Chapter 24

Wednesday, May 1st, 2002

Get Stuck in Sweetwater!

Water droplets soaked into Sam's shoulders from the ends of his hair while he stared up at the billboard. It was an old one, he could tell, the idyllic font and colors now sun-bleached, and the family looked no better, a bunch of folks whose car was smoking behind them while they smiled, like nothing better could have happened to them than getting stranded in Tennessee.

A shiver ran through Sam's body, tearing his focus away from the world and back inward. He'd been holding them off while he walked but standing still made it hard, and he didn't want to believe it but the rain really was falling faster by the minute, blowing in the wind like BBs into the side of his face. He hadn't been following the road for longer than fifteen minutes, but what chilled him more than the cold rain had been the storm sirens coming from every direction. They'd hadn't been on for long but it was enough, though. Proof of his ignorance, or his stubbornness, however a person wanted to describe it. And he would accept it, that he'd fucked up, that he'd put them here in Sweetwater, and he'd accept the responsibility of Dean's tire and the rainwater that was soaking into his clothes, but he wouldn't accept this was because of ghosts. And he wouldn't believe what he was seeing, though it was in front of eyes - that the storm clouds had began looking suspiciously like a face, its 'eyes' closed. For now.

He started walking again, leaving the billboard behind him. He would go…he didn't know. Where his feet took him. That's where. He might not have had his own phone any longer but Dean hadn't taken his money, and if he spent smart it could take him…somewhere. But he wasn't foolish, and neither was he impatient. He knew the priorities that were in front of him. One of which was to get inside someplace without a locked door or a CLOSED sign. The other, was to destroy this charm.

It sat in his pocket like an anchor, weighing just as much. He felt sick just touching it and had almost passed it up, too, but once Dean had his back to him and gone back to work on the tire, it was a sudden understanding in Sam's chest that he had to do something with it. Maybe as some kind of attempt at getting back at his brother, or maybe a simple fight against the concept of his other world itself, though whichever it was the outcome would be the same, and he'd be glad. He'd seen Dean throw it in every direction, and watched it always reappear back in his hand, like it had a sort of mind of its own, yet there it sat, a disgusting lump in his hoodie. That could be why it felt so slimy to Sam, he thought, because he couldn't predict it, didn't understand it. Wanted even less to be around it. Like it was bomb that could go off without warning.

So he would get rid of it himself, since Dean couldn't do it himself. The only problem was, he couldn't decide how to do it. If he tossed the charm in the irrigation ditch it would probably just float away, full pf rain water. Forcing it in the bin wouldn't do a thing besides send it to the dump, and he didn't want it buried, he wanted it gone. Obviously couldn't set it on fire. So he'd hold on to it, he reasoned, till he could find something better. Like a fireplace. Now to just find a fire in a rainstorm. He looked up at the face in the storm clouds, met the place its eyes would be, if he was willing to believe it had eyes in the first place, and if he would buy that they looked to be opening. He walked faster, bringing his shoulders to his ears.

The more steps he took the more he thought the wind was hiding something. Covering something up, like a kid plugged their ears to keep from hearing something. Like the tide, the wind had its own ebb and flow, and it was in these low places Sam heard not only his own footsteps nor the storm sirens, but something more…hypnotizing. The pieces of sound he could hear were lyrical, high-pitched, and incessant, before the wind swallowed them again. The music played to some deeper part of his memory. It was a moment before he realized he had pointed himself in its direction, and another before he realized why it was so familiar. It was almost like it was coming from -

Sam came around the cover of the roadside brush and found yet another white banner, strung overhead between two trees and an opening in the fence

'Bring the family to the fair grounds to celebrate the Cantaloupe Festival!'

Of course, it was carnival music. Somehow the banner hadn't been ripped to shreds in the wind, but it was trying. Nonetheless, it was a spot of white in the pandemonium. The edge snapped once in the wind before a brief respite, as if in beckon. It was in this ebb that Sam heard it again, the music. It was coming from the festival. He walked on, through the gate and under the banner, hands in his sweater pocket despite the charm.

It was like stepping into another world, or like simply walking inside out of the rain and wind. Behind him even the storm sirens died, fading in the background like a passing train. The surrounding area seemed to Sam like some kind of farm ground, the air holding the soft smell of wet hay Sam always associated with Lyon and the farms he would pass on his way to Claudia's house, but he didn't feel compelled to leave, only to enjoy himself. As he walked on, passing the empty attractions and food carts Sam could see a Ferris wheel peeking out from over abandoned booths and tents, the rides with their dead lights, felt the stillness of the air that seemed to be holding its breath. He felt something in that air, a pressure, a tingle against his wet skin. For a moment he likened it to a fish inside its bowl, or pulling the covers over his head. He followed the web of paths between stalls and rides and booths, held like a dog by the leash of this bizarreness - place meant to overflow with life and energy was sitting dead around him. But his attention was stolen once again by the lone sound in this place, the music, and its source.

He stopped in his tracks. Before him the merry-go-round - the only alive thing he'd come across - spun its slow circle, and he caught the cold, plasticine eye of the horses, zebras, unicorns that passed and passed and passed. It crossed Sam's mind that he shouldn't be staring, that he had come across something strangely private, for some reason, though there wasn't another soul here. Everyone else was sane enough to get out of the storm. The plucky carnival music held him in place, though. Asking him to stay a while, it seemed.

A voice from his side. "I find the music almost…happy, myself."

Sam jumped at the words. He turned to look. Next to him stood an old woman with dark skin, bent in half at the middle so she was hunched. Over her head she wore scarves on top of more scarves, each full of colors and patterns and small bells on the fringe that tinked when she turned to look back at Sam. A smile was on her weathered face that Sam didn't return, taking a step backwards, instead. "Don't you think?"

"I - happy?" Sam sparred a glance back to the spinning ride. "No, that's not the word I'd use."

"Oh? What would you say, then?" Her voice was smooth but deep, in the way Sam pictured old grandmothers' voices should sound like.

He looked back the ride. "Loud."

He heard the woman laugh softly to herself. "I suppose I can see that. The silence is less welcoming I find. So I've left this one turned on, for some company."

"You've left this one on?" He looked back down to the woman. "Why aren't you gone? Inside somewhere?"

"Why aren't you, dear?" She met Sam's eye, winked one at him. "This is my festival, after all. Someone needs to stay behind with it. Come with me, son, let us get out of this weather. The mouth, it's nearly open, and I would rather be inside when the time comes."

Sam watched her turn away from the merry-go-round, but not before throwing up her hand, a wave like she was shooing away a fly, and the ride went silent, dark like all the rest. In this new quiet that followed Sam felt deafened. And afraid. He stared on as the woman moved along the path, noticed that though her scarves were dragging along the dirt that they weren't dirty. He couldn't see her feet underneath her many layers, and too that she wasn't walking so much as she was…sliding. Pushing herself along with her cane, as though it was a paddle and she the boat. A drop of water slid down the length of a tendril of his hair and hit the tip of his nose.

"Come along, Samuel, you'll catch your death out here."

His eyes flashed at the mention of his name, but followed without another word.

He was led to a tent made of a rich purple-colored canvas staked to the ground at its four corners. The woman used her cane to part the thin curtain which, detailed with a golden thread in complicated patterns, acted as the door, revealing a soft yellow glow of a light Sam couldn't find. She stepped aside to let Sam inside first. She urged him on with a nod and the same soft grin still on her face. And so he walked through. Ducking to miss the golden fringe of the curtain.

The outside light died behind them when the woman dropped the curtain after them. While his eyes adjusted and the yellow glow filled in the details of the tent, he asked, "How do you know my name?"

"It's on your face, dear. You mean you don't know mine? Look at my face."

He did. In the brief moment he studied her in the faint light, a word crept from behind the corners of his thoughts and spoke to him simply, like he was talking to himself, recalling something he'd always known.

"Miriam," he said, then gaped at himself. The woman winked once again and walked passed.

He followed the floating woman deeper, and through one more curtain, this one made of beads that clinked pleasantly behind them.

"Ivan," the woman called out. "I've come back!"

It seemed the tent was much deeper than Sam was able to tell from the outside. The yellow glow Sam was seeing by was actually many torch lights, not light bulbs, but what looked like stones set on the end of the sticks. Sam guessed they were specially made, perhaps small LED lights inside for aesthetic. They passed through a large main room where a table sat in the center. Its centerpiece was the large reflective dome of a crystal. The glass gleamed like it were waiting, watching Sam as they passed, but they did not sit. Another curtain, another torch light. Behind this one, though, was a man, sat at a small table underneath a torch with a newspaper in his hands.

He was a thick man with a heavy black mustache and slicked back hair, who fixed his deep eyes on Sam over the corner of his paper. He was in a sleeveless shirt tucked into his jeans and seemed too clean to be the type who worked at a carnival, but the whole place with filled with inconsistencies so far. Like how these shelves could be hanging from the walls of a tent, let alone hear the sound of the wind.

"I've made a friend, Ivan, this is Samuel." She reached a slender hand out of her scarves and gave a soft few pats to Sam's shoulder, smiling proudly. "But he goes by Sam." The man proved himself the gruff sort, however, declining his head in a short nod without speaking a word.

"He's quiet," Miriam offered in answer. "But smart, and sweet to his mother. Don't mind him, though, he's used to hunters coming into places like this." She went to his side at the table and put a soft peck on Ivan's cheek after he offered it up. Sam stood still, entirely aware of his hands but not sure where to put them. Miriam slid to the other side of the table and took up a seat.

"His mother?"

"Of course," Miriam said, smiling at Sam. "I have many children."

Sam looked away, crossing his arms over himself. "I'm…not a hunter," he said. He was already wary of it, but now bristled at the word, it's implications.

"Please dear, it's written there next to your name." Her face gave a relieved sort of grimace as she settled into her chair. The cane had been deposited next to her, hanging from the edge of the table by the handle.

"Well, my young friend, tell me about this charm."