‘Bonedale’ excerpt: Flicker
By Patrick Kitson
Editor’s note: The following is an excerpt from Patrick Kitson’s new collection of short stories, “Bonedale.” Born and raised in the Roaring Fork Valley, Kitson coined the term “Valley Horror” in reference to his particular brand of homebrewed speculative fiction which largely takes place in and around the snowy climes of Colorado.
Nestled amongst the snow-capped peaks of Colorado’s Western Slope lies a town with a rich history and spectacular scenery — as well as a dark undercurrent of the miraculous and the macabre. What first appears as a sun-dappled mountainous hideaway from the techno-modernity of our chaotic world is, in reality, a waypoint between the strange and the surreal, the spooky and the scintillating. For this community harbors a mind-dazzling, spine-tingling menagerie of historical spectres and future dangers. It is a place where the line between the real and unreal remains eternally blurred.
Welcome to the town of Carbondale, or as its denizens affectionately refer to it, “Bonedale.”
For 54 years, the annual Mountain Fair has served as a colorful, cross-cultural, sometimes chemically-fueled vortex of cacophonic camaraderie. Swirling with local creativity and
artful expression, exploding with the effervescent energy of youth unbound, and booming with bustling booths of bewitchingly bohemian bacchanalia, it’s the defining event of the year for the town’s dancing denizens.
Dispensing with reckless abandon the trappings of the daily drudge that too often consume and control the lives of its attendees, the fair offers something for everyone. Sizzling meats flavor the air while liquid libations flow freely amid the pulse of musical revelry. Contests and costumes and continuous commotion. Wood splitting, artisanal pottery, tie-dyed anything, children in glitter-specked face paints, flowing dresses, stylishly curated cowboy hats, flashing lights and crunchy popcorn with sweet and sour lemonade to wash it down.
Folk, bluegrass, rock ’n’ roll, country, and a fair dollop of experimental music provide the soundtrack for a weekend filled with endless star-dotted nights and three utterly glory-filled days. All of it with an ever-present tapestry of happy human faces representing all walks and talks of life.
This is to say nothing of the hidden gems and shadow events within the larger festival. The backyard afterparties. The horseshoe hangouts with Grey Goose and sticky-icky Bubba Kush in hand. The barbecues, bar-binges, and beer-battered bashes. Or maybe even an offering or two for the truly adventurous. Something like the moonlit, butt-naked bike ride. That particular one sees a hundred-plus of Bonedale’s most daring and intrepid revelers stripping down
to their birthday suits, hopping on their favorite glow-light adorned bikes and making a nude sojourn through the heart of the town while giving all onlookers and passers-by a sight they won’t soon forget. Star-dappled, naked flesh upon which the eyes desire to feast.
Naturally, the cops do nothing to stop it. Nudity, unofficially allowed for this brief moment during the year in Carbondale, Colorado, only causes the town’s police to smile and wave as they pass by — eternally bemused by the spirit of the unclothed youth. For who are they to complain?
You really must see it for yourself.
Still, as with all things, the Mountain Fair remains eternally in cultural flux. Times are always changing, and so with those times, the face of the yearly party. Nowadays, local folks would be pained, possibly even remiss, to admit that for a great many of its attendees in the ‘70s and ‘80s, the fair served as little more than a three-day-long excuse to get utterly wasted on any and all drugs one could reasonably procure for said event. Sheets of acid, handfuls of barbiturates, bullets full of uncut Colombian snow, pinner-joints twisted up with Paonia Purple, and gallons upon gallons of homemade alcoholic offerings were the coin of the realm for many in the event’s heyday. This undercurrent of orgiastic chemical consumption often left the growing event with two problematic by-products.
The first, a smattering of well-meaning folks getting drug-lost in the swarming crowds and oft falling into unfortunate bad trips that required a safe haven for one to compose oneself and get back into the psychic swing of things. And the second, the children of those harder partiers getting separated from their parents and needing a place to hang out until their caretakers came around to finding them.
Hence, the Lost People’s Booth was breathed into existence by the event’s organizers. To help the druggies cool off, and to help kids reunite with their parental custodians.
To be continued in “Bonedale,” available at Mountain Fair, White River Books in Carbondale, Alpenglow Books in Glenwood Springs, Colorado Festival of Horror, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, as well as most online book retailers.