N. Walters - Night of the Tiger

Her stomach clenched and she felt light-headed. Where were all the other people? Where had Sandra disappeared to? She was totally alone in the room of mirrors. If you didn’t count the tiger, that is.

Knowing she had no choice, Aimee slowly turned, her sneakers squeaking against the flooring. She was practically panting now as she sucked air into her starving lungs. She had to calm down. Taking a deep breath, she held it as she swiveled the rest of the way around.

She blinked and then gave a short, nervous laugh. “Nothing. Of course there’s nothing. It’s just a trick of light and mirrors.” They probably had a hologram program they used or something like that.

It was time to leave the hall of mirrors. Placing her hand on the glass, she kept her fingers in contact with it as she began to walk around the room searching for the exit. A movement caught the corner of her eye, and she jerked her head around. The tiger was following her. No, it was stalking her. Head down, it prowled behind her, muscles bunching and rippling with each step it took.

Aimee yanked her gaze away from the beast. “It’s not real,” she repeated over and over as she let her hand slide over the panes of glass. One of them had to be a doorway out. She ignored the sound of heavy paws padding behind her. She ignored the loud chuff of breath and the low growl.

“It’s not real.” Her words weren’t as loud or as sure as they’d been. Maybe this was a hallucination brought on by all the stress she’d been under lately. She hadn’t been sleeping well either. That had to be it. She refused to believe there was an actual tiger behind her. She swallowed and kept searching for the exit, refusing to look over her shoulder.

This was as bad as one of her nightmares. She was trapped, unable to get out. It didn’t matter that the tiger looked exactly like the one from her dreams, the one that had always made her feel safe. Panic threatened, but she beat it back down. Years of practicing control in her life and in her dreams came to her aid. One step forward, feel the glass. Another step forward, touch the next mirror.

A slight breeze wafted over her face. A doorway. It had to be. She pushed forward and her hands met an open space. Making herself walk instead of run, she left the mirrors behind.

She started to peer over her shoulder, a part of her wanting to catch a final glimpse of the magnificent animal, but she forced herself to keep looking forward. The tiger wasn’t real and it couldn’t follow her. She was already freaked out enough without adding to it. Her shirt was plastered to her body and she drew her sweater tighter around her, cold in spite of the fact she was sweating.

The corridor was dark so she was forced, once again, to use her hands for guidance. She cursed herself for ever stepping foot in this place. Once she got out, she was treating herself to a hotdog and a cold drink. She wasn’t fond of carbonated drinks, but at this point, she’d take whatever they had. Maybe she’d even have some cotton candy.

A red light flicked on, and a clown popped out into the corridor, its macabre laughter surrounding her. Aimee screamed, her cry echoing off the walls. In the background, she swore she could hear the anguished roar of a tiger. As quickly as it had appeared, the clown disappeared back into the wall again. An automaton. “I hate clowns,” she muttered, forcing herself to continue. She had to get out of here, and to do that she had to keep moving.

Several more clowns, each one more bizarre than the previous, popped out and laughed at her as she made her way through the narrow corridor. And that’s what it felt like. They weren’t inviting her to laugh with them, or even trying to get her to laugh. They were laughing at her.

Great, not only was she seeing things, now she was paranoid.

Putting her head down, Aimee plowed down one corridor and then another, following the twists and turns that led her around the trailers. She knew she had to be getting close to the end. After all, it was only as big as two trailers, unless they had crossovers, which could keep her going in circles.

The familiar sound of the fairground finally penetrated her consciousness, and she hurried toward it. For a person who preferred to be alone, she’d never been so happy to see people as she was at this moment. Streamers, long and thin, brushed against her forehead and cheeks as she stepped out of the trailer. The cool night air hit her face and she took a deep breath.

The door slammed shut behind her so she couldn’t go back in. Not that she’d want to. She’d had more than enough fun in that place. Thankfully, she was at the opposite end of the trailers from where she had entered and didn’t have to see the smirking face of the attendant. She gave thanks for that small blessing.

Feeling shaky, she was careful walking down the few stairs that led back to the ground. When the grass was solidly beneath her feet again, Aimee sighed with relief. She glanced at her watch and was shocked to find that she’d been inside the funhouse almost twenty minutes.

Sandra was nowhere in sight. “She probably got tired of waiting.” A couple passing by gave her a strange look, probably because she was talking to herself again. That was a habit she’d picked up by living and working alone. Just something else to make the townspeople think she was a sandwich short of a picnic.

It was more likely Sandra hadn’t waited at all. Patience was not one of her friend’s virtues. Sandra was a bit self-centered, expecting the people around her to adjust to her schedule. Aimee figured because Sandra was so beautiful and outgoing she usually got exactly what she wanted. For the most part, Aimee didn’t mind. It was a small price to pay for friendship. Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t have some quirks of her own that Sandra had to put up with.

Knowing she’d have to search for Sandra, she left the funhouse behind and headed toward the food and games. Maybe her friend had decided to get something to eat. More likely, some guy had offered to buy her some food or take her on a ride. She attracted men everywhere she went—young men, old men, middle-aged men and even married men. Sandra wouldn’t be alone for more than a minute unless she chose to be.

Aimee decided she’d get herself that promised hotdog and look around. They’d run into each other eventually. Hopefully, Sandra would be ready to go home by then.

Aimee wished she hadn’t let her friend talk her into sharing a ride here. If she had her own car, she could just go home. As it was, she’d have to find Sandra or go back to the parking area and wait by the car. It was just her luck that, in her hurry to leave for the carnival, she’d left her phone at home sitting in the charger.

It’s only for one night, she reminded herself. “Suck it up and have a hotdog.”

Determined to enjoy the food, she shoved all thoughts of the funhouse from her head and headed toward the food concession stands.

Aimee licked a dab of ketchup off her fingers and continued to chew. The funhouse might not have been very much fun but the hotdog was delicious. There was something about eating a hotdog outside, one that had been grilled, which made it extra tasty. She swallowed and washed it down with a sip of lemonade, which had just the right balance of tartness and sweetness. Perfect.

The mood of the crowd was exuberant and infectious. Everyone seemed to be having fun. The knots in Aimee’s shoulders began to relax as she stood in the shadow of a concession stand and observed all the people milling about.

A people-watcher by nature, she was more comfortable remaining in the background. She enjoyed studying faces and watching folks as they interacted with one another. The artist in her was always searching for interesting possibilities to be filed away for use in her work sometime in the future. Her gaze landed on a couple in front of a booth that held one of the target games.