"mrs. peel? we're needed," i call about an hour later, around seven thirty. harriet emerges in her full costume and i take a deep breath: the resemblance between her and diana rigg is uncanny. they have similar builds, and both have a typical british mouth, wide and inviting; her hair needs to be a bit darker, maybe, but she looks good to me. i, on the other hand, look no more like john steed than i do pocohantos, but i feel, mostly because of harriet, that we will be easily recognizable.

"what size boot does lissel take?" harriet asks.

"seven and a half, i believe."

"they're a little snug, carlee."

"so's the suit, harriet." i reply, admiring her curves. she smiles. "i know who everyone will be lusting after tonight, and it ain't me." i pop on my derby hat and give a brief twirl. we laugh.

"that's better, steed," she says, and takes my arm once more. "shall we go?"

the car doesn't want to start again, but i am growing wise to its foibles and know how long to leave it between attempts, and before long we are back on the road, this time to the dam on the rochester side. it is equally as scenic as the route we came in on, but doesn't involve the ferry crossing, saving us time.

the weather can't be better, the temperature having dropped to around 65 degrees, and halloween is in the air. little kids are tricking and treating, their excited squeals filling the air with jollity and merriment; the moon is bright, bathing us with its cool, limpid light; i am with good company, and the night promises to be great. a warm happiness surrounds me and the horrors of the morning are shunted to the back of my memory.

the 'coven of ecstasy' looks fantastic in the evening light. clearly, they have put a great deal of work into the preparations, and it looks a lot more complete than on our previous visit. issy rushes forward to greet us again.

"gosh carlee, if i didn't know your car, i wouldn't have known you two. who are you all supposed to be?" harriet looks at me with disdain.

"ah, steed, mrs. peel, so glad you could come. i assume that the nation is secure?" it is murphy, still dressed as dracula. i reach forward and give him a brief kiss.

"does it bother you to have a man kiss you, murphy?"

"john steed can kiss me any time he wants," he says. "and mrs. peel, you look simply delicious." he turns and kisses harriet.

"hey, a ferris wheel, when did that come?" i ask.

"this morning, carlee," j.p. answers. "isn't it wonderful?"

i agree that it is, stopping to admire it. a beautiful carousel has been positioned next to it, too. on it, the horses have been replaced by panthers, werewolves, and mummies. i laugh as i study their handiwork. "say, i like that, it's neat." issy prises herself between harriet and me and grips both of our hands, squeezing tightly in her excitement.

"can we ride?" she asks.

"of course, issy." the carousel is playing the dance macabre as we skip towards the entrance. the ticket taker is warren madison, a good friend of my dad's, and he gives me a friendly wave.

"hey avengers, care to ride?"

"oh, i don't know warren, it's pretty scary."

"wuss, try the haunted mansion over there, it will curdle your blood." we settle ourselves on the carousel, with harriet choosing a panther and issy and i opting for werewolves. when we are ready, it swings into action, sweeping us round gently to the continued strains of saint-saens. as we ride, harriet nudges me and points to the stage beside the haunted mansion, where they are doing dracula. it is a colorful set, with vivid contrasts between light and dark adding to the atmosphere of menace surrounding it. jim bob is dressed as igor and neal epstein is the count. armadillos are being used as rats, and i wonder idly where they managed to come by them. in the unfolding drama, dracula is about to bite edward muncey's neck. as he bends forward, fangs thrusting exaggeratedly towards his victim, a sudden, vicious crack reverberates around the coven and instantly all the electricity goes out, plunging us into a darkness made even more vivid by the suddenness and unexpectedness of its arrival. everything becomes deadly quiet, a shocked hush, broken suddenly by a loud, penetrating scream from the direction of the ferris wheel. my blood freezes in my veins, and instantly the warm, happy evening is plunged into alarm.

"my god, what happened?"

i start to perspire. a certain scent enters the air, an indescribable odor which i had smelled all too recently. unwillingly, i am plunged back into the nightmare of this morning, when the spectre of weaver morgan attacked me. the blackness of the evening is extraordinary. it is dense, so thick you can touch it. it is weird, in fact, far darker than it should have been. it is still early evening, and the moon should be out. i look up at the sky and see nothing. just pure, unadulterated blackness, which seems to go on for ever, expanding into infinity, and i feel a tremor of terror shiver up my spine. i have never felt so cold, or so alone, or so vulnerable.

suddenly i feel the werewolf i am sitting on shift. it slides backwards an inch and then groans forward, and our carousel begins to swing into action, creaking and sliding. gradually, the music strikes up again, slow, slow, deadly slow at first and then speeding up, the notes drawled and deep and atonal. like that, when the notes are stretched out, it sounds like the wail of a ghost in torment. finally, it forms once more into the recognisable melody of the danse macabre, but somehow, the jaunty, melodramatic tune seems totally out of place. i look across at harriet and issy: harriet wears an expression of complete horror, but issy stares ahead incomprehendingly. i reach out and grip issy's ice-cold hand, squeezing it comfortingly. the carousel glides and swings round its circuit over and over, and all seems to be completely normal, as though the power has been restored and everything is running smoothly again.

except it isn't.

my heart heaves in my chest as i look around me and realise that nothing else is moving. everywhere apart from us is still plunged in darkness. as we travel round in a circle i can see nothing else stirring outside our carousel. it is as if we are the only things left alive, we are alone on the planet. i feel so utterly alone, and totally terrified.

the three of us are seated together on one side of the carousel and such is the depth of darkness that even with the garish red and blue and yellow lights around the ceiling the opposite side is still bathed in gloom. i am completely helpless, being driven on a ride to nowhere, with no way off.

at first i think it is a trick of the light, my eyes playing with me. and then i realise that, no, something is happening. directly opposite us, one of the panthers is beginning to glow and throb. harriet spots it too, and lets out a cry, but issy appears oblivious, and i try not to alert her to it. she is better not knowing. a phosphorescent glow begins to hang around the panther, pulsing menacingly, alternately fading and brightening. i saw this before, in the slaughter house, and with a sickening clarity i know what is happening.

weaver morgan appears before us.

he is hideous, a tall, leering figure, not human, not solid. it is as though he was there, but wasn't, like it is our imaginations which are conjuring him up. the panther on which he sits rides up and down gently, and the incongruity of it, this manifestation of evil on a child's plaything, makes me feel even more frightened. true terror happens when the mundane is made extraordinary. we wheel around, harriet and i watching the evil presence opposite us, not knowing what to do.

and then he speaks.

"bitch!" he spits at me. "bitch!" the venom in his delivery strikes a deathly blow at my reserves of courage, and i feel my spirit dissolve into my boots. "why have you interfered? why have you despoiled my domain?" i get the feeling that i am not expected to answer, and since i don't think i can utter a sound in any case, i say nothing.

"i want her back. she is mine. you will return her to me." the apparition continues to shimmer before us. his presence is nowhere near as vivid as it had been earlier, in the slaughter house. sometimes he almost disappears, before returning again as clear as before, like a battery running low. "you will bring her back home, tonight."

despite my terror, i am curious. something isn't right about this. it is clear that weaver morgan has enormous power. i felt it in the slaughter house, felt like i was going to die, and i know that he can destroy me with a flick of his finger. if he wants the skull of the little girl back he can just take it, he doesn't need us to bring it back. or does he? as the form of weaver morgan waxes and wanes in front of us, slipping in and out of solidity, i begin to understand what is happening.

he has no power outside his own farm.

it is obviously taking all his strength to appear to us like this on the carousel, and he can do nothing to harm us here. similarly, while the skull of the little girl is in my house he is unable to touch it. he needs us to bring it to his house, his domain, the place where he reigns supreme, he needs to confront us on his own territory.

"okay," i say. "we'll bring it tonight. just leave us alone, okay?" i do not wish to let him know that i have figured out his secret, and play for time.

"midnight," he says. "you saw what happened to the child last night. don't let it happen to the sweet thing with you there." he points at issy. and before i can respond, weaver morgan disappears.

at once, the lights around the coven burst into life again, and the comfortable, frenzied hubbub and chatter resumes as though it has never stopped. i look out as we waltz round the carousel, and on the stage dracula is still biting edward muncey's neck. from the ferris wheel the sound of the penetrating scream we had heard when weaver morgan first appeared continues and spirals into a childlike shreik of laughter.

the coven has not noticed any change. it had been stilled in time.

the carousel grinds to a halt, and shakily harriet and i descend.

"that was great," says issy. she too, has noticed nothing. i smile and take her hand. harriet grabs her other hand and we swing her aloft.

"it sure was, issy," i say. harriet and i look at one another, and understand. this is our problem, this is our fight, and we will have to fight it alone.

"miss scott, miss mccord, may i invite you to the haunted mansion, on me of course?" edwin bates asks as we saunter past. edwin is a nice man who owns a ford dealership in hartford.

"i don't want to go," issy says. "it's too scary, phillip told me all about it." she releases her hand from my grip and waves happily as she runs off. "see you later, i'm going to see jim bob."

"well thanks edwin, i'm game if harriet is." some old fashioned hokum is probably just what we need right now, after that experience.

"i heard you all pull up in that old oldsmobile carlee, got some nice low milage ford contours, might want to drop by." typical car salesman: even when he's off-duty he can't stop selling.

harriet nods. "she might, damned car never starts. and i, for one, would love to see the haunted mansion." edwin is ogling harriet's leather suit, trying to undress her with his eyes, but the outfit is too tight.

"you look very nice, mrs. peel, and the resemblance is astonishing." edwin is dressed as a farmer, red bandana around his neck and a straw hat upon his head. we head for the entrance to the haunted mansion, where winthrop atkins is wrapped up like a mummy. he looks good, but his motion is limited.

"goddamit, next year i'm coming as tinkerbell, the woman insisted on this costume, and i'm burning up. be twelve dollars mr. bates." edwin smiles and forks over the money.

"you have to suffer for your art, edwin," he laughs.

as we enter the haunted castle it is pitch black, but nothing like the penetrating, all-consuming blackness we had experienced on the carousel. a sudden, strong current of air blows on us from below. "that was designed to blow your dresses up over your heads, girls," edwin grins. the avengers are intact though. about thirty paces later, a greenish skull lites up in our faces, and loud music emanates from it.

"not as scary as weaver," i announce.

"god, carlee, he looked just like he did in the picture. sort of like an unburned freddy krueger." it is the first time we have spoken of what happened, and it is a comforting release to be able to mention it. we joke about it as a form of defence mechanism, to prevent ourselves from being frightened.

"i know 3; who needs haunted mansions when we have our own nightmare on jacksons flats?"

"what are you girls talking about?" asks edwin.

"oh, nothing edwin. just girl talk."

the next event in the haunted mansion is a fortune teller. the figure behind glass looks like an authentic gypsy.

"what do we do, edwin?" i ask.

"insert a quarter, and lady ilona will tell your future." lady ilona has a curious face, it is omnious and ugly, and i don't like her. i insert my coin, and lady ilona's head turns round and round, her body just sitting there. she lets out a terrifying cackle.

"your future begins tonight at midnight, at weaver morgan's, my child. fail him, and you will die. do you know what it is like to be ripped apart? do you know what it is like to be eaten alive? serve weaver morgan or you will know these things. and you, too, my dear." she turns to face harriet, and cackles again.

i stare at harriet, aghast, and then at edwin. he has a smile on his face, as though he has heard an amusing joke.

"now that's a favorable future, girls," he says.

harriet whispers in my ear. "it's us love, it's us. i'll wager no-one else saw the apparition on the carousel, and edwin obviously didn't hear what ilona said to us." i know she is right. it is strangely comforting to be certain, now, of what is happening to us: it is uncertainty which creates fear, the unknowing which strikes at your confidence. "let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore", comes to my mind.

"shhhhhit!" yells someone, but i don't know who. it might even have been me. the solid floor disappears and we all fall, fifteen or twenty feet. we hit something soft, some mattresses maybe, then are dumped into a tube that winds and twists downwards. all of a sudden we are on the outside, the soft moonlight refreshing on the eyes after the artificial gloom of the mansion. with a boom, we clatter to the ground.

"we must have taken a wrong turn, girls," edwin says, rubbing his behind. "the tour is supposed to last for half and hour." i am glad to be out, in fact: i need to talk with issy, to confirm our suspicions that the macabre events conjured up by weaver morgan have been for the benefit of harriet and me alone.

an announcement comes over the pa, summoning the inner circle to the campgrounds. i push a button on my watch. "it's ten thirty pm, harriet, october 31st, 2001." an hour and a half until our appointment with weaver morgan. harriet takes my hand and kisses me on the cheek. in the distance, i see issy and we run to her.

"issy, when the lights went out honey, did you see anything strange on the carousel? it's very important."

issy look up into my eyes, her face shining with the importance of being asked serious questions. "it was all dark for a bit, and i got scared." she answers.

"did any of the carousel animals light up or say anything?"

"i don't remember carlee, i don't think so." harriet is right: it is us.

the inner circle has congregated beside a huge campfire, a motley gathering of ghosts and ghouls, vampires and werewolves, with j.p. mcstoots presiding. "please be seated," he yells.

i don't know what to do. common sense tells me never to return to the morgan place. if he can't harm us outside it, stay away, i tell myself. but can we? i am afraid that we have unleashed something we don't understand, and can't control.

and i am afraid that we will go back to the weaver place at midnight.