Dark Carnival (A Horror Anthology)

by Macabre Ladies

  Meanwhile, everything about the carnival made his stomach churn. The people, the acts, the thought of being trapped and unable to leave if he decided he couldn’t handle it.

  He decided he didn’t.

  Rath opened his eyes to find sunlight blazing through his bedroom window. He called out to Lisa, wondering why she hadn’t bothered to wake him up so late in the day. Then it hit him. The carnival, the ringmaster, and the spellbinding magic.

  Rath jumped out of bed, practically tripping over the covers to find Lisa’s bed empty and cold.

  “No, no, no!” he cried. He barely put his shoes on and some decent clothes before tearing out of the house and down the street toward the carnival grounds.

  But when he got there, he sunk to his knees.

  The carnival was gone. Nothing was left on the grounds. As though it’d never been there in the first place.

  10

  Green Girl by Jody Smith

  She was perfect in every way, just perfect, and she was alone.

  Vanessa Gill had opened her door to a familiar face. The man came by only weeks earlier with the extended travel insurance policy to sign. That didn’t explain what the insurance man wanted this second time, but it didn’t ring any warning bells.

  “Hello, Mr. Little,” Vanessa said, tone thick with annoyance. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. I fly out tonight.”

  “Please, call me Brad, and, yes, I know. I wanted to wish you well,” he said.

  The man stood outside the apartment door. He wore the same suit he wore on his two prior visits. He was youngish—for an insurance man—and fit—for an insurance man. A nice smile rode his lips; the kind of smile that opened doors for men like him since the beginning of time.

  “Thank you, but I really need to finish,” Vanessa said, shaking her head as she closed the door. He’d already made the sale, and she had what she needed. Anything extra was unnecessary salesmanship at this point.

  The apartment was a bit of a mess. She hadn’t been able to decide quickly enough to keep from impulsively pulling pretty well everything from her closet. And as she packed the final selections from the rubble of uncertainty, there was a second when she considered the disengaged lock and the chances that the man called Brad had something nefarious on his mind when he came back for an impromptu revisit.

  “Silly,” she said and then jerked backwards, gasping.

  “Hush now,” Brad said as he held a cloth over her face. “Soon the show begins.”

  * * *

  The path went from smooth to rough to outright rocky. She rolled and bounced like a puppy in a pregnant dog, refusing to give up the chase. Stones and gravel pinged while long grass brushed the undercarriage of the car. Minutes had traveled by, and she counted helplessly, trying to gauge exactly how far they’d from her apartment—of course, she’d been out and had no reliable way to clock the kidnapping—until the car stopped.

  The engine quieted. Inside the car, she heard a voice sing along to a John Legend track about rekindling love. A door opened, killing the tune. Steps moved away from the car, almost soundlessly but for the bobbing blades of long grass being pushed aside by pant legs. She waited, imagining all manners of horrors, until the trunk popped open and an ugly yellow light shined on her.

  Brad the insurance man looked down at her. He’d traded his suit jacket for a bright red wig, a goofy red nose, white greasepaint, and a pink smile that ran ear to ear.

  “Hey, Vanessa! H’yuck!” he shouted and then reached in to rip tape from her lips.

  “Ow! Please!”

  Brad laughed again and lifted Vanessa from the truck. “What do you think, nice place, huh? H’yuck.”

  “Help me! Somebody, please!”

  “Scream all you want; nobody can hear you out here. It’s just you, me, and these here trees!” he said all of this in a horrible, clownish sing-song.

  She fought, but he was too strong, and he dragged Vanessa along the grassy path toward a small wooden cabin. It appeared new: fresh pale lumber stained and shining, clean gray shingles, and windows with production stickers at their corners, all against the green and brown backdrop of the forest around them.

  * * *

  “Do-do-doodle-la-do-do-doodle-la…” Brad the clown sang as he clumsily juggled oranges. “This is really your fault. If you hadn’t explained your plans, explained that you didn’t even expect to make a call to anyone for months… If you hadn’t told me all of this, I would’ve never known you were the perfect audience.”

  Vanessa stared up at him from her back, her arms and legs handcuffed to a bed frame. “Please, don’t, please. I won’t tell anyone if you let me go,” she begged. She was naked, in the sense of having nary an article of clothing upon her body; but not quite naked, as Brad had painted her green from her hairline to the tips of her toes.

  “You and me, we’re gonna be a whole thing someday, or I am. Whether you’re my co-star or not is beside the point. I need a good deal of practice—that’s how greatness is achieved—if I want to join the big ranks.”

  Tears rolled down both sides of Vanessa’s face toward her ears. “Please, Mr. Little.”

  “Call me Bradster when I’m in uniform. Someday, I’m going to be famous, and part of that will be because you helped me prepare today.”

  “Please, somebody help me!” she screamed again, her voice strained and raspy.

  “You should be honored. H’yuck, h’yuck.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “No, I’m not! Focus on me. I need to get this right.”

  Vanessa jerked against the cuffs.

  Brad smiled. “Now, sing with me, do-do-doodle…”

  * * *

  The music was strange. Through the trees and toward the cabin, ignoring natural warning signs about the human elements, it neared, too curious to ignore. Through the window, there was a freaky man thing juggling oranges and dancing, and a wonderful green creature splayed on a bed.

  This scene was incredible. And that green. Those shapes.

  * * *

  Brad took off his wig and nose after a long day of practice. He lay down next to his Jolly Green Goddess.

  “You know, I’ve always dreamed of being a clown. But my mother, she told me I had to get a real job, like my father—he sells insurance, like I did before I met you. He’s so unhappy. Always has been. But my mother, she thinks this is normal, how people should behave.” Brad leaned over and kissed Vanessa’s cheek. “I think a man has to follow his dreams to be happy. What do you think?”

  “I want to go home,” Vanessa said.

  “I know, but my dad didn’t want to sell insurance for forty years and doesn’t want to tomorrow; sometimes we have to do things we don’t like.”

  “But you just said—”

  Brad put a finger to her lips. “Hush, bedtime. Tomorrow, you critique my knife skills.”

  He slept, she did not, imagining just where he might want to put a knife if he screwed up too badly. She tracked the night by the changes in quality of moonlight, wishing for help, almost seeing the door of the cabin creep open, almost feeling the subtle change in temperature.

  And then… her imagination was so active that she saw the door open. She heard the grunts of some animal, heard that something’s swishy steps cross the floor beyond view.

  Then it clicked. “Oh my God, oh, God! An animal’s in here!” Vanessa screamed.

  “What?” Brad rolled to face the yawning door.

  “There’re animals in here!” Now she imagined a dozen of them, hungry things. “Bears or something!”

  A noise crackled from outside. Brad fingered at the lamp’s button until the room lit. A long knife sat on a counter next to the bed and he jumped to his feet, grabbing for it. He stepped through the cabin door in his underwear, a half-naked, half-painted clown.

  There was another crackle from down a path. Brad raced back. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he paced. “Someone knows, shit! Footprints! Everything’s ruined!” He stopped pacing and
looked at Vanessa.

  Vanessa stiffened as she gathered the change, and suddenly her breaths became important to count. Brad jumped on the bed and pointed the knife at her throat.

  “Please, no,” she sobbed as the blade touched her flesh.

  “Sorry, my green goddess, but this will have to be where we part. Nothing fucks up a clown’s career like a prison sentence; and as it stands, we have no real connection. I quit selling insurance the same day you made the appointment.”

  The knife bit skin.

  Vanessa wailed as the outer layers separated.

  From under the bed came a sound.

  Brad lifted the knife away and looked beneath him. The bed shifted and Brad stumbled sideways. From the gloom of shadows rose a figure. Brad swung the knife as light fell fully on this interloper.

  Vanessa’s eye grew huge. This was no bear; it was more like an ape, yet more like a man too. “Sasquatch,” she hissed, terrified.

  Giant clawed hands slashed at Brad, shredding the flesh of his cheek and chest in the same swing. Brad dropped the knife. The beast pounced and claws dug deeper. Brad’s chest opened and blood showered the room in a short-lived crimson geyser.

  Vanessa screeched in the highest octave she’d ever reached.

  The beast stood straight, looking at her wide-eyed a moment before it scurried away, covering its ears.

  * * *

  Brad moaned and gargled blood for close to twelve minutes, his body splayed over Vanessa’s, making it difficult for her to breathe. She tried to count again, but her breaths had become sheep and the lack of oxygen put Vanessa to sleep.

  She woke with what felt like a house on her chest and fire in her arms. She tried to scream, realizing she didn’t need to. A mangy beast stood at the end of the bed, staring at her with wild blue eyes. Its fur was greasy and charcoal, like a dirty wolf, and it had a long patchy beard rolled into chunky dreadlocks that reminded her of cat fur-balls.

  The thing grabbed Brad and flung the corpse to the floor. His foot struck the fridge and the immense scent of summer sausage wafted free. The beast grunted and reached into the light of the open door to snatch the meat. It side-eyed Vanessa and then bolted outside.

  Vanessa wailed, wondering which was worse, a clown or Bigfoot.

  * * *

  Peace had come, sort of. The beast was back, had been for some time, but it wasn’t harming her, just looking at her.

  “Please. You have to get the keys to the handcuffs,” Vanessa begged the beast. “They’re right there.” She pointed to the counter next to the door with an index finger. Oh, how those shiny silver keys taunted her.

  Brad’s dead eyes glared from the floor, and the beast stared back, ignoring Vanessa. The beast didn’t like a person doing nothing that way. He liked most things the people he watched did. He especially liked when the people made the boxes roll; now that was amazing.

  The beast looked outside and then again at Brad, coming to a conclusion. He hefted the man as if her were nothing but an overlarge pillow and started away.

  “Okay,” Vanessa said, a concession.

  The beast glanced back momentarily at the sound, but then continued on. With a free hand, he opened the driver’s side door of the car—he’d seen people open doors for much of his life since striking out, going away from his family to see what else the world offered.

  The corpse sat behind the wheel of his car.

  The box didn’t roll.

  The beast looked around and frowned. This wasn’t good enough. He sat next to Brad, on the ground, beside the box, eyes glued on the green creature that smeared her color all over everything. She was inside but stuck there. He didn’t know how he felt about that; could she make the box roll? And if she did, would she go away forever?

  * * *

  Evening befell the cabin, Vanessa had ceased crying and finally slept, uncomfortable in a puddle of her own waste, green paint everywhere else, a blood bath coating just about everything. She awoke to the gentle hint of breath blown against her cheek.

  The beast didn’t sleep. He watched and listened. Vanessa’s breathing changed and he knew she’d awoken. He stayed still, hoping for ease.

  “Please, I’m thirsty. I need water,” she begged and fell back into tears and a mishmash of disconnected pleas.

  Her scent had grown ripe, and it didn’t smell as nice as before, but it was still good in a bad, scary way: human, feminine, it reminded the beast of his mother. It was metallic and pungent. The beast stuck out its tongue and ran it over Vanessa’s armpit. It was a glorious flavor, but the lick had made the green disappear. The beast considered this, watching the flesh curiously.

  The beast liked this, but the red wig and red nose on the counter were weirding him out. He’d bury them, that would make him feel better, maybe.

  * * *

  Vanessa awoke to the sun streaming in. The beast was gone. She closed her eyes, freezing, but momentarily—comparatively—at ease about it all.

  * * *

  Kelly called Vanessa’s mother because Vanessa flaked on their trip.

  Vanessa had lied. For some reason, she’d wanted to impress some stranger, wanted to sound like a bigshot to the man named Brad who sold insurance.

  Vanessa’s mother panicked when Kelly explained and then called the police, because her daughter did not flake. Her daughter should’ve been in Europe with this other girl, not MIA in Canada somewhere. Calls abounded in three directions until the cops had an idea.

  The cops wrote a report, but never asked about the cell phone tracker app. Not yet.

  * * *

  Filthy, furry, clawed fingers poked gently at Vanessa, she woke and tried to swat at them, though couldn’t move her arms enough to do so.

  “No, please, please, let me go,” she begged.

  The cabin smelled worse with every hour.

  The beast touched Vanessa where she couldn’t reach to defend. Her leg was smooth at her ankle. She wriggled and screamed. The beast continued to stroke her there.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  The beast’s eyes bulged, and it ran outside.

  “Let me go!”

  The beast stayed away, recalibrating. It stared into Brad’s eyes across the lot. It didn’t know what to do. It knew what it wanted to do now. Making the box roll was so mundane by comparison.

  She tasted so good once the green was gone.

  * * *

  The officer in charge of the case rubbed his bald head as he looked at his monitor. It was a map, but it said the app suggested that the phone was in the middle of nowhere, in the bush, way off an ancient logging road, one out of commission for nearly three decades. He wished the friend of the missing person would’ve mentioned the tracker earlier.

  It was dark, he couldn’t send out a proper search until morning.

  “Want to go for a drive, Milne?” asked the bald officer, Denning.

  “Sure, this about the missing girl?” Milne asked.

  Denning nodded and turned his computer monitor so Milne could see it. After taking the very vague coordinates, the officers headed off for a trip out of town.

  * * *

  Dirt encrusted claws ran up and down Vanessa’s cuffed arms, she stiffened and did what she could to close her legs and protect her sex with her thighs. The savage beast touched her everywhere, seeking the choicest morsel to begin with.

  “No, don’t.” She held her eyes closed tightly.

  It licked and then nibbled. The fishy, piss-scented area between her legs was especially soft, and it made the beast’s mouth water. Salty. The beast bit down and broke skin, and Vanessa flopped, screaming in pain. The noise startled the beast, and it crawled to her foot to start over, licking, nibbling and then sinking a tooth to let blood onto its tongue. This game was the best game.

  The mouth on her skin sent waves of disgust and fear through her. There was nothing she could do. She howled, and the beast straightened and howled back.

  She stopped, staring into its eyes.
/>   “Please, don’t do it.”

  That one part: do. It felt like the funny times when the man stilled moved. A clear memory landed, and the beast pursed its skinny, hard lips, “Do-do-doodle-la-do…”

  Vanessa screamed anew.

  Screamed until lights cut through the trees and the beast straightened.

  “Help me!”

  A rolling box was coming. The beast bolted through the door and into the tree next to the cabin. Vanessa continued screaming. The box got close, and doors opened. Vanessa quit screaming and cried, tears of joy now.

  * * *

  The officers thought Vanessa delirious, despite the bite marks. Still, they sent out a search party at first light. The party came up with nothing. No strange animal marks, definitely no signs of a sasquatch. Though nobody could figure how the insurance salesman got from the cabin to the car after apparently having bled out inside the cabin, nor could they find the weapon Vanessa must’ve used to slash him, or how she’d done it.

  Two weeks later, the lab work came back inconclusive on the DNA on Vanessa’s person. An animal had bitten her, sure, but what, nobody could say for certain. It didn’t matter so much to Vanessa. She was free and amongst people. She moved back in with her mother, still not so far from the shack, but her mother wouldn’t hear of her going anywhere else, not yet.

  Some nights Vanessa awoke, certain that she smelled the sasquatch, felt his gentle breath against her throat, her ear, her armpit, her foot, her sex. She’d stir and swing wildly, switch on the lights to an empty room. Every night since returning to her mother’s, after the hospital, she drowsed hearing the voice singing the clown tune: do-do-doodle-la-do-do-doodle-la….

  The psychiatrist said it would pass in time. It was how she reacted to the strain and trauma, how she’d dealt with the stress of the situation. Perfectly natural. Everyone reacted differently, and healing could be slow business.

  * * *

  The beast trailed the moving boxes, racing to stay close enough to see the route, and after a week of peeking in through windows, he found her. She slept. The beast slid open the window, red clown wig pulled over its mane of fur, fuzzy red bulb pulled over its nose—because that’s how you catch a tasty girl asleep, at least that’s what it saw of the dead man with the rolling box—and sang, “Do-do-doodle-la-do-do-doodle…”