by Chase Connor
Oma waggled her head as she hiked her knee up on the bench seat and turned to look at the gates just beyond my side of the pickup. Following her lead, but still wiping gently at my eyes, I turned to look towards the tall wrought-iron gates outside of the carnival grounds. There was a lump made of pure dread in my throat that had been present since I had first heard about the carnival coming to Point Worth without warning. I mean, carnivals are kind of scary to begin with when you consider the death-defying rides, the creepy clowns and circus-style tents, the carnies, all of the thrill-seekers pushing against and past you—not to mention all of the delicious food that would come right back up after a ride on some gravity-defying roller coaster. I swallowed hard, hoping the lump would sink somewhere lower where it could more easily be ignored.
The Owens farmlands, which abutted Lake Erie, had been vacant for a decade, ever since a fire had claimed all of the buildings and a lot of the land. Most of the locals liked to say that if Lake Erie hadn’t been there to stop the fire, it would have burned straight across and into the central part of town, devouring everything in its path. That in and of itself was pretty creepy, to think that the town of Point Worth, as tiny as it was, could have been devoured whole by a raging fire. The fact that kids in school were always talking about the ghosts and spirits that lurked the acreage made it even creepier. It was ridiculous to think that actual spirits or ghosts had nothing better to do than to haunt some desiccated old farmland. Fourteen-year-old high school freshmen, such as myself, rarely used logic when considering their fears. As far as I was concerned, the place was haunted.
Adding to the mystery and creepiness aspect was the fact that the vacated farmlands had basically just been open, unattended fields in the decade since the great fire. However, a week before word of the carnival coming had spread through town like a wildfire itself, a large wrought-iron fence, complete with a locked gate at the south end of the property, seemed to have been placed overnight, encircling the entirety of the land. A day later, tarps, or some type of heavy cloth, had been hung on the other side of the fencing, blocking the view for any prying eyes that happened by the old Owens farmlands. A day after that, multi-colored tents and rides could be seen peeking above the tops of the fences, which were considerably taller than one would expect.
Alternating Fleur-de-Lis and savage-looking spikes topped each pole in the fencing, giving it an elegant, yet unsettling appearance. A day after the tops of tents and rides began appearing, people who happened by could swear they smelled popcorn and cotton candy and any manner of deep-fried treats. They could see multi-colored lights that were at all times ominous and alluring. The carnival put off an enticing aura of light at night, making every Point Worthian both excited and anxious to attend. However, no one was ever seen going into or coming out of the carnival at any time of day, so we all found ourselves speculating on how the carnival had even arrived, let alone been assembled. The police didn’t seem too keen to investigate the matter since no one was technically being harmed by the appearance of a carnival.
Who had erected the tents and rides, though?
Who had built the fence?
Why were there coverings on the other side of the fence?
Who was making the popcorn and delicious smelling foods?
Then, nearly a week after the carnival arrived, posters were found plastered on the front windows and walls of every shop on Main Street.
Oma and I had not been present when Point Worthians wandered onto Main Street, both horrified and transfixed by the sudden appearance of the posters overnight. The posters were also confusing since they listed no location for the carnival—though it wasn’t really needed—no hours of operation, no information about ticket costs or where they could be purchased, or who was actually behind the carnival. Or…CARNAVAL? Later, it was relayed to Oma by Mr. Barkley, and to myself by one of my friends in English class, that no one had to stare at the posters for long. As everyone lined up along the main thoroughfare of town, gazing at the posters with their backs to the street, a bell started ringing.
Startled citizens of Point Worth jumped and spun, turning to find a man, no shorter than seven-feet tall, meandering down the middle of the street. He held a large handbell in one hand, raising and lowering it in time with each slow step. His face was gaunt and expressionless, his cloudy eyes staring straight ahead, seemingly unaware of the townspeople around him. He wore a suit that could only be described as something you’d expect a ghoul driving a hearse to wear. Or maybe something you’d see on Lurch from The Addams Family.
Meandering and raising and lowering that bell in time with his steps, paying no attention to the curious and uneasy townspeople around him, he didn’t speak until he was halfway down the street. He just walked, rang his bell, and let people stare at him all they wanted, seemingly not noticing. Then, suddenly, continuing to look straight ahead, his expression unchanging, he spoke. A booming, gravelly voice escaped his mouth.
We are The Council. CARNAVAL welcomes all high school-age children. Free of charge. This Saturday. Dusk ‘til dawn. Enter through the south—and only—gates at dusk. No adults will be admitted.
He said it only once, and he said no more. He didn’t have to repeat himself. He spoke clearly, and no one had tried to interrupt him. He continued meandering down the street, that arm rising and falling, the bell ringing with each step. Then he turned the corner without looking back. Everyone said he “just disappeared,” but they also admitted that no one ran after him to see where he went. So, he probably didn’t disappear, but instead just kept walking. Everyone said that the sound of the bell was gone as suddenly as the man, leaving Main Street deathly still and quiet as everyone just stared, open-mouthed and shocked, at the end of the street where he had disappeared. I hadn’t even been present for the man’s stroll down Main Street, but it gave me the shivers to think of it.
As I sat in Opa’s pickup truck with Oma, looking at the south gates of CARNAVAL, I felt a shiver go up my spine and the flesh at the back of my neck crawl. My very soul felt chilled as I looked at the gate that was open just wide enough for a teenager to slip through. What was beyond those gates? Who was waiting on the other side? Were some of my friends inside, already enjoying free carnival food and rides?
That’s impossible. None of the lights are on. I can’t smell food being cooked. I don’t hear the “whoosh” of carnival rides or the cries of carnival barkers trying to ply teenagers to play their games. I don’t see balloons or…anything. This can’t possibly be right.
“Well,” Oma sighed, “what do you think? Still feel like testing your mettle?”
I swallowed again.
“Robbie,” She said softly. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go inside and see what’s goin’ on. I bet half your friends don’t even come out here. Hell, I bet most of their parents ain’t as dumb as me to bring ‘em out here. I reckon there ain’t nothin’ in there but a bunch of carnies tryin’ to spook some local kids, and give ‘em a thrill, but I’d understand if you don’t want to find out.”
“I haven’t seen any other cars,” I said stupidly.
“It ain’t quite dusk, yet,” She answered. “Maybe we’re here early?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
“They said adults weren’t allowed.”
“To Hell.” Oma snorted. “I’d like to see ‘em stop me.”
She thrust her arm across the cab of the truck so that I could see her hand, even with my back to her. A small flame flickered to life in the palm of her hand, casting the cab of the truck in a reddish hue. I couldn’t help but smile.
“Oma.” I chided her. “Don’t. Someone might show up and see.”
I hadn’t known about Oma’s powers for long at that point in my life, but I had known about them long enough to figure out that no one else should find out about them. Not that anyone would have believed me if I had told them.
“I think I’d see a car pulling up out in the mid
dle of ass-end nowhere, don’t you?” She chuckled, though the flame went out, and she retracted her arm.
“Maybe they did all this to add to the mystery?” I suggested, wrapping my arms around myself. “Ya’ know? To make it creepy and stuff?”
“Well, it is the season for it.”
“Yeah.”
“I won’t think nothin’ of it if you don’t wanna go inside.”
“But…I mean…come on, Oma.” I shrugged, my arms still around myself. “What if I’m the only guy at school who doesn’t show? I’ll look like a pussy.”
She chuckled.
“You see any of them other boys around here?”
“No.”
“So?”
“I’m going inside,” I stated firmly, though I didn’t move a muscle.
Oma sighed, and I heard her sit back in her seat. Then I felt the truck being put into gear. Quickly, I reached out and grabbed the door handle. The truck went back into park, jerking slightly as I popped the door open and leapt down from my seat, my feet slamming into the dirt of the road. I turned, my hand still on the door, to look at Oma in the cab of the pickup. My grandmother sat there, her hands on the wheel of Opa’s truck, smiling over at me, obviously proud that I had taken the first leap towards the carnival.
“I’m gonna park down the road,” She said. “If you decide you just don’t wanna be here, you come runnin’, ya’ hear me?”
I nodded, that stubborn lump threatening my throat once more.
“All right,” She said, then in an attempt to squelch my fears, added: “I bet you get in there and it’s abandoned, Robbie. You’ll look around, see nothin’ but a bunch of carnival crap, then you can come to the truck, and we can leave. Then all them other boys who didn’t show up will be the pussies come Monday.”
Laughing, I gently shut the truck door, pushing it shut with both hands.
“Don’t go home,” I said suddenly, looking in through the open window at Oma. “I mean…ya’ know…just go down the road. I’ll, uh, need you to take me home even if the carnival is…uh, real.”
Oma gave me a wink and gently put the truck back into gear once again. I barely stepped back from the truck far enough for her to drive away without running over my feet with the back-right wheel of the truck. I hadn’t wanted to let go of the door, or even get out of the truck because that would mean that I genuinely was left at the carnival alone. Being left alone at the carnival meant I would either have to run after Oma or go beyond the gates into the carnival. Waiting outside of the gates for several minutes before running after Oma was an option, too, but somehow, waiting outside the gates alone made me more nervous than just going inside. Waiting outside the gates would mean that anyone arriving would see me standing there, terrified to go inside by myself.
If I was the only guy in school who didn’t show up to the carnival, that was one thing. Any excuse would have worked to tamper suspicions that I had merely been afraid. I could have said Oma wouldn’t let me go. Or I was sick. Anything, really. But if one of the other guys from school showed up and saw me standing there all alone, nearly pissing my pants, I wouldn’t have any excuse for that. So, I had to make a choice. I could run after Oma and hop back in the truck when she stopped—I could still see the truck kicking up dirt on the road in the distance—or I could go through the gate. With a steeling of my nerves and a deep breath, I turned to the gates.
The sun was setting, and dusk was upon me. No lights were on beyond the gates, and I heard no sounds coming from rides or barkers, but I decided to not think about all of that. My feet carried me swiftly to the gates, as though I hadn’t been nearly wetting my pants moments before, and I slipped through the opening and into the carnival. As though attached to someone else’s brain, my eyes shut on their own, afraid to see what might be lurking beyond the wrought-iron fence and tarps that surrounded the land. As I stood there, just a few feet beyond the gate opening, I heard and felt nothing. No smell of food being made, no sounds of rides, no voices asking me who I was or why I had been dumb enough to show up. No sounds of my friends from school running around gleefully without adult supervision.
Slowly, I let my eyes slide open.
It was a carnival.
But it was an abandoned carnival.
Booths for games where you threw darts at balloons or balls at old-fashioned milk bottles stood well-kept but abandoned. Food stands that proclaimed there was popcorn, and cotton candy, and corn dogs, and kettle corn, and funnel cakes were in the distance. There was a Ferris wheel and a carousel—all of the other types of rides one would expect to see at a carnival. In the very center of the land, at least a hundred yards away from me, I spotted the big tent. It was a canvas tent in alternating greens and reds and tans—like you’d see at a regular circus, not yet lit up, nor with the flaps open to allow entrance.
Frowning to myself, I found myself looking around, wondering what I had been so afraid of when I came to the carnival. Even though it seemed to be abandoned, it was relatively harmless. No creepy clowns jumping out and surprising anyone. No carnies barking at me to come try my hand at luck. No freaky contortionists or men on stilts looming over me menacingly. It was just an empty fairground that seemed well taken care of, yet unmanned. I shrugged and shoved my hands into my pockets.
Even if I were the only guy in my school to show up, no one would know. None of my friends were on the carnival grounds waiting for me. When I went to school Monday and told everyone that I showed up and no one was there, no one would believe me. The whole thing had been a waste.
Well. Maybe not.
Taking a tentative step forward, I headed deeper into the carnival. At least if I could provide more detail about my visit to the carnival, maybe the kids at school would believe me. Walking along, my hands in my pockets, I felt somewhat anxious at seemingly being the only person in the carnival, the sky getting darker as the sun went down. However, I hadn’t forced myself out of Opa’s truck to chicken out so quickly. The least I could do was walk around the grounds, see what all they had, compile a full mental list of details to share with my friends on Monday—and then I could run up the road to Oma like my ass was on fire.
As I walked along, I noticed that everything seemed so new. The paint looked fresh. The rides—especially the carousel—looked like they had just been finished at the factory and shipped out to Point Worth, Ohio. The lands that the carnival had been constructed on had been moved down and raked. Everything was shiny and perfect, but unused. As the sun sank below the horizon, and the stars started to twinkle dimly above, my nerves began to jangle, and I began to wonder if I had made the right choice. Even if I was all alone—I was still going to be out in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, in a creepy carnival. I shivered at the thought.
For how long, I wasn’t sure, but I walked in a circular path around the carnival. Memorizing the rides that they had, the types of food you could buy, and the games you could play. Committing every little detail to memory would be my only weapon on Monday when everyone claimed to have been at the carnival. I would know they were all lying, and I would be able to prove it. Probably. The sky was getting darker as I walked, casting long, shadowy figures on the grounds around me.
Just when I thought my nerves would get the better of me, a loud electrical clicking, nearly a “boom,” sounded throughout the carnival. Startled, I jumped at the sight of thousands of lights coming on and rides and attractions coming to life around me. The Ferris wheel, the bulbs decorating the steel beams and spokes, started to turn brightly. The game booths were flooded with multicolored, cheerful lights. The carousel slowly began to turn, picking up speed until it was spinning at a slow, even pace, the horses bobbing up and down on their poles. The sound of popcorn beginning to pop over by the food stands made me jump, and then whip around to see what was going on.
Swallowing the ever-present lump in my throat, I meekly began walking towards the wooden stand, which was painted in red and gold stripes with a large marquis overhead that pro
claimed popcorn was, in fact, the product it sold. As I approached, I could see movement—but more shadows than actual shapes—behind the counter of the popcorn stand. My first thought was to run away.
How did I not see this person when I entered?
Where were they hiding?
Instead, I steeled my resolve and approached the popcorn stand from across the expanse of the carnival grounds, my steps measured and confident. Actually, I probably looked like a cat ready to jump straight into the air at any sudden movement, but I felt confident. I approached the counter of the popcorn stand, just as the last of the popping sounds faded away, and looked around, trying to spot the shadowy movement I had seen from across the carnival. No one was there. Sighing to myself, I placed my hands on the counter, smiling at the tricks I was letting my mind play on me.
As if appearing out of thin air, a man rose from behind the raised counter of the popcorn stand. Jumping back, I wasn’t sure what had startled me the most about him. Was it the fact that he just rose up from behind the counter, as though this were a normal thing to do—jump out and scare kids? Was it the fact that he was holding a super-sized bucket of perfectly piled buttery popcorn out to me, a grotesque, toothy grin plastered across his face? Or was it because he looked like Marcel Marceau dressed up as Bip the Clown?
“Holy shit.” I gasped, clutching my chest with both hands, a laugh erupting from my throat. “You scared me.”
The Marcel Marceau lookalike slowly cocked his head to the side, his smile unchanging as he held the popcorn out to me.
“How much does it cost?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to be speaking to this creepy guy.
Please don’t try to touch me, sir.
The clown just stared and held the popcorn but raised his other hand skyward to the sign above. My head slowly tilted back so that I could see the sign but not lose sight of the man.