Brandon stood, facing the eye of the Ferris wheel. It watched him back. Reds, blues, and greens blinking in the steady Morse code of neon lights that radiated from its turning center. With a diameter of 80 feet, the Marbury Monster was far from the tallest wheel in the world, but it was one of the biggest traveling rides to tour the United States. And now it was back in Brandon's sleepy hometown of Meridian, after a twenty-one year absence. A fistful of tickets bulged in the pockets of his khakis. He traced their cardboard outline with apprehensive fingers, a lump in his throat as the cool autumn air prickled his flesh.
"Are ya gettin' on?" The shockingly slender operator with gray hair and sunken cheeks asked, before spitting streams of murky juice into a small Styrofoam cup. Brackish spatters stained his knuckles, and the smell of chaw hung thick in the atmosphere.
"Yes, sir. I was just wondering how long you had been with this carnival outfit."
"Long enough to know how to operate a damn Ferris wheel, that's what you're asking," he replied with barely veiled venom.
"No, sir. That's not what I meant," Brandon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and stammered. "History. It's history. I like – I – I mean I'm interested in stuff like that. History of the rides and such. You would have been here when..." He peered up at the headline banner, noting the ride's new name as 'Big Thunder'. Brandon finished his statement, "When the company picked up Big Thunder."
The carnie eyed Brandon with a knowing glare that made the younger man feel as uneasy as the stare of that glowing metal behemoth. "You mean the Monster?" He searched Brandon's face for a tell or any sign of recognition. "Yeah. That's what you're here for. Picked it up four years ago, back in '61 from Mike Higgins' outfit. Said they only had it for three years before they had to pack it in. Traded hands six more times before that. I suppose you know where it came from originally, don'cha?"
"Marbury Brother's Circus," Brandon answered.
The old man softened as he nodded. "Yep. Listen, kid. You're probably old enough to remember Marbury Brothers' and the Monster, but we don't talk about it. Especially not here. The locals would prolly run us outta town, they knew we brought back that devil."
Brandon's baby face belied his almost forty years of age, but he was darn sure old enough to remember. He reached into his pocket and brought out the tickets, an even hundred of them. They spilled from the sides of his clammy fists. "Can I – would it be alright if I just rode until I was ready to get off?"
The operator grinned and took the stubs. "Son, for that many tickets you can ride all weekend."
Brandon began walking toward the Ferris wheel. "Do you know which car...?"
The carnie's smile faltered. "You're not one of those freaks with some kind of obsession, are ya? We thought it might play like a novelty act for a while, but the boss man says nobody rides that car anymore."
"No, sir. I – I knew her. Just wanted to pay my respects, that's all. I'll keep my head down, I swear."
The old man pulled a lever, rotating the gondolas another quarter turn. As Brandon turned to climb aboard, he heard the operator calling after him.
"Son! Son!" The man reached into his trousers and pulled out a greasy flask that looked as ancient as he was. He held it out to Brandon. "Thought you might want this. Steady the nerves some."
Brandon accepted the container and thanked the old man, then turned to face the Monster one last time. The flashing lights greeted him with sinister affection as he entered the stalled car, the door clanging shut behind him as he took a seat. Within seconds, the gondola swung back and forth on creaky hinges, leaving the platform behind for the starry night sky. The babble of the crowds and tinkling calliope music faded to a murmur as Brandon slumped in his seat.
He rode the Marbury Monster for what seemed like a lifetime, taking nips from the canteen with every revolution. The carnival sounds gave way to live entertainment, some cover band ripping through a rendition of a chart topper from a couple years back, 'Louie Louie' by The Kingsmen. Brandon sang along, mush-mouthing the words up to the 'yeah yeah yeahs', which he screamed enthusiastically before polishing off the contents of the borrowed flask. He felt his eyelids getting heavy, succumbing to the influence of alcohol and the late hour. Occasionally, the wheel would stop to let a passenger on or off, the grinding halt waking him from the edge of slumber. At the apex of a turn, he opened his eyes to see her sitting across from him.
She was staring out across the fairgrounds, hands folded in her lap, still wearing a plaid skirt and her favorite Aqua-colored sweater. "What was that song? It was totally aces!"
Brandon straightened up, instantly alert. "Groovy," he coughed, gaining his bearings. "We say groovy now."
The girl turned and smiled at him. "I thought you were staying home, Bran. Sick as a dog, I recall?"
"I did – I mean, I was," he clapped and held his hands in front of him. "All better. See?"
"Well I'm glad you made it. I know you're just my tutor, but I didn't want to come out alone since Steve and I aren't going steady anymore." She switched seats over to Brandon's side, closer but not touching, and went back to gazing wistfully out the gondola. "The view is beautiful up here."
Brandon rested his arm across the back of the seat, letting his fingertips graze the angora hair of the girl's sweater. She didn't flinch away, but he let out a tiny gasp. The excess hair and mottled skin of middle age was gone. As was the tan line from the ring he had stopped wearing at the turn of the decade. He checked his other hand, which appeared youthfully vibrant as well. Brandon wished he had a mirror to check his face, but remembered the oily hair and acne that had plagued his teenage existence. He was better off without the mirror.
He'd spent two weeks working up the nerve for this conversation, and had twenty-one years to perfect it. But it all went out the window the second he saw her. He said the only thing he could think of. "Are you okay?"
The fleeting melancholy disappeared from her face. "Now that you're here everything's just... what did you call it? Groovy?"
Brandon chuckled at her playfulness. "Yeah, I'm groovy too. Heard you came with Mary. Why wasn't she – isn't she with you?"
She shrugged it off. "Her and Rich got rationed, didn't you hear? You know me, I'd rather be a unicycle than a trike. There was no way I was missing the circus, and contrary to what Mother and Father think, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. So, we all showed up together then I kicked rocks."
The acrid smell of smoke tinged the air. Brandon wrinkled his nose, barely noticing it. He was more concentrated on his hand, which had slowly moved to the top of the girl's shoulder. She scooched across the car bench closer to him.
"Hmmm, you're warm." She said as she closed her eyes. Then, as if remembering herself, she straightened with a nervous giggle. "I'm sorry, Bran. I didn't mean to be so forward, I just got lost in the moment. So, about that homework due in Mrs. McCleary's class tomorrow..."
Tears threatened the corners of his eyes, "You don't have to worry about homework tonight."
"Brandon Carmichael!" She shot back defiantly, "You had better not have done my work for me! I just got done telling you that I can take care of myself, and that includes any and all math problems."
A laugh choked back his impending tears. "No, Bettie. Not at all, I just wanted to make sure you were able to enjoy the evening out is all. We'll take care of the schoolwork later." He leaned in close to her and together they took in the scene from the swaying gondola. Her subtle perfume mixed with the scent of embers that wafted in the breeze.
Below, a fire raged, consuming everything from the big top to the menagerie. Screams of patrons and performers, the roars of lions, bellows of elephants, and the hyper tones of "Wooly Bully" blended into a cacophony of rock-and-roll tragedy. Bettie snuggled back down in his arms again. "I could stay up here forever," she said.
The skin of her hands began to blister under his fingertips. Once more, he summoned the nerve to say the words he'd rehearsed for years. "Bettie, uhmm, would you go to the Homecoming dance with me?"
She looked deep into his eyes and beamed. Her skin charred, blackening and peeling away like dried rose petals, revealing the slick sinew beneath. Bettie smiled with what face she had left and said, "I've been waiting all night to hear that. Yes, Brandon. Yes."
His tears finally fell. "I'm sorry it took me so long."
He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. They cracked and fused together under pressure, heat, and passion. Brandon felt the bench seat sear through his khakis, the agony of burning alive in that rotating metal cage. His blood boiled, pumped rapidly by an accelerated heartbeat.
She was right. The view was beautiful up here.
Author's Note: This story was originally published on Wattpad as part of ParanormalCommunity's "Deadly Kisses" anthology. Bettie's tragic end was inspired by the Hartford Circus Fire of 1944.
