Bill Bradley, the carousel historian, walked slowly around the massive machine that stood idle before him, in the darkened abyss of the cave-like building that engulfed it. He had requested that the lights not be switched on just yet, even though it made it difficult to see much. He wanted to get a feel for it, to "sense its presence", as he had put it, without the distraction of light. To him, a carousel was not just another amusement ride, it was an entity with a soul: each one unique. The best way he could explain what he meant to someone else was to compare carousels to ships. "You know how every ship has a name, a unique identity, that is its own? That's how I feel about a carousel. Each one should have its own unique name, one that sets it apart from all others. For example, the El Dorado and the Chanticleer carousels from the old Coney Island. And there used to be a carousel at the Seattle Center several years ago that they called the 'Coffee Grinder', that was sadly sold piecemeal at auction. And I believe I read once that the Philadelphia Toboggan Company gave names, not just numbers, to many of their machines as well."
He walked slowly around it with Karen, who was beaming with pride in spite of the recent dreadful experience at that church, and asked, "So what should this one be named?"
"I can't really tell you that," Bill replied, "at least not yet. I'm not even sure I have any right to do so. That should be up to the maker or the owner."
Karen decided that she would just be quiet and let Bill do his thing, which was hopefully to help identify the carousel's origin. As much as she and the other people involved in its restoration and installation loved their work, none of them really knew very much about carousels or their history. That was why their group had sought out Bill and his expertise. If anyone knew carousels, it was Bill Bradley.
Continuing to walk around it in silence, Karen stopped only when Bill did, as his eyes fixed upon a single horse on the outside row. He whistled softly as he admired the bursting, pent-up energy of the wooden animal. It seemed to be straining at the bit, its mane wild, and eyes frenzied. "What an exquisite work of art this is!" Bill exclaimed. "See how its nose points into the air, as if it's looking skyward? In carousel terms this is known as a stargazer. It's a popular and common pose." He came in closer to study the workmanship of the animal.
"Look at the musculature and the veining on this thing. It almost looks alive." He reached out and placed his hand on the smooth painted flank. As he made contact with it, he felt an odd tingle run through his palm and fingertips. Almost like a static shock, but stronger. It startled him, but he said nothing to Karen.
Then he moved on to the row behind this horse. Another steed, teeth bared and with flaring nostrils, greeted them. Next to it, in the middle row, was what he first mistook for a dog but soon realized was a wolf. And not a friendly wolf, either. Its lips were curled in a snarl and it had a ferocity to it like nothing he'd encountered before in his years of studying carousel art. Even the small inside row horse next to it appeared wary of it.
Moving on again, the next row behind featured a dragon on the outside. Bill had seen other carousel dragons, but not like this one. Often they were half sea-creature, with a fish-like tail, but this one was all dragon. And like the wolf, it had nothing to offer in the way of kindness. Its open mouth was full of sharp teeth (and they really were sharp!) and it had a long, forked tongue like a serpent's that curled around to the right side of its face. Every scale was clearly defined, and even the talons on its feet were so real he almost imagined that they could shred him.
Karen couldn't stand it any longer and finally had to ask. "Well, what is your verdict on what we have here?"
Bill cleared his throat and said, "You know, I'm actually stumped. In all my years, I've never seen anything quite like this. I've studied carousels and carousel art from all over the world for more than thirty years, and I know every major manufacturer as well as many of the minor ones. This one doesn't match any of them.
"The style looks American, yet not entirely. There is a passing resemblance to some of the Mexican carvings I've seen, sort of like the work of Ortega or Flores, but not exactly. The animals- all of them- have a ferocity to them that I've never seen before in American companies' work, but some of the Mexican ones come close. But Mexican carousel figures are small, bulky, and usually somewhat primitive in construction and trappings. These carvings are magnificent! Whoever made these was a real craftsman, and an artist, and had access to the finest woods and tools of that time period.
"And I have such a hard time with the notion that this ride had belonged to a carnival. Carnival rides have to be small enough to be transported and easy to take down and put up. This carousel is what we in the industry refer to as a "permanent location" fixture, as opposed to a "portable" style. Difficult and time-consuming to disassemble and reassemble. And the carving quality..." He stepped back over to the dragon and pointed at its delicately thin, curling tongue and the "hair" that made sort of a beard on its chin. "That kind of thing right there just wouldn't normally survive the rigors of a traveling carnival. That's why most of the figures on portable machines are fairly small, without much decoration or thin parts that can be easily worn off or broken. Horses' ears, for example, were often carved right into the mane rather than sticking up where they would be vulnerable to breakage." He ran his fingers over the dragon's scales, and just as when he had touched the horse, he felt the same strange electric tingle pulsating in their tips, and still he chose to ignore it. "These scales, for example, would likely show signs of wear with all the thousands of riders that must have climbed all over it as it traveled with a carnival through the decades. I'm sure that this dragon must have been a very popular figure with riders!"
Bill stepped back to view the carousel at a slight distance, and Karen did the same. He crossed his arms and admired it for a minute or two, then said, "Well, let's see how it looks all lit up." Karen smiled and went over to the controls. She flipped a switch and what must have been hundreds of small bulbs popped on and glowed...dimly.
"Oh, I do hate these new LED bulbs! They never seem to be as bright as the traditional kind." Bill mused.
"Uh, they aren't LED's," said Karen, "They're the originals. Or at least 'original' as far as they're what came with the ride. We don't know their age, but they're old. And yet not one is broken, missing, or even burned out!"
Bill looked incredulous. But upon closer inspection, even though the bulbs appeared frosted, he could see the shadow of the filaments inside. When lit, they cast a strange yellowish light. He was amazed at how dark the carousel still looked even after the lights were on. Then he realized that all of the figures, as well as the various panels, rounding boards, paintings, and other parts were all painted in dark colors. Not just black, but shades of browns and greys, and some dark muted reds and greens. It was anything but cheerful, nothing like a carousel should be.
"Please don't misunderstand me, I think it's wonderful how your group has saved and restored this treasure," he said, "But why is everything so...bleak? Hardly any bright colors...well, none actually. It's kind of depressing."
Karen whispered, even though no one else other than Bill was around to hear, as though she had a big secret to hide. "I know. It's awful. We tried to change it, but the carousel wouldn't let us."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, we attempted to remove the old paint. We used paint stripper and other methods. It wouldn't come off! When that failed, we tried to paint over it, even though none of us liked that idea. The paint we applied just...kind of melted off. Wouldn't dry. Wouldn't stick. And yet, every place where we needed to do touch up work on worn or chipped spots, such as ear tips or saddles, it worked just fine as long as we matched the same colors. But try to brighten it up, or change it to a different color, and it was a no-go."
Not knowing what to make of Karen's statement, Bill simply began inspecting the machine and its figures again, this time being able to see more detail. He noticed that nearly every animal, whether horse or wolf or dragon or whatever species, had grotesque, demonic creatures or faces peering savagely out from under the backs of the saddles. Many of them were carved as though they were taunting or mocking any would-be riders. And unbeknownst to Karen or Bill, they were not alone in the building. Something else was in there with them, hiding, listening to every word. And it smiled to itself.