I work the Wild Mountain ferris wheel concession, Mid West Carnival's prime attraction.That's what I was doing earlier this afternoon when the whole nightmare thing commenced.The ferris wheel is the most popular ride, and it's easy to see why, 'cause when I pull the brass lever on this dude, I send fifteen tons of wheel spinning on it's clanking, clattering orbit around-and-around and up-and-down.  The little kiddies think it's great.  Me, I'm bored with it. Fact is, I'm bored to death with the whole goddamn carny.  It's Carl do this, Carl do that; help with the tent ropes, hammer in the spikes, feed the two-headed goat, pick up the  litter--you know, the scut work.
    Hey, I ain't no Einstein, I know that.  But I figure there must be something better than this. When I left Moline and joined the outfit five years ago, I thought carnival life would be exciting. But it really sucks.  I'm twenty-five and I look like an old man.  The booze ain't helped, neither. And I hate travel.  I know every Motel 6 from Moline, Illinois to Tulsa, Oklahoma.
    But tonight promised to be different, the beginning of a new life.  I was gonna be famous, leave all this shit behind.  Maddie and me had made plans to meet at the main supply trailer at midnight.  I got me a spare key.  I'd promised to show her a sure enough shadow man.  See, I knew the supply trailer was the place where he holed up.  I'd seen him sneakin' around there. How did I know?  Well, once, three guys walked past that trailer, but I saw four shadows.  The extra shadow dropped off behind the trailer.  He was smallish for a shadow man, mostly they’s a lot bigger, but this one had something wicked-lookin' in his hand.
    The way I'd set it up for tonight, we was supposed to meet outside the trailer, then me and Maddie would go inside together.  I'd turn on the bright power lamps and call it out, make it show itself.  I thought that when Maddie seen three shadows on the wall, and seen it slinking about, she'd know I wasn't crazy, like Dr. Jensen once said I was--that no-good, four eyed son of a bitch.  He was dead wrong about that.  Now he's just dead.
    I'd planned to take my hand axe with me, too, 'cause after what I'd heard earlier in the day, I figured this shadow man might be dangerous--maybe a killer.  If he tried anything, though, I was confident I'd be ready.  I reckoned the shadow man would have to shift his shape from two to three dimensional in order to harm us.  That was the moment I thought he'd be the most vulnerable.  And that's when I was gonna hit him with my axe.
    I'd hoped that, whatever happened, the world would finally know about these unseen things that live right under our noses.  I guess I had expected to become world renowned, the discoverer of the Eighth Wonder of the World or somethin'.  And so to prove my theory, I was bringing along a witness, my Maddie.
    I suppose she only agreed to come along just to humor me.  Maybe she just wanted to prove to me that shadow men were an illusion.  Whatever, she was game to the core.
   Before tonight, when I'd try to tell folks about shadow men, they'd mostly laugh and say I was nuts.  But then I'd ask `em: "you ever really watch a bunch of people go by on a sunny day; you ever check out their shadows?"
    "Count the shadows, Carl?  "Hell no," they'd say.  "Why do that?"
    "'Cause, I'd say, sometimes there's an extra shadow in there--a shadow man."
    Hell, I don't pretend to know where they come from, but I seen a show once on TV talking about other planes and dimensions.  Could be they're from another dimension or another time, trapped in our world with no way to get out.  I don't know.  But I know they're real.  And now I'm sure that some of 'em are goddamn dangerous.
    Anyway, this afternoon I was busy helping the little kids get out of their seats after a ride, when Frank and this stranger come by and stopped near the Wheel.  Frank Olmstead, the boss of the carny, a fat little sissy with roving hands (leastways that's what Maddie called him), had this here big, gray-haired guy in tow who I later found out was Sheriff Morris Redfern.
    Frank cocked an eye in my direction and they both laughed.  It warn't a nice laugh.  But, hell, I'm used to it.  Being such an ugly cuss, I don't get much applause.  Simon Murchison once told me I had a face like a fresh baked pizza.  I know I'm not pretty to look at.  I got a skin problem, and I'm six feet, four, one hundred and thirty-five pounds.  Because of that, I'm just (what's the word?) tolerated around here.  Life ain't much fun when a man's just tolerated.  I reckon that's the real reason I wanted to be famous--so folks would respect me a little.
    Frank lit up a smoke and the two men commenced to gab.  I managed to hear a lot of what they was saying.  I got real good ears.
    "I'll tell ya Olmstead, I don't like it," said the sheriff, frowning and looking over at me.
     "You figure I do?" answered Frank.
    "I think you got a monster working right here in your carny.  Six killings in the last six towns you've played.  It can't be coincidence."
    Frank said somethin' I couldn't catch.
    "Now that's bullshit, Olmstead," replied Redfern coldly.  "You listen good.  I don't care if this is your biggest night of the week.  I want to talk to every roustabout, sideshow freak, and rip off artist you got, right down to the World's Smallest Woman.  I want their personnel records and I want a rundown, by you personal, on each one, and I want it this afternoon.  You got that?"
    Frank scowled, half shrugged his shoulders, and nodded. Then they resumed their walk.
    Six murders?  Somebody from the carny?  No way!  Carny folk, leastways the regulars who travel with this here show, ain't like that.  Sure they grift and grab some, and a couple of 'em drinks too much, but mostly they're peaceable people.
    Long about sundown, I was relieved on the ferris wheel by Gus Anzack.  He told me the sheriff wanted to see me in Olmstead's trailer, that he was talking to all the carny employees. I right away commenced shakin' in my boots.  People in authority scare the livin' shit out of me.  I can't help it, they just do.  Dr. Jensen said it was because I was paranoid and anti--antisocial.  The idiot!
    Well sir, on the way over to Frank's trailer, I got more and more scared.  I reckoned I'd best not say anything about the shadow men.  No telling how the sheriff would react.
    I walked into the overheated trailer (old Frank usually keeps it about 200 degrees in there), and took a seat across from Frank's big oak desk.  The boss and the sheriff were sitting behind the desk, which was piled high with manila folders.  I spotted a half empty fifth of Old Harper and a partially consumed six-pack of Bud.  The place smelled like a brewery.  Frank sure liked his liquor.
    I begun to sweat directly.
    "Carl, this gentleman is Mike Redfern, Sheriff of Walpole County," said Frank by way of introduction.  "He wants to ask you some questions."
    “S-sure.”  I gulped and waited, my heart thumping so loud I thought the whole world could hear it.
    Redfern leaned forward and smiled.  He had big yellow teeth, a large red beak, and tiny shoe button eyes.
 "Son, why don't you tell me about those shadow men of yours."
  My mouth popped open in surprise.  I could hardly believe it; somebody actually wanted to hear about them.  And he wasn't laughing, neither.  I was so excited, that I told him everything I knew.  He sat there and listened patiently.  I rambled on about how I'd first begun to notice them "extra" shadows amongst the others.  How I'd seen the little one hanging around the carny.  I told him that shadow folks don't go out much in the day.  They roam around unnoticed at night, though, 'cause you can't see 'em.  Sunlight or bright lights usually sends 'em packing.  Finally, I finished my story and asked for a glass of water.
    Frank tossed me a beer.  It went down smooth.
    "Son," murmured the sheriff after awhile, "that's about the most stupid story I ever heard." He commenced to chuckling and his belly shook like one of them water beds.
    I warn't surprised, just disappointed.
    "Tell ya what, Carl.  Let's you and me take a drive downtown and have a peek at your motel room.  Would you mind if we did that?"
    I asked him why, but didn't get no good answer.  Anyway we went.  On the way downtown he asked me if I owned a straight razor.  I said, yeah, and that it was my pappy's before me. That's all he asked.  A deputy with a face like Howdy Doody sat in the back seat behind the wire screen.  He kept jingling his handcuffs and tapping his night stick against the screen.  It made me plenty nervous.
    We pulled up at Motel 6, got out, and went over to my room.  The sheriff and the deputy checked everything, right down to my underwear.  The sheriff asked me if I would let him borrow the razor for the evening.  I asked why.  He said for tests.  He said the girls in those towns had had their throats slit from ear-to-ear with a straight razor.  I got real shook up then and said that he just couldn't think it was me.  He said he didn't, necessarily, but that his job required him to check out all possible evidence.  I guess I could understand that.
    We left the motel, got us a couple of burgers, and then drove back to the carny.  The sheriff was real nice and paid for the burgers hisself.  On the way back, he asked me where I'd been on certain dates going back six months or more.  The time of day he was interested in was between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m.  I told him I worked the Wheel every day from 3:00 p.m. right through to midnight.  He thanked me and we didn't talk no more. That's all there was to it.
    When we got back, Frank looked at me real funny, though, and so did some of my friends. The sheriff let me go, and so I walked back to the ferris wheel and went to work.  By this time the place was filled-up with people and I got real busy.  I was feeling pretty low, when Maddie come by and give me a big hug.  She said not to listen to idle chatter; that she knew my trip to town with the sheriff was just routine, and that I couldn't harm a fly.  I admitted to killing flies, but nothin’ else.  She laughed, kissed me, and said I was a scream.
    She was so beautiful: black curly hair, smooth skin, the color of bittersweet chocolate, small white teeth, long pretty nails, and those big brown eyes.  Seems she was always smiling and joking, and she was real smart and good at her job.  She was our cashier and bookkeeper.  Frank always said he couldn't run the show without her.  She was so nice to me that night that I started to cry.
    Later I traded time on the Wheel with Vic Gains and got myself free for my midnight
meeting with Maddie and the shadow man.  I didn't think shadow men could talk, but I decided I'd make this bastard confess to those murders somehow.  I met Maddie at 11:45 in front of the supply trailer.  We sneaked aboard the trailer, quietly shut the door, and closed the curtains.  Then I switched on the blinding studio lamps I'd set up earlier.  I made Maddie duck down behind the counter, centered the light where I figured the shadow man would hide--under the pile of tarps in the rear-- and waited for him to show.
    My pulse beat in my neck like a trip hammer.  It was now or never.  I took a good grip on the axe handle.
 "Come out you sonofabitch," I whispered.
    Nothing.
    I waved my axe.  "It's just you and me.  I know what you done, you stinkin' dog.  Killin’ those poor little girls."
    Nothing.
    "Come out or I'll burn down this trailer."  I waved Maddie's cigarette lighter, and waited.
    Nothing.
    Maddie touched my arm.  “Carl, maybe you made a mistake.”
     “No I didn't.”
    I was getting pretty discouraged when I heard movement.  Then some horrible thing begun lifting up the tarps--a sinister, silent shape, black as pitch.  It hissed like an adder and slid quickly out from under the tarps, then inched its way along the wall, shielding its face from the lamp’s glare with its right hand.  It's coal-like body seemed to glow.  It had three arms.
    "Look, Maddie," I cried.
    I heard her gasp and say, "My God!  I don't believe this."
    The shadow man snapped his head in her direction, then rushed toward the door.  I jumped in front of him, swinging my axe.  He stopped, darted back across the room, and ducked around the counter.  A second or two passed, then I heard Maddie choke and let out a tiny bleat.  There was silence for a moment.
    Maddie!
    Maddie's head slowly rose above the counter and she staggered out on the floor.  A black, shadowy arm circled her waist, a throbbing dark object held firmly under her chin.
    "H--help me," she cried, "he's so strong."  Her eyes were sick with terror.
    The shadow man pushed her slowly toward me, using her as a shield.  As he got closer, I could see his body was definitely three-dimensional, and though small, it looked very powerful.  His face was totally devoid of features--a complete blank.  He hissed again and there was this funny smell, like burning plastic.
    "C--Carl, help me, please," Maddie cried, then she begun to scream.
    I positioned my axe and moved in quickly.  I had to get him off her.  In a flash, though, the shadow man jerked the black thing across Maddie's throat, and I was suddenly drenched in her blood.  I swung my axe, but he slipped around me and leaped for the door.  I went after him, but he was too quick.  He yanked open the door and rushed into the night.  I flung the axe at him as he cleared the door frame and heard him scream just as his feet hit the concrete outside.  The sound he made was unearthly.
    I went back to Maddie and knelt by her side.  There was nothing to do.  She was dead, a gaping gash in her throat from ear to ear.  Her blood covered the floor, a great shining pool of scarlet.  Her beautiful eyes, glazed over now, were staring up at me in mute appeal.
    Poor Maddie, my lovely Maddie.

---

    Afterward, they brought me here to Frank's trailer.  I was formally charged with murder. Redfern read me my rights, and now I'm waiting for transportation to the County Seat over in Bixby Grove.  Frank won't even look at me.  He's still cryin’ and wiping his eyes.  Everybody loved Maddie. The sheriff and his forensic team is doing the crime scene.  I'm sitting on the floor, handcuffed to the desk leg, and covered with Maddie's blood.  I know they'll never believe me.  I ain't even tried to tell 'em what happened.  Won't do me no good.  Sheriff said I must have done all them young girls; that I'm a--a sicko.  Poor Maddie.  I don't care what happens to me now.  Maybe I did do them bad things.  I remember that guy in "Psycho." Guess that's what they think I am.  Maybe they're right.  Perhaps I was all wrong about the shadow men.  Maybe they was just a figment of my imagination, like Redfern said a few minutes ago.  Maybe I’m a murderer.  Maybe it was me what killed Maggie.  Me!
    Just now the sheriff comes bustlin' in.  But wait  a minute, he just give me the weirdest look.  His eyes is wild, like he's seen a ghost or somethin'.  Another man scoots in behind him.  Now this guy really looks important.  He's got a suit and a tie on, and there's somethin' outrageous in his hand--a crescent shaped ebony knife of some sort; and it's clenched in the severed hand of  the shadow man.  I must have cut it off with the axe just as he went out the door.
    Outside I can hear a man talking real fast and excited.  He's almost shouting.  "You won't believe me, Arty.  You have to see it with your own eyes.  That goddamn weird hand, that funny black razor, or whatever it is; they're not of this earth.”  There is a breathless pause. “Hey, Arty, and this Carl guy's got a size thirteen shoe, but the perps' feet are tiny.  Shit man, you can see his bloody little footprints plain as day just inside the trailer door.  My God!  What if that hillbilly in there is right?  Arty, think of it for Christ sakes!"
    Redfern leans out the door and tells the man to shut up.
    Thank God!  Maybe at last  they'll believe me.  Too late for Maddie, though.  Maybe it's too late for all of us.
    The sheriff kneels down and unlocks my cuffs.  He's sweating and the fright in his eyes beats anything I've ever seen.  He's shaking all over, spittle on his lips.
    "C--Carl," he begs, "for God's sake tell me about them again.  Please, tell me everything you know."
 
 

The End

 
 
 
 

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