Excerpt of Beloved Forever
Chapter 1

Emily shivered as a chill wind cut through her camel-colored fleece jacket, while also sending long strands of chestnut-brown hair around her face. She glanced over at Sara, who also shivered before burrowing closer to her boyfriend, Ron. She cast a quick look at Ron’s cousin, visiting from a college two states away, and dismissed the idea of snuggling up to him. In thirty minutes, she had realized she didn’t like him.

“Where do you want to start?” Ron asked, slipping his arm around Sara to pull her even closer.

Troy scanned the fall carnival set up on the football field, and his nose curled. “It’s all pretty lame.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. This is what Huxley Junior College spent the homecoming fund on.”

Sara’s lean face twisted into a grimace. “Whatever happened to dances? Who wants a stupid carnival?”

“I like it,” Emily said. “It reminds me of being a kid again.”

Troy eyed her slowly, focusing his eyes on her chest. “You aren’t a kid, Em.”

“Emily.”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re almost an adult. Wait until you transfer to NYU next year. Then you’ll see.”

She rolled her eyes, but gave him a smile. From the stories he had related thus far, Troy spent all of his college time partying, squeaking by in his studies, and scoring with chicks. She doubted the last boast, but not because he wasn’t handsome. He was. He was probably six-two and muscular, with thick brown hair and blue eyes. Too bad he ruined his handsome exterior every time he opened his mouth.

“How about the Spider?” Sara suggested. “When you go around the spin, it presses you into your partner.” She grinned up at Ron.

She had no desire to share that ride with Troy, pressed against him in a tiny car. “No.” Emily leveled her voice. “No, I don’t like that ride. How about the swings?” They were solo.

Troy laughed, and it held an edge of mocking. “’How about the swings.’ Jesus. You really do want to be a kid again, don’t you?”

She huddled deeper in the fleece jacket, staring at the ground and deliberately avoiding eye contact with Troy. “What do you want to do?”

His tone was suggestive. “How about the Tunnel of Love?”

Ron shook his head. “It’s lame, Troy. They put up a big tent, and you ride these little cars through. Only lasts about two minutes.”

Sara frowned. “How do you know that? Have you been on with some other girl?”

He sighed loudly. “No. I came to the field earlier and watched when they were setting up.” Ron’s expression changed, becoming secretive and malicious. “You guys wanna see something?”

“What?” Emily looked at him with narrowed eyes.

He gestured them closer, so they were in a loose circle. “They have an honest-to-God freak. Like out of a show.”

Sara’s mouth dropped open. “Really? Where?”

Troy looked skeptical. “How do you mean freak?”

“He’s all twisted and deformed. C’mon. I’ll show you.”

“I don’t think so—“

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Em.”

She gnashed her teeth and trailed behind the three of them as they walked through the crowd, moving across the small carnival. Her feet crunched dead leaves on the field, and the wind picked up a little more, blowing dirt in her eyes. She blinked and slowed, removing her contacts to clear her eyes.

By the time she caught up with the three of them, they were standing in line for the funhouse. She bit her lip, hesitating to go inside, but reluctant to mention her fear of the barrels all funhouses had. As a kid, she had been afraid she would be sucked into one and never find her way out. That was before she realized how they worked, but the remnants of fear remained.

“Took you long enough,” Troy said.

She inserted one of the contacts in her left eye, and then the other in her right. Emily blinked until the world came into focus again. She shivered at the lurid images on the funhouse. Vampires seemed to be a big theme. In the near left corner, a caped Dracula-type prepared to feast on the neck of a girl wearing a Victorian-era dress. In the top corner of the trailer, a hoard of vampires moved across a cemetery, forever frozen in ferocious and twisted postures. The most chilling picture of all was the handsome face painted in the center of the trailer’s montage. His features were perfect, even if he was too pale, and his dark hair was combed straight back. He looked like any other model for any type of ad, except for the single drop of blood dripping down his chin from the corner of his mouth. His eyes held an element that made Emily shudder. She didn’t know why they bothered her. Maybe because the eyes seemed to possess terrible knowledge no human would ever know.

“I don’t want to go in.”

Sara groaned. “It’ll be fun, Emily.”

Troy put his arm around her. “We’re not here just for the funhouse.”

She shrugged him off and took a step away. “Then why—”

He pointed to the person taking tickets. “That’s why.” He snickered.

At first glance, she thought the man was simply a midget. Emily looked again when Sara gasped. She realized he was probably of normal height—or would be if his twisted spine didn’t cause him to stand in an awkward position, nearly bent over. It should have been impossible for the man to stand at all. His legs were stumpy and misshapen. He seemed to be missing one arm completely, but the other was industriously taking tickets and moving the turnstile to admit customers to the funhouse.

“He’s hideous.” Sara shuddered and buried her face in Ron’s jacket. She moved it away from her eyes so she could peek. She shuddered again. “Is that the freak?”

“Sure is,” Ron said. “I saw him eating cotton candy earlier. Can you imagine? Something like that should eat stuff like fish guts and raw beef liver.”

“Ew.” Sara’s disgust was evident, but also mingled with titillation. “How do you think it happened?”

Emily frowned at her friend’s avid curiosity. “The poor man was probably born that way. It’s amazing he’s standing and working.”

Troy laughed. “Amazing? It’s a freak show.”

The ticket taker suddenly raised his head, and his cloudy brown eyes seemed to focus on them. His face was the most misshapen of all, as if he had survived a fire. The skin had grown back in bubbles and raw pink areas. A flap of skin had grown over half of his mouth and one nostril, barely missing his left eye. The skin unaffected by what appeared to be fire damage still looked rough, bumpy, and pale.

“Shh. I think he heard you.”

Troy shrugged. “Who cares? He’s probably a retard too. I bet he doesn’t understand a word.”

“Lower your voice,” Emily snapped, standing straight. “How would you like it if—“

“Spare me the morality lecture.” He forced a huge yawn, but his voice lowered an octave when he spoke again. “I bet he wasn’t born like that. He was probably evil and got sent to the devil in a former life. He was forced to look like a demon while living among people like us.” His tone was distorted and deliberately theatrical.

Sara and Ron seemed to absorb every word, but Emily rolled her eyes again. “You know how often Satan assigns his minions to funhouse duties.”

Troy frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

She gave him a sweet smile, but didn’t answer as they advanced in the line. Once more, her eyes fell on the vampire dominating the funhouse’s façade. For a moment, she swore the eyes followed her. Then she shook her head and dug in her fanny pack for three tickets.

She froze when a blood-curdling scream issued from inside the funhouse. Emily’s doubts about entering returned. The one and only time she had gone in, at the age of eight with Sara, she became stuck on the barrel, paralyzed with fear, and unable to go forward or back. Sara had to drag her through. She remembered her desperate flight from that small, smelly trailer. She had ignored the attractions, too consumed with the need to escape. The relief she had felt at reentering the bright sunshine that long ago summer day came back to her. “I really don’t want to go in.”

Troy shook his head. “Are you going to stay out and talk to the freak?”

Once more, the man looked in their direction, making Emily cringe with embarrassment at her friends’ behavior. She nudged Troy with her elbow and hurried forward to offer her ticket. Anything to get Troy away from the poor guy. Her mouth fell open and she yelped when he elbowed her in return before cutting ahead of her.

Troy very carefully handed over his tickets. “That’s one, two, three. See?” He pointed to the sign reading “3 Tickets For Admission”, scrawled in sloppy red writing. “Exactly the amount I need for admission. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The man’s voice was surprisingly clear. His words were sharp and crisp, despite the flap of skin marring half of his mouth. “Three tickets for the time of your life.”

Troy snickered. “In there? You have to be kidding.”

The ticket taker gave him a half-smile. “It’s to die for.”

Emily waited for Sara and Ron to give their tickets. Neither said anything, but their repulsion was evident. The man didn’t seem to notice, although his eyes looked like they were tearing up. Finally, reluctantly, she handed him three tickets.

He took the strip and paused, staring up at her. He shook his head and tried to give back the tickets. “No. You can’t go in. This attraction isn’t for you.”

She reached for the tickets, but Troy intercepted. He pushed the man’s hand away, causing him to drop the vouchers. Troy ground the tickets into the dirt, kicking them into a puddle of spilled soda and dirt, getting them muddy. “Look what you’ve done. You’re useless.”

The man frantically lifted the tickets and wiped at them before trying to hand them back to Emily. “You can’t go in. Take these tickets back and it won’t count.”

A frisson of fear pulled its way up her spine. She frowned and reached for the scraps of paper. “I’ll just wait for you guys.”

Troy shook his head, shoving the man’s shoulder and sending him sprawling in the dirt. “Your job is to take the tickets, retard. Now take them, or I’ll report you to your boss.”

The man’s eyes widened with fear. “Not the master.”

“Yes, the master.” Troy swaggered forward, grabbing Emily’s arm to drag her forward with him. “I showed him.”

“Yeah, a poor crippled guy who probably isn’t all there mentally. You really showed him.” She glared at him, even as she wondered if the ticket taker had been mentally impaired. His eyes had appeared intelligent, as had his words. His fear had transmitted itself to her, multiplying with her worry, and making her even more reluctant to enter.

She hesitated at the entrance, confronted with a spinning barrel. Red and green spun together in an almost hallucinogenic pattern. This must be like what her mother called an acid trip from her college days. Emily found her eyes focused on the whirling colors, unable to tear her gaze away. She watched them blend until she seemed to be seeing past the colors, to some shadowy place beyond.

“Jesus, just go.” Troy pushed her forward.

Emily stumbled and cried out, falling toward the spinning barrel. She landed hard, smashing her elbow into the side of the portal. Once inside the barrel, she realized it wasn’t moving nearly as fast as she had thought. She scooted forward a few inches, until she was used to the spinning. Then she got to her feet and walked sideways through the barrel, balancing herself with her hands against the smooth plastic until she emerged just in time to avoid having Troy push her out of the way, as he came up behind her.

“Took you long enough,” he said, shaking his head.

Emily turned her back on him. She stood in the dark room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the periodic bursts of strobe lights coming from the ceiling. She cried out when someone touched her arm.

“You’re so jumpy,” Sara said.

“I hate these things.” She saw Ron trying to catch up with Troy, who hadn’t bothered to wait for anyone. “You know how much the barrel scares me.”

Sara appeared to shrug. It was hard to tell by the way that the strobe light seemed to slow everyone’s movements to the point of slow motion. “You made it through with Troy’s help.”

“He pushed me.” She rubbed her elbow, grimacing at the pain shooting up her arm.

“He had to get you moving.” Her voice dropped. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Yeah. Too bad he’s a jerk.”

Sara sighed. “I can’t please you, can I? You’re never satisfied.”

“It isn’t that—“

“I’m not setting you up anymore, Emily. You won’t even try to snag a great guy like Troy.”

Emily snorted and gave up trying to justify her reasons for not liking her blind date. “Please don’t arrange dates for me in the future. The guys you’ve set me up with—”

Sara tossed back her blonde hair. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d never date. There’s always something wrong with them, isn’t there?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you ever think maybe the problem’s with you?”

She tried to hide her hurt from Sara’s words. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “For whatever reason, I haven’t met a man who interests me.” Regardless of whether they were a set-up from Sara or someone of her own choosing, each boy she had dated in high school and college hadn’t measured up. She wasn’t sure to what standard she held them, but they all fell short, even if she didn’t know exactly what she sought in a partner.

She sniffed. “Yeah, well, you’d better change, or you’ll end up alone.”

Emily glared at her friend. “That’s fine with me. I like being alone.”

“Well, fine then. I’ll leave you alone.” Sara hurried after Ron and Troy, who had disappeared into the next chamber. She didn’t bother to look back as she moved from Emily’s sight.

Emily watched her go, regretting the small argument. She had no desire to be alone in this funhouse. Her feet seemed frozen to the spot, but she knew the only way out was through the funhouse or back through the barrel. She glanced through the spinning barrel—careful not to fixate on the colors this time—and saw a new group preparing to enter.

She forced her feet forward, moving from the dark entryway to the next chamber. She froze when she saw hundreds of clones surrounding her. Emily almost cried out before realizing it was the hall of mirrors. Her eyes focused on a short, fat image of her, and she found herself imagining how it must be for the man taking the tickets. Damn Troy for being such a rude jerk. People like him must make the man’s life even more miserable.

She walked straight through the room, determined to escape the funhouse in record time. “Umph.” Her breath left her when she ran into a wall directly in front of her. She blinked, trying to figure out why it was in the middle of the room. It took her a long moment to realize it must be a maze of mirrors. She cursed under her breath and felt for the edge of the mirror. The space next to it was empty air, so she slid around the mirror. “Why does it have to be so dark?” she whispered, reassured by the sound of her voice.

She held out a hand to find the next mirror and was able to take several steps before running into it. Emily felt for the edge and gasped as her finger caught on a sharp edge. She pulled away quickly and examined the wound under the meager light. A glass shard extended from her index finger, and she grimaced when she yanked it out.

Emily searched in her pocket for tissue and found a napkin. She wound it around the wound and eased past the next obstacle. To her relief, she entered a black-light room. She glanced at the walls, curious to see what other patrons had written with the special markers hanging in mid-air from steel lines attached to the ceiling.

Lifetimes of waiting, Emily…

You’re mine now.

It’s to die for.

She rolled her eyes at their silly messages. “Very funny, guys,” she called out, hoping they could hear her. She was briefly tempted to write a less than complimentary reply to them, but she held back, knowing Troy, Ron, and Sara wouldn’t read her words unless they went through again.

She glanced at the messages once more as she exited the room, and she froze.

Eternity, Emily.

She frowned, certain that hadn’t been there when she looked at the walls a second ago. She took a deep breath and relaxed, knowing her friends were responsible. Since Sara was angry with her, who knew what kind of tricks they might play. She scanned the room, searching for Troy, Sara, or Ron hiding in a corner. She was the only one in the small room. She took another deep breath, trying to restore her calm. The message had been there all along. She just hadn’t noticed.

She hurried from the room, stopping in front of the stairs. She eyed them cautiously, expecting them to start shaking. They were probably motion-activated. She grasped the railings on each side, dropping the napkin wrapped around her finger. She bent to pick it up, but the stairs started to rattle, and she was distracted. She held onto the rails and climbed up each step. About halfway up, she realized they always trembled to the left, then back to the right before pausing for a moment. She counted the intervals before taking another step. As soon as she had it timed, she was able to walk up the remainder without fear of falling.

She emerged into the second level and gasped. The room was spinning. She reached out to grasp anything for support, but there was nothing to hold onto. Her head began to spin, and she felt nauseated. It took several seconds for her to realize she wasn’t actually moving. The room was round like a barrel, except for the walkway under her feet, which was flat, straight, and stationary. She concentrated on walking the thin strip of wood and ignoring the spinning walls and ceiling as she made her way through the room.

Emily was more cautious when she entered the next room. She froze when she heard a scream in the room in front of her. It sounded like Sara. Ron’s voice followed quickly, but not Troy’s. “Must be scary,” she whispered, preparing herself.

The brightly lit room featured more lurid paintings, similar to those decorating the exterior of the funhouse. Stereotypical vampires drained women in various states of undress, as monsters of all kinds watched or went about their own scary activities. Frankenstein dragged the gnawed-on, severed leg of a villager behind him. She lifted her eyebrows at that, not remembering anything from her literature class about Frankie being a cannibal. Emily forced herself to view the drawings objectively and systematically eliminate any fear they inspired.

She calmed herself and was almost out of the room when she realized every vampire in the mural was the same one from the front of the funhouse. He still appeared sinister and full of dark knowledge, but also charismatic. She blinked when she found herself drifting from the doorway to a picture. She touched it almost reverently, as if she weren’t controlling her own hand. The vampire held a willing victim in his arms. She wore a light-brown jacket and jeans. Her brown hair flowed over the white of his shirt, and her blissful expression belied the pain she must feel from the gaping wound on her neck. He held her with tender cruelty, seeming enamored with her upturned face. She had Emily’s features.

She blinked and looked again, then frowned. The girl in the vampire’s arms had long black hair and dark-green eyes. The victim looked nothing like her. “Losing it.” She shook her head and hurried from the mural room.

Emily took two steps into the next room and paused. There was nothing at all in the room, except a bare bulb hanging from a chain on the ceiling. It wasn’t bright enough to show anything in detail, except the fact that there was nothing to show in detail.

They must have ran out of money when they got to this room—either that, or the trick was so terrifying they didn’t need window-dressing. She shrugged and walked on, waiting for whatever had frightened Sara and Ron into screaming. Emily was determined to be prepared, but she still screamed when the floor suddenly opened up underneath her as she stepped on a trapdoor.

She went flying down a chute, and it wasn’t until she landed on a soft foam floor that she realized the conveyance was a twisting slide. Her entire body trembled, and she had a hard time gaining her feet. She could hear her heartbeat racing in her ears, and she clutched her chest, as if trying to keep her heart from escaping.

When her knees were steady, Emily moved across the spongy floor. She knew the owner of the funhouse was in the business of scaring people, but what she had gone through was beyond fun. She should have her father sue the company. It was too bad he was a tax attorney.

She opened a heavy metal door, expecting it to lead her outside the funhouse. Instead, she entered another room. This one had soft carpeting of indeterminate color, dark walls, and a metal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. The illumination was dim, with a pinkish cast.

How had they gotten all this into one of those portable trailers? The better question was, why had they gone to the trouble to add this room? Emily moved slowly, not certain what to expect. It was logical that the climax should have been the unexpected drop and slide. Whatever finished out the experience must be bordering on truly terrifying.

She saw a misshapen bundle ahead of her and tensed, preparing for whatever the designer of the funhouse had dreamed up to scare her. She kept walking, trying to determine what was on the floor, until she heard a sound behind her. Emily turned, expecting the group who had followed her. Instead, the man who had modeled for all the vampire pictures stood in front of her. His features were just as perfect, but the light lent his skin the illusion of a flush. He wore a white flowing shirt tucked into black trousers. His hair had grown out from the short length in the paintings, but he was obviously the same person. She found her voice trapped in her throat as fear crawled up her esophagus and strangled her from the inside. She took a few steps back.

He followed, walking toward her slowly. “Have you enjoyed my funhouse, Emily?”

She shook her head.

He took another step forward. The carpet absorbed the click from the low heels of his leather boots. “Why not?”

Emily coughed, clearing her throat. “I don’t like to be scared.” She frowned when she realized he knew her name. “How did you—?”

He smiled, but the quick slash of his lips appeared to hold little amusement. “You were frightened?”

She nodded. “I was terrified. Especially with the last part.”

He smiled. “The slide. It always increases the adrenaline.”

“Uh huh.” She frowned and scanned the room around her. She wondered if the owner interrogated everyone who paid to enter his funhouse. Had he gotten her name from Sara when he cornered them? “I’ve had enough fear today. How do I get out of here?”

He took two more steps forward, until he stood in front of her. “Silly girl.” He reached out to touch her face.

Emily jerked away and stepped back. She tripped over something on the floor and fell backward. Her eyes widened when she found herself sprawled across Troy. His lifeless eyes stared up at her. His mouth hung open in an aborted scream, and he wore an expression of terror, forever frozen on his face.

“Forgive my attendant. He hasn’t disposed of the remains of my last meal yet.” The man stepped forward and lifted Emily into his arms.

She struggled to pull away, straining against his hold. “Where’s Sara?”

He licked his lips. “Delicious. The adrenaline always gives the blood such perfect flavor.”

Emily whimpered, even as she redoubled her efforts to escape his hold.

“Look into my eyes, Emily.”

She shook her head, forcing her gaze to remain on Troy’s dead body. She knew she mustn’t look into his eyes. Every instinct in her protested at doing so.

“I’ve waited a long time for you,” he whispered, pressing his mouth against her ear, perilously close to her carotid artery. “An eternity, Emily.”

Her eyes widened when the deformed ticket taker shuffled into the room through a door off to the side. His eyes were sad when he met hers.

“Tried to warn me,” she whispered.

The deformed man squealed with pain, and a new sore appeared on his face, weeping clear fluid.

“Yes. He was foolish to risk more of my punishment, having experienced so much in the past.” The man lifted her hand and licked the thin trail of blood from her finger.

Emily reflexively watched the action, grimacing. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. She instantly felt as if she were gazing into the spinning barrel again. Only this time, there was no green to counteract the red. Only the bright crimson of fresh blood, coupled with the dark reddish-brown of dried blood. It was as if his eyes had sucked her into a whirlpool. Her body seemed to be moving closer to him, but she had no control over her movements. She whimpered when he broke eye contact and lowered his head to her neck. She wanted to push him away, but her arms remained limp at her side. Only her head moved, tilting backward to allow him better access.

Her head spun incessantly, and she felt like she had fallen into a never-ending hole. Her eyes closed, and their conversation seemed to come from a long distance.

“Prepare for travel. We’ll be leaving in a matter of minutes.”

“What of the funhouse, Master Vallsade?”

“Leave it.”

“But—“

“It served its purpose. I’ve found what I sought.”

She felt him caress her face, and his touch seemed to transmit slivers of ice through her skin, wherever he touched.

“The change has begun. She’ll be ready for travel as soon as she dies.”

Emily struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt someone shove something against her mouth, and thick liquid trickled inside. She tried to spit out the coppery solution, but her mouth refused to obey her brain’s command. She felt the viscous substance slide down her throat with no impediment. Even her gag reflex was suppressed.

“We will be at our destination in a matter of hours. She’ll have time to recover from this experience then. An eternity, in fact.”

His hard laugh accompanied her into a state deeper than unconsciousness.  

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