The night was sultry, an almost suffocating shroud of humidity and heat common to this part of south-central Florida. The trailer park was still. The crickets sang. I stood in the shadow of a palm, feeling its rough bark beneath my palm. Beyond, only about a hundred feet away, an old metal table and chairs rusted quietly in the night air near a narrow, rectangular aluminum trailer. Thin, spidery vines clung to the walls around the dirty windows, which were illuminated from within by the bluish, relentless glare of television. The old Chevy truck, the one with the characteristic gun racks over the back seat and the faded "Jesus is Lord" bumper sticker, usually squatted in the narrow gravel driveway by the side door like an aged guard dog, surly and mean. Tonight, however, the oil-stained space was vacant.
I took another cigarette from a crumpled pack in the front pocket of my jeans. I felt a weight on my chest, and for a moment I struggled to breathe. My throat was dry, and I shifted from one foot to the next. At the window, a dark form was briefly outlined against the blue haze.
Fuck, I thought to myself. What are you waiting for? For that goddamned truck to come back? Just do it.
I crushed the cigarette under my heal, hefted the gym bag unto my shoulder and left the shadow of the palm, walking slowly across the frond-littered patio to the narrow aluminum door. I knocked, and waited, and waited, and -
"Vince!" The door opened, revealing a young, wide-eyed girl. "What 're you doin' here?"
"Hi, Dawn," I replied, keeping my voice the way she liked it, smooth and dark, like velvet. "Mind if I come in?"
"Yes- I mean- " the girl cried, wide-eyed as she backed away from the door. "My father'll be back soon, and..."
I pushed past her and crossed the galley-sized kitchen. Beyond was a dark brown sofa, and across two wooden chairs and a table. A shelving unit at the back of the trailer held a small color TV on which a trio of bald nazi transvestites threw chairs at Jerry Springer.
"Thanks for not returning my phone calls, darling," I said, falling down onto the sofa. "Was it something I said?"
"No, it was something you did," The girl replied, her voice shaking. She was wearing a pink T-shirt, probably inherited from her older sister, which stretched tightly across her round breasts. "Don't you get it?"
"Get what?" I asked sarcastically, lighting up another cigarette.
"Fuck you."
"I wish."
Two weeks ago at the Tarpon Springs drive-in, Dawn and I in the backseat of my old black Ford Cutlass- Steve and his girl Diane up front. It was our first date. It was hot, even by Florida standards. We kissed, and the saltiness of her skin and the heat of her youth drove me crazy. Her breasts were warm and soft...
"Why do you have to be such a fucking jerk, Vince?" She said at length, her voice low and husky. "I told you I wasn't ready, I ..."
I stared at her through the curling blue smoke, remembering how she'd struggled beneath me on the back seat. Pinned down beneath my weight, she'd been helpless as a kitten as I ripped off her underwear and fumbled at her thighs. Harsh breaths and muffled cries. I would have done her had she not hit me across the face- hit me with her keys. Half-naked and crying, she'd opened the door and ran off into the crowded parking lot.
Later that night, her father had called, promising to cut my balls off should I ever come near his daughter again.
Well, here we were again, her face flushed in the harsh white neon of the trailer's galley kitchen. From where I sat I stared at the smooth curve of her hip and the fullness of her ass. An orange scarf hung from a hook near the door.
"Vince," She said softly, her face turned aside, hidden behind her lank blond hair. "I love you, I really do..."
She suddenly turned and embraced me, clutching me hard against her warm softness, burying her tearful face against my shoulder. "Please tell me you understand!"
I closed my eyes, the fire suddenly drowned by a sudden wave of disgust and self-loathing. I couldn't do it. I had to leave.
"Maybe I'll see ya," I said huskily.
"Can we have a beer, sometime?" She asked as I walked back towards the car. "Is Tuesday, OK?"
"Sure, babe, whatever," I answered, and tugged the door open. Moments later I was speeding down Anclote Road.
* * * * *
The engine roared as I sped through the tropical darkness, an oversized can of Bud sitting snugly between my legs. The narrow road, lined with tangled brush, limb-heavy cypress trees and the occasional darkened house or trailer, was deserted. The radio crackled with static as it tried to pull in some Clearwater station...
I'm on the nightrain
I love that stuff
I'm on the nightrain
I can never get enough
I'm on the nightrain
Never to return...
Sweat beaded on my brow as the car took a curve with a screech of burnt rubber. Images of Dawn's naked body on the cracked linoleum of her father's trailer burned through my brain, summoning a terrible brew of lust, desire and anger. I'd gone back to her not get her back, but to get even. I didn't want to just fuck the girl- I wanted to punish her, wound her in the most terrible and intimate way. Her professed love for me was like an exposed throat to a vampire, something to be pierced and desecrated, left in bloody tatters.
But I'd lost my nerve, and now I had a "date" for next Tuesday. Fuck.
I screeched around another bend and took a side road, palms flying by in a tangled blur. It quickly grew rough, causing the car to buck over the potholes. As it narrowed and wound its way down a steep hill, I was forced to slow down or risk colliding with the trees which crowded closer and closer on either side. Taking another can from the case in the back seat, I peered into the darkness for some familiar sign. I briefly considered turning back, but the narrowness of the road and the thick brush made a U-turn impossible. And besides, the novelty of being lost in my own backyard distracted me from thoughts of Dawn.
Eventually the road leveled off into a flat, open area. As I emerged from the forest, I saw what seemed like a carnival. Awash with brightly colored lights, tents, booths and a carousel, the fair sprawled across the clearing. Parked cars lined the dirt road, and a crowd of people milled about.
"This is nuts," I thought as I stared at the impossible display. Yet here it was, in all its glory, at the end of a dirt road I'd never known existed.
"Maybe it's some kind'a religious celebration," I thought and chuckled as I parked behind a blue volvo. "A circus cult."
As I walked down the road, I heard an odd, discordant music mixed in with the tinny bellowings of a barker. A brown station wagon caught my eye, and I stopped and stared. The dented bumper, the old pine air freshener hanging from the rear view, the cheap vinyl seats, the rusty spot on the back door, the "Choose Life" sticker. Even the low left rear tire.
"One ticket, Sir?" A bright, young girl asked at the gate.
Inside was a random spread of tents and stalls, games of chance, palm and tarot readers. The carousel captured my attention, its bright gaudy paint failing to conceal its ancient nature. The bucking steeds, fierce of eye and red of mouth, clearly showed the cracks of age and neglect. Coiled about the central column, forming the hub of this large ornate wheel, was a green and yellow serpent. Its black slanted eyes, flickered in the lamplight and seemed to follow me as I walked by.
The barker wore a crimson cloak and a black top hat. His face was pale, eyes darkly painted and lips blood red. A cane twirled in his hand as he pranced across a wooden platform and spoke into an old-fashioned megaphone. As I stared at the motley assortment of people gathered around him, the oddity suddenly struck me: where were the children?
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The Barker howled with glee. "Ladies and gentlemen! Jack's Emporium Caravan is proud to present, the one and only, Carnival Beelzebub! Tonight, in your hometown, you'll see such sights as to leave you breathless! Human oddities galore, featuring Carla, the porcupine-girl. Direct from the wilds of Canada, you'll see a boy raised by bears and from the depths of Africa, Lissa the snake-loving bride. Get your tickets now, ladies and gentlemen, you won't want to miss a thing! Don't forget Usha- the dark angel from ancient India- she'll leave you panting and begging for more! Food and drugs at the snack bar. All sales final- no refunds. And if you have a heart condition, be careful or you might become a show all to yourself! Your deepest wishes come true at Carnival Beelzebub, so slap your money down at the One-Shot Deal! Come one, come all! This night only- tomorrow we'll be gone! Ladies and gentlemen..."
A coffee-skinned girl with thick black hair and almond-shaped eyes, clad in a sarong and bejeweled with gold necklaces and bracelets, slid out from behind the carousel, followed by a heavy, florid-faced man. He walked slowly, hesitantly, stumbling with every step. He looked back at me with dumb, bloodshot eyes.
A familiar figure emerged from the crowd, diverting my attention from the girl and the strange man.
"Hey, Herb!" I called, laughing. "Hey, you sonofabitch! Does Stella know where you are?"
`Herbert Flinch. Dressed in his usual old gray jacket ...
Herbert Flinch. Dressed in his usual old gray jacket and tie, shoulders hunched, hair greasy and thinning, looking about as out of place as anyone can be.
"Hello, Vince," the man said, turning and gazing at me with unusual calm. Herb normally seemed to cower, like a dog about to be kicked, yet tonight he seemed strangely poised. All other jibes died in my throat.
"Herb, what's going on?" I asked.
"Enjoy the carnival, Vinnie," Herb replied softly, and smiled.
I watched him in amazement as he walked towards the exit- I'd never would have believed it. The thought of Flinch taking drugs was incredible, yet the man was obviously high as a kite. His wife was gonna kill him.
"Excuse my rudeness, good Sir!" A voice exclaimed behind me. I turned and found myself staring into the leering, painted face of the barker. "I had to get your attention, you see. I do hope you will allow me to say that this is your lucky day!"
I tried to move away, but the clown hadn't let go of my arm. Although he held it loosely as in goodwill and friendship, I had the feeling of great strength held in check.
"Call me Jack, Good Ol' Jack. And do I have a game for you!", the barker continued exuberantly. "I know what you are thinking, you are thinking 'this is only a cheap little town fair, so what is this fool talking about!'. Well, good sir, you know about books and you know about covers and I don't need to tell you any more than that. For only five minutes of your time, I will show you how you can win your innermost desires! Yes, Sir! For just one measly dollar. So what do you say, sir? Step right up, as they say, its right this way!".
We approached a stall above which the words "One Shot Deal" were painted in gaudy letters. Across the counter, a tattooed dwarf smoked a fragrant cigar.
"You look like a ball player to me, sir," the barkers continued, "so this should be a walk in the park. Just take a ball, throw it in the clown's mouth, and you win!"
Above the dwarf, the back wall of the stall, was the painted face of a clown with white face, red nose and thick red lips obscenely puckered as if blowing a kiss. Between the clown's lips was a round space about six inches in diameter, a narrow target but not impossible to hit. I stared at the clown face, the sounds of the crowd fading until I was enveloped in a strange stillness.
"For a buck, try your luck!" a voice echoed from far away. "You win what you want-it's all up to you! Hit that sucker and win! Sure, the odds are low-but we do have winners! Why, a gentleman won his dream just moments ago!"
"Win my fantasy, huh?" I said as I slapped a dollar bill on the counter and took a baseball from the dwarf. "Right..."
In a smooth motion I turned and threw the ball and watched as it sailed towards the clown's ghastly face. For a moment it seemed too high, heading for the nose or forehead, but suddenly it dipped and headed straight for the crimson orifice. With a dry clunk the ball disappeared inside.
"We have another winner!"
When I opened my eyes, I saw the dwarf handing me my prize: an orange scarf soaked in blood.
* * * * *
"Vince," She said softly, her face turned aside, hidden behind her lank blond hair. "I love you, I really do, but... I'm just not ready, ok?"
She suddenly turned and embraced me, clutching me hard against her warm softness, burying her tearful face against my shoulder. "Please tell me you understand!"
I closed my eyes, the fire suddenly drowned by a sudden wave of disgust and self-loathing. For a moment my resolve shook, and I saw myself walking out the door, weak and defeated, to seek refuge in the bottle. Then I regained control, and gently kissed Dawn's moist lips.
"Oh, I understand, girl," I breathed as I slowly clasped her hands and pinned them behind her back.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was edged with fear.
"You should never have fucked with me," I whispered in her ear. "That stunt you pulled was a very bad idea."
Her regular, slightly musky odor mingled with a light, flowery scent which I guessed was her deodorant. I held her closer, and detected a slight aura of sweat rising from her.
"Let me go, Vincent," she said, as pushed in vain against me. "Fuck, let me go!"
I pushed her back, roughly, and she fell screaming across the living room, her head hitting the floor. Heart pounding, I opened my gym bag and took out a roll of duct tape, nylon rope and a dirty rag.
"Are you crazy!" Dawn screamed as she tried to scramble to her feet.
"Shut up!" I said, and slapped her sharply across the face. Taking the scarf, I tied her wrists to the bottom of the shelving unit then stuffed the oily rag into her mouth, keeping it in place with a strip of tape. Then, pulling her legs apart, I tied her ankles to furniture on opposite sides of the room- the sofa on one side, the heavy wooden table on the other.
When it was done, I stopped and sat down on the sofa. Taking a mouthful of beer, I watched her fruitless efforts to free herself. The muscles on her inner thighs flexed and tensed as she fought to bring her legs back together, and I could hear her crying beneath the rag. Her lips were already black with oil and dirt.
After a while, I took the phone off the hook and dialed.
"Hey, Steve, How ya doin'?... Guess what? You remember that bitch we took to the drive-in that time?... Yeah, the one who cut me with her fuckin' keys. Anyway, I've got her here, tied up and gagged... No, I'm not kidding!... In her own trailer, you know the place... Wanna come over?... Fuckin' right-I got beer!... Yeah, and bring Diane- this is gonna be good. OK, see ya."
I hung up and looked down at the girl. Her eyes were wide with fear. A trail of saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth. Taking a sharp knife from the counter, I cut open her T-shirt and her jeans. Her heavy breasts fell loose, the nipples large and light brown.
Eventually, I heard the engine of Steve's car and Diane's high voice as they walked under the car port to the door.
"Party time," I breathed, and smiled.
* * * * *
I gazed incomprehensibly at the blood-stained scarf, unwilling to understand its full meaning. I stumbled back from the gaming stall, my senses reeling. Memories assailed me: Diane laughing, a bloodstained screwdriver, cigarette burns, spilled beer, razor blades, Steve screaming. Lurching through the crowds, I found the exit and left the carnival, running blindly down the road to my car. Twice I dropped the keys, finally opening the door and falling onto the seat. As I twisted the key in the ignition, the radio blared to life. Only then did I realize I was hard with lust.
"There's been a brutal and bizarre sexual assault tonight at the home of Dawn Peters of Pelican Point Trailer Park," the newscaster said. "According to witnesses, 20-year old Vincent Bacon along with two accomplices broke into the trailer home earlier this evening and sexually assaulted Peters, his 16-year-old girlfriend. Bacon is alleged to have tied the girl down and tortured her for hours before fleeing the scene. Peters is presently in critical but stable condition at Tarpon Springs General. Although the accomplices have surrendered to the police, Bacon is still at large and a police search is in progress throughout the area. Anyone with any information concerning Bacon's whereabouts should contact the nearest police department."
Knuckles white, I gripped the wheel and raced up the narrow road with only one thought. Branches whipped the windows of the car as it lurched around tight curves, tires spinning in the mud. Expecting at any moment the tell-tale lights of police cruisers, I took the last curve before Anclote Road only to find a large pick-up truck parked across the middle of the road. Violently turning the wheel, I felt the car spin out of control and lurch as it struck the embankment.
The warm, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I stumbled out of the car onto the road. The car had hit a tree- the grill and left fender were almost completely smashed. A groan escaped my lips as pain lanced through my chest, and I fell to my knees.
"Get up," a voice commanded, and I felt something hard and small pressed against my back.
"I... can't," I croaked, "I'm...hurt."
The man laughed, and prodded me harder. "Get up, you sonofoabitch, or I'll blow your head off."
Wincing with pain, I rose to my feet and gazed through a veil of blood into the face of Herbert Flinch.
"Herb...?"
"Shut up," Herb said, and raised a pump-action, 16-gauge shotgun until the muzzle floated only an inch from my face. I stared into the utter blackness of the barrel, and felt a warm wetness spread down my thighs.
"I didn't do it, Herb," I sobbed. "I didn't do anything."
"I don't give a shit what you did, Vince," Herb replied, chuckling. "Why, is there something I should know?"
I stared at him in agonized confusion.
Herb laughed again, and through the haze I sensed its hysterical, maniacal quality.
"What can I say, Vinny-boy, I could'a been star pitcher in high school. But instead all I had were jerks like you sniggering behind me back. Loser, fag, yellow- falling like poison from your lips. It didn't take me long to learn how to crawl. All my goddamn life..."
I tried to move, but the pain in my chest had become a burning knife twisting inside me. A wave of nausea hit me, and I collapsed to the ground. Dark blood flowed from my mouth.
"Stella was right," Herb continued. "She was always right. She told me unless I learned to stand up for myself, I'd be never be more than a town idiot. If only she could see me now, eh, Vinny-boy!"
Fighting to stay conscious, I looked beyond the darkness of the barrel and stared pleadingly into the man's pig-like blue eyes. For what seemed like an eternity, Herb held my gaze in a strange kind of communion. Then he smiled, and pulled the trigger.