Carnival of Dead Girls

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  “I’m just a little anxious, that’s all,” she said. “Like I said, I haven’t been in years and now I’m going with you…”

  “Don’t worry. We’re in it together,” I assured her. She smiled brightly, her mood lifting. We’d spent hours killing time in Flocksdale, wandering the streets, our overnight blankets tucked under our arms and Rachel’s backpack weighing—and slowing—us down.

  “Let’s drop off this stuff and go to the carnival,” she said finally. We made our way toward Saints Road. I stood outside, down the street, waiting for her to take our belongings inside and come back.

  “It’s time,” she said strangely, heading toward Clemmons Street.

  It wasn’t long before I heard the loud music and sounds of the crowd. I could see bright lights up ahead—Clemmons Street was no longer deserted.

  When we stepped on the midway, I briefly experienced something similar to déjà vu. No matter where it’s at, or what city’s it in, this carnival looks just the same, I thought warily. Rides and booths were lined up, the House of Horrors standing dark and lit up in the distance. Rumbles of recorded haunting sounds emanated from its doors and windows.

  “Let’s just hope they cleaned up that stupid light that fell,” Rachel muttered. I frowned. What sort of twisted fucks used the actual site of dozens of kidnappings and murders to host a haunted house? Tomorrow was Halloween and all, but it just didn’t seem right. Disrespectful of the dead girls and their families.

  They should call it the Carnival of Dead Girls, I thought grimly.

  The first thing I did was look around for Evan, the boy from the milk carton game. It didn’t take long to find him. He was working the same booth.

  Evan’s face was half-hidden by a crowd of college-aged boys standing in front of his booth, tossing those impossible rubber balls at the plastic jugs of milk. “Evan!” I shouted. Rachel jumped, clearly unprepared for my shout. Why was she so edgy?

  Standing on the tips of my toes, I tried to look over the group of boys. Evan saw me right away. A look of confusion crossed his face, but then he broke into a smile and waved affectionately.

  “What the heck are you doing here, Josie?” He was wearing a bewildered yet pleased look on his face. And then it occurred to me…he thought I’d come here for him.

  Clearing my throat, I got straight to the point. “Where is Pockets?” I asked firmly.

  Without asking any questions, but clearly disappointed, Evan pointed in the direction of the Big Top again. I didn’t find Pockets there last time, and probably wouldn’t this time either. I sighed.

  “He’s probably behind the Big Top with all those freaks,” Evan said. At the mention of the word “freaks,” I could feel Rachel stiffen beside me.

  “That’s my mom you’re talking about!” she shouted defiantly. Evan looked from her to me, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

  “Lucy is her mom,” I explained.

  Evan chuckled. “I know. I’m from this town, remember? We all know each other around here.”

  He and Rachel exchanged death glares.

  “Come on.” I took Rachel by the hand and led her in the direction of the Big Top. “We’ll be back,” I called out over my shoulder to Evan.

  “No, we won’t,” Rachel grumbled.

  “Sorry about that,” I whispered, heading for the big red tent that housed the main show.

  “This is why I hate coming here. At school, I get to just be me. But I don’t like to be associated with the carnival, or made fun of because of my mom. I don’t know why I get so bent out of shape when people call her a freak. I mean, they call themselves freaks, right?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that.

  As we went inside the Big Top, I was greeted by the same lady at the front. “I’m looking for my friend, Pockets,” I said matter-of-factly, calling him my “friend” so as not to raise any suspicion from the woman.

  “He’s in the back. The Freak Show tent,” she said flatly.

  “Are you ready to see your mom?” I asked, catching a glimpse of Rachel’s face. I got the sense that she never saw her mother in her work element.

  She didn’t answer but simply nodded. We walked to the tent behind the Big Top, to the same spot The Freak Show tent was before, in Lamison. I recognized the same blood-red sign from before. Only this time the name had changed, just like the general name of the carnival itself. The sign read ‘Flocksdale’s Freak Show.’

  “What is up with all the name changing?” I asked again. Rachel just shrugged, chewing her lip anxiously.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll ask my mother when we find her.”

  “This is it,” I said, preparing Rachel, but she surprised me by stepping inside ahead of me.

  Last time I was here, I’d been with Evan and didn’t need a ticket, so I felt pretty foolish when I saw the man at the front with his top hat and tails.

  “I’m sorry. We have to go all the way back out to the midway to get a ticket for the show.”

  “She’s my mom,” Rachel said, pushing me forward. “I think the least they can do is let me in here to see her since I’m her daughter.”

  She stepped up to the man and told him just that. “My mom is the bearded lady,” she said matter-of-factly. “I need to see her now.”

  Instead of looking at her, the man seemed to be staring at me, a strange expression on his face. I wondered if he recognized me from the carnival in Lamison…

  “Okay.” He lifted the velvet rope aside to allow our entrance to the tent.

  “She’s right over there.” I pointed to the same side where her mom had been standing last time. Rachel was walking so briskly that I had to pick up the pace significantly to keep up with her.

  She stumbled right up to her mom’s booth. “Mom! Mom, it’s me!”

  Lucy was surrounded by gawkers just like last time, and when she looked up at the person calling out “Mom,” the look on her face was haunting. That proud grin she wore before collapsed on her face. Covering her mouth and beard with her hands, she was obviously shocked to see her daughter.

  Lucy’s face turned a deep shade of red, obviously embarrassed for her daughter to see her like this. I suddenly realized why Rachel had seemed so nervous. This was nerve-racking for both mother and daughter. I instantly regretted dragging Rachel along with me.

  I turned away as they awkwardly embraced and whispered back and forth. I immediately noticed the man in the top hat watching us—specifically me.

  Lucy’s “exhibit” was surrounded by soft velvet roping, but Rachel had climbed right over it to hug her mom. With Lucy on the road all the time with the carnival, they probably don’t get to see each other much at all, I realized sadly.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Mom,” I heard Rachel saying, a pleading quality to her voice. An unspoken plea for her mother to stop leaving. I thought about my own mother, rotting away in jail. Like Rachel, my mother’s whereabouts were embarrassing for me, but at least her mother wasn’t a criminal. Sometimes I wish she’d done something cool, like rob a bank or pull off some heist. But no, she went to jail for her drug problems.

  Lucy called out, “I’m taking a break!” to no one in particular, interrupting my thoughts.

  I leaned toward Rachel and whispered, “I’ll be back for you in a bit. I’ll let you spend time with your mom. Gonna snoop around and ask questions, hopefully run into Pockets…”

  She nodded, walking off with her mother to a semi-secluded bench near the far left wall of the freak show tent. Despite her embarrassment over her mom’s occupation, Rachel looked happy and at peace. I couldn’t help feeling pleased for her. She seemed nice, like someone I could be real friends with…unlike Freya.

  But I hadn’t forgotten my reasoning for coming back to the carnival. I felt certain that Freya was in danger, and my priority was tracking her down.

  I walked around Flocksdale’s Freakshow, looking at the same booths from the other day. I spotted the small shack with the dead oddities in it, and the sa
me creep working the door. I moved around the arena, looking from booth to booth, and around the crowd, for any sign of Pockets.

  I’d planned on heading back out to the midway, but instead, I approached the man in the shop, a nervous tingle in my step.

  “I’m here to see Pockets. Can you find him for me?” I put on my best brave face.

  The man looked at me disdainfully, but then said, “Wait right here.”

  Oddly, he entered the same wooden door in the back of the shack, the one he was guarding last week. Pacing around the booth, I once again looked at the creepy specimens behind glass. What a weird place, I thought, eager to get the hell out of there.

  “Who the hell are you?” a man called out in a booming voice. I turned around and came face to face with Pockets. Up close, the man was even uglier than he seemed before, with deep fissures, scars, and pus-filled boils on his face. The menacing look on his face didn’t help either.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I wasn’t in the mood for exchanging introductions with this scumbag. “Tell me where Freya is,” I demanded, glaring at the ugly man named Pockets. He stared at me dumbfounded, but then a momentary spark lit his eye. He rubbed his chin carelessly.

  “Who?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. The girl you kidnapped from the town you just left, in Lamison Point.”

  “Whoa! Did you really just say kidnapped?” he asked, bringing his hands up in a defensive posture. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about, little girl, but you’re lucky you’re not a man or I’d—”

  “You’d what?” I asked angrily, stepping closer to his face. Only, I had to look up because he was nearly a head taller. Lunging forward, Pockets pulled his arm back, preparing to throw a punch at me. I stood there, stunned.

  “Hey!” yelled the man from the stool, coming up behind Pockets. “Now wait a minute, Pockets. You can’t go hitting customers. Or little girls, for that matter. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for this and this girl is simply mistaken.” He stared at me with tiny slits for eyes, an expression of sheer disdain.

  “Now what are you saying about this man, girl?” he asked, pointing a crooked finger at Pockets.

  “My friend, Freya…well, she was my friend but not anymore…This man—” I poked a finger at Pockets, “—was the last person to see her before she disappeared. They were kissing on the spaceship ride…what do you call it…Megatron? I know that he knows who I’m talking about!”

  My hands on my hips, I wouldn’t budge. The man looked at Pockets, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

  “Look, I’ve been known to kiss lots of stupid girls when I come through town. Ask anyone, and they’ll back that up.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry I stole your little girlfriend from you, but that’s just life,” Pockets said, sneering at me evilly.

  I thought about the ride spinning around and around, his eyes locked on mine as Freya ridiculed me in his ear…

  “I’ve had lots of girls. I don’t recall the one you’re talking about. And I sure as hell don’t know anybody named Freya,” he said flatly. Once animated, now he feigned boredom.

  “He’s lying,” said a voice from behind me. The voice came from Rachel, and she was standing beside me now, chin jutting out defensively.

  “I know a liar when I see one,” she said haughtily. Pockets released a loud guffaw.

  “And I know a future freak when I see one. When’s your beard coming in, huh?” He leaned forward and brushed his fingers across her jaw line. “How long do you think you have before you can take your mother’s place?”

  Those were the last words out of his mouth as I threw a wild punch that landed straight across his jaw. The next thing I knew, Pockets was on top of me and we were rolling around on the dirt floor of the tent, knocking over displays and causing quite an uproar of cheers and boos from the crowd. On top of me now, he gripped my forearms, delivering a painful squeeze. His eyes widened maniacally as he squeezed harder and harder, like a psychotic blood pressure cuff.

  Finally, two sets of hands pulled us apart, and I fell back on my butt. I gasped for breath.

  Rachel bent down beside me. “Are you okay?” she asked, reaching out to touch the scrapes on my right knuckle.

  “I’m fine,” I said, jerking away from her. “I’m sorry.” I instantly regretted my anger toward her. It wasn’t her fault Pockets was such a prick.

  “It’s okay,” she assured me. The two men who broke up the fight were standing across the arena, still attempting to calm Pockets down. “Listen, Josie,” she said, “if he knows anything about Freya’s whereabouts, he’s obviously not going to tell you. I think we need to reevaluate our game plan. For the time being, I think we should get the hell out of here and away from him before somebody decides to call the cops.”

  “Yeah, on him. What kind of guy tries to fight a girl half his size?” I muttered. She pulled me to my feet.

  “Meet you back outside the tent. Let me go tell my mom where I’m going first,” Rachel said. I followed her instructions, exiting the freak show tent without looking back at that creep, Pockets. What the hell had Freya seen in that guy? It certainly wasn’t his looks or personality.

  A few minutes later, Rachel came strolling out of the tent. I was still high on adrenaline and sheer anger fumes. “I know you want to kick that guy’s ass right now, but I think our best bet is to spend some time canvassing the area and asking people questions,” Rachel recommended.

  Fighting with Pockets wasn’t getting me anywhere, and she was right. We headed out to the midway, observing the games and rides. “Do you have a picture of Freya?” Rachel asked. Immediately, I remembered the sketch I’d made on the bus. It was rumpled up in the bottom of my duffel bag, which Rachel had stashed at her home with hers. Not to mention the mess I’d made of her face in the drawing…I dug for my phone in my pocket. I dreaded turning it on because I knew I’d have a million missed calls from home. But the phone contained my only snapshot of Freya.

  I turned the phone on, instantly sliding the volume button down on the side. I held out the phone to Rachel. “It’s like picture 853 or something…”

  We moved through the crowds, stopping at every booth to show the workers and concessionaires Freya’s picture. The first several people we talked to just shook their heads or said no. But a fair-skinned blonde working a skeeball booth said, “Yeah, I saw her! She’s that girl that was hanging out with that loser, Pockets. She had some really cool-looking hair. Never seen hair that color before…”

  I practically yelled over the girl to get her to stop blabbering. “When did you see her last?” I asked specifically.

  “Oh,” the girl said, pressing a finger to her temple as she thought it over. I thought about that childish saying, about the brightest crayon in the box…

  “I saw her in Lamison, last Wednesday or Thursday, I think.”

  We thanked her for her help and moved on. “Wednesday and Thursday are the two days that I was there, and I saw her then too,” I explained to Rachel. “What I’m trying to figure out is if anyone has seen her since then. In Flocksdale.”

  The man in the booth next to the talkative skeeball worker put up a hand to stop us. “I want a turn!” he said, his laughter revealing no teeth.

  “We’re looking for a girl,” Rachel said.

  “Her name’s Freya and she’s missing,” I explained, holding up the cell phone picture. The old man let out a long whistle.

  “Yep. I saw her. She was a fine one, that girl…I saw her just the other day.”

  “When?” I asked, hopeful of new information.

  “I’m not sure.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I think it was just a couple days ago. Yeah…now that I think a little harder, it was just a few days ago. The day before we left to come home.”

  “So, you saw her the day you were packing up to leave, in Lamison Point?” I prompted. He nodded. “What was she doing when you saw her?”

  The man thought about i
t for a few seconds before answering. “Well, the first time I saw her it was early in the evening ’cause I was setting up my clown targets. She was with that guy that has all those marks on his face. She was walking beside him. I remember looking at him and then looking at her, and I was wondering how he bagged a chick like her.”

  “And the second time you saw her?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  “The second time I saw her she was running,” the old man said flatly.

  “She was running?” I asked, my chest tightening. “Who was she running from?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t see anyone chasing her, if that’s what ya mean. She was just running. She ran past my booth and kept going until I couldn’t see her anymore.”

  After gaining that strange bit of information, I felt more certain that Freya had been at the carnival right before they skipped town. And obviously trying to get away from someone. Maybe someone who grabbed her and took her away with them…That still brought me back to suspect number one—Pockets.

  “I don’t know, Josie…that old guy might’ve been wrong. He seemed a little off kilter.” Rachel made circular motions with her finger, indicating he was nutso.

  I sighed, feeling frustrated. “I don’t want to go back into the freak show tent and have another run-in with Pockets, so maybe, if you don’t mind, you can go in there and make the rounds. Ask some of the different people from the exhibits if they’ve seen her, including your mom,” I suggested. I started to hand over the phone with the picture, but then realized I wouldn’t have a photo to show while we canvassed separately.

  I stopped at a booth, its windows lined with sticky globs of cotton candy and caramel apples. There was a napkin dispenser next to the window and I grabbed a few for myself. “Do you have a pen I could borrow for a sec?” I asked a middle-aged brunette working the booth. She frowned, but passed one to me through the window.

  It took me under a minute to sketch a small image of Freya’s face with all of its delicate, haunting features.

  “She’s really pretty,” Rachel said, mesmerized. “I can’t believe you can draw so well.” She studied it for a few minutes, then tucked the drawing in her back pocket. I watched her walk away, heading in the direction of the freak show tent.