Fibble: The Fourth Circle of Heck Read Online Free Page B
Author: Dale E. Basye
steer clear of whatever Barnum was trying to sell.
Marlo shook the sticky gossamer cobwebs from her head and opened her eyes. Unfortunately, this was the exact moment that the clown car was about to make impact with the vice principal’s larger-than-life-sized portrait. The boys squeezed their eyes shut, yet Marlo’s clarity revealed that the painting was merely another portal of flimsy paper.
The clown car tore through the vice principal’s pompous visage and careened into the third tent of Fibble’s Three-Ring Media Circus.
Marlo’s throat tightened. She tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Blue lasers inset in the ceiling sliced through the glittering smog, creating a maze of illusionary paths. Scampi the shrimp demon spun the steering wheel hard to the left, then the right, as he navigated the labyrinth of swirling smoke and light.
The vice principal chortled, like a fleshy frog having just snatched a juicy fly with its tongue. The paths of laser light converged as the car sped toward pitch-black nothingness.
“Advertising is like learning … a little is a dangerous thing. That’s why all you gifted young liars are here: to learn the power of puffery and to help propel the Greatest Show Under Earth to new heights of dizzying hype! And that, my prevaricating pupils, will be the most dangerous thing of all!”
The clown car hurtled through a wall of black velvet into a concrete hall strewn with castaway props and sets.
Just then, Marlo’s stomach flopped harder than
Tourette’s Syndrome: The Musical
. It was an awful, swirling, sickening movement in her gut that had plagued her ever since switching bodies with her brother. Something seemed to have awakened the writhing nest of molten yuck in her belly.
The clown car lurched past an area cordoned offwith caution tape marked R & D , patrolled by a sentry of hulking chameleon guards with protruding eyes and camouflage skin (their red kerchiefs gave them away). Marlo could make out beyond the barricade, through dingy chain-link-enforced windows, a maze of brass tubes and tanks, stoppered decanters, and glass vials full of bubbling, silver liquid.
“R and D?” Marlo muttered, patting her stomach gently with her palm.
“Research and Development,” Colby clarified. “From what I heard in the stands, no one is allowed in there. But I’m sure Mr. Barnum will let me take a peek once he learns I used to be a scientist. I invented that new electric liquid paper that lets you cover up mistakes you make on your computer.”
As Scampi the shrimp demon jabbed the accelerator with a severed Bratz leg, the tiny car zipped away and the dull, slurping ache in Marlo’s stomach quieted—that is, until she and the other now-screaming passengers of the clown car realized that they were speeding toward a small flaming hoop. The lapping, crackling flames, to Marlo’s eyes, were all too real.
“Well, thus concludes our tour,” P. T. Barnum said as he took off his top hat and flung it toward one of the lizard demons, who watched it whiz past with its stereoscopic eyes. “Please exit responsibly.
While you still can.
”
4 • ONE HOT PROPERTY, PRICED TO MOVE
“DO YOU KNOW what that room is?” Mr. Welles posed as he gestured grandly toward the imposing metal door at the far corner of the office. Milton shrugged.
“Off-limits?” he replied hopefully.
Mr. Welles guffawed like an idling old minivan in need of an oil change.
“No and yes,” he continued as he galumphed toward the dull, hexagonal door. “For production assistants, no. For everyone else,
yes.
”
Milton followed behind as Terri and the other girls shot him hostile glares at this sudden, upward shift in status. Mr. Welles gave the small red wheel at the center of the door a twist and nudged the hatch open. Inside was a cove with darkened TV screens and old video playersmounted in each of the chamber’s twelve panels, with a thirteenth screen set in the ceiling.
“Behold the Boob
Marlo shook the sticky gossamer cobwebs from her head and opened her eyes. Unfortunately, this was the exact moment that the clown car was about to make impact with the vice principal’s larger-than-life-sized portrait. The boys squeezed their eyes shut, yet Marlo’s clarity revealed that the painting was merely another portal of flimsy paper.
The clown car tore through the vice principal’s pompous visage and careened into the third tent of Fibble’s Three-Ring Media Circus.
Marlo’s throat tightened. She tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Blue lasers inset in the ceiling sliced through the glittering smog, creating a maze of illusionary paths. Scampi the shrimp demon spun the steering wheel hard to the left, then the right, as he navigated the labyrinth of swirling smoke and light.
The vice principal chortled, like a fleshy frog having just snatched a juicy fly with its tongue. The paths of laser light converged as the car sped toward pitch-black nothingness.
“Advertising is like learning … a little is a dangerous thing. That’s why all you gifted young liars are here: to learn the power of puffery and to help propel the Greatest Show Under Earth to new heights of dizzying hype! And that, my prevaricating pupils, will be the most dangerous thing of all!”
The clown car hurtled through a wall of black velvet into a concrete hall strewn with castaway props and sets.
Just then, Marlo’s stomach flopped harder than
Tourette’s Syndrome: The Musical
. It was an awful, swirling, sickening movement in her gut that had plagued her ever since switching bodies with her brother. Something seemed to have awakened the writhing nest of molten yuck in her belly.
The clown car lurched past an area cordoned offwith caution tape marked R & D , patrolled by a sentry of hulking chameleon guards with protruding eyes and camouflage skin (their red kerchiefs gave them away). Marlo could make out beyond the barricade, through dingy chain-link-enforced windows, a maze of brass tubes and tanks, stoppered decanters, and glass vials full of bubbling, silver liquid.
“R and D?” Marlo muttered, patting her stomach gently with her palm.
“Research and Development,” Colby clarified. “From what I heard in the stands, no one is allowed in there. But I’m sure Mr. Barnum will let me take a peek once he learns I used to be a scientist. I invented that new electric liquid paper that lets you cover up mistakes you make on your computer.”
As Scampi the shrimp demon jabbed the accelerator with a severed Bratz leg, the tiny car zipped away and the dull, slurping ache in Marlo’s stomach quieted—that is, until she and the other now-screaming passengers of the clown car realized that they were speeding toward a small flaming hoop. The lapping, crackling flames, to Marlo’s eyes, were all too real.
“Well, thus concludes our tour,” P. T. Barnum said as he took off his top hat and flung it toward one of the lizard demons, who watched it whiz past with its stereoscopic eyes. “Please exit responsibly.
While you still can.
”
4 • ONE HOT PROPERTY, PRICED TO MOVE
“DO YOU KNOW what that room is?” Mr. Welles posed as he gestured grandly toward the imposing metal door at the far corner of the office. Milton shrugged.
“Off-limits?” he replied hopefully.
Mr. Welles guffawed like an idling old minivan in need of an oil change.
“No and yes,” he continued as he galumphed toward the dull, hexagonal door. “For production assistants, no. For everyone else,
yes.
”
Milton followed behind as Terri and the other girls shot him hostile glares at this sudden, upward shift in status. Mr. Welles gave the small red wheel at the center of the door a twist and nudged the hatch open. Inside was a cove with darkened TV screens and old video playersmounted in each of the chamber’s twelve panels, with a thirteenth screen set in the ceiling.
“Behold the Boob
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