And that, my friend, is how Carter ended up in a train yard running away from a terrible man and toward a new – and hopefully better – life.
Many hours after hopping onto the multicoloured train, Carter woke to find that it had already stopped. Panicked, he gathered his belongings. Experience told him that a conductor or a cop would eventually go from carriage to carriage looking for extra passengers. It was best if he wasn’t caught. He didn’t want to end up in an orphanage, or worse – reunited with Uncle Sly.
He cracked open the metal door to see where fate had taken him. Outside, a lush green forest stretched like a fuzzy rug all the way to a mountain range in the not-far distance. The sun had just fallen behind the horizon, turning the few wispy clouds overhead a lovely fuchsia as the dome of blue sky darkened into evening. He’d been asleep for a long time.
A sign standing along a nearby road said: WELCOME TO MINERAL WELLS.
Carter climbed back up the ladder to get a better view of the town. From the top of the train carriage, he could see a quiet community blanketed with twinkling lights that were spread out to the north and east of the tracks. Far beyond the grid of streets, a sprawling set of buildings sat on a hill overlooking the town, a glow coming from within the windows as if they were illuminated by the light of a billion fireflies. Closer to the train yard, across the wide gravel lot and just west of the twinkling town, was an enormous fairground where the bright lights of a travelling circus were just beginning to blink on. Colourful sounds came in waves – even from here, Carter could hear laughter and music and shrieks of excitement.
He was about to hop down when a small red car pulled into the gravel parking lot. Carter ducked, flattening his body against the roof of the train. It would be bad if anyone reported seeing him.
For a moment, Carter thought he was imagining things. People dressed as clowns began to hop out of the tiny red car, one after another, until a dozen different-shaped men and women were huddled in a tight group of polka dots and stripes, staring toward a lone black train car parked on its own track. Instead of a smile, each of the clowns wore a painted frown on his or her face. Each had a bag in hand.
Carter shuddered. He was not a fan of clowns. Whenever he’d seen them in advertisements or books, their fake expressions made him think of his uncle.
The clowns made their way to a lone train car with a giant man’s face painted on its side. Big and round, as if it might just pop off the wall and roll around like a runaway boulder. The face held a creepy smile; either that or it was smirking a dastardly grin. Over his head were five letters spelling BOSSO.
The first frown clown unlocked the door of the train car. The rest began to load the bags inside the metal car. From this angle, Carter couldn’t see inside. He wasn’t sure what they were carrying, but he had a feeling it wasn’t something good. He knew the body language of someone who felt guilty. Their shoulders were hunched and they moved jerkily, as if they were about to jump out of their skin.
“There’s no more room!” one of the clowns whined. “What do we do now?”
“Up to the boss man,” another clown said. “He’ll probably wanna move most of the goods over to the Grand Oak Resort. Let’s bolt before the coppers show.”
Carter wondered if the gloriously lit buildings on that far hill were the resort they were talking about. The compound certainly looked grand.
Before he knew it, all of the frown clowns had squeezed back into their impossibly small car and driven away. Carter didn’t know what that was about. And honestly? He didn’t care. One thing he’d learned growing up on the street was to mind his own business.
What he did care about was the police showing up. So Carter climbed down from the roof and made his way across the gravel parking lot toward the manic carnival lights, where he knew he could blend into the crowds.
Whenever Uncle Sly had dragged Carter to a new town, they’d always followed a strict series of rules. First, scope the surroundings. Second, find food. Third, a bed. Finally, Uncle Sly would seek out some victims so that he could get to work as soon as possible.
As a violent rumble shook his stomach, these rules flew out of Carter’s mind. Ms Zalewski’s grilled cheese and radish sandwich was the last food he’d eaten, and painful hunger pangs were making him suddenly dizzy. The breeze carried scents of fried dough and pit barbecue and boiled sweets across the gravel lot, motivating Carter to move faster.
When he bent down to check how much of his emergency money was left in his shoe, he gasped in horror. The stash was gone! Memories of yesterday flickered through his brain like film images in a clunky old projector. Had Uncle Sly anticipated that Carter might run away and stolen his stash in advance? Or maybe Carter had been so upset about Ms Zalewski’s diamond, he’d forgotten to remove his money from his pillowcase and shove it back into his shoe as he had done every morning since he could remember? Whatever happened, it didn’t matter now. He was broke.
As Carter approached the source of laughter and music and jovial shrieking, his senses were quickly overwhelmed, which was a good thing. It gave him something to concentrate on other than his empty stomach and his swimmy vision.
Bright lights spun around the Ferris wheel and merry-go-round. Stage lights lit the red-and-white tents. Young couples lined up for candy floss and shows, while children called to their parents for more tickets. Games cried out: rat-a-bang-clang and ding-ding-dang!
“We have ourselves a winner!” someone shouted with glee. Dozens of other voices said, “Better luck next time!”
Carter strolled beneath a giant sign that read:
WELCOME TO
B. B. BOSSO’S
CARNIVAL
SPECTACULAR!
Bosso! That was the name from the metal car in the train yard. The puzzle pieces were starting to fit. The clowns in the tiny car were probably dropping off stuff from the carnival. Costumes. Wigs. Juggling pins. Jars filled with leftover ketchup. But why keep that train car so far from the rest of the carnival?
It didn’t matter. Carter knew the best way to make it to tomorrow was to keep walking.
The smell of fried grease grew stronger, and the ground became sticky wherever he stepped. Carter’s stomach roared. The salty and sweet aromas mixing in the air made his mouth water. Something that Uncle Sly said zipped back into his brain: Just wait until your belly rumbles and you’re so hungry you can’t see. You’ll be stealing more than necklaces in no time. What if Uncle Sly had been right?
With no money, nothing to eat, and a growing sense of desperation, Carter wondered how he’d keep himself from breaking his code that very evening. He could have easily used his talents to acquire some carnival tickets, but he didn’t steal, which included tricking people into giving him something for nothing. However, if he fainted, someone might call the cops.
“Welcome, one and all, to the greatest show this side of the Appalachian Trail! ” a sideshow barker echoed through a cone from the top of his podium. The thin man looked like a stick figure, yet his voice boomed like he was a giant.
“Play games, win prizes! Eat food ’til you’re sick. Hear the hysterics within Cuckoo’s Fun House! Get lost in the Mind-Bending Maze of Mirrors. Shudder in the shadow of Bosso’s Blender, the most thrilling thrill ride since