The Funhouse

it's a monster inside . In the mind. A monster inside … hiding in a normal body… behind such a nice face… waiting. Waiting to come out when no one's looking. Just waiting patiently. Both you and Amy. Huh? Wolves in sheep's clothing. Could be. Sure. Could be that way. What if it is? Huh? When will it happen? When will the thing come out of you for everyone to see? Can I turn my back on you, little angel? Can I ever be safe? Oh, God. Oh, Jesus, Jesus, help me. Mary, help me. I should never have had children. Not after the first one. I can never be sure of what I've created. Never. What if…”
        Increasingly numbed by the liquor she had drunk, her tongue and lips became less and less able to form the words she wanted to say, and she lowered her voice so far that Joey could barely hear her, even though she was less than a foot from him. “What if… someday… what if I have to kill you, little angel?” Softer, softer, word by terrible word, softer. “What if… I have… to kill… you… like I had to kill… the other one…?”
        She began to weep quietly.
        Joey was suddenly chilled to the bone, and he was worried that his shivering would disturb the sheets and draw her attention. He was afraid she would discover that he had heard every word.
        Eventually her stifled weeping subsided.
        Joey was sure she could hear his pounding heart.
        He felt strange. He was afraid of her, but he was also sorry for her. He wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be all right-but he didn't dare.
        Finally, after what seemed like hours but was surely only a minute or two, she left the bedroom, gently pulling the door shut after her.
        Under the covers Joey curled into a tight, fetal ball.
        What did it all mean? What had she been talking about? Was she just drunk? Or was she crazy?
        Although he was scared, he was also a little bit ashamed of himself for thinking such things about his own mother.
        Nevertheless, he was glad he had the wan, milky glow of the weak night-light. He sure didn't want to be alone in the dark right now.
        
        * * *
        
        In the nightmare Amy had given birth to a bizarrely deformed baby-a disgusting, vicious thing that looked more like a crab than like a human being. She was in a small, poorly lighted room with it, and it was coming after her, snapping at her with its bony pincers and arachnoid mandibles. The walls held narrow windows, and each time she passed one of them she saw her mother and Jerry Galloway on the far side of the glass, they were looking in at her and laughing. Then the baby scuttled along the floor, closed in fast, and seized her ankle in one of its spiny pincers.
        She woke up, sat up in bed, a scream caught in the back of her throat. She choked it down.
        Just a dream, she told herself. Just a bad dream courtesy of Jerry Galloway. Damn him!
        In the gloom to her right, something moved.
        She snapped on the bedside lamp.
        Curtains. Her window was open a couple of inches to provide ventilation, and a mild breeze stirred the curtains.
        Outside, a block or two away, a dog howled mournfully.
        Amy looked at the clock. Three in the morning.
        She sat there for a while, until she had calmed down, but when she switched off the light she couldn't get back to sleep. The darkness was oppressive and threatening in a way it hadn't been since she was a small child.
        She had the curious, disturbing feeling that, outside, in the night, something terrible was bearing down on the Harper house. Like a tornado. But not a tornado. Something else. Something weird, worse than a mere storm. She had a premonition- not quite the right word, but the only word that came close to describing what she was feeling-an icy premonition that some relentlessly destructive force was closing in on her and the entire family. She tried to imagine what it could be, but no explanation occurred to her. The impression of danger remained formless, nameless, but powerful.
        The sensation was, in fact, so electrifying, so unshakable, that she finally had to get up and go to the window, even though she felt foolish for doing so.
        Maple Lane was dozing peacefully, wrapped in unthreatening shadows. And beyond their street, the suburban south side of Royal City rose on a series of gentle, low hills, at this hour there was only a sprinkling of