Orphaned and abused, Eric and his little sister Diane decided to run away when (once again) the foster parents opened the doors to their rooms and helped themselves.
In the aftermath, sore and wrathful, Eric came up with a plan.
That night, as the foster parents slept, they did everything right.
When they left they took the knives with them.
The hot nights on the run took their toll, and thievery was not their strength, so they took to begging, and took what came with it as summer turned inexorably into winter.
*******************
The winter night was foggy when Eric and Diane were done begging on the streets.
Diane had been pushed down, and Eric was punched when he tried to defend her.
The day only got longer as their feet were sore trying to catch up with what dignity they had left.
Today, there’d been enough money for them to eat.
The cook and waitress brought their meals to the alley, not wanting them to stink up the place.
They were too hungry to care.
***************
Eric knew the ground would be wet from the fog, so he lined their sleeping space with the rags they found to keep out the dampness, and pulled Diane close to keep her warm.
Her frailty was a liability in the streets, and offers had been made, but Eric was a staunch defender and had to grow up fast. Diane’s nature wasn’t as hardened yet, but she came to see the practicality of her brother’s way of thinking.
She didn’t have to worry, she just had to do what he said.
Over time, her reluctance to harm others slowly dissolved into quiet, feral self preservation.
They were safe here in the abandoned amusement park.
There was only one security guard who only left the booth to stretch his legs, and he had no idea they were there.
Next to their sleeping space, a broken, rusted calliope with warped wood and chipped painted animals, splintery benches for those with no desire to grab the brass ring, and pitted, pockmarked clown faces stood as a sad testimony to happier times Eric and Diane had never experienced.
She imagined what it would be like to ride one, just once.
Settling down, and settling against each other for warmth, her brother’s arm around her, Diane was soon asleep.
And though she seldom dreamed, she dreamed tonight.
******************
The ponies…didn’t look like that.
She walked toward the calliope, its lights diffused by the fog.
It began to slowly move, and the grinding noise made her stop and cover her ears.
As she watched, the music started, its speed matching the slow wheeling. At first it sounded more like a dirge trying to be festive.
The music…is not right. I have to tell the ticket man.
There was no ticket man.
I can get on for free?
She moved toward it again, taking her hands off her ears as the music brightened and the horses began to move.
It looks like fun.
A voice called her, but she didn’t recognize it.
I can ride for free now.
The voice again, but she couldn’t see who was calling her.
A pink horse with a white mane was in front of her, and its bright blue eye seemed to follow her as she got closer.
The stirrup’s rust scraped her bare sole as it wobbled, but she managed to get into the dusty saddle.
Again the voice. Louder this time. Closer.
But the horse was moving now, and she grabbed the frayed reins as she looked around, and the voice faded.
As the horse ran and leaped in its slot, Diane began to laugh, and all the other children on the other horses began to laugh with her.
The horse moved even faster, and the voice fell farther behind.
That was good. She didn’t like when it called her.
It knew her name, and that scared her.
She was glad when it was gone.
And laughing, she let go of the frayed reins, and threw her arms out and her head back, and let the bright, festive, frantic music take over.
Free of the daily, earthly darkness, she screamed with delight.
****************
Eric woke up, realizing Diane was no longer with him.
He called her name and got no answer.
He got up to search for her, and called again and again.
But the fog was thicker than before, getting denser as he walked toward the calliope.
He saw her just before it obscured his vision.
She was getting on one of the faded, broken, warped, dilapidated horses.
He saw her hike herself into the saddle, and began to run toward her, calling louder.
He stopped when he saw the calliope was moving, then started running again.
One last time he called, the tears welling.
He saw when she took the worn reins into her frail little hands, and her body spasmed and jerked her nose and eyes began to bleed, and she threw her arms out to her sides, and screamed.
The scream faded as the calliope rumbled low as it circled faster and faster.
In helpless fright he watched as each time the horse passed him, Diane became translucent, and began to dissipate into the fog.
He was still on his knees, sobbing into his hands as the night shadows and quiet returned to mock his grief.
Nightshade Stories 