Carnival Souls

One Piece at a Time (part two)

As Lydia was leaving Lira's room on the second floor, Owen was exiting the funhouse on the first. He stepped out into the heavy air and took off with a purpose down the dirt track. If he had looked back he would've seen Lira watching him from her window.

It was high Flow and the carnival was teeming with all kinds of souls and spirits. They chittered and squawked and talked, floating, walking and slithering all around him. He imagined if you placed a clear bowl over the carnival it would make a very odd-looking terrarium. As he moved through the crowd, side-stepping out of spirits' way, he wondered if he could carve a miniature replica of the carnival for Ethan. He could show him where he had been and what he had seen and try to explain that he hadn't meant to leave him alone. And even if Ethan didn't understand, he would have fun lining up the wooden tents and rides and creatures.

As he walked, Owen pictured carving the figurines in his mind, his fingers twitching as he visualized turning the wood over in his hand. Caught up in his plan, he didn't see the spirit until he ran head-long into it.

"Uh," he grunted, stumbling backwards. "Sorry." He felt something sticky and glanced down to see his was covered in a thick, black goop. The spirit in front of him looked like a mud-covered mannequin. It had a vaguely human form, but no hair and the only discernable feature in its ooze-dripping face was its yellow eyes which burned with a wild light. Owen suddenly felt that he was staring down a rabid animal.

"Where...is...she?" rasped the spirit.

"I don't know who you're talking about," said Owen, taking a step back. The spirit kept pace; its feet made squelching sounds as it took one step then another. A steady drip-drip punctuated its movements as the black mud fell from it. It looked like a melting candle.

"Bebinn," it said. Its voice bubbled in its throat. "Where is she? I...want...what I was...promised."

"I don't know where she is," said Owen, holding up his hands. The black ooze on his arms was beginning to itch and there was the faint smell of charred oranges in the air.

"Liar," snarled the spirit. It took a few more sucking steps toward him. Owen cursed himself for not walking around the back of the carnival and cursed himself again for not having a weapon. Around them, a ragged group of spirits was forming, like kids circling a schoolyard fight. Their murmuring picked up like a hot wind and Owen felt their presence like a barbed wire fence at his back. They weren't there to help, they were there to watch what would happen and see who would walk away.

"I can go find her for you," said Owen loudly. He had to get away, whichever direction it might take him.

"I was promised redemption." The dripping increased and pools of viscous mud expanded around its feet. "And I intend to get it."

The spirit lunged, arms outstretched to grab him. Owen ducked, trying to make a break for Genzel's house, but his feet slipped in the muck and he went down hard on one knee. He tried to scramble away on all fours, but the spirit, now also on the ground, grabbed his pant leg. There was a sharp ripping sound as the fabric tore and Owen kicked out, his heel connecting with the mud man's jaw. A spray of sludge from the blow spattered a pair of bird-like woman who shrieked as it hit them.

Owen struggled to return to his feet; the mud was like cement. He yanked hard on the hand that was glued to the ground, his shoulder nearly wrenching out of its socket. Muck was sloughing off the spirit in great gushes now, the spirit itself losing any shape it had as it disintegrated into a puddle.

"Bebinn...won't get away with this," it wheezed through its lopsided mouth. It reached out a hand that crumbled away in midair. The body sank into the pool of mud; there was a final pop as a bubble burst and then nothing.