The Underground Auction Ride
by Briar Shannon
Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:
“Howww many dollars, what ya wanna bid, who to bid, got a two-hundred-dollar bid! Two, two, two, and now three, three, three, now four—would anybody give five, anybody give five? Going once, going twice, going thrice—and sold to Bidder 13!”
A swarm of tuxedoed workers hauls away item #6, and the rust-riddled motor jerks back to life, rotating its platform 180 degrees before grinding to a halt.
“Would ya look at the scorching mane on this one? Simply stunning! And those blue eyes? Woweee, I’d love to swim in those oceans…”
The auctioneer performs beside the restored carousel, the only functional ride inside the abandoned fairground. Not that it’s a ride anymore—its horses were detached and its poles dressed in chains; cats have little use for an amusement park, and besides, they wouldn’t be caught dead straddling a wood-carved equine. Not even for fun.
Instead, they saunter through the crowd and observe the competition, or they congregate in groups, whispering through whiskers from the safety of the cover their paddles provided.
Bidder 27: Sure, the eyes are pretty, but check out those manicured fingers—you think it’s going to be deep cleaning a litterbox anytime soon?
Bidder 44: I don’t mind; I already have a designated cleaner. What I need is a proper mate for my sire so I can sell some infants at a premium.
Bidder 8: This one does look purebred.
Bidder 3: True, but the cheeks are a bit chubby. Not angular enough for my taste.
“…going, going, gone! Sold to the ginger tabby, Bidder 39! And would you look at that—the two of you match!”
Defeated yowls ripple through the sea of auction-goers as Bidder 39 heads toward the platform. He poses for a quick photo with the redhead before she’s sedated, uncuffed, and dragged toward his pickup.
“Don’t worry folks, we’ve got plenty more comin’ round, and this next one is a big one—literally!”
A collective gasp fills the air as the carousel whirls another human around.
“Holy hairball, isn’t that incredible? I wonder how many are in there! I know, I know—I’m kidding! Let’s start the bidding at three hundred…”
Bidder 8: It’s about to pop!
Bidder 44: It seems very healthy… and well-fed, which is important.
Bidder 27: What a steal—just take it home and a bonus-human slides right out. A blank slate that you can train for whatever.
Bidder 44: Who’s the sire, though? Will the buyer be privy to that information?
Bidder 3: Probably not, these things go around mating with whatever happens to cross their paths. Its spawn could look like anything.
Bidder 8: Then why’s this one even included? If we’re risking our tails to be here, shouldn’t the lot be comprised of premium humans only?
“…sold to Bidder 2! And she’s going home with two humans! What are the odds?”
Auction-goers sip White Russians and fan themselves with their paddles while the pregnant woman’s body is rolled off the platform and into a wheelbarrow.
“We’ve gotta handle that package with care, am I right?” The auctioneer pantomimes a pregnant belly before pawing at the carousel’s control pad. “Now—don’t spill your drinks, ’cause this one is going to blow you away! Hell, it could carry those of you home who’ve had a bit too much…”
Bidder 8: Now this is what I’m talkin’ about.
Bidder 27: It would be excellent for housework; look at those muscles!
Bidder 44: My sire puts it to shame. Come to think of it, it could be fun to watch them fight…
Bidder 8: Right? I’ve considered adopting, to do my part in getting them off the streets, but those ones are all so… weak. Useless gamehumans.
Bidder 3: Ugly, too.
Bidder 27: Well, this lot was imported from the streets of Europe, so you don’t have to feel bad.
Bidder 44: They’re certainly better stock. But those accents… You can’t let them open their mouths when they run errands.
Bidder 27: Oh, I won’t. I’m not paying a paw and a leg just to wind up back in jail.
“…Let me remind everyone that photography will be available online post-event!” The auctioneer takes a moment to snap a photo of Bidder 27 and his forever-human. “Chauncy will provide successful bidders with a link at payment.”
Fuzzy heads nod to the rhythm of quickening creaks as the center pole spins.
“Alright, hold onto your hats, Toms and Mollys; there’s a pretty young thing comin’ your way! It’s got more than nine lives, I’ll tell ya that! Let’s start the bidding at a whopping four hundred…”
Bidder 44: If I had to guess, it’s just old enough…
Bidder 3: Those curls! And the eyes—wow—they’re such a striking green, which is very unusual. So many have brown eyes, which are just… boring. I’ve been looking for a human like this one.
Bidder 44: Paired with my sire, it would produce the most gorgeous offspring. My sire has blue eyes, you know.
Bidder 8: We know…
Bidder 44: At first, I was upset that I didn’t win the one with the red mane, but five hundred for something that old? Bidder 39 must be an idiot.
Bidder 8: Oh come on, you don’t even know what they’re using it for.
The paddle marked number three shoots up in the air—
Bidder 3: Five hundred and seventy-five!
Bidder 44: Six hundred!
Bidder 3: Six twenty-five!
Bidder 44: Six-fif—
Bidder 8: Oh fuck! Do you guys hear tha—
“Stop the bidding! Do my ears deceive me? It sounds like Sheriff Peaches is gonna try to shut us down again—but we’d like to see her try! Chauncy, have your Toms throw this one back in the van with the others! And bidders—don’t panic, we’ll reconvene at the backup location!”
Paddles take flight as the auction-goers run like cats out of hell, zooming across the fairground and into a tunnel beneath the Ol’ Wildfire coaster.