Carnival of Dead Girls

by Carissa Ann Lynch

I shook my head. “Listen, Marianna. This isn’t a game anymore, or some sort of dinner theater show. These girls are in real danger and I don’t want to bring anyone else along, taking a chance of endangering them too.”

  “Those girls—their names are Josie and Freya,” Marianna said, staring out the window as we pulled away from our small two-bedroom apartment.

  I knew she was pissed at me. She’d done all the legwork and now I was taking charge, bossing her around like a mother instead of her friend. As usual.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously. I just didn’t want you so fixated on Flocksdale. I want you to go to college and make something of yourself, Marianna. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life chasing demons like I did…”

  “They’re not just your demons, Wendi. They’re mine too,” she whispered, her voice cracking. I knew she was thinking about her family and my heart ached for her.

  Reaching across the gear shift, I placed my hand on hers. “I know. I’m sorry, I know…”

  After an hour of riding in silence, I pulled off at an abandoned rest area. “Can you pull out that map? Help me figure out how to get there?” I asked, pointing at the glove box.

  She’d been sulking, her eyes glassy the whole ride so far.

  She pulled the map out, unfolded it across her lap. Tracing the lines with her finger, she pondered for a minute. “We’re at least a day’s drive away,” she remarked.

  “Can you guide me from here?” I asked curiously. She nodded, pulling out her phone to access MapQuest.

  I pulled back on the ramp, following the familiar highway signs as Marianna plotted out our trip and reviewed her copies of the case notes.

  I knew the way to Flocksdale like the back of my hand. It was only last year, when Marianna and one of the other girls took a three day trip to Gatlinburg, that I drove this same route to Flocksdale. I stayed a few days, sleeping in my car, crouched in my seat with binoculars. I was just as obsessed as she was, only I did a better job of hiding it.

  For now, I pretended not to know the way…giving her a task to keep her mind occupied. My mind, on the other hand, was full of hate. Hate for the sons of bitches responsible for hurting so many girls and their families. For hurting Marianna. For hurting me. The evil surrounding that town just wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard I tried to force it to.

  If they were at it again, trafficking drugs and girls, I was going to put a stop to it—again. Maybe this time I’d stop those fuckers for good.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Six

  Focusing on the map proved to be a good distraction for Marianna. We were getting close, only minutes away from the welcome sign to Flocksdale—a sign we thought we’d never see again when we left five years ago.

  She’d perked up for the last few hours of the trip, showing me pictures of the missing girls and discussing the evidence objectively. But as we passed through a dark tunnel of trees, approaching the town of Flocksdale, her entire demeanor changed.

  She was quiet, almost mute, her body stiffening in the seat across from me. The tension was so thick I could have sliced through it with a knife.

  “It’s okay. I brought plenty of guns and ammo, as usual,” I tried to joke. But her lips were pursed, her brows knitted together in worry.

  “Welcome to Flocksdale,” she whispered as we pulled into the familiar town. Businesses were dark, the townspeople retired for the day. The town was so small, a population of less than three hundred residents. Hard to believe so much evil could dwell here, I thought drearily.

  Within minutes, we’d passed the business district and were headed into rural territory. When I lived here as a kid, the houses were normal—ranch style dwellings and shotguns. But then the town rebuilt after half of the town was demolished, choosing an odd stilts design used to survive flooding in case the river ever got too high.

  Flooding should be the least of this town’s worries, I thought, shaking my head.

  “What is it?” Marianna asked, a panicked quality to her voice as she watched my head shake from side to side.

  “Just thinking, is all…about this stupid fucking town and all of the evil that dwells here. Breeds here, I should say.”

  She said nothing, staring straight ahead. We were both looking for it—the river. Five years ago, the town was on fire. The aftermath was obvious, some of the old houses on stilts stood tall, while others were blackened and decrepit, and still others looked freshly rebuilt.

  “The evil around here is very old, sort of old, and modern. One generation after another…” Marianna said ominously. I understood what she meant completely. Generations of evil were here, and no matter how many times we tried to knock it down and burn it to the ground, the evil seemed to remain. As though evil people were drawn to this tiny rural town in the middle of nowhere.

  We saw the river at the same time. Marianna drew in a sharp breath, then didn’t seem to breathe anymore as we got closer. The houses were mostly dark. It felt as though they were watching us…like they always knew we’d come back for them.

  I took a familiar turn on Lincoln Boulevard, heading for Clemmons Street—the street where the House of Horrors had always stood, no matter how many times we tried to destroy it.

  What we saw came as a surprise. There were no houses on Clemmons Street or the street over—Brywood—either. But what we did see made my heart leap with fear and relief. A carnival—just like the one described in Lamison Point. Workers were taking down tents and sweeping the streets, disassembling rides.

  “Looks like the freaks came home to roost,” I murmured, my mouth dry.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Seven

  Josie

  Someone stabbed me.

  No, not stabbed…it didn’t hurt enough to be a knife.

  Poked. Someone poked me. Another needle, perhaps?

  I jerked my eyes open, tried to move. My arms were restrained to a chair. So were my legs.

  My thoughts raced. Too fast for me to follow their content.

  I shifted around frantically, fighting to loosen the straps. I rocked back and forth, flexed against the tight leather binding. Clenched my jaw and growled.

  Instead of breaking away from the chair, I knocked it over. It hit the ground with a loud thud, but not as loud as my right temple smacking against the wood floor beside it.

  It didn’t hurt. I felt no pain…

  I had a sideways view of the room now. My eyes so wide they might rip and tear, splitting my caruncle.

  Caruncle? I remembered once learning the anatomy of the eye. In Mrs. Delbert’s biology class. Last semester. I sat next to Ricky Sanders. And Robin Tuchi. Behind me in my row were Allison Blackstone, Tommy Nuck, and Grant Johnson. And…

  My eyes. Iris, pupil, sclera…caruncle, the tiny little red thing in the corner of my eye.

  A light buzzed…On. Off. On and off again. I counted the buzzes, but couldn’t see the light source. Why do lights make sound? And…how come I’ve never asked that question before?

  What is wrong with me?

  What the fuck sort of drug is this?

  The door to the room opened. I watched a pair of size ten boots enter the room.

  They stomped toward me, the sounds of each step vibrating my head—my head that didn’t hurt one bit.

  There’s blood…I can taste it. Pouring down my face, streaming into my open mouth. Why does blood taste like old pennies? And why doesn’t anything hurt?

  The boots were in front of my face now, inches away from my nose. I caught a whiff of that dirty smell…the one people get when they never wear socks.

  I didn’t move. I wasn’t afraid.

  “Bring it on, motherfucker,” I snarled.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Eight

  Suddenly, I was turned upright, my eyes instantly focused on Joseph’s face. And others…

  We were in the same bedroom, the one where the clown…

  I shivered despite the warmth of my skin.

  “F
inally awake, are ya? I thought that brown would kill you, I did…Chuckles here almost overdosed ya, so I gave you something to wake you up a bit. Stupid, stupid,” he scolded someone in the dark.

  My mouth ached, but it didn’t hurt. It felt sore, like I’d been punched. My entire face felt numb, now that I thought about it.

  The clown was lying in the corner, in some weird sort of fetal position. Joseph was smacking the top of his bald, painted head. “Stupid, stupid…”

  A strange sound escaped from the clown’s mouth, like a child whimpering. I suddenly realized that he was mentally impaired. I tried to feel sorry for him, muster up some sympathy. Came up empty.

  I moved my eyes around, looking for Pinner. He was sitting back on his haunches, having a smoke. Flicking ashes on the floor. Staring at me, as though he’d been waiting for me to see him.

  “I told you those ears were infected…”

  I suddenly remembered, a sharp blade…sounds of my own fleshing tearing…

  “I cut the infected part off,” he said, stubbing out his butt on the floor.

  I screamed, remembering…him cutting, the clown playing with half an ear lobe in the dark. Shaking it back and forth in his mouth like a dog’s chew toy…

  I screamed louder, a deep guttural release of sheer terror.

  Joseph came, told me to shut up.

  I didn’t.

  Something heavy and cold slammed into the back of my head.

  And that’s when everything went black.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Nine

  “Wake up! Please wake up!” someone hissed in the dark. My eyes shot open, immediately sensing the drug in my system, but with lesser effects.

  “Get. Up. Now.”

  I reached out in the dark—my arms no longer restrained—and grabbed a hold of somebody’s arm. “Please, help…” I croaked, my throat hoarse.

  “I’m trying. But we have to go. Now.” Evan’s face loomed close to mine.

  But it was his dad…His friends from the carnival…

  I had no other choice but to trust him.

  I let him help me up in the dark. I stared at the crusty blanket I’d been laying on. It looked brown…dried blood smeared across where my head had been.

  I was upstairs, still in the same room. I remembered my ears, the crying clown…something metal knocking me out in the dark…

  My legs and feet felt wobbly. I gripped Evan’s arm for support. “Everyone’s asleep or gone home. But Pinner and Pockets are downstairs, so we have to sneak past them.”

  He opened the door to the room, peeked out. Motioned for me to follow him.

  We lurked in the dark, taking small, tentative steps toward the staircase.

  “Let me go first. If it’s still all clear, I’ll motion you down.”

  I stood at the top, painfully listening to each step he took—each movement creating a sharp, creaking sound.

  I nervously stepped down the first few steps, peering around the twisted corner. My head was spinning. Evan stood at the bottom, surrounded by dim lights in the foyer. He motioned for me to come on down.

  Biting my lip, I crept slowly, carefully. I finally understood that expression about stomachs and how they can be full of knots.

  All I had to do was make it downstairs and the door to freedom was a few feet away.

  I recited a familiar prayer, all the way to the bottom. Taking my hand, Evan walked me to the front door. I didn’t bother looking around. My eyes were glued to my one chance of staying alive.

  Carefully, he unlatched the bolt and quietly opened the door. Before he could say or do anything, I took off through the narrow gap, running down Clemmons Street.

  Chapter Forty

  I had superhuman strength. Unstoppable. I raced down the street, watching my feet move in blurring motions across the black top. Pounding the blacktop into oblivion.

  Fuck this town. I won’t stop running until I’m out of here forever. I don’t care about Freya. About Evan. About anyone in this god forsaken place…I just want to go home, to my dad. To Candy. To my school and my old life.

  To…Rachel.

  I skidded to a stop. Where was Rachel? Had they taken her too? I whipped around in the dark, the ice cold October wind that felt more like December sliced through me, rippling shivers racing up my spine.

  There were no houses in sight. But why would there be? No one was crazy enough to live close to the House of Horrors.

  I could see Evan, running in the dark. Chasing me.

  But why would he save me from there, just to chase me again? That didn’t make sense. I stepped forward, staring at him as he approached.

  He stopped in front of me, gasping for breath, his face nearly as red as mine must have been.

  “Please. Wait,” he wheezed.

  “Where is Rachel?” I asked, shoving him hard in the chest. He stumbled back, nearly falling.

  “What? Rachel?” he asked, looking hurt by my push and confused by my question.

  “Where is Rachel?” I repeated.

  “She’s at home,” he said, looking around nervously. “She thinks you skipped town.”

  “And Freya?” I asked, preparing to shove him again to get answers.

  At the mention of Freya’s name, he froze.

  He took a deep breath, staring at me strangely.

  “I killed her,” he said.

  Chapter

  Forty-One

  Fight or flight—this time fight won. I socked him in the face, my knuckles connecting with bone. I heard the sound of his nose cracking, so I punched him again and again, trying to crack his entire face.

  “Please, please…” he whined, bent down protecting his head and face now.

  We were standing in the middle of the street, no signs or sounds of people. As much as I wanted to kill him, I didn’t have a weapon and I needed to go. Now.

  I had to get somewhere, find help…I need to go to Rachel’s, I decided.

  “Wait. Don’t run. Let me explain,” Evan whimpered, clutching his nose. Blood seeped through the gaps in his fingers, dripping down the backs of his hands and forearms.

  “I had no other choice. I had to get you here. I had her tied up. But she ran. She ran and ran. And somebody had to stop her, control her…”

  “What do you mean, get me here?” I shouted. The sound of my voice echoed down the deserted street, reminding me that I needed to go.

  I didn’t have time for explanations. Nor did I care. If Freya was dead, I needed to get out of here. Out of Flocksdale before I ended up dead too.

  I turned on my heels and took off running. I never should have stopped in the first place.

  “You’re my sister!” Evan croaked from behind me.

  I guess this is the part where I should have stopped. Where I should have asked, “What? Why? How?”

  But I kept on going, trying to wrap my brain around his words as I did.

  Chapter

  Forty-Two

  I heard shouts coming from behind me, voices not belonging to Evan. I veered off Lincoln Boulevard, and bolted through somebody’s yard. Motion lights flashed on, illuminating my path and alerting my enemies.

  I didn’t look back.

  A gunshot rang out in the distance, startling me enough to stop. I ducked behind a child’s playhouse, looking around crazily.

  My thoughts were still racing from the meth, I presumed. I sucked in breaths.

  Who has a gun? Surely not Evan, or he would have stopped me earlier.

  I listened in the dark, holding my breath.

  Distant shouts were becoming less distant.

  I looked around, gathering my thoughts. I needed to head toward the business district. Away from this demented town.

  Out was west. I imagined Jim Morrison’s voice, singing that devastating song in that dark room. A lyric about the west being the best.

  “Yes, it is,” I muttered, taking off in that direction.

  I made it three more blocks. I was getting closer to tow
n. I pressed my back against the side of an abandoned skating rink, peering around the corner.

  Again, I listened. Were they coming this way?

  A twig snapped behind me. I whirled around just in time to see Pockets’ ugly, disfigured face.

  He grabbed me in a bear hug, carrying me—kicking and screaming—toward what looked like a limousine in the dark.

  Chapter

  Forty-Three

  Marianna

  I was tired. Hungry. But that wasn’t important right now. All that mattered was finding Freya and Josie. Wendi had insisted we go back and stay in a hotel tonight, despite my unending arguments to the contrary. I wanted to go find them. Right now.

  “You know as well as I do, we need to come up with a game plan,” Wendi said, parking at a lousy Motel 6 in Mooresville. We weren’t even staying in Flocksdale. What good could we do from here? As far as we knew, Josie or Freya could be in trouble right now! Or worse yet, they could be dead already…

  “Come up with a game plan? You mean like you did all those years ago? Wait eight fucking years before you did something to the bastards that took you?” I shouted. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them.

  Wendi had taken me in, been like a big sister/mother/friend all rolled into one, and now here I was…treating her like shit.

  Wendi stared at me, unfazed by my cruel words.

  “Marianna, I know…I know you want to run in there, guns blazing…and if that’s what we have to do, then that’s what we’ll do. But it’ll have to be tomorrow. We need to discuss our plans, find out everything we can before we just show up asking about those girls. If they took them or hurt them, they’re not just going to admit it. We need to know where to start. Who to talk to first. Where to look…”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “And I’m sorry,” I said, looking at my friend.