The Seam Sorceress

Sideshow Attractions, part 2.

Tilly was only a little surprised, and maybe slightly disappointed, at how quick GP's confused shouts disappeared into the surrounding noise of the fairground. Past the petting zoo, she didn't feel the need to look over her shoulder anymore, no longer expecting to see his face bobbing through the crowd like a loaded fish hook in a fast-moving stream. The knot in her chest loosened.

She waited for Sprout's smoked goggles or Booger's black spots to jump out at her from the throngs of people, but Tilly wasn't sure if she'd even want to talk to her sister and dog if she encountered them. It wasn't that she was mad at them—or mad at anyone, really, that much she could comprehend—so much as she lacked the words to describe the emotions swelling inside her.

The only person Tilly wanted to see was Mama, still at home, still sick, still too weak to ride the merry-go-round. Mama didn't need words. She didn't ask for explanations. Mama always understood.

A carny with a five o'clock shadow fished a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and abandoned his post at a two-storeyed attraction. As he wandered away, lighter clicking under his thumb, Tilly hopped up the short flight of steps leading to the entrance and swept aside the crepe streamer curtain. Since there was no waiting line, she imagined it would be a good place to get away from everyone.

Inside, white tile floors and tall columns stretched on—seemingly, at least, Tilly rubbing her eyes in disbelief—into the infinite. Disembodied laughter echoed like a bird's trill. She wasn't sure if that was part of the attraction. The ground seemed to twist as she hesitated in the threshold. It felt a lot like she was back on the Ring-o-Roses, but everything was deathly still.

With a deep breath, she stepped inside.

The empty hallway suddenly filled with a dozen other Tillys. Every copy was slightly imperfect. The original whipped around, eyeing a version of herself that was even taller and pulled thin like taffy, as the nameless feeling inside her cemented into anger. Something cold and smooth pressed against her back.

A mirror. She was in the Hall of Mirrors.

It became a race to escape them. She forced her way through the maze, pounding on walls of polished silver, charging through when her fists hit empty air. The corridors wound back on themselves like the innards of some long-sleeping beast, and Tilly wondered if it might eat her whole. In an alcove she swore she had explored before, she found a spiral staircase.

Up she went, eyes squeezed shut.

On the second floor, the odd jags of laughter subsided, leaving Tilly with nothing but her reflections to keep her company. Their presence felt smothering.

She came to a dead end. As she studied the trio of reflections blocking her path, she tried to find the piece of her that told the tin man she was a vagrant drunk, or whispered to Peter's second wife that she couldn't read. Was there something poor and hungry about her mouth? A vacantness of her eyes?

Her fingers smeared the glass as they slipped down. Tilly's eyes moved to the reflection in front of her, settling on the gold handle that poked from her duplicate's front pocket.

Footsteps echoed from the stairs.

"Tilly?" The hallway became a kaleidoscope of GP's face peeking around the corner. He raised an eyebrow. "You know, if you didn't want to dance, a simple 'no' would've done the job."

Exhaling, she turned to face him. "Sorry. It wasn't that, promise."

"Then what was it?"

"Tried telling you before." She grabbed the hem of her kerchief. "But I thought, well, maybe it was best if I kept it to myself. I like you a lot, GP."