Funhouse of Horrors

The Funhouse of Horrors

A novel

written and created

by Jazan Wild

Editing by Stefan Petrucha

Some dialogue and scripting is

from the Funhouse of Horrors comic book

and graphic novel series

Comic book series,

created and written by Jazan Wild

Novel cover art by

Nat Jones

Chapter art by

David Miller, Carlito Zuniga 

and Rudy Vasquez

Text copyright © 2006 / Text copyright © 2013

The Funhouse of Horrors Series.

Funhouse of Horrors is a Registered Trademark by Carnival Comics ®.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

For information regarding permission email:

carnivalcomics@carnivalcomics.com

Contents

One

The House of Horrors

Two

Check Under the Bed

Three

Halloween Night

Four

Trick or Treat

Five

The Ghost Writer

Six

The Haunted Manor by the Sea

Seven

A Little Far Out There for My Taste

Eight

Children of the Night

Nine

Murphy’s Law

Ten

It’s a Madhouse Out There

Eleven

That Voodoo That You Do

Twelve

Up from the Ashes

Thirteen

The Carnival of Horrors

Epilogue

The Roadside Fruit Stand

CHAPTER ONE

THE HOUSE OF HORRORS

Love a good ghost story? So do I… or at least I did until my life became one. My name is Stone and this is my story. Let me take you on a trip back to when I had only one voice in my head, my own!

I remember the sunny day, when it all began, like it was yesterday. I was cutting up with my cousins in the backseat of our 1950 Plymouth Deluxe Sedan. It was an okay ride for a single mom.

Shit, it’s an okay ride period. Black as the night is long; sweet ram hood with a bitching chrome radio grille. I can still feel the engine revving, my feet bouncing with every pothole.

A trip... a journey to a place you've never been. This is what every kid dreams of. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the warmth of the sun on my face and see the autumn leaves falling. OUCH! Cut it out, dork! I cried.

And, of course, hear my mother screaming: Shut up back there! Don’t make me stop this car!

Ricky, a skinny slick haired cut-up, had planted a massive spitball on the side of my thirteen-year-old face.

Welcome back to the land of the living, Poindexter! he said.

Take that! said I, sending a juicy reply.

Splat!

There’s nothing like a crazy cousin to call you on your bullshit, bring you back to what’s real. Even in those days, I was always getting lost in my own head.

Hey Jacob, he said, Dreaming about Lisa Johnson’s boobs again?

Ricky! Watch your mouth. Mom said.

She was exhausted, and we were still exits away from our destination. On a good day, we put that poor woman through hell. That day, we were extra ornery, which may be why she decided to stop at that place.

Alright guys, time for lunch.

Cool, I'm starving. said my always-hungry cousin Peter.

If you were between Pete and the last piece of pie, he’d take you out and say, Nothing personal, while chewing.

It may have been cool with Pete, but to me this dump looked like a carnival sideshow tent. The sign said it was a Fruit Stand, but I swear if someone blew hard enough it would crumble.

I didn’t want to eat anything from out of that hole, but Peter knocked me down just to get out of the car. So I guess he did.

We looked over corn, lettuce, peas, all sorts of natural uncooked selections, but all I could think was how I’d love a greasy slice from Gino’s Pizza.

Deciding to make do, I grabbed some apples. But all was not lost. An older woman came out of the back room carrying, as if she’d read my mind, some cold cuts.

We had to hear a Why, ain’t you boys so handsome, from her, complete with a cheek pinch that almost ripped my face off.

An old man stood behind the register, wearing stained and tattered overalls. I guess he was the husband. He smiled as he rang us up.

Been in the car a while? Well, we done gathered up all the crops for the season. You boys feel free to rough house in the fields out back. Our boys tied up a tire swing on a big pine. No need for it to go to waste.

Mom, Can we? I pleaded. After we eat?

Sure, hon, I have some… shopping to do. Seems like a good idea for you to wear yourselves out before the trip home.

Shopping? She was lying. Badly. Was she going to shop for better apples? Chat with old Goober there about global economics?

I guess anything was more enticing than getting back in the car with us.

I’m wasting away over here! Peter said. He was already perched at a picnic table, napkin tucked in his shirt like a bib. God love him.

As we sat with him, I looked over the scrawny shoulder of Johnny, my youngest cousin and a path leading out to the fields.

It seemed to be calling to me.

It wanted us to hurry up.

Maybe my cousins heard it too. We shoveled the food down as fast as we could, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared. Pretty good actually. I was going for another half a sub sandwich when…

Smack!

A tomato slice landed on my cheek. Ricky’s way of letting me know it was time to hit those fields, hard.

There seemed to be an invisible line between the market and the woods. No sooner did we cross it than the sky began to change. The difference was slight at first, but with every step along the path, the world grew darker, more foreboding. The wind in the trees almost seemed to be teasing us, like a dog that wanted to play. So we chased it. I ran so hard and fast, I felt as if I’d been carried into another world... or at least to the edge of this one.

Still, I couldn’t shake a feeling that stirred in my gut. It was like a sign hanging on the inside of my eyelids… Danger! Turn Back Now!

But before the warning took root, a hand jabbed at my ribs.

Tag! You’re it! Ricky declared.

The game afoot, I spun and whacked Peter on the back of his head.

You’re it! Now get Jacob! Get him! Get him!!

It was a cheap trick. Peter was slower and rounder than the rest of us. Ricky and Johnny must have felt the same, because it was me they decided to take down.

But all’s fair on the road to the King of Tag!

Certain I’d be lording it over them on the ride back to the city, off I went, in defense of my crown…

….deeper and deeper into the shadows.

My cousins’ taunts became faint.

Jacob, where are you?

We're going to get ya!

As I rounded a big oak, my breath became labored. I figured I’d eaten too much.

I can chill for a bit, I thought. Those Dweebs won’t find me for years anyway.

I was so tired, the voices so far away, I never felt it creep in. The Forest wrapped itself around me. That big oak felt more comfortable than any bed I’d ever laid in. My head was heavier than the world. The darkness, the wind dancing through it, felt like a whispered song.

Why not? I closed my eyes for a second.

BLAM! BAM!

The ground shook, as if it was the heartbeat of a monster.

What the hell?

My breath returned. But more than before… the forest seemed alive. I rose to my feet and followed its sounds.

With every step, twigs and leaves echoed under my feet. I prayed that whatever was waiting wouldn’t hear me. The taste of excitement and fear on my tongue, I followed the sound of the heart.

Finally, I pushed a branch aside, and there in a clearing, I saw the beast, three stories high; a dilapidated house, window curtains streaming out the shattered, paint-chipped sills. In its front yard, tombstones sprouted like cracked and moss-covered dandelions.

A shrill voice called from somewhere behind the beating structure.

Hurry up you big oaf!

I moved closer, hopelessly trying to use the trees for cover even as I rounded the building’s side.

Only a week until Showtime! the screechy voice bitched.

Not nearly as hidden as I wanted to be, I saw its source: a wicked old man with hair like fire; wild and reaching for the sky. He clung to a ladder’s top rung, hammer in hand as he worked the final nail holding a huge tarp.

He was yelling at a sad, toad-like servant. Nearby was a huge man, his shadow so large it nearly covered the tarp.

Hold the ladder still, moron!

Looks good Mr. Scratch, said the groveling toad.

They were preparing for something. But what?

The nail came free. As if in slow motion, the tarp descended, revealing a garish sign:

Enter all if you dare to the…HOUSE OF HORRORS.

Before I could stop myself, I shouted, WOW!!

The man-mountain moved. Boss, some kid’s nosing ‘round.

My bravery vanished. A saying my mother taught me from the good book, flashed in my mind. It was Proverbs 4:14-15:

Do not enter the path of the wicked, and do not walk in the way of evil. Avoid it, do not travel on it; turn away from it and pass on.

I ran, but was grabbed, not by hands, but by a voice that stopped me dead. Hold it! Come back here, kiddo.

With a wave of claw like fingers, I spun. I don’t remember him coming down from the ladder, but he was right in front of me, grinning. The sky above him was grinning, too.

Don’t be afraid. It’s just a haunted house. What’s your name?

J-j-j-jacob, s-s-sir. I could barely speak.

Heh. Shorten it to Jake and you’ll get more chicks.

He moved his hands like a conjuring magician. C’mere.

My feet marched me closer. The closer I got, the older he looked, until he seemed as old as the tombstones. His teeth may as well have been covered with the same moss.

With a flash of his hands, a book appeared between us.

He asked, but he didn’t expect an answer:

You like Haunted Houses? Ghost stories? Things that go bump in the night? Then here you go, the scariest stories you'll ever read!

The book moved from his hands to mine, its stained leather cover bearing the same words as the sign: House of Horrors.

And yes, I wanted it.

I couldn’t blink or breathe, but I managed to say, Th-th-thanks, Mister.

There’s a little surprise in the back! Now run along, kiddo. We're busy, and I think I hear your Mommy calling.

Her voice sounded from beyond the trees.

Jacob. Jacob. Where are you?

See you soon, Jake! the old man said.

Before I entered the brush, I looked back and gave a half wave. Either I was running faster than I thought, or the house and the strange trio disappeared into thin air. Another magic trick.

Here I am, Mom!

Where have you been young man? I was worried sick!

Growing up in the city, she always warned me to stay away from strangers. But what kid could resist a graveyard, some freaks and a wicked haunted house? Not this one. I was sure she’d understand. Right?

Well maybe not. Standing at the head of the path back to the fruit stand, she looked pretty pissed. Beautiful, but pissed.

All my friends said she looked like Vivien Leigh from Gone With The Wind. When they called her hot, I punched them, harder than usual to make the point.

As I got closer, I realized she wasn’t just angry, she was scared… deeply. My father is a ghost story for another time. Mom and I were all each other had, and I’d let her down by running off.

But being a kid, I was still excited about what I’d been given.

I was just hiding. And I found...

She cut me off midsentence. "What is that dirty old thing?"

A book Mom, I said. As I held it out, the surprise fell out of the back. Look! Tickets to a haunted house!

My eyes widened as I read the details. Hers did not.

Can we go? It says it's one night only! Halloween! Can we come back? Please? Please?

Not as impressed as I’d hoped, she said, Maybe. Come on, everyone’s looking for you and I want to get back home before nightfall.

It was already getting dark. How long had I been gone? Back at the fruit market, all the lights were dim. Two spot lights illuminated the apple on the sign, making it look kinda like it was laughing.

Also laughing were three idiots standing by our car, beneath a single street lamp hung high above the cobble stone parking lot.

Find the ginger bread house, dingus? Some magic beans? Or did the witch of the woods cast an ugly spell?

As I stepped into the light Ricky continued… Ha ha ha! It was the last one.

Ricky, that’s not nice. Mother said with a slight grin. Get in the car morons, before I give you all to the witch in the woods.

On the ride back, crammed between Peter and Johnny, flashlight in hand, I couldn't stop reading. I was a million miles away, and all the spitballs and armpit melodies in the world couldn’t drag me back. I’ve heard of stories getting into your head, but these dripped into my blood; tale after tale of tragic loss, macabre recollections of misfortune, sinister supernatural yarns; all begging for my attention, the victims all demanding my pity!

A man hanging from a rope in the moonlight pleaded, Can you hear us?

They must have found him that way.

A woman lying in a pool of blood on her kitchen floor screamed, Do you care?

She must have slipped to have got that knife in her back.

A man with a bullet hole where his eye should have been asked, Are you scared?

I didn’t just read it... I felt it! I read franticly; gobbling it up like too much candy on Halloween.

The river of sweat dripping from my brow told Mom something was up.

Honey, are you okay? You haven't said a word the whole ride. You’re sweaty.

Huh? Oh, yeah... I... I'm fine.

What are you reading, Jacob?

Just a bunch of fairy tales and stuff.

Of course my cousins grabbed onto that: Fairy? How appropriate! HA!

I thanked them for their concern. Bite me.

I didn't dare tell my mother the real horrors that lived in those pages. Just words, I know, but I felt like was dabbling with a Ouija board; rolling bad bones. You know, messing, with magic; the dark kind that can get inside you.

But why worry her, because I was a little spooked?

The Brooklyn Bridge was up ahead, the city lights welcoming us home. It had been a long day. I thought the adventure was over.

I was wrong.

CHAPTER TWO

CHECK UNDER THE BED

Next morning the sun chased the shadows from the bedroom walls. I laid between sleep and reality, wondering, Was it all a bad dream?

The answer smiled from my nightstand: House of Horrors.

The words soaked into my eye sockets and clawed into my brain.

The book seemed to ask, Don’t you want to know more?

In the kitchen, Mom greeted me with a "you’re running late, young man" look. I don’t remember eating, but I’m sure I downed some juice and finished off a piece of toast, or I would’ve heard about it.

Backpack fastened, book in hand, (turned so she wouldn’t see the title), I was about to start my 13 block walk to school.

She caught me at the foot of our stoop. Wait, wait, wait. said Mother.

I knew what I forgot. Come on ma, everyone’s watching.

Without skipping a beat, she planted a kiss on my cheek.

Have a good day, Luv!

Looking back, I miss that. Very much so. The kiss was more than a goodbye for the day. I didn’t know it yet, but that moment was my childhood’s end. I would never return the same.

Gripping the book, I strolled down the block. I was planning to head to school, but I felt something poking me; dying to be read. As soon as I turned a corner I gave a quick glance back to see Mom almost back inside the front door. Then, I gave in to the urge.

A flick of the thumb and I was back in the thick of a horrific story. This guy, Haroldson, was in some kind of partnership to build a house in a town. His partners wanted to buy up properties from poor families at a cut-throat rate, and Mr. Haroldson did not agree with the tactic.

It’s a Saturday night. He’s in his office working late, no suit and tie, just street clothes. Haroldson heard the sound of breaking glass.

And then…

I almost run into a trash can! Shit! I was so consumed; I hadn’t noticed I’d walked seven blocks.

But enough with reality… back to the story.

Mr. Haroldson rounded his desk, slowly, to see what had broken. The lights flickered and died, all except the exit signs, that is.

Who’s there?

No reply.

Haroldson’s pounding heart seemed to shake the walls. Praying it wouldn’t give him away, he hid behind the file cabinets. If only he could call for help.

The phone cord!

The wire was near his feet. Inch by inch he pulled it, as if reeling in a big catch. When it was finally in his hands, he dialed zero.

Hello? Hello?

It was dead.