Dark Carnival (A Horror Anthology)

by Macabre Ladies

  They’re feeding them people! Sasha’s brain screamed. Unable to stifle it, Sasha gagged. The butchers turned and looked right in her direction. They glared at her, and the one grinding picked up the cleaver from the slab. Others turned and then followed his gaze. Sasha backed away as the butchers holding various types of knives came toward her.

  She screamed and sprinted back up the corridor. The running footsteps behind her made her pound the ground as hard as she could. Through the employees only door and back through the haunted house, she made her way outside and through the tunnel. A couple of young men passed her, and she grabbed one of them by the shoulders.

  “Help me, please,” she said through heavy breathing. The two men snickered, and Sasha shook him.

  “Listen to me, goddamn it! I need help, please, I-I’m being chased. They killed my friend; I need someone to call the police!” she said.

  The young man brushed off her hands and shook his head.

  “Christ, the acting is terrible, but good try though,” he said and the two walked away laughing.

  Sasha tried to get the attention of another passerby and they waved her off. When she exited the tunnel, she looked around at all the people and felt trapped in a nightmare.

  “Wake up! Wake the fuck up!” she screamed, and people pointed and stared. With a quick pinch on the arm, she realized this was no dream.

  Sasha turned and saw two butchers leaving the tunnel. She needed to hide, and quick. With that, she made a run for it through the crowd and toward the circus tent. She pushed past people and stumbled through.

  Inside, the tent looked like a typical circus and in the center of the ring was the man she saw earlier. Sasha hurried to take a seat near the front and kept her eyes on the entrance. The man in the ring extended his arms with a black cane in one of his hands.

  “Welcome, welcome, my dears! Captain Carnage is going to take you on a ride tonight!” the man said with a smile and the crowd cheered. His voice boomed and his pale skin seemed to glow in the lights.

  “Before I bring you our delightful slivers of damnation, we must do a little ‘house cleaning’ first,” Captain Carnage said. He pointed the cane to the back and two clowns rolled out a guillotine and a third clown pushed the fortune teller Sasha spoke to behind it.

  “Oh, Jesus, please, no,” Sasha whispered.

  The crowd clapped. The woman thrashed around and pleaded for her life.

  “Our friend has disobeyed our rules here at Fear Fest. We have a show, don’t tell policy at this establishment, and she has spilled the beans on some of our most closely kept secrets,” Captain Carnage said.

  The crowd booed as the clowns shoved the woman down and locked her into the guillotine.

  “What say you, folks? Should I?” Captain Carnage asked and made a beheading motion across his neck.

  The crowd roared and chanted, “Off with her head!”

  Sasha covered her mouth and wept.

  “Very well. Ask and you shall receive,” Captain Carnage said as he skipped toward the guillotine. He patted the lady’s head and blew her a kiss. Sasha didn’t have time to close her eyes before he brought the guillotine blade down. The fortune teller’s head was sliced off and rolled a few feet from her body. Captain Carnage brushed off his shoulder and took a bow.

  The crowd clapped and cheered. Captain Carnage tipped his hat.

  “Thank you, thank you. Now!” he said as he stood up and made a silence motion. The crowd hushed almost instantly.

  “Tonight, is a special night. We have a fresh addition to our afflictions. Oh, it’s such a sight to behold. This comes right from my dead and rotting heart. Let’s bring her out, shall we?” Captain Carnage said as the lights dimmed and turned from orange and yellow to red and purple.

  In the shadows, a figure stumbled into the ring. Sasha watched as it came closer and closer to Captain Carnage.

  “Yes, you men out there tonight will love this! You’re in for a real treat!” he said and pointed his cane to the figure. A bright spotlight fell onto the figure.

  “I give you, Living Dead Girl!”

  Sasha shot up and wailed as the crowd oohed and awed. Standing in the spotlight, dressed in a tight red dress and white high heels, was Kora. They had peeled half her face off, and her fingers dripped a strange orange goo mixed with blood.

  “She’s neither dead nor alive, she’s just right,” Captain Carnage said and twirled his cane.

  Sasha pulled her hair and screamed. “You sick fucks! All of you! All of you are fucked!”

  Captain Carnage’s eyes fell upon Sasha, and he smiled an inquisitive smile.

  “My, my, what do we have here?” he asked. Everyone in the stands stared at Sasha, and she felt their eyes burning through her.

  “My dear, why do you fret so?” Captain Carnage rubbed his chin.

  Sasha cried, and she tried to walk to the side to leave the bleachers, but the person next to her stood and stared her down.

  “Oh, child, you think you can leave so soon. Why, we’re just getting started!” Captain Carnage said. The people behind her and to her other side stood up as well.

  “We’re just starting to have fun,” Captain Carnage giggled.

  The people standing around Sasha grabbed her by the arms. She thrashed and screamed, but to no avail. The people dragged her out of the bleachers and into the ring until she was in the center next to what used to be Kora.

  The rest of the crowd chanted something in a hushed tone. Sasha looked at the people restraining her and watched as their faces slowly morphed and twisted into something pig like. She looked at the rest of the crowd and saw the children, the woman, everyone’s faces change.

  “What should we do with her, folks?” Captain Carnage called out to the crowd. The chanting grew louder and louder until Sasha understood all too well what they were repeating.

  “Rip-out-her-heart! Rip-out-her-heart!” they all said in unison.

  Captain Carnage turned to Sasha, and his grin widened until it was from ear to ear. His teeth were jagged, and his eye glowed yellow.

  “Welcome to our Hell, Sasha. You’ll make a lovely addition to our family,” he said as he held up his hand that now resembled some kind of four fingered claw. Sasha shut her eyes as he plunged the claws straight through her chest and everything went dark.

  * * *

  A couple walked by, eating burgers and admiring the scenes.

  “These burgers are pretty damn good. Almost too good to be beef,” the young man said. The girl nodded and bit another bite out of hers.

  “I know! Nothing like regular amusement park food,” she commented.

  They walked by a circus tent with a glass box displayed in the front. Inside the box were two zombified brides with their arms stitched together. One wore a filthy white dress, and the other wore a torn red one. The one in white was missing half the skin on her face, and the other had matted purple hair and a hole in her chest.

  “Babe! Look at that!” the girl squealed and pointed.

  Captain Carnage stepped into view. “Getting ideas, you two?” he asked with a sly smile.

  The two looked at each other and grinned. Captain Carnage tapped the glass with his cane and the bride in red jerked.

  “Come and stay a while and you two might just replace this lovely couple. I’m sure you’d make excellent additions,” he said.

  “Don’t tempt me!” the young man joked.

  Captain Carnage rubbed his chin and winked. The couple giggled and walked onward. Captain Carnage looked back at the glass box. Sasha’s dull eyes rolled in his direction.

  “Til death do you part,” he said, and that inhuman grin spread across his face.

  6

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

  Now

  Since that night, Paul’s had been a life of what ifs, what could have beens, but mostly, ‘Why bother trying.’

  His miserable life recently became worse when his parents—estranged from
him for twenty-two years—died and left him the house. How had they even found him? He’d kept such a low, almost non-existent profile. He didn’t know they had cared; he certainly hadn’t.

  Now, he had to return to the place he had never considered home to settle the estate. Believing it couldn’t go any further off the rails, Paul had been told he couldn’t leave work until yesterday. The report had to be finished, and he was the only one who could do it. No one volunteered to fill in for him; no one ever did.

  Afraid to fly, Paul drove for two days to get to Randolph Corners. His stomach boiled for the whole journey.

  Of all days to return, it had to be today.

  In a few hours, it would be exactly twenty-five years since his life had all but ended at Thompson’s Fun Fair.

  Pulling into the old driveway, he felt nothing. The façade of the old place brought back memories, not all unpleasant, but none worth the effort of remembering. This wasn’t his home. In this house, he had survived until he could leave. He didn’t bother taking his overnight bag into the house; he wouldn’t, couldn’t stay here.

  On a small table in the middle of the hall, a large manila envelope rested against a banker’s box. Next to it sat a black teddy bear with a singed ear.

  His hands shook. They’d found his hiding place.

  Holding the envelope, he knew it couldn’t be a copy of the will he’d already seen. He tore it open, and the contents fell out then slid across the table. The bear’s foot stopped it from flying to the floor. A letter. One page. Paul recognized the writing. His mother’s.

  Paul: We found these long after you left. Now we know why. We didn’t know. Shameful. Sorry isn’t good enough. Mother.

  Was it an apology or an admonition? He didn’t care. Crumpling the letter, he tossed it away. They’d never asked or shown the slightest interest in his account of the events. No one had. He’d never volunteered his story.

  “Couldn’t be bothered, could you?” Paul didn’t know if he meant his parents or himself. “Well, now you know.”

  He took the lid off the box, nervous about seeing the contents, unforgettable even after twenty-three years. Inside were mismatched envelopes—there were two hundred and thirty-eight—and a page torn from a high school yearbook. For a moment, Paul felt intense embarrassment that someone had read his deepest, most private thoughts.

  “What of it? You’re dead, anyway.”

  Spotting something familiar, he fished an envelope from the chaos—faded yellow, the first. Her birthday. Grade Five. There were eight more birthday cards. Nine each for Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter. The remainder were letters, some several pages, some only a paragraph, a few a single line. One over a hundred pages. The last. All for her. None ever sent because he lacked the courage and confidence. Some not sent because she was… gone.

  What might have been.

  He picked up the yearbook page, stared at the photo in the center.

  Ginnie.

  Since the beginning of Grade Five, an outcast at school, just like him.

  Then

  The instant she stepped into the class on that first day, Paul had fallen head-over-heels in love with Genevieve Morrison. That afternoon, he’d discreetly followed her home to find out where she lived. It was far out of his own way home, but he’d taken the route to and from school every day from then on for seven years. During the summer and on holidays, he’d ride his bicycle down her street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

  She was new, like him (he’d arrived in Grade Four), and too smart by half. Accused of showing off in class when others couldn’t answer. Neither had been any good at sports. Teased for wearing hand-me-downs: flood pants and button-down shirts for him, baggy dresses past the knees and cardigans for her. Nothing cool. (Both families had little money, but many older cousins.) And both were ugly.

  Except, she wasn’t.

  Ginnie wore her hair in two braids that, by Grade Eleven, almost reached her backside. She wore glasses that seemed too big for her face. Her teeth looked too big for her mouth.

  Then, one day, with evening closing in, Paul had ridden by her house. Noticing a light on upstairs, he’d nearly crashed into a tree when he’d seen her at the window. No glasses, her hair loose: long and curly. Perfect smile.

  If Paul had been in love before, now he was utterly devoted.

  The others saw what they wanted. He saw what was real.

  Now

  Paul dropped the birthday card back in the banker’s box. He couldn’t open the others. Confessions of his love, his thoughts about what had happened in class over the years, his dreams for the future, his sorrow for what had happened at the fair. All down on paper that had been hidden in his closet. Abandoned when he left, then forgotten.

  “No, not forgotten. Just too painful to remember.”

  The house had become too hot, so Paul left. He walked, not knowing where he was going, yet sure of his route. He paused at the house where she had lived. Only her house wasn’t there anymore, replaced by a boxy block of apartments that insulted the neighborhood.

  For seven years, Paul and Ginnie barely exchanged a word. He was too shy; he thought she was probably not interested.

  Then Thompson’s Fun Fair had arrived in town on the last day of Grade Eleven. It had set up in the forest about a mile out of town in a large clearing where some entrepreneur had hoped to develop a new subdivision. In the end, it became a quarter square mile of empty space, home to an occasional party, and a quiet place where teens could make out.

  It wasn’t until he took up his journey again that Paul realized he still held his teddy bear. He clutched it tightly. Following the road out of town, he didn’t want to go there, but felt compelled. Perhaps he could say one last goodbye.

  Paul had led her here. It was all his fault.

  Then

  The Fun Fair was the talk of the school. It had appeared Friday morning and would be open Saturday morning. No one knew it was coming; there had been no advanced posters, flyers, or announcements of any kind. There hadn’t even been whispered rumors. No one had heard it arrive or be constructed. It was simply there. A mystery made more mysterious by speculation.

  According to The Select Few, everyone who mattered was going.

  Neither Paul nor Ginnie mattered. Neither had been selected.

  All morning that last Friday of the school year, Paul worked up all the courage he could muster. With legs shaking almost as much as his voice, he approached Ginnie at the east door minutes after school let out early for the summer. Every word still haunted his memory.

  “Are you going to the fun fair?”

  She smiled, and he almost fainted. Ginnie smelled of vanilla. He got an erection.

  “No,” she said.

  There was a long silence.

  “Are you going?” She seemed expectant.

  “No,” he said, inhaling her scent while trying to cover his uncontrolled arousal with some books.

  Another long silence.

  They stared into each other’s eyes, nodded, and said, “Together?”

  Paul was so happy, he wanted to cry.

  “Meet at the school? My parents are strict,” said Ginnie.

  “Noon? Miss the opening rush. We can walk. It’s only two miles and not too hot.” Paul shut his mouth. He knew he was rambling.

  “We can finally get to know each other,” said Ginnie. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Ginnie.” It slipped out of Paul’s mouth before he could stop himself. He knew he’d blown it. Swearing in front of the girl of his dreams.

  “You’re not so fucking bad yourself, Paul,” she said with a bigger smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  With that, she ran to the car waiting for her at the curb. Her parents rarely picked her up. Of course, the day he got up the nerve to talk to her, and the chance to walk her home, Ginnie’s parents, like all parents, had to spoil everything.

  Paul got no sleep that night. He couldn’
t stop eating, threw it all up, then went back for more.

  Saturday, in his longest jeans and rock-band-he’d-never-heard-of tee shirt, Paul set off early for the school. For the first time in seven years, he had more to look forward to at school than simply seeing Ginnie. He didn’t want to be late.

  She was there waiting, her hair held back in a bushy ponytail. Her jeans and tee shirt were new. So were the sandals. She’d painted her toenails. Purple. Nice.

  He had trouble breathing.

  “I didn’t want to be late,” said Ginnie. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  “Me, too. Didn’t want to be late. Didn’t sleep. Barfed. Shit.” He knew he was rambling again. “No, I didn’t shit. I mean…”

  “It’s okay. Me, too,” said Ginnie. “I didn’t shit either.”

  That Saturday, they had walked together for the first and last time. After a quarter mile, they were holding hands. At a mile, going steady. By a mile and a half, they had planned most of their wedding—a civil thing because they would elope. Before Paul had purchased their tickets, they knew their careers, where they were going to live, and most important of all, when they would escape this town.

  “I like vanilla,” he said. “I always have. And Purple. Same.”

  “It’s my shampoo. And my favorite color,” said Ginnie. Her cheeks were crimson. “Thank you, Paul.”

  When she said his name, he popped a boner he couldn’t hide with books, then felt his face burn with embarrassment. Ginnie noticed.

  “Sorry about that.”

  Ginnie laughed. “You’re a boy. You can’t control it. Don’t worry about it. I’m flattered. But try to get rid of it before we get to the fair. People will talk. You know.”

  “The in-crowd, you mean. The so-called Select Few.” Feeling more comfortable with Ginnie now, his excitement calmed.

  “What, exactly, have they been selected for, Paul? I mean, they even have the tee shirts.”