The Scrambler

The Scrambler
by
Gorlother VanBlort

Today, July 23, will be 3 years to the day since he lost John on that muggy summer evening. The carnival had just rolled in to town as it did every summer in the small Midwestern town of Greenfield, Indiana. Peter Easton had been looking forward to taking his ten-year-old son to the carnival all week.
“Do you think I’ll be able to ride the coaster this year Dad?” John asked.
“Yeah, I think you’ll beat the height requirements this time around son,” Peter said, as he reached out and ruffled his son’s hair.
A smile stretched across John’s face from ear to ear and he giggled as he ran off to his room. Peter loved nothing more than to make his son happy and he cherished the time they spent together.

***
The sun was beginning to set as Peter and John were polishing off the sandwiches they had grabbed from the deli on the drive to the carnival.
“Why can’t we just eat when we get there?” John asked.
“Because everything there costs an arm and a leg, including the tickets to get in.”
John’s bottom lip began to quiver.
“Don’t worry, we’ll buy some junk before we head home. I promise,” Peter said, with a wink.
John’s expression brightened and the excitement shot back into his face. A few seconds later the Ferris wheel showed itself over the horizon.
“Look. Look Dad, there it is!” John exclaimed, as he squirmed in his seat.
“I know son, I see it. Just hold tight, we’ll be there in a minute.”
They pulled into the grass lot just south of the main gate. Peter drove around for a bit before finding a place to park. His son wriggled in the seat next to him anxious to get to the fun ahead.
“Well, are ya . . .” Peter began, but John was half way out the door before he could finish the question. He jumped out and followed the boy to the ticket booth.
“Will you slow down?” Peter called out.
He finally caught up to his son who was impatiently waiting at the booth.
“One adult and one child,” Peter said, to the overweight teen behind the counter.
“That’ll be seventeen-fifty.”
Peter passed the kid a twenty then took the change and handed it down to John, “For some games,” he said.
“Thanks Dad.”
The two made their way through the turnstiles and handed their tickets to the attendant. Peter pocketed the stubs and grasped his son’s hand as they entered the carnival. A look of joy and wonder was reflected in John’s eyes; Peter’s heart melted over his son’s happiness.

***

John zipped from place to place dragging his Dad behind him and yanking on his arm every time something new caught his eye.
“Why don’t we start off with something mellow,” Peter suggested. “How ‘bout the carousel?”
“Okay, that’s cool.”
The father and son handed the carnie their tickets and hopped onboard. They chose their animals and the ride spun to life. As it turned they caught glimpses of clowns, tall-men, and the occasional little person. Their surroundings almost seemed magical.
A few minutes later, the carousel spun down to a stop. They unclipped their thin nylon belts and hopped off their plastic beasts.
“Well what’s next?” Peter asked.
John stood in deep childish thought as he scanned the rides that surrounded him. It took him a minute or two but he finally settled on the fastest ride he could find – The Scrambler. He began to jump up and down. The boy grasped his father’s shirtsleeve and pulled him in the direction of the ride.
“The Scrambler Dad; I want to go on that.”
“Okay, The Scrambler it is. But you might have to ride that one on your own. My stomach’s not what it used to be.”
“Sweet, then you can watch me.”
They both made their way over to The Scrambler and got into line. Fifteen or so people stood ahead of them as they waited.
“Have you ever heard the story about The Scrambler?” Peter asked.
“No.”
“Well, when I was about your age your Uncle Phil told me that The Scrambler was haunted.”
“Haunted? How could a ride be haunted?”
“It’s haunted by the carnie that used to operate it – Merv the Perv.”
“Huh?” John asked, looking up at his Dad.
“Merv was a real jerk that couldn’t, well, stand people. He was mean to all the kids and rude to the parents. He was a local guy and the kids really gave him hell around town. They would egg his house, knock over his trash, and crank call him at all hours.
Back in 1975, right about this time actually, a huge storm rolled in to town. The carnival management had to shut down all the rides and they forced everyone to leave. But before all the people could get out of the gate the storm hit. The lightning started to get really close.”
“Was anyone struck by it, the lightning I mean?” John interrupted.
“Hold on, hold on, I’m getting there. Well, when Merv was securing The Scrambler a bolt of lighting struck while he was locking down one of the cars.”
“Wow, did he die?”
“Yeah, that’s what your Uncle Phil told me, but we both know he likes to joke around. I never know if he’s pulling my leg or not.”
“Is this the same Scrambler?” John asked, pointing toward the ride.
With a chuckle Peter said, “Oh, I doubt it. That was over twenty years ago and these carnivals travel all over the Midwest.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the carnie shouted, “Next!” as he unclipped the chain that crossed the access gate.
“Alright here are your tickets,” Peter said, as he handed his son three stubs. He noticed the boy looked a little uneasy after the story. “Oh, it’s just a story, John.”
“I know Dad,” he said, as he handed the carnie his stubs and headed toward one of the cars.
The last carnival goer hopped into the remaining car and pulled down the retaining bar. After clipping the chain guard shut the carnie walked over to the controls and fired up the ride. Peter saw the smile on his son’s face as the ride began to spin and weave.
Soon the ride began to slow and the attendant once again removed the chain to allow the people off. Peter walked over to the exit and waited for his son. Child after child exited - some smiling and some looking a little green. The ride emptied, but there was no sign of the boy.
He walked around the ride to see if John had gone a different way, but still nothing.
“John, John,” he called, as he jogged around The Scrambler. “John, John, where are you?”

***

Peter didn’t know it at the time, but that evening ended the life that he had known for the last nine years. Everyone that could possibly be questioned at the carnival was. The carnies, who were mostly transients, were harassed by both the police and the local residents. No clues were ever found and no questions concerning John’s disappearance were answered.

***

The events of July 23 ruined Peter Easton’s life. His wife blamed him for their son’s disappearance, which tore his heart out more and more each day. Peter sunk into a deep and unwavering depression that prevented him from functioning in almost every aspect of life. He lost his child, his wife, his job, his house, and damn near his sanity.

***

Peter survived working odd jobs in Greenfield and the surrounding area. During the summer months he was drawn to any carnival that happened to be in the vicinity. This particular summer night was the three year anniversary of his son’s disappearance. Peter’s heart was heavy this evening but an overwhelming urge led him to seek out The Scrambler and tonight the carnival just happened to be in town.

***

He shuffled his ticket stubs between his fingers as he waited in line to board The Scrambler. He studied the machine; watching its cars whiz in and out speaking to him with their low hum – beckoning him.
As the carnie dropped the chain guard Peter handed over his tickets and boarded the car. He clamped down the retaining bar and waited as the other patrons boarded their cars. The engine began to whirr and the ride lurched to life.
Faster and faster, the cars passed one another. His head started to swim and the scenery around him began to blur into a montage of blinking lights and bright colors. His stomach knotted and twisted as a wave of nausea engulfed him. A few seconds later Peter’s head snapped forward as he lost consciousness.
The Scrambler slowed to a stop and Peter grasped his face as he regained his senses. He then ran his fingers back through his hair and wiped the sweat from his brow. He pushed up the safety bar and stumbled from the car. After taking a couple of steps Peter realized something was terribly wrong.

***

Everything around him had changed. The fence encircling The Scrambler was now laced with razor wire and trash was strewn about the ground. Dark ominous clouds loomed overhead and an ice-cold wind howled through the carnival grounds.
Befuddled, Peter walked to the fence and placed his hands on the railing making sure to mind the razor wire. He watched as people, if you could call them that, passed by. Their sickly green skin stretched over their bony bodies and milky white eyes sat in recessed sockets. Their movements seemed almost mechanical as they shuffled by.
Peter jumped as a horn blared in his left ear.
“How you doin’ mista’?” came a gruff voice not six inches from his face.
Startled, Peter took a step back. Glaring at him from behind a mask of dried chipping makeup was what appeared to be a clown. Its dead eyes pierced Peter’s flesh and made his blood run cold. The clown’s crimson red lips peeled back revealing a row of shark teeth dripping with saliva.
“There’s something special waiting here for you,” the clown said, as it produced a unicycle from behind its back. “I think you’re going to find the ride of your life.”
Peter backed away from the fence being sure to keep his eyes on the clown. He made his way for the exit and as he was passing through the gate, the clown began peddling in circles on its cycle. Its head wagged up and down as it screamed and laughed while juggling what appeared to be cupie doll heads.
The magic Peter and his son had experienced at the carnival was gone now; the mood was dark. Peter began to walk.

***

He passed the row of gaming tents that were now in tatters, ripped and torn covered in dirt. They were manned by carnies yet they didn’t yell at Peter as he passed. They only stood and stared with hollow white eyes and drooling mouths.
As he walked, he saw a ride that he had never seen before. The sign above identified it as The Bobby. The platform was that of a moustached face with a gaping mouth. Blue-sleeved arms sprouted from the mouth, which held cars in the shape of English police officer hats.
A row of “people” stood in line to board the attraction. They remained motionless standing with their heads hung low and their white soulless eyes wide open. When Peter passed they turned their heads in unison, but they did not advance toward him. He averted his gaze and walked on.
He continued until he heard the faint sound of a man’s voice off in the distance. Peter quickened his step in the direction from which it came.
It became louder as he approached but the words remained unintelligible. He passed another unfamiliar ride, which was called The Brooke. It looked to be a log ride of some sort with the cars being a flesh color and blonde strands of material at the bow. The boats floated in black ooze which sloshed back and forth causing them to squeak as they rubbed the dock. The squeak nearly sounded like crying to Peter’s ears.
Peter continued on and the voice became clearer. It seemed to be that of a carnival barker. “Come one, come all, come to the ride of your life. It is our newest attraction that I’m sure some of you will truly love. It is a ride that will bring the missing smile back to your face.”
He made it to the back of the crowd, which was surrounding the carnival barker as he exclaimed the true beauty of his new ride.
“You sir, yes you in the back,” the barker said while pointing his cane in Peter’s direction.
The mechanized-zombie like crowd turned their gaze to face Peter as a hot flush shot through his body.
“Come forward, please.”
He made his way through the crowd carefully nudging them out of his way. The Barker wore a crimson tuxedo jacket and a mangy top hat sitting cockeyed on his head. Peter noticed a nametag peaking out from under his left lapel: M – e - r, was all that was visible.
“Please sir, assist me in unveiling our newest attraction. If you will, help me remove the curtain.” The Barker shoved a rope into Peter’s hand. “Give it a tug sir.”
Peter wrapped the rope around his wrist and did as he was asked. The red curtain fell away and revealed the new wonder to the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen I present to you, The John!” the Barker exclaimed.
The young man fell to his knees as tears welled up in his eyes. “Oh my dear God, what have you done?”
The Barker strolled over to Peter and placed his hand on the top of the kneeling man’s head. “So, have you found what you’ve been looking for?”
“What have you done to my son?” Peter asked through a stream of tears.
The zombified crowd began to encircle the two men. Two of the zombies reached for the young man and gripped his shoulders. They slowly raised him to his feet.
“You see, now it is my turn to have fun. I was ridiculed throughout half my life by people like you. ‘Look at the toothless carnie; Merv the Perv.’ You mocked me, harassed me, and watched me as I died taking care of the machinery that gave you people so much enjoyment. Now I make the rides that bring me enjoyment. This is my carnival and all of these rides belong to me.”
Peter stood with a blank stare unable to form any words as he gazed at the horror looming before him. What met his eyes was a gigantic head in the shape of a toilet. The eyes stretched across the tank and the gaping mouth slung down to form the bowl.
“Yes, yes, I know it looks odd but I work with what I have. Come, you’ll be the first to break it in.”
Peter reluctantly moved forward as the two zombies pushed him. He began to shake as he moved closer and closer to the thing that was his son.
“Oh yes, I almost forgot. What is your name?” the Barker asked.
“P-P-Peter.”
“Peter. Oh my. That’s just too easy.”