Tilt-a-Whirl
written by: Richard Korst
Danny sat cross-legged on the hood of his faded, copper-colored ’69 Camaro purchased forty-two years earlier with wages earned bussing tables, frying onion rings, and cleaning grease traps during high school. His face was weathered, pockmarked, and flushed, bearing the effects of four decades of penance, and his name, like his feathered David Cassidy haircut, stuck, not as a tribute but as a testament to his insignificance.
As he had for the past forty years, Danny stared at the old county fairgrounds where remnants of a deserted traveling carnival stood, abandoned by its owners, in the dark of night, hoping to avoid fraud and negligence charges.
Like the Roman Aqueducts or the Pyramids rising from their respective landscapes, the rusty rails of the neglected Cyclone roller coaster remained, its cars seemingly strewn about during an earlier encounter with the Kraken. The Disney-inspired Merry-go-Round, with its poorly reproduced Mickey, Donald, and other characters, had long been stripped except for its bearings and partial sweeps. The grounds housing fried Twinkies and Lemon Chills showed no signs of its earlier tenants, but the adjoining area, once home to the carnival side-shows, was easily identifiable; its tattered vinyl flags relentlessly flapping against a small portion of chain-link fence sporting primitive, pictograph-style drawings, of two-headed horses, sword swallowers, and snake charmers.
On this cloudless, moonless night, hours before the dawn’s light would creep into the eastern sky, Danny finished his dinner, the last of his Old-Style twelve-pack, his meaningless, guilt-ridden life driven by one tragic event. He couldn’t share stories of high-school exploits; winning touchdown passes, becoming the homecoming king, or receiving academic scholarships, because his sole focus had been on purchasing a car, using it to leave this town behind once able, or forced.
Like a movie reel in a continuous loop, Danny turned the events of the fateful night in his head, images flickering like the Zapruder home movie, frame by frame running towards its appointed outcome. Danny and his girlfriend, entered the carnival grounds, chaperoning her ten-year-old brother, Sam, a good kid, but rambunctious, inclined to flee from the pair seeking adventure or monitoring the carney games. Sam didn’t particularly favor fast or twisting rides, but Danny had tired of the fun house, and the bumper cars, finally convincing Sam to try the Tilt-a-Whirl, despite its motion and speed.
Danny’s attention was diverted by another high-school coed as he strapped himself in, pointing and gesturing at her while failing to attend to Sam, seated next to him. As the handler pulled down the lever, the seven cars began spinning freely on their rotating platforms, picking up speed and torque with each revolution. Danny gave Sam a sideways glance to gauge his level of enjoyment and/or nausea, and his face became ashen, realizing he had failed to secure Sam’s seatbelt, witnessing Sam desperately gripping the outside armrest, a wild-eyed look of terror and helplessness crossing his face. Danny held on to Sam while frantically screaming for help, the ride operator’s Walkman precluding any awareness or action. As the speed increased, the centrifugal force ripped Sam from Danny’s grip, hurling him fifty feet airborne, like being shot from a cannon, crashing into a row of Porta-Potties, setting them tumbling like dominoes.
After finally stopping the ride, the operator surveyed the chaos and hurriedly slipped into the gathering crowd, undetected, as Danny ran from the platform towards Sam’s lifeless, rag-doll body, his limbs contorted, his neck broken. While being interrogated over the next several hours, Danny stuck with his faulty seatbelt alibi, reiterating his attempts to secure it and, was finally released after the detective explored the carnival’s past safety records. Even so, Danny knew. Every night, the same visions, the same demons, the same outcome, and it devoured him.
On this night, this special night, the fortieth anniversary to the day, something had changed, convincing Danny that amends could be made, the story could change, and the outcome altered. Danny, clasped his arms behind his head, closed his eyes, and the perpetual movie stopped. Now alert, Danny looked across the Illinois Central tracks, the ride’s neon lights shone brightly as the Ferris Wheel slowly turned, the Pirate ship swung like a pendulum, and the haunting sounds of the Merry-go-Round’s calliope rose and fell in rhythm with the ride’s characters. Simultaneously, the smell of cotton candy, and turkey legs permeated the air, causing Danny’s mouth to involuntarily water, his drunkenness abated.
“What the Hell is going on,” thought Danny as he squinted to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks. Jumping off the hood of his car, he ambled slowly towards the carnival grounds, picking up speed like a charging army as the grounds got closer. Upon entering the main gate, he was startled by a gruff, disinterested voice,
“How many tickets ya need?” barked the man in the ticket booth.
“What?” asked Danny, his voice raised as if in a panic.
“I’m asking how many tickets do you need so you can ride the rides if that’s what you came for.”
“Oh, oh, sorry. How much are they?”
“Same as always; three for a quarter, twenty for a dollar. Most rides will cost ya three tickets, excepting the premium rides that’ll cost you five.”
“I’ll take twenty, I guess,” responded Danny, still in a state of shock.
“Suit yourself. It’s your call.”
Danny took the tickets and stuffed them in his jeans’ front pocket, walked gingerly through the fairgrounds, disoriented but keenly aware of his surroundings. All the rides, all the games as they had been. All the townspeople, all the carnival workers vaguely familiar, younger, dressed in clothing of an earlier time. Barkers called out to him as he passed the ring toss, the rings incessantly clinking off the Nehi Grape and Orange bottle necks, and passed misshapen basketball hoops, offering no hope to its challengers, while the carnies continued targeting their next marks. Entering the ride attractions area, Danny found himself drawn to the Tilt-a-Whirl, its red, green, blue, and yellow cars revolving independently, the passengers’ squeals of delight and fear creating a cacophony of sound.
“Interested in taking a spin? It’ll cost you five of those tickets, kid.” Whispered the ride operator, whose arms were covered in primitive tattoos of women, leopards, and tributes to prematurely deceased family members.
“I’ll think about it,” responded Danny as he took a Marlboro out of his shirt pocket and nervously smoked for a few minutes.
Danny peered across the array of rides, keenly interested in the bumper cars where he saw his girlfriend and brother Sam disembarking. He started waving his arms and running towards them, but they had already entered the House of Mirrors before he could catch them.
“What’s going on?” he muttered to himself, as he awaited their exit, his heart beating like a rabbit, “Can I change all this? No, it can’t be possible, but maybe, I can. Maybe.”
As they emerged from the attraction, Danny immediately stopped them. “Would they recognize me? Could they possibly recognize me?”
“Danny, you knucklehead, where the hell have you been?” asked his giggling girlfriend, Jean. “We’ve been round and round this place, ate two corndogs apiece, and drank three Lemon Chills during the hunt.”
“So, you know me?” asked Danny, his eyes brimming with tears.
“Quit playing around. We need to get out of here, it’s getting late.”
Danny briefly closed his eyes, an idea germinating in his head; “Ok. Ok. Not a problem. But we need to go on one more ride before heading home.”
Jean smirked, but a smile crossed her face; “I suppose since we haven’t seen you for the past two hours, that’s a concession we can live with. What will it be?”
“Don’t be freaked out, Sam, but I want to take you on the Tilt-a-Whirl, just you and me. I know you don’t like the fast, spinning rides, but I promise it will be ok.”
Sam looked up at his big sister searching for an out, but she smiled, patted him on the head: “It’ll be ok, Sam. Danny will take care of you.”
Danny hugged Jean, grabbed Sam’s hand, and marched back to the Tilt-a-Whirl, pulling out ten tickets and pressing them in the outstretched hands of the ride operator.
“Are you sure he’s tall enough to go on this ride?” asked the detached operator, going through the motions.
“Well, you let him ride before,” answered Danny as Sam’s raised eyebrows hinted at his bewilderment.
“Ok, but he’s your responsibility.”
“I know. I know.” Danny’s voice quivered but was filled with confidence. All would be reversed, he thought, his life put back on its arc.
The two entered the platform, made their way to a blue car, and settled in. Danny refused to look around, as he had before, ensuring he was focused and concentrated on Sam’s safety,
“Are you all good, buddy?” he asked Sam, tugging twice on the strap.
Sam wouldn’t be thrown out this time. He may stop breathing on account of the strap’s tightness, but he wouldn’t be thrown out. Sam looked at Danny pensively, still fearful of the ride but wishing to appear cavalier.
The ride’s speed picked up momentum with each revolution as Sam and Danny’s arms shot up, defying gravity, while Sam’s occasional screams combined a sense of dread, joy, and freedom simultaneously. The frames of the film kept flickering, but with a renewed clarity, color, and consistency. As the ride finally slowed to a halt, Danny looked down at Sam, who was trembling but laughing at the same time, “Can we go again? Pleeeaaaase.”
Danny’s thoughts brimmed with confidence, his body straightened, his future filled with possibility. He had beaten death. There was no screaming. No body outlined with tape beside the Porta-Potty. No interrogation, no lying, and no more sideways glances from those assured of his guilt.
Sam unbuckled his strap and ran towards his sister waiting by the exit, her pride reminiscent of a mother, not an older sister. Danny remained seated. A satisfied grin dominated his face as he peered at the ride operator and gestured as if tipping his hat, a tribute of thanks only Danny could comprehend. The operator shrugged and motioned Danny to leave as the next group of riders awaited their turn.
Danny failed to show up for his morning shift the next day, unusual regardless of his personal circumstances. He might stumble in with a hangover, dragging his body from aisle to aisle or be exceedingly disagreeable, muttering to himself throughout his shift, but he always came to work. His manager, Olivia, was concerned, spoke with Danny’s co-workers, who offered little or no insight, given their distant relationship with Danny. She called his number several times to no avail and reiterated to the staff that they should come to her if they knew or heard of anything regarding his whereabouts.
Later in the shift, Tony knocked on Olivia’s door, “Can I come in?” he asked sheepishly.
“Yes, yes. Of course. Did you remember something that might help?”
“Well, it may not be much.”
“Don’t worry, it’s ok. Go on.”
“I’ve heard him talk about the fairgrounds now and again. Not sure why, but sometimes I hear him mumbling about it when he thinks no one is around.”
“Hmm. I’ll check it out. Thanks.”
That evening, after her shift ended, Olivia drove out to the fairgrounds. It was too early to file a missing person’s report, and it was more likely Danny had finally fled his hometown without fanfare. She had never ventured to the abandoned site, and its skeletal remains heightened her senses, unaware of what might lurk in the dark shadows or underneath termite-infested boardwalks.
“This is crazy,” she thought, taking one final look around the perimeter, the cool winds hinting of summer’s departure. While turning towards her car, something caught her eye, something out of place, possibly ominous, but probably nothing. She made her way towards the amusement ride graveyard, focusing her attention on what was once the Tilt-a-Whirl. Olivia shuddered, then stopped, her knees shaking, her breathing shallow. She placed her clasped hands on top of her head, she slowly slid them down to her neck, her eyes riveted, and then let out a scream, a forlorn but piercing scream, before throwing up on her shoes.
After the police were notified and located Olivia, they found Danny’s body, suspended by a rope from a rusted railing, neck broken, the effects of rigor mortis setting in, ligature marks around his neck. An autopsy was conducted to determine the cause of death and assess whether any foul play was involved. The final report was routine, by all accounts, except for the coroner’s description of Danny’s facial features;
“Abrasion and indentation high on the left side of decedent’s neck, above the larynx. Bluish discoloration of the face and lips. Decedent died of suicide; bone and cartilage fractures resulting from hanging. The decedent’s face showed no outward signs of duress, other than those detailed above, and the expression on decedent’s face was “peaceful,” as if at rest, with a pronounced smile.”
The coroner stored Danny’s personal effects for several months, but no next-of-kin existed or cared enough to retrieve them. No one attended Danny’s funeral except his former boss, Olivia, who stood somberly under a tree as the proceedings commenced.
After six months had passed, Olivia contacted the coroner’s office requesting Danny’s effects, and permission was granted. Once at home, she removed the lid and found an inventory list detailing the following items: one wallet, forty-six cents in change, one package of Marlboros – six cigarettes, one lighter, one set of car and house keys, and ten unused, crumpled carnival tickets.
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