Bryony Pearce - The Weight of Souls

“Sounds nice,” Justin shrugged.

I shook my head. “Not really. The killer worked there…”

The sun was going down and the evening had turned close. My T-shirt had bunched under my armpits and my tongue felt fluffy and strange as if I’d eaten too many sweets. I’d never been more nervous.

Mum pinned me with a look. “I’ll point out the man we’re looking for. All you need to do to transfer the Mark is touch his bare skin with that hand. It’ll be alright. It’s easy.”

I nodded as around us rides whirled and the shrieks and screams of teenagers blended into a din with the blare of tinny rock music.

Mum walked confidently by my side, one hand resting lightly on my wrist. Quickly she guided me past the big wheel and the hook-a-duck towards the Hall of Mirrors.

“Is he there?” I gestured.

Mum nodded, keeping her face down. “He sometimes works the candyfloss, sometimes the Hall of Mirrors. He has a bulldog tattooed on his arm.”

“Why did he do it?”

Mum snorted. “His girlfriend had left him.”

“For the c-clown?”

“No, actually. He helped her escape to a women’s shelter.”

As we walked my trainers skated through a mixture of brown grass, mud created by spilled fizzy drinks and ketchup covered cones of half-eaten chips. “So he was hitting his girlfriend and the clown helped her?”

Mum sighed. “That’s right. He couldn’t get to his girlfriend so he killed Tony.”

“Tony’s the clown?”

Mum nodded. Until that moment my feelings about the clown had been straightforward: he was the boogieman. Mum’s words released a wave of pity that dampened my fear. Then we were almost at the steps of the funhouse and I had to raise my head.

“Two tickets please.” Mum pulled her purse from her handbag and nudged me forward. The man was paying no attention to me. His piggy eyes were fixed on Mum’s maroon top, so I stared at him unashamedly.

He was wearing a stained white vest over baggy jeans. A money filled pouch was tied round his waist and as he took the money, he flexed his biceps and made sure his fingers touched Mum’s hand. Then he licked lips like slugs. I gagged a little and Mum nudged me again. His left forearm had a bulldog on it.

I didn’t want to touch him. I knew I had to, but my arm wouldn’t move.

“Why don’t you take the tickets, Taylor?” Mum’s voice was tense and I knew what she wanted me to do. I just couldn’t.

Now the man was pressing the ticket stubs into Mum’s hand, taking the opportunity to paw her again and it was too late to touch him without being suspicious.

“Taylor.” Mum’s voice was urgent.

I swallowed. “Um… wow, I like your tattoo.” As if in a dream I reached up to press my palm against the snarling bulldog.

“My brother has a matching one.” Proudly he rotated his forearm. “It’s from our army days.”

Mum knocked my hand down before I could transfer the Mark. “Does he work in the fairground too?”

“Oh yeah.” He winked. “We both work the Hall of Mirrors. He’s gone on a break, but I’m the handsome one.”

Mum tried a smile. “So, do you have a girlfriend?”

The man shook his head. “No way. Been single for three years now. My brother’s the one for committed relationships.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I get off in ten.”

Mum grabbed my elbow. “We’d better go in. Thanks.” She steered me up the steps.

The trailer bounced as we opened the creaking door and entered the Hall of Mirrors. Ahead of me a corridor appeared to stretch for miles yet I knew we only stood inside a lorry. I looked to my left and my body seemed to stretch like an elastic band. My head span. “He didn’t do it. Now what?”

I heard the crunch of Mum’s teeth. Things weren’t going as smoothly as she’d planned. “You’ll have to stay in here. I’ll go and wait for the right man to come off his break. When he turns up I’ll say you hurt your ankle and ask him to help carry you out.”

“Then I have to touch him?”

“That’s right.” She hesitated. “It’ll be fine, Taylor.” Then she left me alone.

I wrapped my arms around my chest and stared at my reflection. The lump in my chest resolved into a ball of tears but I held it down and wondered what would happen when I touched the man. For some reason I imagined him melting away like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Taylor? Are you alright?” The door opened; Mum was back and she wasn’t alone. “You haven’t tried to move, have you?”

“No.” I leaned one hand against the oddly warm surface of a mirror. My heart thudded in my ears and I couldn’t look away from my reflection.

A man appeared behind me. His image lay beneath my hand, so it looked as if I was pressing him into the glass. This mirror made us into stick people and I couldn’t tell what he really looked like, so I turned around.

The man in front of me looked like an action hero!

He wore the same vest as his brother, but on him it looked really good. Like Danny Zuko from Grease . His hair was shiny and black.

“Taylor?” Mum pressed her hand to my shoulder. “This is Bill. He’s going to carry you down the steps.”

“But…?”

“Don’t be shy, honey. Remember what we talked about?”

My mouth went dry and I tried to lick my lips.

Suddenly the man’s arms were around my shoulder. Before I could help myself, I inhaled. He smelled of lemon shower gel. Underneath there was the sour smell of sweat, cigarettes and something unidentifiable and sweet that would forever remind me of the fairground.

He half lifted me off my feet. “Alright, love?” He gave me a lopsided grin. “Got to be careful in here, it’s dark.”

I stuck my Marked hand resolutely inside my jacket.

“Taylor?”

I ignored Mum and limped alongside the man who held me in his arms, smiling gratefully up at him as if I really was hurt.

The door opened and the light hit his face. Away from the flattering darkness I could see flaws. His skin was more sallow than olive and his black hair had obviously been dyed.

“Mister, I was wondering, are there any clowns at the fair? I love clowns.” The lie almost made me choke, but not as much as the fleeting look that crossed the man’s face: a glimmer of rage that chilled me to my toes. Suddenly his fingers on my shoulders felt like claws.

“We just lost our clown,” he said and his teeth were gritted, “but there’re some good acrobats over in the main tent.”

“Y-you don’t like clowns?”

“Some clowns are alright, but ours was interfering.” He pressed his lips together and I swallowed, making a decision. At the bottom of the steps I pulled my hand free of my jacket and offered it him to shake.

As the killer pressed his palm to mine I felt a tingle. He held my hand slightly too long and smiled when he released it. I stepped backwards and looked for the Mark. It had gone.

“Come on, Taylor, time to go.” Mum grabbed my shoulder and I just barely remembered to limp. As we left I turned around. The killer stood with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. But my eyes were drawn to the shadows around the Hall of Mirrors. They were darker than anywhere else and were moving towards his feet.

“Mum…?”

“Don’t look, Taylor.” She grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

Justin looked impressed. “So you did it?”

“Yeah. On the way home Mum told me about the curse, how it's carried through the female line, how there's a fifty-fifty chance I'll pass it to my own children.”

I looked at the white glove I wore whenever a Mark was on me. “I was ten and my life was over. Suddenly I was being told that I'd never stop seeing ghosts and I'd have to spend my life tracking down killers.” I trailed my fingers along the glass case surrounding the sarcophagus. “And that I won't be able to have kids, not without giving them the same thing.”