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Night of the Tiger(11)

By:N.J.Walters


“Let’s go over here.” Sandra tugged on her arm, and Aimee turned and followed her friend.

She made up her mind to relax and enjoy the evening. She wasn’t fond of most of the rides—they were too wild for her taste—but she could watch Sandra on them. She could also enjoy some greasy, unhealthy, yet ever-so-tasty food and try her hand at a few of the games of chance.

Sandra led them to a large trailer with Funhouse stenciled on the side. On second look, it appeared to be two trailers clamped together.

“I’m not sure about this, Sandra…” Her voice trailed off as her friend turned to her, a frown on her face. Aimee realized she was doing it again. She was being a stick-in-the-mud. She vowed to be more positive as she walked toward the entrance. “I’m sure it will be fun.”

Smiling, Sandra took the lead and handed two of her tickets to the middle-aged man who sat outside the door. When he took Aimee’s tickets, he stared hard at her for a brief second, his gaze going to the scars on her face. She resisted the urge to cover her cheek with her hand. Instead, she stared back at him. He smirked as he dropped her tickets into the box beside him. “Enjoy yourself.”

Aimee clutched her purse tighter to her chest and followed Sandra inside, taking care as she went up the few steps that led to the entrance. Placing her right hand on the wall for support, she pushed her way through the long, red streamers that ran from the ceiling to the floor. Now that she’d begun, she’d see it through to the end. Maybe she’d even have fun.

Then again, maybe not.

The moment she stepped inside, her stomach clenched and sweat broke out on her brow. The walls seemed to close in around her. Sandra was nowhere in sight. She could hear her friend laughing somewhere in the distance. “Sandra,” she called out.

“Up ahead. Come on, these mirrors are great.”

Aimee hurried down the narrow corridor as fast as she could, ignoring the bright lights that flashed on and off, illuminating clown faces that adorned the walls. She’d always hated clowns.

Considering what she did for a living and the kinds of dreams she had, it seemed kind of stupid to say that. But it didn’t negate the fact. Clowns gave her the creeps with their painted-on faces and fake smiles. They always seemed to be sad and desperate instead of happy, hiding their true selves behind thick layers of makeup.

Feeling as if a hundred eyes were watching her, she worked her way down the narrow corridor. It widened, and she suddenly found herself surrounded by a circle of mirrors. She did a complete three-sixty and couldn’t even tell where she’d come from.

She caught a brief glimpse of Sandra, her long blonde hair and red leather jacket reflecting the light before she disappeared from sight.

“Sandra.” She called out to her friend, but the only reply she got was soft, feminine laughter, which seemed to be coming from a different direction.

Totally disoriented, Aimee placed her palm against one of the mirrors and stared at her reflection.

It was slightly distorted, but she easily recognized herself. Same slender build she saw in the mirror every morning, although this particular glass made her look shorter than her five-foot-six height. Her short black hair, pale skin and green eyes were all familiar enough. In the dim light, she could barely see the faint white lines that ran across her left cheek.

She turned to the next mirror. This one made her look slightly taller. Chuckling, she shifted to the next one. “Not bad,” she murmured. This one made her B-cup chest look much larger.

This wasn’t so bad after all. Aimee relaxed, determined to enjoy the novel experience. She smiled and glanced in the next mirror. The smile froze on her face and slowly disappeared.

Standing just behind her was an enormous white tiger, exactly like the one from her dreams. His white face was striped with black. A broad, flat nose and piercing blue eyes dominated it. His mouth was open, exposing a large pink tongue and extremely sharp teeth. Aimee was afraid to move, afraid to blink.

The tiger sat unmoving, muscles coiled, head slightly lowered. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her. She knew the beast could explode into action without a second’s notice and be on her before she could even think to move.

This had to be part of the trick of the mirrors. It was only coincidence that it was a white tiger. Maybe the next one would have a lion or a bear or some other animal. She glanced in the next mirror, but there was only her own reflection and that of the tiger.

Her palms were sweaty, her lips dry. “There’s nothing behind you. It’s just a trick of the light.” Even as she said it, she heard the heavy breathing of the animal behind her. “It’s just a soundtrack,” she assured herself. “It’s not real.”