mean, why would some old fogie keep stuff unless it had some kind of, uh, emotional connection? Reminded him of something, or whatever.” Thunk looked from Todd to Sheila, then went bright red under their stares. “Like my Grandma’s spoon collection.” He squirmed for a few seconds before his friends burst into a gale of giggles.

Sheila imitated an old woman’s voice and started clawing at Thunk. “Not my spoooons! Please, Thunk, take anything else, but leave me my spoooooooons!” Thunk tried to roll his eyes, but ended up chuckling along. “Thunk, you have the weirdest family ever.”

“I heard that.” Thunk’s older sister sat the pop refills on the table while everyone did their best to look innocent. The waitress wagged a finger at them, then rushed to greet some recently-seated customers. They ate for a while in silence, but their dreams of what the house might hold were written all over their faces.

Todd pushed his hash browns slowly across the plate. Then a piece of egg. If things had been normal, Thunk would have already asked him if he was gonna finish that. He stole a glance at Sheila, and he could have sworn that there were dollar signs in her eyes. He looked sideways at Thunk, who was trying to balance a spoon on his nose. All Todd could think about was the calliope. “You workin’ tomorrow?” Sheila shook her head. “Plans?” Thunk shook his as well, sending the spoon flying. “I say we meet up at Ralph’s house at one, tomorrow. I say we search the thing top to bottom, maybe figure out what old Ralph was all about.” They both nodded agreement.

Sheila grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a three-alarm kiss. When she let him go, she smiled dreamily at him. She grabbed Ralph’s old hat and placed it gently on her own head. “Mine.” He had to admit, it looked better on her. Nobody noticed the cooks blaring Disturbed from the kitchen. Nobody saw the Oldsmobile pull in to the Denny’s parking lot.
—
Looking at my own reflection
When suddenly it changes
Violently it changes
Oh no, There is no turning back now
You’ve woken up the demon … in me!
– Disturbed, “Down With the Sickness”

—
Come one, come all, and witness magic!
I introduce to you an occult sorcerer
Of the ancient craft of Necromancy
A caster of mind-bending illusions
From the nether void of the shadow walkers
A soul from Shangra La, The Great Milenko!
– Insane Clown Posse, “Great Milenko”
—
Todd turned off his clunker and yanked the parking brake into place. He reeked of cigar smoke, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He got out of the car, pocketed his keys, and slammed the door shut. Todd liked to park as far from the mall’s entrance as he could without looking like he worked there. No easy task for a teenager with an ancient car, but he tried anyway. Too many fender benders up front with soccer-mom SUV drivers, and too many break-ins near the road that circled the mall complex. He shoved his hands in his hoodie’s pocket and began the trek to the mall’s entrance.

Saturdays were always crowded, and Todd had to practically shoulder his way through the entrance. He got plenty of dirty looks from over-40 cows, but he figured it was easy to shrug that shit off when you’re not part of their herd. Maybe he shouldn’t have smirked, because two seconds later a rent-a-pig put a hand on his shoulder. “Hold it right there, chief. Mind tellin’ me where you’re headed?”

Todd whipped around, suddenly full of rage. “Get your hand off me, chief, or your security company’s gonna get sued into oblivion.” He had an incredible urge to swing at the overweight and pimply 30-something goon, but held it back. “I’m going to visit my girlfriend. She works here. And if you leave me the fuck alone, I might spend money here.” The security guard took his hand off of Todd’s shoulder and tried to give him a stern look.

“Empty your pockets.” The guard’s hand strayed to his billy-club. “I think you’re shoplifting.”

“Right. I’m going to steal something, go outside, and come back in, after I just got away with it. Eat shit and die.” Todd turned his back on the security guard and walked away. After eight or ten steps, the rage drained out of him, and he couldn’t believe that he’d just gotten away with that. Maybe he should stop by the guard station and complain. Better yet, he should get his mom to do it. Those fat pig-wanna-be’s would never hear the end of it. Todd shelved the idea for later. Shelia was why he was here. Sheila and Thunk. He needed a dose of normal, and no one was better suited to provide it than those two. He made a left at the center of the mall, and headed down to the Hot Topic. Shelia worked part-time there, and it was one of the only places left in the mall that didn’t call security if you wanted to hang out for a while before you bought something.

Todd waved to Sheila as he walked between the fake cast-iron gates that stood at each side of the entrance of this goth-kid’s store. Thunk was there, too, and they both waved back. Todd gave the merchandise a cursory glance on his way to the checkout desk. He got up real close, leaned over the desk, and drooled out, “How much for zeh weeeeemen?” Thunk tried to squelch his laughter, but Sheila burst into giggles.

“Unfortunately, uh, sir, our weemen aren’t for sale, but could I perhaps interest you in some titanium nipple rings? They’re quite the rage this season.” Now Todd burst into laughter, and Thunk could contain himself no longer. A couple of shoppers – parents of a subculture they didn’t understand, no doubt – gave them all dirty looks, but everyone else just smiled and continued their browsing. “You stink. Did you find ancient piles of old man’s dirty laundry or something?”

“Nah, just some cigars.” Thunk smiled hugely and Sheila rolled her eyes. “There’s a bunch of other cool stuff, but I really haven’t had any time to explore yet.” Todd fidgeted as Sheila looked him up and down. She shook her head and went to change the CD in the store’s player. Thunk watched her go, eyes glued to her ass.

“Man, you are one lucky S.O.B.” Todd smirked, a bit nervously. “So, you hear what you missed at school yet?” Todd relaxed as Thunk filled him in on the gossip and bullshit assignments that he’d missed. Sheila slipped a Depeche Mode CD into the player and jabbed the play button.
—
Take second best
Put me to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess
I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver

Reach out and touch faith
Reach out and touch faith
– Depeche Mode, “Personal Jesus”