Right away he saw why his wife had yelled. The merry-go-round was going too fast. Rising and falling, the wooden horses plunged forward wildly, their wooden jaws gaping.

His wife called again. She was holding onto Bobby with one hand now, holding the white horse with the other. "Tell him—" The ride whipped her around in a circle and out of view, scattering the rest of her message into the humid night air.

James looked around wildly for the carny. He saw the tall, thin man emerging from the control booth, ever so nonchalant.

"Hey!" Mr. Barfield yelled.

The operator had already seen what was happening on the ride. He rushed back into the control booth. But the ride started going faster, not slower. Mr. Barfield could feel the wind from the whistling ride hitting his face. Mrs. Barfield was screaming now, her long, blond hair whipping behind her like a pennant. She was clinging to the horse and her son. Bobby was crying, crying worse than he had cried all afternoon.

Mr. Barfield dodged through the metal gates and rushed toward the ride. But the spinning disk was a blur of speed. There was no way he could climb on board.

He turned, looking for help. Sure enough, a crowd was gathering. But everyone was just standing there, gaping at the ride. The carny was in the booth, working frantically at the controls. And then it was as if a plug had been pulled...

The ride began to slow down, gently, gently coasting to a halt.

Before the ride had stopped completely, Mr. Barfield jumped onto the spinning wooden platform. He fell, banging his head against thewooden rump of a black horse. He was back on his feet quickly, though, dodging around the horses.

He hugged his wife, who was hugging Bobby. Mother and son were both crying. And so, to Mr. Barfield's surprise, was he.

A moment later, the carny was at their side. He was scratching his big, bald head, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Don't know why that happened," he said nervously.

Mr. Barfield didn't have time for the carny. Not yet. He was focused on Bobby. The boy was clutching one arm against his little chest. Both parents bent over him, gently trying to pull the arm free.

"Let me see, Bobby," Mr. Barfield coaxed. "Let Daddy see."

The boy appeared to be in shock. It didn't help that the crowd of gawkers had climbed onto the merry-go-round, and that the boy found himself in the center of a thick knot of people.

"Mean horsie bite Bobby," the boy said softly, keeping his eyes down.

There was laughter from the crowd.

"What's that? What'd he say?"

The remark was passed along as if in a rapid game of Telephone. There was more laughter.

Finally, Bobby stopped clutching his arm and let his parents see the wound. There was a cut all right, a mean-looking gash.

"Uh-oh," the carny said. "Looks like he scraped himself on the horse's teeth."

Bobby stared up at the man. He shook his head firmly. "Horsie bite me.”

   Chapter 9

Now that Maxi was looking for bodies, she spotted them everywhere. A father and son who had tried to climb over the fence were grilled like human waffles. Bodies were lying on the floor of the maniacally spinning carousel, lying beneath the gaping, bloody mouths of the horses. Their bodies looked as if they'd been torn apart by a creature with an animal rage.

   Friday the 13th: The Carnival, chapter 23