Mystery Walk

legs, if that's okay.' Billy followed him, and Ramona came down off the porch as Mirakle eased himself to the ground at the tree's base. He looked up at Billy, his gray eyes sparkling with crafty good humor 'The ghost show,' he said reverently. 'Billy, imagine a theater in one of the great cities of the world—New York, London, Paris perhaps. Onstage is a man—perhaps me, or even you—in a black tuxedo. He asks for volunteers from the audience. They tie him securely into a chair. Then a black cloth is draped around his body, and the cloth tied to the chair's legs. He is carried into a large black cabinet. The cabinet's doors are padlocked, and the volunteers go to their seats as the houselights dim. The lights go out. The audience waits, as a minute passes. Then another. They shift nervously in their seats.' Mirakle's gaze danced from Billy to Ramona and back to the boy again.

'And then ... a muted noise of wind. The audience feels it across their faces; it seems to come from all directions, yet from no direction in particular. There is the scent of flowers on the edge of decay and then ... the distant, echoing sound of a funeral bell, tolling to twelve midnight. Above the audience there is a scattering of bright lights that slowly take on the shape of human faces, hovering in midair: the spirit guides have arrived. Music sounds; the blare of trumpets and rattle of drums. Then . . . boom!' He clapped his hands together for emphasis, startling both of his listeners. 'A burst of red flame and smoke at center stage! BOOM! Another, stage right, and BOOM! on the left as well! The air is filled with smoke and the odor of brimstone, and the audience knows they are on a perilous voyage, into the very domain of Death itself! A wailing dark shape darts across the stage, leaps high, and soars to the ceiling; strange blue and purple lights dance in the air; moans and clanking noises fill the theater. A chorus of skeletons take center stage, link arms and kick their bony legs, accompanied by the dissonant music of a spectral orchestra. Sheeted spirits fly through the air, calling out the names of some members of the audience, and predicting events that only the all-seeing dead could know! And when the audience is driven to a peak of excitement and wonder, Old Scratch himself appears in a grand burst of red sparks! He clutches his pitchfork and prowls the stage, casting fireballs from the palms of his hands. He glares at the audience, and he says in a terrible, growling voice: 'Tell your friends to see Dr Mirakle's Ghost Show . . . or I'll be seeing you!' And Satan vanishes in a grand display of pyrotechnic artistry that leaves the eyes dazzled. The lights abruptly come up; the volunteers return, unlocking the black cabinet. The form within is still securely covered with the shroud, and underneath that he is still tied exactly as before! He rises, to the applause of a stunned and pleased audience.'

Mirakle paused for a few seconds, as if regaining his breath. He smiled at Billy. 'And that, young man, is a ghost show. Mystery. Magic. Delicious terror. Kids love it.'

Ramona grunted. 'If you can find a way to put all that in a sack, you could go into the fertilizer business.'

Mirakle laughed heartily; as his face reddened, Billy saw the broken blue threads of veins in his nose and across his cheeks. 'Ha! Yes, that's a possibility I hadn't thought of! Ha!' He shook his head, genuine mirth giving his face a rich glow. 'Well, well. I'll have to consider it.'

'You're a faker,' Ramona said. 'That's what it boils down to.'

Mirakle stopped laughing and stared at her. 'I'm a performer. I'm a supernatural artiste. I admit the ghost show isn't for everyone's taste, and I suppose that with movies and television the effect of a ghost show has taken a beating, but rural people still like them.'

'You haven't answered my question yet. What are you doing here?'

'In a few days I'm going to be joining Ryder Shows, Incorporated. I'll be touring with them on the carnival circuit for the rest of the summer; then, in the fall, Ryder Shows becomes part of the state fair, in Birmingham. I need to upgrade my ghost show, to give it style and dazzle; there's a lot of work to be done, maintaining the machinery—which is in a Tuscaloosa warehouse right now—and getting the show in shape for Birmingham. I need an assistant.' He looked at Billy. 'Have you finished high school yet?'

'Yes sir.'

'No,' Ramona snapped. 'My son workin' with a ... a fake thing like that? No, I won't hear of it! Now if you'd please get your caboose on down the road, I'd be grateful!' She angrily motioned for him to get up and leave.

'The pay would be quite equitable,' Mirakle said, looking up at the boy. 'Forty dollars a week.'

'No!'

Billy dug his hands into his pockets. Forty dollars was a lot of money, he thought. It would buy tar and shingles for the roof, caulking for the windows, white paint for the weathered walls; it would buy new brake shoes for the Olds, and good tires too; it would buy gasoline and kerosene for the lamps, milk and sugar and flour and everything his folks would ever need. Forty dollars was a world of money. 'How many weeks?' he heard himself ask.

Mirakle smiled. 'The state fair ends on the thirteenth of October. Then I'll need you to help get my equipment back to Mobile, for winter storage. You'll be home by the sixteenth, at the latest.'

Ramona grasped his arm and squeezed it. 'I forbid it,' she said. 'Do you hear me? This 'ghost show' stuff is blasphemy! It mocks everything we stand for!'

'You sound like Dad used to,' Billy said quietly.

'I know what you're thinkin'! Sure, forty dollars a week is a lot of money and it could be put to good use, but there's better ways of makin' an honest dollar than . . . than puttin' on a sideshow!'

'How?' he asked her.

She was silent, the wheels turning fiercely in her brain for an answer. How, indeed?

'You'd be my assistant,' Mirakle said. 'You'd get a real taste of show business. You'd learn how to work in front of an audience, how to hold their attention and make them want more. You'd learn . . . what the world is like.'

'The world,' Billy said in a soft, faraway voice. His eyes were dark and troubled as he looked back at his father again, then at his mother. She shook her head. 'It's a lot of money, Mom.'

'It's nothing!' she said harshly, and turned a baleful gaze on Mirakle. 'I didn't bring my son up for this, mister! Not for some sham show that tricks people!'

'Fifty dollars a week,' Billy said. Mirakle's smile disappeared. 'I'll do it for fifty, but not a red cent less.'

'What? Listen, do you know how many kids I can get to work for thirty a week? A few thousand, that's all!'

'If you looked so long and hard to find my mother and me, I figured you must think I could add something to that show of yours that nobody else could. I figure I'm worth the fifty dollars to you, and I think you'll pay me. Because if you don't, I won't go, and all that looking you did will be wasted time. I also want a week's pay in advance, and I want three days to fix the roof and put brake shoes on the car.'

Mirakle shot up from the ground, sputtering as if he'd been dashed with cold water. His head barely came up to Billy's shoulder 'Nope! Won't have it, not at all!' He strode to the porch, got his seersucker jacket, and put his hat on; the seat of his trousers was dusty, and he brushed it off with red-faced irritation. 'Try to take advantage of me, huh?' He marched past Ramona and Billy, dust stirring up around his shoes. After ten steps his stride slowed; he stopped and let out a long sigh. 'Forty-five dollars a week and two days,' he said, looking over his shoulder.

Billy kicked at a pebble and considered the offer. He said, 'Okay. Deal.'

Mirakle clapped his hands together? Ramona clutched her son's arm and said, 'So fast? Just like that, without talkin' it over? ...'

'I'm sorry, Mom, but I already know what you'd say. It won't be so bad; it'll just be . . . pretending, that's all.'

Mirakle walked back to them and thrust out his hand. Billy shook it. 'There's no business like show business!' the man crowed, his face split by a grin. 'Now did you say you wanted thirty dollars in advance?' He brought out his wallet again, opening it with a flourish. Billy saw, sealed in a plastic window, a yellowing picture of a smiling young man in a service uniform.

'Forty-five,' Billy said, evenly and firmly.

Mirakle chuckled. 'Yes, yes of course. I like you, William. You drive a hard bargain. And speaking of driving, do you have your license? No? You can drive a car, can't you?'

'I've driven the Olds a few times.'

'Good. I'll need you at the wheel some.' He counted out the bills. 'There you are. It just about breaks me,