The Funhouse

last name was. Maybe it was Saw.
        Joey hadn't intended to go to the fairgrounds until Saturday, the last day, so that no one would figure out where he had gone until the carnival was far, far away in another state. But by the time Monday, June 30, rolled around, he was so keyed up that he couldn't keep his resolve. He told his mother he was going to the library, but he got on his bicycle and pedaled two miles to the county fairgrounds. He still wasn't going to run away from home until Saturday. But Monday was the day that the carnival set up, and he figured he ought to learn how that was done if he was ever going to be a carny himself.
        For two hours he wandered around the midway, keeping out from underfoot but getting a good look at everything, fascinated by the speed with which the Ferris wheel and the other rides took shape. A couple of carnies, big men with lots of muscles and lots of funny tattoos, kidded him, and he joked right back at them, and everyone he met seemed to be just swell.
        By the time he reached the site on which the funhouse was being erected, they were hoisting a giant clown's face to the top of the structure. One of the workers was a man in a Frankenstein mask, and that made Joey giggle. One of the others was an albino, he glanced at Joey, pinning him with colorless, rainwater eyes as cold as winter windows.
        Those eyes were the first things in the carnival that Joey didn't like. They seemed to look straight through him, and he half-remembered an old story about a woman whose eyes turned men to stone.
        He shivered, turned away from the albino, and walked toward a place in the middle of the midway, where they were putting up the Octopus, one of his favorite rides. He had taken only a few steps when someone called to him.
        “Hey, there!”
        He kept walking, even though he knew it was himself the man was calling to.
        “Hey, son! Wait a minute.”
        Sighing, expecting to be thrown off the midway, Joey looked back and saw a man jumping down from the front platform of the funhouse. The stranger was tall and lean, maybe ten years older than Joey's father. He had coal-black hair, except at the temples, where it was pure white. His eyes were so blue that they reminded Joey of the gas flames on the kitchen stove at home.
        As the man approached he said, “You aren't with the carnival, are you, son?”
        “No,” Joey admitted glumly. “But I'm not getting in anyone's way. I'm really not. Someday… maybe… I'd like to work in the carnival. I just want to see how things are done. If you'll let me stay and watch for a while-”
        “Whoa, whoa,” the stranger said. He stopped in front of the boy and stooped down. “You think I'm going to throw you out?”
        “Aren't you?”
        “My heavens, no!”
        “Oh,” Joey said.
        “I could tell you weren't just a gawker,” the man said. “I could see you were a young man with a genuine interest in the carnival way of life.”
        “You could?”
        “Oh, yes. It just shines through,” the stranger said.
        “Do you think I could be… a carny someday?” Joey asked.
        You? Oh, sure. You've got the stuff,” the stranger said. “You could be a carny or just about anything you wanted. That's why I called out to you. I could see the right stuff shining in you. I sure could. Even from up there on the platform.”
        Well… gee,” Joey said, embarrassed.
        “Here,” the stranger said. “Let me give you these.” He reached into a pocket and withdrew two rectangles of thin, pink cardboard.
        “What are those?” Joey asked.
        “Two free passes to the fairgrounds.”
        “You're kidding.”
        “Do I look like I'm kidding?”
        “Why give them to me?”
        “I told you,” the stranger said. “You have the right stuff. As the carnies say, you're with it and for it. Whenever I see someone who's with it and for it, someone who's a carny at heart, I always give them a couple of free passes. Come any night and bring a friend. Or maybe your brother. Do you have a brother?”
        “No,” Joey said.
        “A sister?”
        “Yeah.”
        “What's her name?”
        “Amy.”
        “What's your name?”
        “Joey.”
        “Joey what?”
        “Joey Alan Harper.”
        “My name's Conrad. I'll have to sign the back of the passes.” He produced a ballpoint pen from another