Dark Carnival (A Horror Anthology)

by Macabre Ladies

  Macabre Ladies

  Dark Carnival

  First published by Macabre Ladies 2021

  Copyright © 2021 by Macabre Ladies

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Macabre Ladies has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  Cover art by Brian Scutt

  Advisor: M Ennenbach

  Editing by Eleanor Merry

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Acknowledgement

  Preface

  1. Smoke and Mirrors by Connie Todd Lila

  2. Uncle Funbo’s Natalia Circus by Aristo Couvaras

  3. The Siren’s Song by R D Doan

  4. The Gorilla by Patrick C. Harrison III

  5. Fear Fest by Kristen Lester

  6. By the Scent of Her Hair, He Knew He Was Home by J. Edwin Buja

  7. Curse of the Puppet Man by Chisto Healy

  8. The Johnson Family Funhouse by Miranda Dahlin

  9. Carnival Daze by Christine Marek

  10. Green Girl by Jody Smith

  11. Halloween Fantastic by Shea Herlihy-Abba

  12. Augustine’s Carnival of Nightmares and Mirrors by Rachael Boucker

  13. Pindick by Stuart Stromin

  About The Authors

  Macabre Ladies

  Acknowledgement

  The first and biggest thanks to M Ennenbach, who helped me spearhead this entire collection and take well over a hundred stories and turn it into the amazing collection you see here. Your support has been more valuable than I can put into words (and me, a writer!) and I can’t wait to do so many more amazing projects together. Macabre humans, unite!

  To all of our authors who submitted to Dark Carnival. Having to narrow down to only thirteen stories was one of the hardest decisions and we are so thankful for every single person who took the time to submit. We read some outstanding stories and felt honored to be able to receive them and provide feedback.

  Thanks to Brian Scutt, our awesome cover artist for this as well as the entire holiday horror collection. Your art inspires us all and thanks for all you do!

  Last but not least, to all of our readers who have supported us from the start. We couldn’t do this without you and can’t thank you enough for every kind word, review and read. This one is for you guys!

  Preface

  Welcome to the Carnival

  If I close my eyes and listen to the wind as it rustles through the pines, I can hear the faint call of the calliope drifting through my inner ear and cooling around my brain. The smell of popcorn and deep-fried everything hovering just above sour alcohol and animal dung. The shifty carnies pulling handles in thick clouds of body odor and weed smoke.

  How often did I long to run away and join the misfits without a care in the world? Living free on the open road, tearing tickets, and smearing grease paint on my face so the world could only ever see a smile?

  As a child, there is a magic about Carnivals and the Circus. As an adult? The mystery is replaced by understanding.

  Magic became cheap sleight of hand. And on a few morning afters, as a five o’clock shadow rears its stubbly cheek, I learn bearded ladies are a side effect of too much drinking and dimly lit bars.

  But what doesn’t change? There is something creepy about the whole deal. Something lurking beneath the cotton candy and hall of mirrors. Too many teeth in a clown’s smile. A flash of red in the Ringmaster’s glare. A certain unspoken tragedy that led to these kids actually running away from home and living on the road. The mind does begin to wonder at what sort of dark deals—or darker hungers—hide behind the canvas tents and colored wagons.

  Packed inside here are thirteen of the best tales of the Dark Carnivals that crisscross the land, leaving flyers for the trapeze and missing children alike. Each travels a different path down the Midway steeped in shadow, an attraction you won’t soon forget.

  Ahem, I’ve always wanted to do this.

  So come one, come all, to witness the spectacle of the spectacular! Clowns! Monsters! Lovers! Loss! And few surprises guaranteed to make you flinch!

  Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, and all points between, to the Dark Carnival.

  - M. Ennenbach (Author of Notches and Hunger on the Chisholm Trail)

  1

  Smoke and Mirrors by Connie Todd Lila

  Costermongers hawking their wares blended with the clip-clop rhythm from carriages whose occupants ignored them. This cacophony reached from Piccadilly Circus into Coventry Street and blended with the noise from the small sideshow glittering there.

  “Thus, we quench the flames in hand.” Clapping a lid on his dish of fire, the stage magician quickly lifted it again. Two white doves flapped excitedly into the crowd. “And, without so much as an abracadabra, we create beauty on the wing.”

  He took his applause with a humble nod toward the assortment of viewers. Bright movement drew his attention to the back of the group where a purple-gowned young woman was tucking something into her ample cleavage. The gent to whom that gold watch belonged never felt it lifted from his pocket as he applauded. The magician stroked his pointed beard and lifted a gull wing brow.

  “And, speaking of beauty, perhaps this brightly feathered bird would approach the stage?”

  All eyes turned to see where he pointed and rested on the startled red head. Her cheeks colored beneath round eyes; her hand pressed against the black lace at her bodice.

  “Yes, my dear, you… come forward, if you please.”

  She stepped forward, darting glances left and right for the authorities. At stageside, she looked up into his dark eyes. With a practiced gesture, he drew from his sleeve the traditional prop, a silk bouquet.

  “For the fairest of the fair.” While the audience cheered, his arm crossed his waist for an exaggerated bow. Head near hers, he pierced her eyes with a gaze too sharp for his stage smile.

  “I saw what you hid in your charming decollete.”

  The breath she pulled, louder than his whisper, pressed the stolen watch sharply into her breast. When she reached for the bouquet, he drew her fingers to his lips and grinned.

  “I heartily applaud you, my beauty.”

  A tentative smile lifted the paint at the corners of her eyes. He addressed his audience for a final deep bow and flourish of his cape.

  “A round of appreciation for this lovely creature, and many thanks for your attention.”

  He held her with his eyes while the crowd moved on to other carnival attractions and games of chance. Once clear, thre
e long strides brought him to the steps at the side of the stage.

  “Manchester the Magnificent, your servant.”

  She accepted his hand, allowed him to draw her up onto the silent stage.

  “I believe a sherry is in order.” He swept his hand grandly to a fold in the stage curtains.

  Backstage, he bade her sit in the only chair, an overstuffed shape long in need of patch and scrub, and filled two glasses from a bottle that shared a dresser with a kettle, tea canister, two cups, and a half packet of biscuits. She accepted the sherry.

  He raised his glass in salute, and, proclaiming, “Here’s to crime”, drained his glass. When she sipped hers, he sat in the chair beside her, forcing himself close against her. Rouged mouth open in alarm, she pulled a loud gasp.

  “Now, none of that. You haven’t room for any more breath with a great gold pocket watch down… here.” He put his hand straight down her cleavage and grasped the watch. She aimed a slap at him, which he deflected with the hand lifting the watch.

  “So, now what? You call the coppers?” She spoke for the first time, lisping slightly.

  “And ruin a perfect working relationship?” Manchester smiled, dangling the watch between them. “While I dazzle them onstage, you’ll be relieving them of pickings like these.”

  She struggled to pull her skirts from beneath his legs, but he pressed her fast, flashing that smile that never quite reached his eyes.

  “My proposition has to have more appeal than the ones you’ve been getting on the corner of Coventry Street.” He gestured with his beard toward the west end of the carnival row.

  She stopped struggling and sat back, considering.

  “I wouldn’t know how to do the showy things you pull off.”

  “Not to worry, my bright bird. It’s all done with smoke and mirrors. So, now, what do I call my lovely, new business associate?”

  She lifted his hand and placed it on her knee, pressing it into the purple silk. Tucking her chin toward her chest, she looked up deliberately through sooty lashes.

  “Corinne.”

  Manchester the Magnificent slid his hand to her waist, to her bodice.

  “Well, Corinne… it’s showtime.”

  She smiled and lisped coyly, “Whatever you say, ducks.”

  * * *

  Manchester arranged his cape on the brass coatrack and caught Corinne’s waist in both hands. The gilded mirror in their sitting room framed her perfectly: tumble of red curls across one shoulder, jewel-encrusted brooch sparkling from the other.

  “I’ve come home with a surprise for you, my bright bird.”

  Corinne poured two brandies from a cut crystal decanter and offered one to Manchester.

  “Is it something to wear in the show again?” A deep sigh plumped her cleavage up above the saffron bodice of her gown.

  “Not this time. You will still be dazzling the audience in your satins and jewels, but not in Piccadilly. We are going to America.”

  Corinne pressed a ring-encrusted hand to her chest, mouth open.

  “Manny!”

  “We—or should I say, you, my pet—have done so very well these two years past that I have been able to not only keep you like this—” he indicated their elegant flat with a gesture “—but to put enough by for our passage across the ocean. We leave in a fortnight, sail for a week or so, and put into port at an exciting city with a walk of boards along the ocean, so you’ll suffer no sand in your dancing slippers. There are carnivals and ballroom dances inside a grand Pavilion and wealthy people abounding. All of them just waiting for us to… entertain them.” Manchester stroked his pointed beard.

  Corinne leapt into his arms, covered his face with rouged kisses, then pushed him away and hurried to their boudoir.

  “What are you doing, my flighty bird?”

  Corinne sang joyfully from the other room, “Packing!”

  * * *

  “The people with real money goes into that Pavilion. They can pay to see the freak show in them glass boxes… Them two-headed snakes and such. Babies born stuck together.” Corinne pouted strawberry lips, hooking the front of her emerald satin corset. “All I’m taking out in the sawdust is small purses with more snuff than coin.”

  Manchester tipped her chin to look into eyes that matched her corset.

  “You just want to go hear the music in the ballroom again.”

  “What if I do? I love to go dancin’, Manny, and we never does.”

  “Very well, my jewel. After this next show, we will go dancing.” Pulling aside the backstage curtain, he offered Corinne his free hand.

  “It’s showtime.”

  “Whatever you say, ducks.”

  * * *

  Corinne glided up the staircase on Manchester’s arm, the lace flounces of her gown settling over her like feathers. The Pavilion ballroom glittered with lamplight and candles reflected from diamonds, sequins, gold. Manchester swept her into the moving crowd of couples, twirled her so her skirts floated like angel wings, then drew her against him in a lovers’ waltz.

  Twice around the floor, Corinne noticed a small handbag at the edge of a table. Stitched with pearls and jet beads, it lay easily within reach of the dancers. She practiced her gestures, twirling grandly in Manchester’s arms. As they passed the table, Corinne scooped up the handbag with a graceful sweep, and wrapped that arm around Manchester’s shoulders, the better to drop the bag between their bodies.

  “Thief!” The waiter bringing a fresh water pitcher to the table saw Corinne tuck the handbag down between herself and Manchester. He pointed. “Those two!”

  Corinne let go of Manchester, clutching the handbag to her chest.

  “Manny!”

  He jerked her hand toward the grand staircase, already running. Corinne skidded along, running on tiptoes in her slippery dress shoes, Manchester pulling her too fast across the polished floor. He started down the staircase without giving her time to find her balance.

  The stolen handbag slipped from her hand and bounced down the stairs ahead of them, leaving a trail of scattered pearls and beads in its wake. Manchester lost his footing, rolling across them, and pulled Corinne down the crushed marble stairs with him. He landed first, skewed hips twisting the life from his spine. The last sound Corinne heard was her own neck snapping.

  * * *

  “More corn shocks and pumpkins. More!” Professor Mary Haefer assessed the Student Center midway. “A Halloween Carnival needs to look like one.”

  Leo Baxter and Greg Schroeder looked up at their advisor. Both gave her a cadet salute at the same time, grinning. Laughing, she shook her head and walked along the midway.

  The food vendors seemed plentiful, popcorn and cotton candy booths arranged with hot food stands, nachos, hot dogs, fried potatoes. The theater majors outdid themselves creating the “haunted forest walk” with stage flats, fog machines, far too many draping webs, and hidden boom boxes howling, moaning, and groaning.

  Karen Prescott sat on top of a ladder, dribbling red paint down a broken window in a haunted cabin flat.

  “Hi, Professor Haefer.” Karen’s sunny greeting sat at grisly odds with the decorating task she was finishing. Bloody splatters dappled her blond hair and pink cheeks with gore.

  Mary looked up, grinned back at Karen.

  “Your backstage magic is very… atmospheric.” Mary skipped over a spill of red paint.

  “Oh, it’s theater. It’s all done with smoke and mirrors. If we’d been given permission to set up in the old Pavilion, we could have built on the atmosphere already there.”

  Mary pressed her lips, gave her head a shake.

  “Sorry, Karen, I know. The Historical Society hasn’t raised the funding yet to begin the planned renovations. It really is a historical landmark worth saving. Today, however, it is off limits and completely unsafe. Entire floors have fallen in. That grand, old marble staircase to the Ballroom has crumbled under its own weight over the decades. Wish I’d seen it back when. Your theater group’s backst
age magic will be plenty for the Carnival.” Mary admired Karen’s gruesome paintwork.

  “If you think this is something, walk over and get a look at the Fortune Teller’s booth Maria Luis is working on. She volunteered to be our fortune teller. She’s eager to act the part. She had this beloved ancestor in her country who really could tell your fortune. All she had to do was hold your hand.”

  Across the Student Center, a slender young woman with dark hair draped an aluminum tent support with lengths of exotically patterned cloth, tucking the drapery open to create a cave for a small round table. From somewhere within the tumbling folds of color came the sound of gypsy violins, souls crying over fortunes gone awry. The effect was perfect.

  Professor Haefer delivered her jest with a smile of approval. “Cross your palm with silver for my future, lady?”

  Maria peeked out from her curtain cave and grinned enthusiastically.

  “Hey, Prof! Well, what do you think? Will anyone want to cross my palm with silver at the Carnival?”

  Professor Haefer shook her head and laughed.

  “Maria, if anyone could fill their pocket telling fortunes, it would be you, in this very set. You’ve created an incredible space here. Is that an actual crystal ball?”

  Maria smoothed her hand over the sphere in the center of her table.

  “Oh, no! This is just glass; pretty special glass, though. See the bottom? There is a lid that screws off, like a jar lid. This came from an antique shop. It was some kind of old Victorian rose jar, or flower arrangement jar, for flowers that were saved and dried after someone’s funeral.”

  Maria yielded to a visible shudder.

  “Can you imagine? I mean, keeping flowers thrown at you at a wedding is one thing. But grave flowers? Too much connection to the dearly departed, thank you.” With that, Maria crawled back beneath the drapery set she was perfecting.

  Leo and Greg loaded the extra donated pumpkins and cornstalks that Professor Haefer wanted. When the wagon was full, they started toward the Student Center. From around a pickup in the Student Parking Lot swaggered Dax Craig, pit bull demeanor in place. His usual sidekicks, Charlie Theodore and Bill Rhodes, stood in place behind him. No one stepped in front of Dax.