Read Online Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury - Free Book Online

Will could not see and a long way off the last of the town people went away toward town in their warm cars, and Jim said, faintly, 'Gosh. . .' and Mr Dark rolled down his sleeve.
        'Show's over. Suppertime. Carnival's shut up until seven. Everyone out. Come back, “Simon,” and ride the merrygoround, when it's fixed. Take this card. Free ride.'
        Jim stared at the hidden wrist and put the card in his pocket.
        'So long!'
        Jim ran. Will ran.
        Jim whirled, glanced back, leaped, and for the second time in the hour, vanished.
        Will looked up into the tree where Jim squirmed on a limb, hidden.
        Mr Dark and Mr Cooger were turned away, busy with the merrygoround.
        'Quick, Will!'
        'Jim. . .?'
        'They'll see you. Jump!'
        Will jumped. Jim hauled him up. The great tree shook. A wind roared by in the sky. Jim helped him cling, gasping, among the branches.
        'Jim, we don't belong here!'
        'Shut up! Look!' whispered Jim.
        Somewhere in the carousel machinery there were taps and brass knockings, a faint squeal and whistle of calliope steam.
        'What was on his arm, Jim?'
        'A picture.'
        'Yeah, but what kind?'
        'It was - Jim shut his eyes. 'It was - a picture of a. . .snake. . .that's it. . .snake.' But when he opened his eyes, he would not look at Will.
        'Okay, if you don't want to tell me.'
        'I told you, Will, a snake. I'll get him to show it to you, later, you want that?'
        No, thought Will, I don't want that.
        He looked down at the billion footprints left in the sawdust on the empty midway and suddenly it was a lot closer to midnight than to noon.
        'I'm going home. . .'
        'Sure, Will,' go on. Mirror mazes, old teacherladies, lost lightningrod bags, lightningrod salesmen disappear, snake pictures dancing, unbroken merrygorounds, and you want to go home!? Sure, old friend, Will, so long.'
        'I. . .' Will started dwon the tree, and froze.
        'All clear?' cried a voice below.
        'Clear!' someone shouted at the far end of the midway.
        Mr Dark moved, not fifty feet away to a red control box near the merrygoround ticket booth. He glared in all directions. He glared into the tree.
        Will hugged, Jim hugged the limb, tightened into smallness.
        'Start up!'
        With a pop, a bang, a jangle of reins, a lift and downfall, a rise and descent of brass, the carousel moved.
        But, thought Will, it's broke, out of order!
        He flicked a glance at Jim, who pointed wildly down.
        The merrygoround was running, yes, but. . .
        It was running backward.
        The small calliope inside the carousel machinery rattlesnapped its nervousstallion shivering drums, clashed its harvestmoon cymbals, toothed its castanets, and throatily choked and sobbed its reeds, whistles, and baroque flutes.
        The music, Will thought, it's backward, too!
        Mr Dark jerked about, glanced up, as if he had heard Will's thoughts. A wind shook the trees in black tumults. Mr Dark shrugged and looked away.
        The carousel wheeled faster, shrieking, plunging, going roundaboutback!
        Now Mr Cooger, with his flaming red hair and fireblue eyes, was pacing the midway, making a last check. He stood under their tree. Will could have let spit down on him. Then the calliope gave a particularly violent cry of foul murder which made dogs howl in far counties, and Mr Cooger, spinning, ran and leaped on the backwhirling universe of animals who, tail first, head last, pursued an endless circling night toward unfound and never to be discovered destinations. Handslapping brass poles, he flung himself into a seat where with his bristly red hair, pink face, and incredible sharp blue eyes he sat silent, going back around, back around, the music squealing swift back with him like insucked breath.
     
        The music, thought Will, what is it? And how do I know it's