hometown. A tear abruptly dripped out of the corner of my eye, ran down my cheek.
“We could search about,” Grace said, “but if we can step through it, if we can go back to East Texas, close enough for me.”
“You said it,” Steve said.
“I’m up for it,” Reba said.
I walked slowly toward the backdrop, stuck out my hand, and ran up against canvas.
I pushed again.
Harder.
Nothing.
I hit the canvas with my palm. Then my fists. Hard as I could. It rippled a bit, but I didn’t pass through. I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead against it.
“The lying sonofabitch,” I said. “He didn’t go anywhere. Popalong said he could go through the backdrops. He said it.”
Reba bent down and put her arm around me. “Come on, Jack. It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay. I’ve had about all I can take.”
“Get the fuck up,” Grace said.
I turned and glared at her. She stood there in all her glorious, topless beauty. I had turned and was prepared to be angry, but looking at that woman, her face full of confidence, all I could do was make myself stand. I said, “Sorry, I had a moment.”
“Okay,” Grace said, “but now the moment’s over. Popalong, who knows, maybe he did pass into these things. In his mind. And what works one time, may not work the next. We aren’t whipped yet. We’re never whipped till we say we’re whipped.”
“I don’t know,” Steve said, “I’m feeling a little whipped myself. I just don’t have the energy to fall down and cry, or I would.”
“Me too,” Reba said.
“We can rest, or we can search,” Grace said. “And, another thing, something important, I think… Right over there. A wall.”
It was. A nice brown wall that ran way up into the darkness, out of sight. There was a standard light switch on the wall. I hit it. The lights in the great room brightened. There was a creaking noise, and the backdrops began to move about on their chains, changing positions. They locked in and were still.
“Now there’s something cute,” Grace said.
It was a door, revealed by the movement of the backdrops.
Grace strolled over, took hold of the knob. “When I turn,” she said, “be ready for whatever.”
She turned the knob, pulled the door open.
Nothing leaped on us.
No whatevers.
Inside the room were all manner of mirrors, and looking into them, we looked different in every one. Not just short or fat or tall or wide, but we had different faces. I could recognize them as our faces and bodies, but they were different.
Even Grace showed discomfort, started moving along quickly. For in many of the mirrors her shape was not so attractive. Her breasts drooped, and she looked tired and scared and old.
I looked weak, bent over, my fingers almost touching the ground. Steve’s face was blank in many of the mirrors, and Reba was chunky and big-legged and exhausted.
“It’s how we really feel,” Reba said.
“I don’t feel that way,” Grace said. “Not at all. I think it’s how this world wants us to feel.”
“Whatever, I’m for going back to the other room,” Reba said. “At least some of the backdrops are pretty.”
But we kept moving, and soon the mirrors were gone, and there were these rows and rows of what we had seen in a pile on the ground beneath the hole in the sky. They hung on cables from the ceiling we couldn’t see. There were crude-cut bodies and nicer ones, and really fine ones, some with windup keys at their backs, many without, all the fleshy ones nude and shiny. No one stunk here. They looked fresh. And there were aliens. The ones in our dreams, and in the pile below the sky.
The aliens were in great chairs in front of enormous cameras that were poked through holes in the floor, and the chairs, they rode up in such a position that the aliens’ filmed-over, bulging eyes were pointed down into the cameras, and the creatures were held in place by belts and straps so they wouldn’t fall from their chairs. They didn’t move.
We walked slowly toward them, threading our way between the hanging figures. A tentacle dripped over the side of one giant chair, and I reached out to touch it. It was slick with decay and smelled.
“Dead,” I said, “all dead.”
We moved between the chairs that held the many aliens, came to a canyon in the floor. We looked over the rim, all the way down. All we could see was a dim red glow. We could feel heat coming up through the opening.
“This must be the garbage hole, where the bodies are dumped,” Grace said.
“My guess is,” I said, “that red glow is the sun. It has fallen onto the drive-in world, heated it up. I bet all that’s left now is lava.”
Looking across the vast expanse on the canyon to the other side, I could see cars and buses, planes and trains. They looked small and were all heaped together in the manner of toys tossed aside at the end of the day by an exhausted child.
“I bet we’re looking down the funnel from the sky,” Steve said. “It could be that, instead of the waste hole.”
“The funnel was far away,” Grace said. “The waste hole was just below us.”
“Maybe,” Steve said. “But time and distance… Nothing makes sense here. And there’s some of the same kind of stuff that was thrown down the funnel over there,” he said, pointing at the autos and planes and such on the other side of the great gap.
“But who, and why?” Reba said.
None of us had an answer.
We went back and looked at the hanging bodies, and Steve said, “You know, I think these human shapes haven’t gone rotten because they’ve never had the spark of life. The ones below, I bet they had it, and they didn’t work out, had to be discarded. The others, they can be wound up, but these… Look up there, see, the more human ones have wires going into their heads.”
I looked, and sure enough, I could see the wires twisting down and into the tops of their skulls.
“Oh, God Almighty,” Reba said. We rushed over to where she stood, and what we saw made us all gasp and go weak.
Hanging in a row were a number of alien and human bodies. We recognized the human shapes. There were several copies of each. There were crude, carved wooden copies, and windup copies, and I suppose there could have been copies in the pile below, and we just hadn’t seen them, or they were too rotted, or too mixed together.
It was all the members of the drive-in.
Replicas of them.
I saw my old friends, Randy and Willard… Crier… Many others.
But there was something even more stunning.
Us.
Figures of us.
Rows of us.
Hanging there. Mouths open. Wires running into our heads. Windup versions. Crude wooden versions. Naked little suckers letting it all hang out.
“Ain’t this the shits?” Steve said.
“I think my tits perk higher than that,” Grace said, looking down the row of replicas.
“Damn, Jack,” Steve said. “Are you really that well hung?”
