There is never a special occasion at the Fair
Of course, the Fair is its own cause for celebration. Every night, the children come in, giddy and gleeful to explore the grounds, to ride the rides, to try their hands at the shooting gallery that let you win full-sized candy bars. Every night, the young lovers make their way to the most secluded spot in the haunted house, just past the spinning hallway and just before the hall of mirrors. Every night, the skeletal performers give their all for the grand finale, confident that the ringleader will have another extra-special performance prepared tomorrow night.
Every night, there is a once-in-a-lifetime assortment of games and revelry fit to rock the heavens themselves.
There’s a magician’s show that starts at 2 am, the built-in grin of Marian the Splendiferous never wavering as she performs feats of magic from realms beyond. If you sit in the second seat of the fourth row, she’ll select you to be a volunteer hypnotee. Some nights, I like to sit in that seat. It can be a fun game, seeing how much you can break her script, do things other than what she says. You have to be careful, though. Go too far and she locks up, her naked smile becoming stiff and uncomfortable, and stares you off the stage with her lightless empty sockets. In all my years, coming to the Fair, I’ve never seen something so chilling.