Paybacks - A Carnival Of Mirrors Story free porn video

Paybacks - A Carnival of Mirrors Story By Jerrie526 My thanks to Bob H for this tempting little universe to play in. I hope that I do his area justice. * * * * * * * August 17th, 2003 Hank 'The Snake' Preston was feeling ecstatic after his latest conquest. Not that anyone would ever call him 'The Snake' to his face unless they didn't value their lives. He was one of the most unscrupulous men that ever walked the face of the planet. A man of moderate height, he could have easily been exactly what he portrayed in his 'endeavors'. The only hint of deception to his being was his eyes. The most cold and calculating eyes a person could ever meet. Sincerity was never easy for him to display but somehow, he always managed to do it. One would wonder why he ever got into the swindling game but no one ever asked him about it. His nickname was not one of the nasty kind solely but it did cover the hobby he liked to play with. Today, though, he had a small celebration going on. He managed to close the deal with a community center that was mostly with senior citizens. The deal landed him a profit of over two million dollars. All of which was pure profit in his mind. He had used one of the most time worn scams of quick profit know to small and large time bilkers: high yield mutual bonds. Although the ones he used were only high yield to him and no one else. All total, he swindled an average of $75,000 per person and he was totally thankful that nobody saw through it. He had spent nearly $10,000 of his last game getting this one set up for instituting. With nearly 1500 people that were available for skinning of their money, he felt highly lucky to have managed to get the nearly three hundred to bite at the plan. Too bad that they won't realize that they had been taken until its too late for them to ever get their money back. Hank made it home or at least the cheap motel he had been calling home for the last month it had taken to get this scam set up and going. He would have to make sure that a little bit of the money was spent to give the suckers, er, investors little cause to worry. Each one would get about three bogus statements of profits on their 'investments' before they would never receive another one. By the time they received the last one, he would be long gone. He now had enough money to get out of the country to get away from the heat that was inevitably going to come down on him if he stayed around. Since he had been hard at it all day, he decided that it was ok to go get himself something to eat. Years of being on the run from the law kept him from going anyplace that would take a long time to get something to eat. He drove around in his beat up old car. He had hated to drop off the fancy rental car he had been driving while preparing the scam. He had to look the part of a successful investment broker and a large money- pit vehicle was called for. Too bad the $2500 he spent for it was not something that he could recover but he was satisfied with the outcome anyway. As he was driving, he spotted a small carnival that had not been in the area two days prior when he had been in the area last. Curious as to what he might be able to brew up with the crowds and unable to resist the urge to pass it up, he pulled into an adjacent parking lot and secured his vehicle. Taking nothing to chance, he activated his backup security. After opening the trunk and removing the box that kept the security item contained, he placed it on the driver seat under the steering column. Making sure that the bottom cover was removed and placed under the seat where he could get to it on his return, he locked the door and walked away. The smile on his face was pure evil. He kept hoping that someone would break into his car. He always left a set of keys on the seat as temptation markers for some crook. If they managed to break into the car to grab the keys and take off with it, they were in for a nasty surprise. Not that it would matter, the keys were dummy keys anyway. Once they moved the box on the seat away from its position, they would be attacked by not one but two rattlesnakes that were in the box. Though they were only pigmy rattlers, they were still deadly. Or at least frightening in the unexpected nature in which they were being used. Walking casually to the carnival, his eyes were in Brownian motion. They never stopped moving to assess the crowds that were drawn around the attractions. Young and old alike meandered among the tents and booths. Young men with their girlfriends hanging on their arms, parents walking with their children in hand, elderly couples taking their time wandering the sites were all around him. Hank looked to the older people with interest, trying to assess whether they were worth the attempt to bilk a few more bucks off of them. None looked likely to have the type of money he was interested in but he never knew what he could come across. As he wandered through the grounds, he spotted a couple of uniformed police officers making their way towards him. Knowing that he had done nothing noticeable as yet, he still could not help feeling the twinge of panic. Were they looking for him already? He doubted it but could not help it. He moved down an aisle of booths to make his way from them. The aisle lead him to a dead end where one moderate sized tent was pitched. The proprietor was standing at the ticket counter looking at him with interest and suspicion in his eyes. The man looked as if he actually belonged in the freak show: tall, thin to the point of being nearly emaciated, bald, large protruding eyes that looked as if they could read a person's soul. Hank shivered with the thought. The sign behind him read 'Carnival of Mirrors'. "Welcome sir, to my humble display. My name is Solomon and I am the proprietor of the mirror maze for this carnival. You look like a man of distinction and have an interest that is rarely piqued. May I invite you to enter my maze and test your intuitive skills of finding your way through to the conclusion?" Solomon asked Hank. "Sorry old chap, but a hall of bent mirrors is not my cup of tea. I just need to find my way back to the main concourse so that I may leave the grounds. I have an appointment to go to and I have lost my way." Hank did not want to say he was running away from possible arrest. "Ah, now that is something that I can understand. There is an exit from the grounds right behind my tent but the only problem is that there is only one way to utilize it. You would have to go through the mirror maze to get to it. Most people can make it through the maze in about ten minutes but it has been known to be navigated in five minutes. If all you are needing is an exit, I can give you a discount on the price but I would have to ask you to not to say anything about what you find inside so that I can keep my business up. But word of mouth about the awesome maze would help even more. Are you interested? Entrance to the exit would only be $1.00, if you would care to try it." "I really am in a hurry here. Is there someplace quicker that I can go? I really need to get to my appointment and I can't take the five or ten minutes to go through your maze." Hank replied hotly. "Well, sir, the main exit from the grounds could take you as long as fifteen minutes if you do not take the wrong turn amongst all the tents outside of here. We keep the carnival set up to direct people a certain way and you are the furthest point away from a normal exit. If you go through the maze, you will actually be out sooner than you would otherwise." Solomon replied. Hank grumbled angrily to himself. Resignedly, he handed over the dollar that was the price Solomon quoted. Taking the ticket and shoving it in his pocket, he entered the tent and proceeded into the gloomily lit interior. The entrance was lined with mirrors in which his reflection seemed to go off into infinity. As he made his way deeper into it, several times, he abruptly hit one of the mirrors before a hidden corner was spotted. Several minutes of avoiding sudden walls, he came into what could only be the center of the tent. There was what appeared to be a fairly large chamber surrounded with a mirrors. In the center, there were several mirrors standing that showed several reflections of people in them. Upon closer inspection, Hank had to conclude that the reflections were faked by pictures being placed on the glass before the mirror surface was placed over it. It was probably one of the worst attempts of imagery that Hank had ever seen. All the mirrors with people seemed to be in life-like positions but all had a hand outreaching as if to touch the mirror. One mirror had a picture of an eight-year-old girl dressed in her best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. She was cute but not quite what Hank found interesting. Another had a young boy around thirteen years old wearing scruffy jeans and t-shirt with a baseball cap perched sideways on his head. He was carrying an old baseball mitt, the likes that Hank had not seen since the '50's or '60's. There depicted in other mirrors were a young woman, a middle aged black man and a couple of older people. The older woman caught Hank's eye. She was dressed in a manner that screamed 'money' at him. This was the type of person that Hank preyed upon to satisfy his lust for the ever elusive dollar. She was around her late seventies or early eighties in age. She wore a mink stole around her shoulders. Her manner of dress underneath was what could only be classified as antiquarian. Something that would have come from around the 1920's or '30's. Gold and diamonds festooned her wrists, fingers, neck and ears as well as parts of her clothing. The mink was clasped with what looked like a brooch covered with at least fifty carats of diamonds, rubies and sapphires, the largest being a ten carat diamond. Hank felt the glow of anticipation permeating him. The love of money piqued his interest in the woman. Even though he knew that her image was just a picture, he could not help but try to touch her outstretched hand. His fingers contacted the mirror surface where her fingers rested upon. A wave of dizziness passed through Hank. He staggered slightly to regain his composure. He gasped upon seeing his reflection on the mirror where the woman had bee standing just a moment before. Although he was moving, his reflection was not. As he looked around at the other mirror pictures, he could not help but notice that all the depicted people were different. Stunned by this, he did not notice the differences that were otherwise around him. It was not until he moved to leave the mirror that things started registering with his mind. His neck felt warm where it was cool before. He felt some sort of hair contacting his skin on the should-have-been exposed skin. His ears had something very heavy hanging from them. There was a smell of perfume surrounding him that pointed to a woman close by. Hank's pulse started racing, he had to get out of there before someone else came into the mirror chamber. Spotting what looked like the exit, he made his way for it. Upon his first step, he stumbled from what seemed to be a rise in the floor of the tent. As he caught himself, he caught sight of the woman that had been in the mirror when he touched it. Only instead of being statue still, she was moving. He glanced around himself to find her but she was no where to be seen. Looking back at the mirror in front of him, he noticed that her movements were matching his, point for point. It was at this point that he totally freaked out. He screamed shrilly and passed out from the shock. * * * * * * * As Hank slowly regained his mental facilities and opened his eyes, he was surrounded by people whispering to each other. Terrified as to what he recalled, he sat up quickly. Or rather as quickly as his elderly female body would let him. His back protested the strain that was placed upon it as he sat up. Terrified, he looked around him. People were wearing clothing that could only be described as seventy or eighty years out of date. Young women wore what he recognized as flapper outfits studded with rhinestones for the flashiness. The men were also dressed archaically in styles that were nearly as bad as what the women were wearing. He spotted Solomon walking towards the group of people that surrounded him. Solomon had a crooked grin on his face as he noticed the prime attraction of the group. He shooed the people away, saying he would see to it that Mrs. Forsythe would be taken care of properly. The crowd dispersed. Solomon helped Hank to his feet, although the latter was highly unsteady on the higher heels he was wearing. Hank was guided to a chair near the entrance to the tent that said 'Carnival of Mirrors' on a banner above the door. Hank was shaking with the shock of finding himself suddenly an elderly woman. Solomon stood above him and smiled enigmatically. "Well, Mr. Preston, I am sure that you have no idea what is going on, do you?" Hank could only shake his head weakly at the question. Solomon continued on, "It seems that you lived up to the nickname that you gave yourself so long ago. You, Mr. Preston, are a snake. One of the lowest forms of life on the planet. You preyed on the weak and the gullible and sucked them dry and spit their remains up to turn to dust. Do you know how many people you killed through your actions? Let me tell you, there are too many to count but it ranges in the hundreds. Most of them died broken hearted because they had been bilked out of their life's savings by you. And did you care? Not one iota did you care. You laughed in glee at their pain and then you went off to hurt someone else. You are slick, or I should say, were slick. You time has come. You now get to pay for your misdeeds. You will be Mrs. Harriet Forsythe for the rest of her life. You have no where else to go, nor will you ever get back to your old life. Good-bye Mr. Preston." With that, he turned and walked away. Hank was taken aback by the vehemence of Solomon's words. He had not killed anyone in all the years he was doing his confidence games. Sure, he took the money that they so willingly gave him. Sure, the reasons behind them giving him the money was pure fraud but he NEVER killed anyone. Solomon was wrong when he said he killed the uncounted people who had died. It was just their time to go, nothing more than that. Hank reasoned himself into a clear conscious. He stood up and walked slowly towards what he determined was the entrance/exit of the carnival. This carnival was much bigger than the one he had gone to a short time ago. He was puzzled as to why all the people he saw were wearing the old clothes. But what puzzled him more was the fact that none of the clothes were old. They looked brand new. Not to mention the cars that he saw driving around the parking lot when he got to the gates. Every one of them were old, old cars. Model A, Model T, others that he did not recognize, yet all also appeared brand new or fairly new. As Hank stood there gaping at the old/new cars, wondering if he had stepped out into a movie set that featured the old cars, a fairly fancy car pulled up in front of him and stopped. The driver jumped out and ran around and pulled the back door open and held it, waiting for something. Hank was puzzled as to what was going on with this scene. He just stood there staring at the man holding the door. Finally, the man tired of standing there doing nothing said, "Madam Forsythe, if you are ready, please step into the automobile." And indicated with a wave of the hand to the interior of the waiting car. Hank gingerly stepped into the car, looked around at the plush interior and sat on the seat in the back. Now, Hank had ridden in limousines before and reveled in the pure luxury, but to ride in this car was nothing short of breath- taking. Mostly because after the driver pulled out of the car lot, the rough road was so jarring on Hank's elderly body that it took away his ability to breathe. He issued a muttered sentence to the driver about replacing the shocks on the car. An indeterminate time later, the car thankfully stopped moving and Hank was finally able to breathe again. Quickly after the car stopped, the driver was back to the door and opening it again. Hank stepped out of the door and looked up at one of the grandest houses, rather mansions he had ever seen. The house screamed money. Even more so than the clothing that the erstwhile Mrs. Forsythe was wearing. From the look of the house, he would have said that Mrs. Forsythe had a lot of money, possibly hundreds of millions of dollars. He was feeling even more elated about this sudden disclosure. As he walked up the steps, the door opened and several women in maids outfits and several men dressed as butlers or something, came running out and lined up for him to walk past. The women curtsied and the men gave a slight and stiff bow towards him. Hank was mentally rubbing his hands in glee over the thought of getting his hands on the money that was obviously represented in this house. One of the maids approached and asked if he would like to have his evening bath while dinner was prepared and they were all waiting for Mr. Forsythe to arrive home from the office. He accepted and was lead off into the depths of the mansion. Climbing the stairs was difficult for Hank. His hips hurt horribly trying to drag his legs up each one. He cursed the body he was wearing, praying that this was all a dream, or rather nightmare. He was shown into the grand master suite where his mink stole was removed from his shoulders and placed on a special rack in the closet. The maid disappeared into what could only be the bathroom and he could hear water running into some sort of basin. After several minutes, the maid came back out and announced that his bath was ready. He was taken into the opulent bath suite and was awestruck as to how much gold was inlaid everywhere. It did not have the look of gold paint but rather pure 24 carat gold. The mirrors were trimmed with gold. The bathtub itself was a claw-foot design with gold feet and a gold trimmed edge. The faucets were gold plated since it was impossible to use gold to withstand water pressure. Even the water closet had a gold encrusted crapper. He giggled a bit over that. There on a label on the tank near the ceiling was clearly printed, 'Genuine Crapper'. Good ol' Thomas C's invention. Hank felt the call of nature and was suddenly stricken with a panic attack. He had to urinate and had never done so as a woman. Shrugging it off and just doing what he had seen women doing before, he lowered his voluminous drawers and sat on the chamber pot of the crapper. Relief was quick in coming, although brief in duration. Wiping himself with a piece of paper from a stand next to the pot, he stood back up and left the WC. The maid was waiting patiently at the tub. He approached the tub and the maid moved to assist him in getting ready. His clothes were soon stripped off and he was being gently lowered into the warm water. Hank luxuriated in the water for several minutes before the maid proceeded to cleanse his body with some sort of soap. Several minutes of this treatment were finally completed and his long grey hair was scrubbed clean with the very same soap. The maid let the water out of the tub by releasing the rubber plug that was inserted into the drain. She helped ease him back to standing and assisted him out of the tub, making sure that he did not slip. An hour later, dried, primped, perfumed and thoroughly made up, Hank was left alone in the master bedroom suite in a chair. He had no idea what do with himself. The maid never said anything about what he was supposed to do and for the life of him, he could not figure out the next step. He had never been without a plan of any sort in his thirty-six years of life. Now, though, he was clueless. So, he sat there in the chair doing nothing. Eventually, the maid returned and announced that his *husband* would be home within 10 minutes and that the evening meal was ready to be served. He was again guided through the house to a huge dining room where a huge meal was set up. He had never seen a table that had twenty place settings, nor the amount of food that was spread over the length of the table. He was taken to a seat, where one of the footmen pulled his chair away from the table and guided it back as he sat down. Although Hank had enough manners to know that he could not start to eat until the guests arrived, he was chomping at the bit, so to speak, to get something into his system. The servants throughout the dining room stood at attention for as long as he sat at the table. Obviously, they were waiting for the guests to also arrive. Also, they were waiting for the master of the house to arrive. The ten minute wait turned into twenty, then thirty. An hour passed and the servants were noticeably edgy and starting to shift their weight from one foot to the other trying to relieve some of the stiffness they obviously felt. Finally, after an hour and a half wait, angry shouts were heard after a door was thrown slammingly open. And elderly man stormed into the room ranting at what seemed to be no one. His face was visibly pale and his hands were shaking. He collapsed into a chair and put his face into his hands. The shaking of his shoulders could have been anything from laughter to tears but not a sound emerged from the covered face. After several minutes, he uncovered his face and looked at Hank with red rimmed eyes. He started to say something but no words emerged. The haunted look in his face told Hank something was desperately wrong. Hank could not imagine what. Finally, one of the footmen approached and asked the man in he would care for his nightly beverage. "Hell, yes, but bring me the whole bottle," the man replied. Rather, Hank corrected himself, Mr. Forsythe replied. He did not know the man's first name. Hank didn't even know the first name of his body either. Too much had happened and too quickly for him to have kept up with things. A butler brought in a bottle and a glass and set them in front of Mr. Forsythe. The man picked up the bottle and poured a full glass and downed it in one long gulp. He poured himself several glasses of the alcohol and downed them in quick succession. He muttered to himself as he was finishing one of the drinks, "Better enjoy this while I can. Don't know when I would be able to afford another bottle of anything." Hank could hear muttering but no words were clear. The butler broke up the near silence and asked, "Sir, when will the guests be arriving?" Startled, Mr. Forsythe looked up from the bottle he was watching dispense another full glass of liquid. "Eh, what was that? Speak up man!" A bit louder, the butler re-spoke his question. Mr. Forsythe thought for a second before replying, "Never, I hope. The dinner party has been cancelled due to the events of the day. As a matter of fact, all of you are dismissed. There is no longer any need for you to be here now." All the servants looked at each other. One spoke up. "When would you like us to return, sir?" Obviously, Mr. Forsythe was feeling the effects of the alcohol that he had downed so quickly as he rose from his seat and shouted, "NEVER! How many times do I have to tell you all that you are dismissed? In other words, you're all fired! Leave me now! Get out of my house! Go!" Waving them all towards the door before he slumped once again in the chair. The servants all were looking at each other with worried looks in their faces. No one moved, afraid that the master might yell at them for deserting their posts. "What part of *you're fired* didn't you idiots understand? I can't afford any of you in my employ any longer. I'M BROKE!" Mr. Forsythe screamed at the top of his lungs. He then laid his head on the table and broke into gut wrenching sobs of despair. Slowly, all the servants filed out of the room and the house. Each was silently wrapped in their own thoughts. They no longer had a job to provide for their families and it was a matter of time before they will be at the poor house. Hank sat there the whole time silently but was shook up of the last disclosure. How could this man be broke? With this opulent house, the jewels he was wearing, everything that surrounded him screamed money. He couldn't take it any longer. He had to find out what was going on. "What do you mean you're broke? I thought you had more money than you knew what to do with?" He asked. "Is that all you can think about, woman? You are one of the prime causes for me being broke now but the biggest cause is the Stock Market crashed today and took every penny I had invested and saved through the years. Oh, God, what am I going to do?" he wailed. Hank suddenly felt a massive cold chill run down his spine. The Stock Market crashed? Oh, no! That would make this day Black Friday. The 29th of October, 1929. The day the Stock Market crashed and millions of people lost their money, jobs, homes and for some, their lives. This wasn't a good time to be living. This was the start of the Great Depression! Hank was near to panic. His plans of taking off with as much money as he could had been dashed into ashes. Here he was sitting in an old woman's body, once married to a rich man who was now penniless. If he could play his cards right, he could at least salvage his dignity and gather up all the jewelry he could and take off. He could sell it as he needed money or at least until he could run a scam to get a decent amount of cash to tide him over. Almost as if he was reading Hank's mind, Mr. Forsythe spoke up, "If you're thinking about where you are going to get the next batch of money to subsidize your spending habits, you had better think again. The bank will be after us come Monday morning. This house is mortgaged to the hilt. All our assets will be seized in trust until all the creditors are paid. Because of you having to have this and that, you brought me to the brink of bankruptcy. This day just pushed me over the cliff. You might as well take off all the finery that you have on, since it will also be collected by the bank when they come. I doubt they will even let us walk out of the house with much more than the clothes on our backs. For some reason, I just *HAD* to let you talk me into getting this house. The auto cars were another of your luxury items that you just 'had' to have. You have been a burden on me ever since I married you. If I could afford it, I would divorce you tomorrow. But now, I will have to see your face for the rest of my life. Do me a favor, would you? Get out of my sight." Hank didn't know what this woman that he had become had done to her husband but he was catching the brunt of it. He was beginning to think that maybe he should go try to get back on Mr. Solomon's good side and send him back to his own body. He had to get away from this burgeoning mad man. Needless to say, Hank feebly left the room. Since he had to do things alone, it took him several minutes to climb the stairs and make it to the master suite he had been in earlier. He sat in the rocking chair by the window that looked out over the rear of the property. As he sat in the chair thinking about his day, he could not help but tremble. His nerves were shot and he was coming down with a headache that promised to be horrible. As he sat there in the chair, he could faintly hear Mr. Forsythe yelling at the top of his lungs, banging things around as well as faint sobbing. Hank had never been on this side of things when someone lost money. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt about his activities in bilking people out of their money. After an hour or thereabouts, Hank was startled out of his reverie by a loud explosion. He could not tell what the source was and he was too terrified of the man to go investigate. He sat right where he was and tried to ignore things. Several minutes after the explosion resonated, Hank was again startled when the suite door slammed open. There in the doorway, disheveled, was Mr. Forsythe. He was a sight to be seen. He was obviously drunk. He was carrying a bottle of alcohol in his left hand and slipped into the waistband of his pants was what looked like a revolver. He took another drink from the bottle and lurched into the room. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that Mr. Forsythe had been doing something that caused soot to remain on his clothes. His once immaculate white shirt was now streaked with the black powder. Hank had no idea where it could come from. Mr. Forsythe was slurring his words as he stumbled into the room. "Shyou know, I don' tink I wansh ta? bank to get thish houshe. He, he. Sho they wonsh gets it. But there ish a schmall matter to take car of." With that, he raised the revolver towards Hank. But the pistol was weaving heavily. Hank did not know whether to hide behind something or just stay where he was. No telling what might happen. The first explosion of the gun being fired was loud in the enclosed room. The window Hank was sitting next to cracked as a bullet hit it. It did not fall out of the frame as one would have expected it to when hit that way. The next bullet hit the book case along the far wall. Mr. Forsythe was muttering, "Dammit woman, schit shtill!" and he continued to advance towards Hank. Another shot fired was closer than any other shot before. It hit the frame of the rocking chair next to Hank's head. It was at this time that Hank decided that it had gone on far enough. He got up and started moving towards the desk that was in a far corner of the room. Mr. Forsythe managed to intercept Hank before he went too far and grabbed his arm. "Shyou are not goingsh any wheresh." Hank tried to struggle but the man's grip was too strong. Hank watched as the gun was slowly brought to his head. The explosion was only briefly heard as well as the searing pain that lanced through his skull before blackness surrounded his being. Hank Preston had paid for his past indiscretions. Another explosion resounded shortly after that and the sound of another body falling bonelessly to the floor briefly filled the room. Quiet filled the room after the echo of the gunshot died down. With no one in the house to call the police, the murder/suicide would have gone undetected for at least two days, except for the fact that before Mr. Forsythe came upstairs, he set fire to the house. He was only a matter of minutes ahead of the flames in going upstairs. Needless to say, the house was engulfed in flames in a matter of minutes. Neighbors spotted the flames through the trees but by the time the fire department arrived, the house was a total loss as the roof had already collapsed and the walls were incandescent white with the heat radiating though them. The firefighters tried to put up a brave fight but it soon became clear that it was wasted effort and they worked to prevent the flames from reaching adjacent structures. It was not until after 3AM that the flames died down enough that the firefighters could leave. A brief investigation the next morning showed no sign of either of the Forsythes. Their remains were never found but the suspicion was that they died in their sleep when the fire engulfed their house. No one ever knew the truth about their deaths. The bank took back the land but soon had problems of their own as depositor after depositor tried to withdraw all of their money from their accounts. Fairly quickly, the Depression flowed into full steam and the bank had to close its doors. The land where the Forsythe Mansion had once stood was not cleaned up or reused for nearly twenty years. The land eventually fell into the hands of a developer after World War II, who turned it into housing for returning GIs and their new brides. Epilogue Inside the striped tent that had the sign 'Carnival of Mirrors', the man quickly shook his head to clear the bizarre feeling he was having. The weirdness would never end for him. He had touched a mirror that had the outstretched hand of a man that looked like he could be a movie star. Then he had the feeling of walking through the glass and feeling someone passing through him. As he looked at the mirrors, he noticed that all the figures he had seen before had changed. He looked for the projectors that might have changed the images that were reflected. Not finding any, he started looking for the exit. He caught sight of the reflection of the man he had previously seen in the mirror but it was where his reflection should have been. Shrugging it off, he smiled about the sudden change of bodies for him. It definitely could not have been as bad as he had been before. He had been a pretty good car thief. But he had been seen in his last heist and there was an APB out for him. He was also wanted for vehicular homicide for running down a man in the street while being chased by the police. He had tried to evade the police for the better part of a week before he blundered into the carnival and bought the ticket into the Carnival of Mirrors. The man at the entrance had promised him his hearts desire. His desire was to get away from the police cleanly and not have to face prosecution for car theft. This is the best way of getting away. He proceeded towards the exit through a maze that was not as difficult as it had been getting in to. Outside the tent though, police were talking to Solomon. According to the conversation being held, there was a conman possibly inside it that had been found to have swindled more than two million dollars from elderly people recently. All exits from the tent were covered as they prepared for the man to emerge from the tent. The man who was wearing the body of Hank Preston emerged from the tent. He was halted by the police. Surprise was shown on his face. Before the police could say anything, Solomon called out, "Ah, Mr. Milton! How was your inspection of my attraction? Does it pass muster from the negative reports you received?" Mr. 'Milton' looked a bit relieved about the distraction and wondered about the request being asked of him. He felt that it was best to go along with the man. "Actually, sir, I found your attraction to be much better than the reports lead me to believe. I will have to go back to my office and fill out the report findings and explain that there is no way possible that your mirror maze could induce hallucinations as they said. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go file my report. Good day Gentlemen." The police officers were a bit puzzled but they let Mr. 'Milton' through their line. No identification was asked for since they believed Solomon's word of who the man was. Milton left the park wondering how the proprietor had known his first name, even though it was used as his last name, since he did not give it to him when he entered the tent. Searching through his pockets, he came across a set of keys to a car and the wallet of the original owner. He looked in the wallet quickly to see who he was now. He read the name of Hank Preston. 'Well, Mr. Preston, I guess I am now you, so that means I get your car. Hopefully you drive a fancy Porsche or something that would reflect the way you look. Let's see now,' he looked at the keys closely and discovered that the only key for a car was one for a General Motors product. By the size and shape of the key, as well as how it was made, the car was more than likely one that was an early 1980's car. He felt a bit disappointed that is wasn't anything fancier. Personally, he preferred a Porsche or Lamborghini to get around. Arriving to the parking lot, he searched around for the likeliest of cars. Even after several circuits of the lot, he had only been able to spot one car that was likely. It was one of the most rattiest cars he had ever had the displeasure of looking at. Why anyone would want to drive this piece of garbage, he would never know. Trying the key in the door, he managed to unlock it. He felt disappointed that this Chevy Caprice was now his. YUCK! He would definitely have to ditch it as quickly as he could. After opening the door, he practically threw his bottom onto the seat and slammed the door. But in his haste to get inside and get going away from the police, he had not paid any attention to the box on the seat under the steering wheel. The box flipped over and Milton sat down on a pair of pigmy rattlesnakes. Not caring what it was he was sitting on, he just realized that he was sitting on something that was lumpy. Hitching himself a bit sideways, he reached to grab what he was sitting on to move it. His hand grasped a long tube type thing. As he was pulling it out from under himself, a sharp stinging sensation reverberated though his hand. A second one immediately followed. Then a third one originating from his buttocks hit him. Startled, he looked at the item in his hand. A fourth bite was given to him as well as another one in his behind. His heart increased its pulse due to the adrenaline rush from the fright. He was deathly afraid of snakes. He tried to throw the one in his hand away but it was fastened by its fangs and would only swing freely while gripping his thumb. The second snake was highly irritated at being sat on and let loose another bite and then another. Milton grabbed the door lever and exited the car with two snakes hanging onto various parts of his body. He ran around the lot trying to shake them loose. For some reason, both snakes were holding on for dear life, mostly out of their own fright as well as anger at the treatment. Milton ran towards the street to see if anyone could help him. No one was to be seen in any direction walking or otherwise. Hearing a car moving towards him from around the corner, he moved into the street to see if he could flag them down. What he spotted coming towards him at a fairly high rate of speed was a Porsche that looked familiar to him. As the car drew closer, he got a good look at the driver, who he recognized. A look of shock spread over his face as he watched himself in the Porsche barreling directly towards him with the police in pursuit. With a sickening crunch, the Porsche impacted him and threw him backwards and ran over his suddenly lifeless corpse in its quest to escape the police. Milton Freeman had become his own victim. Solomon, standing near the rear of his tent, smiled enigmatically. 'Ah, paybacks are a bitch for the wrong people,' he thought to himself. The End