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.