“I see Cheryl still has her problem,” Alan whispered to Dale.
“Yup, she’s still uncomfortable in crowded places. It’s a wonder I can get her to come to church at all. She’ll be out of here after the homily.”
“I guess we all have our fears,” Alan replied.
“I think you got mine and those of a few other people,” Dale muttered below his breath.
Midway through the mass, Father Harris moved out from the altar to a podium to the left of the center isle and recited from Deuteronomy 31:6:,
Do manfully and be of good heart: fear not, nor be ye dismayed at their sight: for the Lord thy God he himself is thy leader, and will not leave thee nor forsake thee.
Then he began his homily.
This is one of many biblical references to fear as it relates to faith in God. Luke 8:50 breaks it down further: Fear not; believe only.
Sounds simple doesn't it? Fear not; believe only. Let's think about this for a minute. What does it mean to fear not, believe only? What if we reverse the order to read, believe only and fear not? Believe in God and you have nothing to fear. Again, this sounds so simple. With God on our side, why do so many of us live with fear? Believe in him and he will not forsake you.
I realize this sounds good in theory, but as humans we are designed to use fear as a protective mechanism. It’s our way of recognizing and staying out of danger. So why would God instruct us to fear not?
What we need to understand is that God isn’t expecting us to blindly walk naked into the jungle with your arms tied behind your back. He wants you to protect the gift of life that he gave you, but he also wants you to know that this life, no matter how important it may feel to you, is just a spec in time compared to your future in his kingdom. Our existence on earth is very short. Sooner or later all of us will die. There's no point in living in fear of the inevitable end of this life when God is waiting for us on the other side.
The fear of death is a destructive fear. As I said, it's inevitable. We should do our best to stay out of harms way, but at some point in time it will catch up to us. We will all experience it, and reunite in God's kingdom.
There are many other destructive fears we have that distract us from living life to our fullest. Now, I don't want to single anyone out by listing a few examples of fears and phobia's some of you may be living with, but I do want you to think about your own lives and ask yourselves if destructive fear paralyzes you from living a full life. If the answer is yes, please remember these four simple words: Fear not; believe only.
As father Harris continued speaking, Alan reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He wrote: fear not; believe only, in the palm of his hand.
This day was more difficult than usual for Cheryl. She stepped outside five minutes before the homily began. Alan silently wondered if she would have benefitted from this particular sermon. It might have helped with her phobia.
The kids grew restless and Dale decided to make an early exit. He whispered, “Don’t be a stranger,” before the three quietly exited the church.
Alan didn’t follow. Instead, he waited in the pew. The mass ended and parishioners quickly exited the building in a frenzied rush to beat the traffic. As the last elderly couple left, he sat staring down at the words scribbled on his palm.
Lost in concentration, he didn’t notice the sound of approaching footsteps until they stopped beside him. Father Harris stood watching him from the center isle.
“I’m happy to see you back in church, Alan. It’s been a long time.”
Not interested in giving excuses, Alan asked, “How do you know if it’s a destructive fear?”
Father Harris moved into the pew and sat beside him.
“What’s troubling you, Alan?”
“How do I know my fears aren’t justified? Some people might think those fears can’t hurt me, but how do I know for sure?” he asked without answering the priest’s question.
Father Harris paused, as if sensing Alan’s reluctance to share the specifics of his concern. “What were you looking at in your hand?” he asked.
Alan opened his hand, revealing the scribbled words.
Father Harris reached for Alan’s hand and placed his thumb over the first two words. “There’s your answer, Alan.”
Alan looked down at the words: believe only.
“When the answer isn’t always clear, believe only.”
“Believe only,” Alan whispered. The priest nodded and released his hand.
*****
The carnival opened three hours before Alan was scheduled to work. Throughout his drive, his thoughts were fixated on the words, “believe only.” Would those words help him confront Peepers and cast the spirit from his life? He knew there was only one way to find out. He had to return to the Labyrinth and command the spirit to leave him alone. He had to face his fear and believe there was a higher power on his side, protecting him from such dark entities.
The answer was clear, but how would he go about its execution? His previous encounter took place before the carnival opened. It was daytime and the spooky parts of the Labyrinth weren’t turned on. He would have to wait until the visitors were gone. Peepers surely wouldn’t make himself visible to him with guests passing through the Labyrinth’s chambers. However, this meant that it would be later, when it was dark outside. Facing his fear of ghosts was one thing, but doing it in the darkness of night, on the ghost’s home field, would be a significant test of his ability to simply believe in his plan.
Oblivious to his surroundings as he walked the distance from his car in the lot to his work zone outside the Labyrinth, his mind struggled with the unsettling dilemma. Looking at the building, he wondered how it would appear after eight hours of pent-up anxiety, void of people and in the dark of night. He knew he had to face Peepers again, but he also knew it would be easier in the light of day.
In typical Alan fashion, he found a temporary solution to his problem. He would put it off. He wasn’t scheduled to work the next day, but maybe he could show up before the place opened, as he did on his last visit to the Labyrinth.
This plan was better, but whenever Alan got on a roll, justifying reasons to put off unpleasant situations, he could talk himself out of just about anything. Since he wasn’t scheduled the next day, they wouldn’t recognize him without his clown costume. They might not let him through the gates before the place opened to the public. And if he showed up dressed as Boogy on a day he wasn’t scheduled, it would be awkward and somewhat embarrassing. They might think he had a screw loose. A better plan would be to put it off until Wednesday, when he was scheduled to start first thing in the morning. And, who knew, by then, Peepers might get the hint and just leave him alone. If so, he wouldn’t have to go in at all. Maybe that was Father Harris’s hidden message all along. He could just believe, and the problem would go away.
There it was. The answer to his problem was to believe that avoiding it would make it go away. Father Harris was right. Suddenly his renewed belief in God washed his fears away; in its place was a euphoric sense of calm, from what must have been an invisible army of newly assigned angels instructed to keep God’s most recent returning soul safe from the dark forces lurking in the shadows of the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. He felt as though he experienced the sensation people described when they claimed to be born again. He was at peace.
A tug on the back of his shirt snapped Alan out of his heavenly trance. For a second, he forgot where he was, surrounded by hordes of children and their parents, expecting Boogy the Clown to entertain them. He reached into his pocket for a balloon and turned to put a smile on tugging child’s face. Stretching the balloon, he started into his routine.
“And what’s your favorite animal, little—” The choice between boy and girl would come when he saw the child’s face. Only this time, the choice wasn’t that simple. A gasp was all that escaped as his expression turned desperate.
“Geno!” Alan stammered.
Geno looked
around, then guided Alan’s stunned body a few steps back to a more private spot away from the crowd.
“Alan, Peepers wants to finish the conversation. He wants to see you tonight, after we close.”
What’s happening? Alan thought. Where are my angels? What happened to believe only? This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I went to church.
“Did you hear me, Alan? Peepers needs to see you after closing,” Geno repeated.
“But—” Alan uttered. His brain was stuck, trying to find answers.
Geno grabbed his arms and gave him a good shake. “Tonight, you must come tonight!”
Alan finally caught up. However, he wasn’t prepared to go from never facing Peepers again to seeing him that night.
“I can’t do it tonight, Geno. How about Wednesday morning—before we open?”
“No, Alan. It can’t wait that long.”
“Okay, what if I show up before opening tomorrow morning? I’m not scheduled, but there’s no reason why I can’t come earl—”
“Alan!” Geno grunted. “What is it? Are you afraid? Don’t you get it? Peepers is here to help you with that. There’s nothing to worry about, but it must be tonight.”
With all of his efforts to stall used up, Alan agreed to do his best.
Geno didn’t appear convinced, but nonetheless, he accepted Alan’s commitment and returned to the Labyrinth.
Chapter 6
A gang of five thuggish-looking teenage boys entered the Labyrinth. The smallest of them stood out as their Napoleonic leader as he ordered and shoved the others out of his way so he could lead the pack through the maze.
Geno approached from behind as the last boy stepped inside. He whispered something to the ticket taker before walking around the side of the building to the back entrance. The ticket taker raised his hand to the next group in line and told them they would have to wait a few minutes because there were too many people inside.
The obnoxious crew whooped and hollered their way along the first section of the Labyrinth, a long and narrow corridor of mirrors. It was dark, but nothing happened along the inner entrance. The corridor darkened as the door behind them closed.
The leader was the first to stop, trapped inside the passageway at both ends. Mesmerized by their own reflections, the remaining boys didn’t notice the blocked path. The resulting momentum of the lemmings pressed them like sardines into their pint-sized shepherd.
“Get the fuck off me, you idiots!” he yelled from beneath the pile.
As the last one backed off, the leader searched for an escape. His mindless followers waited for instructions.
“What the fuck is this?” he said.
“It’s the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors,” another answered.
“I know it’s the fucking Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, you dumb fuck. But this is just a hallway to fucking nowhere. Where’s the fucking exit?”
As if this was the command they waited for, the heads of the four boys turned at once in all directions, looking for the escape.
“I think we’re trapped, T-Pot,” said one of the boys to their leader.
T-Pot pounded his fist on one of the mirrored panels. The other four joined in and started pounding fists on the remaining panels in the closed space.
Their efforts were fruitless and the sound became deafening.
“STOP! Fucking stop hitting the fucking walls!” T-Pot yelled, his hands covering his ears.
The group finally stopped pounding and returned their focus to their leader.
“What the fuck,” was the only thing T-Pot could say. He continued to study the room. He bent down to the floor and felt around the tracks, hoping to find a way to loosen a panel. The other boys started mumbling to each other. With his head close to the floor, the ringleader heard something. He raised his hand and shushed the others in an attempt to make sense of the sound. With his ear to the mirror he heard, “Ching ching.”
“Did you hear that?” he said.
The others looked at each other before simultaneously shrugging and mumbling words like no, nope, and I didn’t hear anything, T-Pot.
He shushed them again. “Ching Ching.” The sound was a little louder this time.
“Did you hear it that time? You had to fucking hear it that time.”
Again, the group turned to each other. In unison, they nodded and agreed to hear the sound.
“Ching Ching,” the sound came again, louder than before. The leader stood. His followers got excited as each cheerfully yelled out that they definitely heard the bells.
“CHING CHING.” Now it sounded like the bells were in the space with them. They all continued scanning the mirrors for the source of the chinging bells. Then, from the back of the corridor, a cartoonish voice called out, “Watch out, boys!”
They all turned to look. In the mirrored panel on the rear door they saw a funny-looking clown riding a tricycle. It appeared to be getting closer. With a few more thumb pulls on the bell attached to the handlebar, the clown hollered out, “Coming through!” The image moved from the door mirror to the left wall. It continued to rush from panel to panel through the room. The boys all stepped back to the opposite wall as the clown giggled his way past, chiming his bells the entire way.
At the front of the corridor, the image slipped from the sidewall into the mirror blocking their path. The sounds, along with the image of the tricycle-riding clown, faded into the depth of the mirror.
“What the hell was that?” said one of the boys.
“It was a fucking clown. I hate fucking clowns!” T-Pot exclaimed.
This drew a snicker from one of the adolescent boys.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?”
The boy tried to hide his amusement, but whatever tickled his funny bone wouldn’t allow it. He covered his grin with his hand and lowered his head.
T-Pot saw this as an opportunity to strengthen his rank among his peers. He shoved the kid into the wall and commanded him to tell him what was so funny.
As the boy still struggled to stop laughing, T-Pot’s hand pushed harder into the boy’s chest, pinning him against the wall. He tried to get free by telling T-Pot nothing was making him laugh. This wasn’t good enough for his marionette master, who snarled as he gripped tighter.
“You better fucking tell me what was so funny or I’ll fucking kill you right here. Is that what you want? Huh?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to hit me.”
“I’m not promising anything. Tell me now or I swear I’ll—”
“Okay!” the boy said as he raised his hands in surrender. He chuckled again and said, “You said that you hate—fucking—clowns.” Hearing it again out loud, he snorted in an attempt to hold back his amusement.
“Yea, so, I do. I fucking hate clowns.”
“No, no. That’s not what you said,” the pinned boy said. “You said you hate fucking clowns. Like you hate to fuck clowns.”
Hearing this, the rest of the boys finally caught on. It started with a low rumble of somewhat contained sounds of amusement. Before long, the bunch was laughing hysterically. Their leader let go of his grip and tried in vain to stare the others into submission. Mixed in their laughter, the parroted words “fucking clowns” whispered throughout the group. As their laughter began to subside, the panel at the end of the room opened.
“Are you fuckers done fucking around yet?” T-Pot asked. He stood, blocking the opening with an open knife held at his side, acting as a warning to all who dare defy him. The sight of the knife instantly sobered the boys. Their laughter halted and the group fell in line to blindly follow T-Pot.
“I thought so. Now, whoever wants to get out of this hallway and follow me out of this fucking place has to repeat after me.”
They eagerly listened to his words.
“I hate—no, I fucking hate clowns!” he said
They looked to each other for someone to lead their chant. All at once, they said it.
; “I fucking hate clowns.”
“Good. Now that we’re all on the same page, we can get the fuck out of here before that fucking clown shows up again.”
T-Pot turned to lead them deeper. With their psychopath leader out of range, one boy whispered to the two closest to him, “He said it again. He said fucking clown.” All three snickered as they followed T-Pot to the next room.
T-Pot turned the corner into a large round room with a small wooden chair at the center. His gang followed one by one to the center of the room. T-Pot stopped next to the chair; each boy stopped one at a time beside him until all five were lined up facing the curved wall of mirrored panels.
“Where are our reflections?” T-Pot said.
“Maybe the wall is just glass,” another replied.
As they stared into the glass, T-Pot saw the chair beside him reflected in the mirrors. He kicked the chair and it tumbled to the side of the room; its reflection moved with it.
“It’s not just glass!” T-Pot shouted.
The five boys stared at the mirrors for several seconds before one offered an explanation. “Maybe we’re vampires.” His suggestion prompted another boy to feel the sides of his own neck for bites. The others followed his lead as they felt their own necks and examined each other for telltale evidence of vampire feed marks.
T-Pot remained focused on the reflection-less mirrors when the boy beside him leaned in like a grooming monkey friend to examine his neck.
“Get the fuck off me, you ape!” he yelled, putting an abrupt end to the group’s search for fang marks.
T-Pot returned his focus to the mirrors. His posse did the same. As they stared into the emptiness, circus music started playing and images began to appear. The images started as swirling clouds of white smoke growing from the floor. Human shapes grew from the smoke, one in front of each boy. The forms continued to sharpen and within seconds, the smoke dissipated, leaving five peculiar-looking clowns standing before them. Upon closer examination, the figures appeared to be creepy clown caricatures of each boy in the room. T-Pot’s clown was a midget with a Hitler mustache, wearing a bicorn hat.
“Aw fuck! More clowns. I thought this was supposed to be a haunted fucking labyrinth. Clowns aren’t scary and this is just a big room of fucking mirrors. Where’s the fucking labyrinth? And what the fuck are you?” T-Pot said as he pointed down at his clown doppelganger.