William "Vertigo" Jones strolled about the carnival grounds, somewhat disappointed and unimpressed.  Thus far, it seemed like just any other small-town carnival: booths featuring gimmicky games in which one could purportedly win a prize of some sort, usually a stuffed animal;  mechanical, gravity-defying rides which usually only interested children or teenagers looking for an added thrill to their awkward rendevouzes; and stalls which plied all manner of sweet and sticky foods.  He bought himself a corn dog from one of the booths, chewing idly upon it while he wandered among the attractions.  Little did he notice that he was being keenly observed by most of the carnies.<br/><br/>When he got to the Hall of Mirrors, he stopped, shrugged, and purchased a ticket for no apparent reason.  He'd enjoyed walking the Haunted Houses as a child, had enjoyed the cheap thrills and low-budget special effects.   "I'm entering the Hall of Mirrors," he spoke into his pocket recorder, pressing the record button.  "Where there supposedly have been sightings of ghosts.  One wonders, as one enters this den of brittle illusion and cheap magic, what strange and terrible events have transpired upon these very walkways I now tread."  He thought a moment, then pressed the record button again.  "what strange and terrible events have transpired upon these<em>forbidden grounds</em>I now thread," he corrected himself.