The Pier
There is a pier that you can reach from any city in the world. Some say you can get there if you whistle the right tune as you walk on a misty morning, or if you take too many lefts and find a street you don't quite remember seeing the first time you passed by, or if you run into an old friend and can't agree on when you last met. Each city has its own path to the pier.
Those that reach it, however, don't always have a way back.
***
Maria wandered down a path where booths stood so closely together that their canopies overlapped, casting blue-gold shadows on the narrow, winding passage between them. She squinted in the dim, smoky air, but didn't recognize any of the passersby. Two children raced underfoot, shrieking, vanishing behind a curtain that muffled their laughter. A damp heat pressed down on them all; beyond the brocade, a bright, August sun burned in a cloudless sky.
Wading through the murky, perfumed air, Maria passed several souvenir stands and game booths full of stuffed animals and dolls with glossy, vacant eyes before a sign caught her eye. Tarot Card Readings.
“How much for a reading?” Maria asked, pulling aside the curtain. An ancient fan creaked in the corner by a bucket of ice, keeping the room surprisingly cool. A young man in a crisp suit turned to face her.
“You've been marked?” he asked, holding out his hand. Looking down, she remembered the stamp on her wrist. The insignia was so knotted and elaborate that she doubted she could duplicate it. Maria held out her wrist to the man, who frowned. “Ah.” He shook his head. “No, no. I can't tell your fortune with a mark like that.”
Maria reached for her wallet, but he shook his head again.
“You'll be attending the show at dusk,” he told her. “That's all the fortune you need.” As Maria glared at him, he turned away, waving his hand dismissively. “All right, all right. Follow the left-hand path, and you'll be free of the tents.” He looked over his shoulder. “You'll get nothing else from me.”
“I'm a paying customer,” Maria said, crossing her arms. The man's outline warped for an instant, and she stepped backwards, but he was already smoothing his suit, staring her down.
“I will take no payment,” he answered. “You don't know what you're asking.” The fan in the corner wound down, slowing to a stop. Behind the sandalwood incense hung the salty stench of rotting fish at low tide. Maria covered her nose and stepped back, pulling away from the stagnant air. The man's face distorted for an instant. It's just heat haze, Maria told herself. It returned to being a placid, unmoving mask, its eyes boring into her skin. She twisted and escaped back into the maze of booths.
On the other side of the curtain, the corridor wound past more tents than Maria could count. She never saw the same tent twice, but the faces seemed more and more familiar at every turn. Eyes she'd once seen crying on a subway, the face of a child she'd seen on an old milk carton, hands that had stolen her lunch in elementary school, feet that had run past during playground games of hide and seek: fragments of people she'd known, but all of them strangers to her. They shot at plastic targets, admired souvenirs, ate ice cream; none of them made eye contact with her. She drifted through the crowd, ducking between groups, until the passage finally opened up, and stark sunshine cut through the incense-clouded air.
A cool sea-breeze took off the edge of the heat; the sun still hung high overhead. She stepped forward, and the wood beneath her feet groaned. When she looked down, though, the wood was freshly hewn, and the scent of pine seemed to undercut the thick, smoky haze still drifting behind her. Far below, Maria could almost make out the crashing of waves. Ahead of her stood a tilt-a-whirl. A ferris wheel loomed at the far end of the pier, soaring above the rest of the attractions.
Outside of the labyrinthine network of booths, the crowds thinned. A line coiled around the spinning swings, but only a handful of people waited near the tilt-a-whirl. As Maria approached, a voice caught her ear.
“How long has it been since I last went to a carnival?” the voice asked. Peering up the steps, Maria recognized the tight rows of braids and confident voice of the woman before her.
“Erin?” she asked. The woman with the braids spun to look at her. Her soft, kind face hadn't changed at all, save for some new worry lines on her brow, wrinkling her dark skin. She'd had the laugh lines since they were young. Maria couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Erin—it felt like only a few weeks.
“Maria?” Erin asked. A grin spread across her face, and she immediately opened her arms. “God, it's been years! Look at you!”
Maria held out her own arms, and Erin swept her up in a hug. She'd seen Erin off at an airport after they'd both graduated from high school. Since then, it'd been a whirlwind of volunteer work and job applications—the time must have slipped through her fingers. Could it really have been years? It'd take years to develop worry lines.
“I thought you'd moved!” Maria laughed. “Somewhere sunny, right?”
“It's sure sunny today,” Erin said, pulling back to look at her. “You want to ride together? I'd love to catch up.”
“You're holding up the line,” snapped the man taking tickets. For a moment, Maria saw him dressed in a clean, pressed suit—but then her eyes focused, and he was just wearing greasy overalls with heavy tools in the pockets. His face was half hidden by a battered baseball cap. Erin held up her wrist, and he nodded her through.
“Your stamp,” Erin prompted, pausing on the other side of the gate to wait for her. Maria held up her own wrist, but the man's eyes fixed on her face instead. Maria felt the sea roaring against her ears, dragging her under the waves.
“Go on,” he told her, and she was free. Maria lowered her arm, faltering as she stepped past the man. His mouth seemed almost familiar; had she seen him once, taking a drag off a cigarette in an alley? No. He was a stranger, sweat stains and all. Maria followed Erin to an empty clamshell-shaped seat.
“If you lean back, it spins faster,” Erin grinned. Maria settled down to her right, sinking back against the hot, corroded metal. Her wrist bumped against Erin's, and she felt a sharp pain dig into the back of her hand. Erin recoiled, wincing, and Maria caught sight of her stamp—just an X.
“Why's your stamp so simple?” Maria asked. Erin frowned, looking down at Maria's wrist.
“I don't know, but yours is on the wrong wrist,” Erin said. “All the other people have it on their right, not their left. No fair! I'm left-handed, so I should have gotten that one instead.”
“Maybe it's for different admissions prices,” Maria suggested. “Have you had your fortune told?”
“Oh, three or four times today alone!” Erin laughed. The tilt-a-whirl lurched into life, and they pressed themselves back, using the lap bar for leverage. They teetered up the hill, and the whole contraption rattled until it got underway. Their car swayed on the way up. “They all told me the exact same thing, though, 'An old friend will save you.'” They clattered down the hill, picking up speed, and Erin shrieked, shooting Maria a grin. “Save me from boredom, maybe.”
***
“Where are we, anyway?” Maria asked, setting down her greasy plate. Posters shouted from all sides of the food court—Dusk Show: See the Magic Unfold! and Dusk Show: Witness True Terror! Each had the silhouette of a man in a top hat, raising a staff to the sky. Erin sat across from her with a greasy plate of her own.
“The cape, right?” Erin replied, taking a bite out of her funnel cake.
“The cape?” Maria repeated. She lived two hours from Cape May, and she hadn't been there in years. It didn't look like the park she remembered; maybe they'd been bought out. “What brings you here?”
“Dunno,” Erin said. “Maybe it was the nice weather?”
“Maybe,” Maria said. She tried to remember leaving home for the beach, the two hour car and ferry ride she'd taken as a kid, paying admission and getting her hand stamped, but couldn't. Imagining each step, she felt unsettled again, as though she'd forgotten to turn off the stove before setting out for her day trip. “Nice day for a water park, right? Didn't they have one of those near here?”
“Not that I remember,” Erin frowned. “But I haven't had a day off in so long that I don't care what they have. I just want to try everything.”
“I can't believe the food is free,” Maria said. She took a bite of fried cheese, and salty oil flooded her mouth. “I don't care what it tastes like; I'm getting seconds.”
“Maybe they'll let us take doggy bags,” Erin said. “We could skip groceries for the week. For the month.”
“Fried food gets soggy when you reheat it,” Maria said. Erin shrugged, biting into a hot dog. “And I don't want to carry it around on rides.”
“After the show, then,” Erin said. “Whatever they have leftover, right? It's not like they can sell it again tomorrow.”
“Who'd know?” Maria laughed. “What do you want to do next?”
“I want to hear about your fortune,” Erin said. “New love interests? Adventures? If you're going to save me from boredom, it'll have to be interesting.”
“The only fortune teller I met wouldn't tell me,” Maria said, shaking her head. Erin paused mid-bite.
“Wouldn't tell you?” she repeated. “Did they tell you why?”
“Something about having the wrong stamp,” Maria shrugged.
“We'll try another fortune-teller,” Erin said firmly. “Maybe my stamp can cover you.”
“No,” Maria said, tapping her chin. “I'd rather hear what he has to say about your fortune, anyway.” She looked down at her plate of food, oddly queasy. Her stomach still felt empty. “I think I'm done.”
“Me, too,” Erin said; her plate was clean. “We can come back later, if you get hungry again. Man, I'm so full that I feel like you'll have to roll me to this fortune-teller.”
They stood, tossing their plates into a nearby bin. Maria led the way back to the tent maze, talking over her shoulder.
“You'll have to roll yourself, Erin,” she laughed. “It's hard to believe it's been so long since I last saw you!”
“Well, you never wrote back,” Erin said. “I tried to keep in touch at first, but all my letters were returned to sender. You never told me that you'd moved.”
Maria hadn't moved; she'd been in the same apartment since the end of high school.
“Maybe you wrote down the wrong address?” Maria said, but Erin shook her head.
“I used those address labels you left on my desk,” she said. “Maybe the post office goofed.”
“Maybe,” Maria said, pulling aside the curtain she'd emerged from earlier in the day. On the other side was a large, open tent with wooden stands around the edges; at its heart stood three wooden rings. Maria dropped the curtain and stepped back. It was definitely the same tent that she'd left; the blue and gold banners were unmistakable.
“What's the matter?” Erin asked, pushing the curtain aside. “Did something spook you?”
“No,” Maria said, following Erin into the tent. “It's nothing.” The carnival workers looked familiar, but it proved impossible to place where or when she'd seen them. Erin seemed unfazed.
“There's the man who read my palm,” Erin said, pointing to the far side of the tent. “And over there is the woman who did a tarot card reading for me.” Turning back to Maria, Erin frowned. “Are you sure you're okay? You look a little woozy.”
“I'm fine,” Maria lied. Maybe there were two similar tents on the pier; maybe they both looked larger inside than out. “It's just not what I was expecting.”
“I think that they're prepping it for the dusk show,” Erin said absently, setting out for the nearest fortune-teller. “You want to watch that, right? I think I heard someone saying it was their favorite part of the carnival.”
“Sure,” Maria said. “I saw some posters for it.”
“Do you want your palm or tarot cards read?” Erin asked. Maria shrugged, and they closed in on the woman who'd done a tarot reading for Erin. She was middle-aged; her nose reminded Maria of her first grade teacher—somehow it didn't fit the woman's face. “Can you read my friend's fortune?” Erin asked, holding up her wrist.
“Let me see,” the woman said, leaning forward as Maria drew back her left wrist. “You've been marked, haven't you?”
“Yes,” Maria said. The woman waited, and Maria sighed, holding out her left wrist. The woman tutted, pulling back.
“I can't read your fortune with a mark like that,” she said. “And I've already read your fortune, Erin.”
“What do you mean, you can't read her fortune?” Erin said, crossing her arms. “She's got a stamp just like I do. Can't my stamp cover her?”
“It's rather the other way around, I'm afraid,” the woman said. Her voice was moist and sticky; Maria thought she smelled old blood beyond the cloying incense. “Enjoy the carnival.” She grinned, but her eyes were wide open and filmy; the woman's pupils bled into her irises, corpse-like. Glancing around, Maria felt the eyes of every carnival worker on her. When Maria looked again, the woman's nose no longer reminded her of her old teacher. The face was one she'd never seen before, just a plain, forgettable face. The eyes were a bland shade of brown. The smile was even and left crows' feet at the corners of her eyes.
“But—” Erin began. Maria grabbed her hand.
“Let's go through that maze,” she said. “The incense is making me dizzy.” Erin looked ready to protest, then shrugged.
“Sounds like fun,” Erin said, wrapping an arm around Maria's shoulders. The tension left her; she hadn't been drinking much water, and it was hot and stuffy in the tent. Her mind was just playing tricks on her. “Lead the way!”
***
The maze was a narrow tunnel; Erin had to stoop to fit, though Maria didn't. A metallic stench permeated the air.
“If you press a hand against a wall and don't take it off, you can always find your way through a maze,” Maria said, pressing her left hand against the wall. Erin traced her right hand against a scratch in the tunnel wall. “If you take the right-hand route, we'll get separated,” Maria said, chewing her lower lip.
“Wanna race to the end?” Erin asked. Together, they peered down the path to where it faded into pitch black shadow. The air was so thick that Maria felt like she was swimming as she stepped forward; the metal casing made the air boil, almost impossible to breathe. Erin stepped forward, hand still firmly against the tube's wall. “Winner gets a kiss,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Unless you're scared?”
“Oh, fine,” Maria said, craning her neck to see around the first fork in the road. “Don't get lost, though! You're taking me to that show at dusk.”
“It's a date!” Erin said, darting forward. Her hunched back didn't seem to slow her down.
Maria quickly raced down her own fork, hand gliding along the slick, scalding metal. The darkness pressed against her skin, dense and impenetrable. It worked its way down her nose and throat, filling her entirely, muffling the sound of her breaths. Her footsteps rang through the hollow spaces, pursuing themselves, outrunning themselves. The echoes narrowed, and Maria slowed down, gingerly touching the ceiling of the tunnel with her free hand. It sloped inward, compressing the air.
Not daring to remove her left hand from the wall, Maria ducked, advancing cautiously into the inky blackness. The tunnel shrank until Maria would need to get on her hands and knees to continue. Maria tried to breathe, but the darkness tasted like crude oil and salt water—no, sweat and sunscreen. Head swimming, Maria put her right hand over her left and turned around to retrace her steps and find the entrance again.
However, the tunnel didn't open up as she retreated. It crowded her in until the walls were smeared with her sweat. The air stank of old blood, and the walls were moist and fleshy against her hands and face. She swung her free arm upward to scrub away a webby tendril that clung to her face, and her wrist met air. Maria felt around in the darkness, reaching for the far side of the tube, and she caught sight of the faint, white outline of the stamp on her wrist. She could've sworn that it'd been black in the sunlight, but it glowed faintly in the pitch black of the tunnel.
The knot in her throat loosened as she stood. No longer touching the wall, she staggered blindly ahead, arms outstretched. After an interminable walk, her hands hit something wooden. Running her hands over the wood, she found a cool, smooth handle. Cracking it open cast a yellow streak of light behind her, illuminating the hallway, which was no longer round or metallic. Instead, it had black tiled flooring and matte black paint on the walls. The ceiling was out of reach of the light. Maria ducked inside the room, leaving the door ajar.
Across from her, in the opposite wall, was a locked door. Knives for gutting and scaling fish were rusting in a bucket by the door; cobweb-covered buoys sat stacked in the corner; a lone fishing pole lay splintered on the blood-stained table. It was a reasonable mock up of an abandoned fishing shack. Outside, waves crashed against the shore and a low foghorn rumbled across the sea. Maria crept forward, and a quiet scratching came from behind the barred door.
“Very funny,” Maria snapped. The door jumped a little, rattled as something heavy rammed into it. “Okay, look, you got me! I'm scared! Now knock it off.” She backed up, hunting for another exit as the door pounded again. The air was much cooler in the cabin; it felt far removed from the rest of the pier. Turning on one heel, Maria reached for the door just as a hunched figure emerged into the room, startling Maria so badly that she couldn't even breathe, let alone scream. One hand pressed to her chest, she finally recognized the figure. Erin.
“Oh, thank God,” Maria said, lunging forward to hug her. “Are you okay?”
“A little spooked, but otherwise fine,” Erin said, shaking her head. Her braids were coming loose and frizzing at the edges, Maria noticed. She looked down at herself. No blood, not much sweat. How long had she really been in that tunnel? “I don't think there's a way out back there,” Erin said. “I keep coming back to this room. I think we have to go through that door.”
Maria examined the room again. A tattered poster hung on the wall. It was torn, and only Dusk Show: Ru— was visible, along with the warped figure of a man in a suit. Water stains had melted his silhouette's face, distorted his arms so that they looked like tentacles. Another thud shook dust from the door frame, and Maria flinched.
“It's just a fake door,” Maria said. “Can't we go back to the entrance?”
“If you can find it,” Erin shrugged. “I'm going through this one.”
Maria eyed the knives in the bucket. They'd just give her tetanus even if they were real. They'd be no use as protection no matter what awaited them. Erin stepped forward, grabbing the latch and unlocking the door. Maria held her breath as Erin yanked the door open, getting ready to run forward and drag her backwards if necessary, but fresh sunlight poured in through the door along with a cool breeze.
“Told you!” Erin laughed. The carnival worker on the other side of the door gave them a sheepish grin. “All part of the show, huh?” she asked him.
“Just doing my job,” he said. The sun rested low in the sky, and long shadows stretched across the pier. “It's almost time for the real show to start,” he said, motioning out the door. “I hope that you enjoy it.”
Erin ran ahead, and Maria raced after her before the door could shut her in again.
“I was the first one through the exit,” Erin crowed. “So you owe me a kiss, Maria!”
Maria was preoccupied, scanning the pier for the attractions she'd spotted before. “Where's the tilt-a-whirl?” she asked. The only remaining rides were those standing in the sunlight; not even tourists wandered through the shadows. Of those few who remained outside, each one looked more misplaced than the next. A man in full military attire from the 19th century wandered near the ferris wheel, while a trio in flapper dresses and a leisure suit dangled their feet over the edge of the pier. Actors?
“Oh, they must be packing up for the night,” Erin said, pulling closer to her. “See? The food court's gone, too.”
“I guess it's all over but the crying,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “We'll have to come back another day and get our money's worth then.”
“It was worth it to see you again,” Erin said. “I'd always wondered what had happened to you.”
“Yeah,” Maria said, turning to look back at Erin. She stood on tiptoe and pressed a quick kiss against Erin's cheek. “This time around, we're really going to have to keep in touch. I missed you.”
“If you'll kiss me again, I'll even promise,” Erin said. Maria feinted at kissing her on the lips before pecking her on the nose instead. “Deserved that,” Erin laughed. “You owed me a kiss, and I owe you a show!”
***
Hand in hand, they entered the tent. All of the booths had been replaced with stadium seating packed with carnival goers. Like those out on the pier, they looked a little lost, but they were wholly absorbed in staring at the rings at the center of the room, where a man in a crisp suit waited.
“Ah, it seems that the guest of honor has finally arrived!” he said, voice amplified across the stage. Maria flinched backwards as the crowd turned as one to look at them. “We thought you'd never make it.”
“What's he talking about?” Erin whispered. Maria didn't answer; the ringmaster's voice was uncanny; familiar and yet inhuman.
“Erin, please take the blue ring,” the ringmaster said. “Maria, the yellow ring is all yours.”
“Don't leave me alone,” Erin said, squeezing Maria's hand.
“I won't,” Maria said. Then, to the ringmaster, “I won't!”
Maria turned to look back at the entrance. It stood guarded by two clowns whose makeup was smeared; their faces looked melted. When she turned back, the ringmaster was thirty feet closer, now standing in the center of all three rings.
“Dusk is drawing near,” he called back. “The show must go on.”
Maria's left wrist seared with pain; the mark on her wrist burned white hot. She remembered the first fortune-teller—the man in the suit—and knew that they were one and the same. You'll be attending the show at dusk. That's all the fortune you need. Maria checked Erin's wrist, but her X was unchanged.
“Find another volunteer,” Maria said, putting herself in front of Erin.
“You've been marked, haven't you?” he replied, spreading his arms wide. “How would you ever get home?”
“We're just in Cape May!” Maria shouted. “I'm a two hour drive from home. You can't keep me here!”
“Cape May?” Erin repeated. “I—I thought we were at Cocoa Beach Pier at Cape Canaveral.”
Maria tried again to remember leaving home, setting out for the coast; all she could recall was setting out for a jog and turning onto a street she didn't recognize. A street that had become a maze of tents, the mark already burned onto her hand. The circus tent shuddered, its folds cut in impossible angles. Maria saw through them—between them—within them—and a lucidity so potent that it felt like madness drenched her. The hollow faces of the crowd began to twist, abandoning the features they'd stolen until they were smooth and eyeless.
“Time is short,” the ringmaster said. “Erin, the blue ring. Maria, the yellow ring.”
The boards beneath their feet rocked as though pitched by stormy waters, sending them tumbling. Maria scrambled to gain purchase on the tilting floor with her free hand, and Erin's hand slipped from her grasp. She rolled downhill, landing in a heap in the blue ring. The ringmaster stood tall, rising and falling calmly with the pier below. Maria took a deep breath, then kicked off of the floor to launch herself after Erin. Instead, she landed upright in the heart of the yellow ring, the circus tent curving into a bowl around her.
“Enough!” the ringmaster said, striking his staff against the floor. From around them came the sound of a wet sack splitting open. Turning, Maria saw that the tourists had gone doughy, some of them melting together, others sagging and bursting, bloodless, only to be absorbed by their neighbors. The being that pieced itself together with their corpses was an atrocity beyond description. Its eyes were many and runny with an inky mucous.
“Erin!” Maria shouted, but Erin lay unmoving on the floor.
“She's served her purpose,” the ringmaster said. The staff in his hand wavered, melding with his fingertips. Maria ran up the curved, wooden wall toward where Erin lay crumpled, suspended; the yellow ring stretched with each step, unrelenting.
“Curious that she still missed you when more than a decade had passed,” the ringmaster said. His voice was wet and sinister; his skin sloughed away, sticky and pale and bloating. “How long did you have to live without her? A month? A year?”
Maria understood and didn't understand. She struck out with her left wrist, scorching the floor and knocking it flat. Her singed wrist reverberated, and the ringmaster slithered forward, no longer wearing a human mask. Its tentacles wrapped around her torso, crushing her ribs and suspending her above the ground.
“We need one more for the feast,” it said. “One feast a year to sustain us all.” One tentacle slid against Maria's neck, drawing blood that burned like acid. Erin stirred. An old friend will save you. Maria twisted in the ringmaster's grip, pressing the mark on her wrist against its slimy flesh. It and the behemoth that surrounded them cried out. Maria hit the ground, which lurched at her touch, sending her sprawling beside Erin. Beyond the tent, the sun sank beneath the pier; it cast a red glow throughout the tent, and shadows ate away at its edges, burning up the curtain with its bizarre shapes. It stank of fire and putrefaction; something old and foul was rotting beneath them.
“Erin,” Maria gasped, pressing a hand against the puckered gash on her neck. Erin groaned, pushing herself to her feet. The carnival unraveled at its seams; the fresh pier beneath them rotted away as the curtains jittered, shattering. Oncoming night drove back the shambling, clawed beasts that still grinned through clowns' painted masks. The ringmaster dragged itself closer to them, and Maria buried her face in Erin's neck.
“You have to run,” Maria said. The words emerged sticky with blood; the ring at her neck burned. “Don't look back.”
“But—”
Maria didn't hesitate. The shadow fell only a few feet from them; Maria shoved Erin toward it, and it consumed her entirely. Behind her, the ringmaster wound around her left arm just above the elbow. The sticky, white tendrils sizzled, leaving an acrid stench as they tore through her skin and bit down to the bone, severing her arm from her body. Maria stared at the blackened flesh, not remembering to breathe, unable to scream.
“Waste of your last chance of escape.” The ringmaster's voice dug into her ear, making her writhe with disgust. The pain was so overwhelming that she ceased to feel it. “Waste of the symbol beneath your skin.” It drained her, and the carnival began to fade, warping around her. “Sentiment is the perfect bait.”
***
Erin sat up sharply, gasping for air. The pier under her hands was gritty with spent cigarettes and slick with mold. Not even a pier—looking around, Erin took in the sedan-sized dock, the foul swamp. In her nose lingered the stench of a shore rotting at low tide on a hot day. A thunderstorm receded above her, but she was untouched.
“Maria?” Erin shouted, twisting around. The marsh was utterly deserted; the only response was the quiet lapping of water against the shore.
Maria Hernandez-Garcia. The first friend she'd made in a small, suburban high school. Erin had written her a letter every week for an entire year after getting settled in her new place. She felt her forehead, but it wasn't feverish or clammy. Pushing herself to her feet, she left the dock and got into her car. Moving as though on autopilot, she got herself home.
“Maria Hernandez-Garcia,” she typed, along with Maria's hometown. The top result was an article: Teen Found Dead at Pier. Erin clicked on it, and the article described how the mutilated body of a local girl had been found at a small lake not far from home after leaving for a morning jog. There were no leads. At the bottom, past Maria's obituary, Erin noticed the date—six weeks after her high school graduation.