Lost Signals Read Free Page A

air. A ragged skull tumbled to the hard-packed earth and bounced along toward Finn, coming to rest at the base of the gate. It bore patches of skin, wisps of hair. Maggots orgied in its eye sockets and feasted on its putrefying tongue. Finn backed up, circled the ride, headed toward the Ferris Wheel. The voice of the barker sounded familiar.
    He walked alongside a row of trailers, between which laundry sagged from greasy clotheslines   : massive brassieres, a gape-mouthed bear costume, long johns, garters and frills and feather boas. One of the trailer doors hung open, and a face popped out, all bushy eyebrows and matted hair. The man’s face loomed swollen, squirrel-cheeked. “Kid,” the man whispered. Finn turned to look. The man’s belly lolled over the belt of his bathrobe. At his feet a slack-haired woman slithered, her eyes dead, her tongue tasting the mud-caked floor. Her body was that of a snake, diamond-patterned, scaled, draped in a feces-stained slip. “Come in   ! Test your strength   !”
    Finn gave the door a wide berth, just catching the edge of a miasma of shit and rum and body odor. As he reached the end of the line of trailers and approached the Ferris Wheel, the barker, silhouetted, leapt from his seat. Black wings bloomed behind him, curving upward, forming a parachute. He sailed to the ground, turned, and walked into the mist. For just a moment, in the light of a Fried Dough stand, Finn had recognized the destroyed features of Bentley Langschultz, his blond head split eight ways and smoking like a spent firecracker, face peeled down in flaps, long shredded tongue dangling obscenely. Finn followed Bentley. Beyond the borders of the fairgrounds sprawled a moldering marsh, swarming will-o’-the-wisps illuminating the brackish, moss-strewn water. Bentley walked in, was wading away. The sound of sloshing water overtook the carnival music until it was the only sound. By now, only the ruined back of Bentley’s blonde head could be seen. Then he turned, and he wore the face of an antique radio   : large, mesh-covered eyes, a knob for a nose, and a wide, rectangular mouth that glowed yellow. At its left-most end a withered red tongue slid back and forth, as though searching for that elusive signal.
    ***
    Finn saw the kid the next day after lunch when he stepped outside to get a gulp or two of fresh air, as if saving it up to last him two more interminable hours in the stuffy classroom. The kid stood at the edge of the woods beyond the football field, not far from where Bentley Langschultz had blown his brains out. He held the radio down by his side, his head tilted as though listening to something in the sky. Finn walked toward the kid. As he approached, the wind kicked up and the image of the kid shimmied, briefly blurring, separating into a boy-shaped stack of horizontal lines. Finn felt dizzy, off-kilter. It seemed as though it was taking a very long time to cover a short distance, as though the kid and the edge of the wood retreated imperceptibly with each step Finn took. The afternoon stretched, tinted blue with overtones of dusk. Had the bell rung to signal the resumption of classes   ? If so, he hadn’t heard it.
    At length, after picking up his pace, almost jogging, he began to close the distance. He cleared his throat to alert the kid to his presence. The kid turned.
    “What’s your name   ?” Finn asked.
    “Eric.”
    “Eric, I’m Finn.” He spoke quickly, fearing that Eric would dismiss him, or walk away. “Listen, I’m sorry about the bus. Rob can be a wicked asshole sometimes. Can you tell me what you were listening to on the radio   ? I’ve been thinking about it non-stop.”
    Eric shrugged. Then he lifted the radio and extended his arm so that the speaker hovered a few inches from Finn’s face. A tinny voice spoke   : Through gore-clotted conduits He makes His way, slithering, flattening himself like a cat, going liquid, slender snake, wriggling worm. He comes to