October 31st
Logan cursed himself. He was blazing down the dirt road in his Sierra pickup, trying his damnedest not to skid out into the wall of trees on his left, or fall off the embankment on his right. He was running late. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep fishing Silver Creek; nor the first time he woke up, sun-burnt with a horrendous tan line around his sunglasses. He looked to the clock. 4:15. There was time, but only if he hurried. He took a chug of his beer and roared the engine up an incline, spraying pebbles and fallen leaves in its wake. The trees were absolutely asunder in color: reds, yellows, orange, and the sunlight filtering through lit his windshield like a prism. He'd swear it was just about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But no, actually that wasn't true. He'd been down these roads before a different autumn nearly 14 years back. Unbidden, the memories came flooding back.
***
He was six, riding in the bed of his daddy's pickup under a tunnel of autumn trees, not so unlike the canopy he was driving under just then. His daddy was up front. The silver can of his PBR reflecting the sunlight like some kind of brilliant diamond. Coy was sitting up front too, and he'd occasionally tap the glass of the rear window and a make a face at Logan just to make him giggle. The thing he remembered most about that day was just how so free and happy he was. They were going to see the freakshow; his dad had been promising for months and now they finally would. Logan was old enough now. Finally. He loved riding in the back of the pickup, how the wind whistled through his hair and how if he sat in just the right spot near the wheel wells, every bump would send him flying, like he was riding in the very last seat of a wood roller coaster. It was warm that day and the chirping insects were so loud and out in such force, he felt like he was driving through some desolate jungle. It was an adventure. The world he lived in was benevolent and beautiful and endless, and Halloween was only a few weeks away. Life was good and getting better.
When the pickup lurched over a final rise, he saw it then: The house of the freaks. It seemed small at first, but as they neared it kept growing and growing, until it loomed several stories over the dirt road and extended back further than he could see. Even at that young age, he knew the design was strange. The top half seemed like the upper stories of a classic Victorian mansion, but the ground floor was old, tightly packed stone. The wooden upper-story was freshly painted a pale lavender, and at its highest point there was one semi-circular window, with a small balcony. This was the only window that was open; all the others had their drapes pulled shut and the bottom story had none at all. The building was longer than it was wide and the grounds were well-kept, elaborate topiary in the shape of the two prowling wolves, extending their paws out to make an arch before the entryway. When they pulled into the dirt parking lot along side of the building, Logan noticed he still couldn't tell how big the building was. It's back half disappeared into a tightly gnarled overhang of old boles and oaks, making the building itself look like some kind of trapped creature half free from the forest, half ensnarled.
He hadn't realized he'd been staring at it apprehensively, but then his daddy was there, hands bracing him under his arms to lift him out of the pickup bed. Then they were walking, but in a different direction than the house.
"I thought we were gonna see the freaks?"
"We are Logan," his dad said with a hearty chuckle. "That's just where they sleep. C'mon the big tent is up this way. Sure enough, there in an open field surrounded by the trees sat a large red and white circus tent. Outside there were clowns with balloons, and unicyclists and cotton candy vendors, and he only then noticed the smell of funnel cake and popcorn and hot dogs. He hadn't realized but he'd been holding his breath and he didn't know why. His eyes had gone wide with excitement and the apprehension was forgotten, replaced by wonder. Butterflies had been doing jumping jacks in the pit of his stomach. His dad bought him and Coy a root beer and a hot dog each, and picked up the tickets from a man wearing a top hat and a fake mustache. He watched the tendrils of light illuminate the man's face as he walked by, and how the man tilted his head just so, an old world greeting, and how as he did so, the shadow of the circus tent came over him.
***
And strangely his memories stopped, like a projectionist forgot to switch reels. But he realized he'd pulled over to the side of the room and was sweating profusely. It was just a memory. Why was he so riled up from it? Besides he couldn't remember the rest. How frightening could it have been?
He pulled off the dirt road and onto route 50, following the line directly into the setting sun. It would be a warm night, just like it was a warm day then. He wondered if the insects would be out in the same numbers as last time. It didn't bear thinking. He still had a ways to go. The rest of rest of the ride, he decided to focus only on the road ahead and the beer in his hand. It wouldn't be long now.
***
He arrived at the designated meeting spot, the front stoop of Kinser House, a few minutes before 6 PM. Dusk was descending fast, just a reddish glow over the distant mountains and the moon was out early. Logan saw that Jayce had been the first to arrive. He was leaned up against the side of the wall, sipping from a beer bottle, looking both relaxed and bored. Jayce was decked out in purple and black bell-bottoms with a cheesy matching disco jacket, gold chains and a black afro placed against the wall by his platform shoes.
Logan chuckled at Jayce's get up. "What is up, brother? You John Travolta?"
"The sixth member of the Jackson 5," Jayce clinked his beer bottle against Logan's with an amiable smile. Logan was amused that Jayce brought a bottle of beer as well. He was pleased not to be the only raging alcoholic in the group. Jayce appraised Logan's get-up. "Nice makeup, Logue."
He'd gone as a vampire-cowboy. He'd wanted to go just as a cowboy, but Whitney wasn't having any of it. She said that was what he wore anyway, and there's no way in hell he was getting with just that. So he'd gone with the usual: Jeans, flannel, Stetson hat, but he threw in some plastic fangs and black mascara for his eyes, and white makeup for rest of his face and neck. He was actually kind of proud of how it turned out. He tipped the rim of his hat to Jayce, "Thank you, sir."
"Lookie, lookie," Logan could hear wonder in Jayce's voice. He was looking behind the cowboy. Logan turned. His jaw dropped.
Lane and Jaime were approaching and showing far more skin than Logan had ever seen. As promised Lane was a country girl. She wasn't an especially tall girl, only about 5'7", but the daisy dukes she wore were clearly meant for a girl much shorter. They barely reached mid-thigh and exposed the entire creamy length of her legs down to her sandals. She was wearing a flannel shirt of her own that was unbuttoned nice and low, exposing the swell of her cleavage and tied at her midriff baring the flat line of her stomach. She went all out clearly: her chestnut brown hair flowed loose, teased to a feathery Farrah Fawcett look. Unbidden, Logan felt a swell in his jeans; he'd never seen Lane look this good. "Oh sweet mercy," he heard Jayce whisper.
He would've been unable to turn away had Jaime not been there. She'd been promising the guys she'd wear the catholic school girl outfit she'd worn through high school and it did not disappoint. She wore black church shoes, and her white socks were pulled up nearly to her knees. There was a tanned expanse of knee and thigh visible, giving way to the blue and green plaid flannel skirt. She wore a tight virginial, fabric-thin, long-sleeved white shirt that conformed to every curve of her body beautifully. Her sleeves were pulled all the way up to her shoulders and bunched there, contrasting sweetly with the tanned, exposed flesh of her arms and neck. Around her neck, she wore the same tight black choker as always and she was actually wearing blush, lipstick and eyeliner: a rarity for Jaime. Her golden hair was tied back from her face in a high ponytail that bobbed as she walked. She was smiling at the expression on the guy's faces. "Logan, you're going to catch flies in there," she chided, approaching to hug him warmly. "Y'look good."
