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private | Poem

A Not So Private Place
                                       by Paul Kesler
 

I live in the funhouse. It's dark, of course, but I'm used to it. There's
not much to do other than camp in the corners or the overhead rigging and
occasionally frighten visitors when I'm up to it. But mostly it's just
waiting for the more intrepid customers who wander from the catwalk to
explore. Of course, they never suspect there might be something here other
than wandering lights and papier mache bogies. I munch on sandwiches and
bags of assorted candies that they drop in their fright when they hear my
rustling movements. Not that I go out of my way to startle them; it's
impossible to stay completely silent. And late at night, when the crowds are
gone, I'll stray to the catwalk for additional litter. The custodian, of
course, shows surprise when the walk is too clean, so I leave things behind
---- otherwise, it might arouse suspicion.

I don't know whether the girls are prettier here than outside, but after
you've been here a few months, you tend to think so. Maybe it's the dimness,
or the way the strobe lights stray across their faces or breasts on their
way through the house. Anyway, I get a better perspective here than the
average person, almost like being invisible. And when I come across a snack
from a pretty girl's fingers, it's somehow a special treat.

Sometimes, the reflections get too much, especially since as time goes on,
you find it impossible to distinguish the reflections in the distorted
mirrors from the normal ones. The light changes --- long after visitors
pass, it deflects from a surface, conjuring up a phantom in the middle of
the house. I've known these specters to wander about on their own, or take
up separate existences. Perhaps they'll mutate; even a "normal" reflection,
once liberated, may strike a distorting mirror and, copulating incestuously
with itself, produce a bete noir ---- an ogre far worse than any of the
bogies in the house.

The customers rarely notice these specters, probably because they only tend
to form in the small hours when people have left. But occasionally there'll
be laggards, perhaps homeless vagrants, who bumble in long past midnight,
and they'll flee in terror when one of these distortions streams from the
mirror. I merely watch, of course, though spectatorship is becoming less
easy, since some of the reflections do not seem too particular about where
they take up residence.

I've been watching them carefully, of course. The disturbing thing is they
seem to be getting more populous. They do not disappear like ordinary
phantoms, they simply wander off to an obscure part of the funhouse and lurk
there, barely moving. I sometimes feel them watching, though as far as I
know I've never seen them attack anyone. This may change, however. Last
night, for example, after leaving some litter for the custodian, I found,
just before he arrived, that it was gone, or at any rate that the food was
gone, that only the wrappers remained. And the custodian himself, as I
watched him leave, looked shaken, as if he had seen something. I thought I
noticed blood....

Whether he'll return I don't know. But this existence may be in jeopardy.
Moreover, I don't know whether I can chase the reflections out. They're
getting bolder, establishing themselves closer and closer to my own small
quarters. And am I wrong, or are the customers starting to dwindle ---
possibly an awareness is starting to creep into their minds, even if the
specters are not?

It may be time to move.