Mike And Leroy Hanlon-1989
The yearly carnival in Bassey Park was always a success, with rides by Smokey's Greater Shows and games run by the local townsfolk. A success to others other than one Michael Hanlon.
While he enjoyed the event, he had been hoping to see the retired Canal Days Museum brought back, with various items from Derry's past hundred years, chronicling the town's history through photos, film reels and rusted worn-out artifacts. Perhaps that ancient tramp chair he'd heard about or photos of the Bradley Gang shoot-out. Although macabre, such things held a fascination for young Hanlon.
But no, instead there was nothing but game booths and a massive refreshment tent in Derry Park that resembled a circus tent with its thick red stripes but no museum. Not this year or the previous years. Interest seemed to have waned and the organizers decided that it was no longer a draw. A large stage with nightly band concerts was the replacement for what was deemed a bore.
The festivities were also a welcome escape from the recent tragic events involving a school bus driver and a growing number of missing.
Escapism was the usual remedy for Derry's troubles. Ignoring what is in plain sight seemed to be the go-to cure for many people not wanting to acknowledge certain things; another disappearance, usually a child, an uptick in violence, the somberness that hovered over the town like heavy storm clouds. Even when it was bright and sunny, there seemed to be a looming darkness constantly present.
Mike's grandfather was his company; the older Hanlon had to be encouraged for a night out with his grandson. Mike felt it was a nice escape from the daily stresses of the sheep farm. The older man's wariness towards the townsfolk, however, was putting a damper on Mike's enjoyment.
"The harder you work, the harder you play." Mike playfully elbows Leroy as they stroll through the energetic activity of Bassey Park; a coruscating light show of neon colors flashing, adorning the murky night sky above along with the boisterous laughter of the attendees. Leroy is decked out in his heavy brown jacket with the large red patch on the left breast and his usual green and white cap. Mike sported a gray sweater with a white tee underneath.
"We don't belong here, with these people." Leroy mutters as he surveys the crowd, the sparks of color enveloping them reflecting in his rich brown irises.
"I wish they had the museum with the town history," Mike says, ignoring his grandfather's comment. "I was hoping it would be brought back this year."
"History we don't share with these folks." Leroy adds. "Feels like we're foreigners in this town. We don't speak the same language as them."
Mike sighs as he catches a glimpse of Henry Bowers, chatting up a petite blond girl from their school, just beyond the bumper cars, Mike directs Leroy behind a cotton candy booth, the sides splashed with poorly-painted depictions of a clown with flame orange hair and a garish smile.
"Here," Leroy fumbles around in his pocket, presenting a dollar bill. "Get some."
Mike dutifully takes the money and promptly buys a cone of pink fluffiness, the gloomy-looking man in the booth giving him a barely-there smile as he presented it.
"Thanks." Mike says as he and Leroy continue on, with Mike keeping a sharp look-out for any other Bower's Gang members lurking around. He lifts the cone to offer some to his grandfather.
"No thanks." Leroy's says flatly. "Never cared for that stuff."
Mike shrugs as he spies a magnificent carousel just ahead of them, its ornate golden and silver mirrored panels outlined in orange-yellow lights. Large mirrors aligned along its center, framed in gold. Definitely a stand-out among the other rides. There wasn't much of a line, much to Mike's surprise, only a handful of other kids. Mesmerized, he tugs on Leroy's sleeve, maneuvering him towards the elaborate-looking display.
Standing beside it was an impossibly tall, lanky man dressed in ebony pants and a red jacket. A tuft of copper hair peeked out just beneath the rim of a top hat. Around his neck, a comically over-sized crimson bow tie. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of one of the old time photos of a ringmaster from the nineteenth century. Seems he was taking his role in the carnival to heart.
The carousel itself looked like it was from a time capsule, with painted landscapes on the rounding boards, large hand-carved wooden horses with wind-swept manes and sparkling bejeweled saddles emblazoned with golden leaves and vines. Tucked under the raised back of the saddles were smaller animals, such as parrots, squirrels and monkeys as well as tiny cherubs clutching horns.
The man with the top hat suddenly steps forward and gestures with a dramatic swooping motion for young Mike to come closer.
"It's the most fun at the carnival." he grins, his voice somewhat gravelly, motioning towards the carousel, gazing down at Mike with crystal azure eyes. The rim of the hat shaded his features, but his pupils almost looked like they were illuminated. Young Hanlon observes the man's face with his odd smirk and wide forehead.
"Yeah, I think it would be," Mike replies as he turns to his grandfather. "You going to...?"
"I'm fine here." Leroy replies, staring off, both hands in his jacket pockets.
Mike gives another shrug before stepping up to the carousel, still holding his cotton candy. He takes a seat on one of the horses along with several other children quietly following. He gazes out at the carnival goers, all laughing, drinking refreshments and conversing in lively conversation.
Still no sign of the rest of the Bower's Gang.
The tall auburn-haired man twirls his fingers as the ride begins, slowly. "I guarantee you," he declares, giving a wink. "This will be a ride you won't forget."
The carousel starts to gradually move as music starts to drift out into the night air, a song that seems an odd choice; Mozart's Requiem. As the carousel gains traction, a strange feeling of unease begins to bloom within Mike as he looks at the other children. All of them have their back to him, silent, their hands gripping the golden poles speared through the horse's saddles. The people standing around suddenly stop what they're doing, pausing in their activities with games and chatter to gawk, pointing and grinning.
Just as the crowd starts to gather, one of the other children glances over her shoulder at Mike, a maniacal grin on her face. Her expression sends chills throttling through him as her features begin to morph, her mouth expanding up to her eye sockets, displaying teeth blackened with rot, her pupils darkening, save for a tiny sparkle of yellow dots within the corneas.
The other children all turn in unison to face him, that same terrifying visage present as they start to cackle, their voices saturated with menace. Mike is now in full-blown panic as they start to look more ghoulish, more like zombies sitting upon the horses, whose carved eyes are now glowing fiery orange-yellow, pointed teeth protruding out from their curved lips as they begin neighing and violently kicking their hooves.
Before Mike can even think about leaping off, the vines adorning his horse's saddle slither around his waist, pinning him to his seat, his cotton candy cone tumbling to the ground. The undead children continue their laughing, their skin peeling off in bloody flaps, the spectators still chortling and pointing.
And his grandfather, where the Hell was he? Mike couldn't spot him in the crowd or anywhere, he'd vanished.
As the carousel starts to pick up speed, Mike glimpses his reflection in the mirrors, giving a startled yell as he sees his face starting to look old and haggard, with sunken dark half circles under the rims of his eyes and his hair now a longer, stringy, shocking white, as if he was aging at an accelerated speed. Chest heaving with terror, he reaches up to touch his cheeks, his flesh seemingly normal, the terrifying reflection nothing but an illusion.
As he struggles to free himself from the vines, almost falling off the saddle, their tendrils tightening around his waist, the tiny animal and cherub carvings then suddenly spring to life, leaping from their seats, grabbing at his hair and clothing.
"Aw! Get off!" he shouts as he swats at the creatures, a parrot aggressively trying to peck at his face, the monkey grabbing his shirt and scrambling up his back.
Just then, he sees him; the odd man with that top hat, now seated upon one of the possessed horses, his mien now becoming paler before young Hanlon's eyes. Blood red streaks snaking up towards his forehead from his lips that are now a dark ruby. Shark teeth sprouting from his mouth as he cackles.
Now he looked more like a clown.
The carousel is now spinning at an unearthly speed, the scenery completely vanishing and being replaced with a haze of rainbow neon, like a ship traveling at hyperspeed, just like in the Star Wars films Mike was fond of.
The strange man rises and starts towards Mike, who is becoming light-headed as he attempts to keep his balance, feeling a rustle of nausea beginning to take root in the pit of his stomach.
"Faster and faster around we go, when we stop nobody knows." the man intones as he stands, gazing down at Mike, long tapering gloves fingers encircling the poles, the speed and wind rushing through seemingly not affecting him. He then leans in near Mike's face, his breath pungent and insipid.
"Et non morieris." he growls under his breath, thin saliva strings dangling from his lips, his once clear blue irises shine brilliant yellow, tinged with amber.
Mike tucks his head down, as a new feeling breaks through the sheer terror; anger.
"Stop!"
With that, the chaos ceases. The cackling ugly voices, the rabid animals clawing at his skin, the sinister neighing of the horses. The children and the odd man are gone, replaced with the bustling voices of the carnival attendees as Mike dares to peer out from under his arms. Only the crowd, still engaged in their merriment, with but a few sending him a look of curiosity as he inspects his surroundings.
"You okay kid?" one random bearded man in a plaid shirt queries. Mike gives a polite nod as he continues to inspect the area.
No man with a top hat. No carousel. No dead children.
Nothing.
Just the uncut greenery on which he stood, no sign of a carousel, or any evidence one had been there. Only a large bare space. He charily begins to move, gazing around, trying to locate his grandfather. It's only a few moments before he spies him, stumbling out of the Hall of Mirrors, of all places.
"Grandpa!" Mike yells as he runs to him, just about knocking Leroy down as he hugs him.
"Mike..." his grandfather curves his arm around him. "I thought I lost you. Was thinking maybe you went into there," he nods toward the entrance, his brows knotting in confusion. "We seem to have gotten separated."
"I was on that carousel...didn't you se it?"
Please tell me you did.
"I didn't see no carousel. I think...I think we need to leave."
"Yeah," Mike nods rapidly, still getting over the intense fear and confusion trembling through him. "Yeah, let's get home." Mike places his arm about Leroy's back as they walk away, with Mike directing them away from Henry Bowers once more.
"Something wrong?" Mike glances up at Leroy. The older man's countenance quiet and troubled.
"I..." he hesitates. "Saw something in there..." he looks over his shoulder at the Hall of Mirrors, growing smaller as they walk farther away.
"What?" Mike halts to stare up at Leroy, who gives a morose shake of his head.
"Never mind," he replies, not wanting to mention the horrible sight he'd seen in the distorted mirrors; flames and people screaming, running for their lives, their cries still reverberating through his mind. "Let's just get outta here. I told you, we don't belong."
Mike gives a tacit nod, not wanting to argue. Arguing with his grandfather was like running a marathon with no end in sight, there was no winning. Whatever secrets he harbored, he wouldn't be sharing.
Just like the cursed town. Its secrets locked up within the city limits.
As they exit Bassey Park, Mike glimpses a large red balloon, completely isolated near a large oak, boldly printed with 'I Love Derry.'