Carnival of Dead Girls

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  The arena was filled with an array of small booths and stages, set up as individual exhibits. “Let’s start over there,” I suggested, pointing to a booth at the farthest right end. I was already mesmerized by the scene laid out before me.

  The first exhibit—the Human Pin Cushion—was a muscular bald man lying on a table, naked from the waist up. A “naughty nurse” look-alike inserted long prickly needles down the length of his arm. I scrunched up my face, cringing at the sight but unable to look elsewhere.

  When she finished with that arm, she moved to the next. I couldn’t take anymore. “Yuck,” I said, grasping Evan’s arm and pulling him toward the next display. I wasn’t surprised to see the Bearded Woman sitting in the next booth. Children aged nine or ten were reaching out to stroke the wiry black hairs on her chin, but the woman seated behind the ropes didn’t seem to mind.

  “It’s just a hormonal condition,” Evan explained, smiling over at me.

  “I feel so sorry for her,” I said breathlessly, and I meant it.

  “Don’t feel sorry for her, Josie. Lucy—that’s her name—is actually quite proud of her condition. And she has seriously profited from it. She even wrote a book about it called, My Beard Is Sexy.” I turned to look at him, to see if he was being serious, and then we both burst out laughing.

  The next several booths were more of the same. There were two little people, and a man so tall that he walked with his back hunched over, almost as though it was weighted down by bricks. There was a pair of creepy young boys who appeared to be a very real example of Siamese twins. “Do they live in these booths and cages?” I asked my new friend, suddenly feeling uneasy. Evan let out a low, hearty laugh.

  “Hell, no! These freaks have their own living quarters and they choose to participate in these acts. They are the ones using their deformities and disabilities to exploit normal people and take their money, not the other way around.”

  I’d never thought of it that way, but had to admit that the kid had a point. However, I still couldn’t help feeling saddened and sickened by each exhibit we passed.

  In the middle part of the arena were contortionists and sword swallowers, working the crowded line of gawkers for tips. Evan and I stood watching, and I offered a small tip to a man breathing fire.

  “You wanna get out of here?” I asked Evan.

  “Yeah. But first, let me show you the last room over there.” Evan pointed to a small wooden shack in the farthest left-hand corner. “There’s nothing alive inside of it. Just really cool dead stuff, like the two-headed cat I told you about.”

  The way that he said it, so eager and maniacal-like, made me feel a little creeped out. But I had to admit that I kind of wanted to see the two-headed cat myself, so I followed him over to the grisly-looking shack.

  The shack was attached to a much larger outbuilding that looked like a barn. I expected it to be huge when we went in, but only the little shack held display cases inside of it.

  As Evan promised, the room was full of dead stuff. The biggest exhibit was a six-legged pony with glassy dead eyes in a large glass case in the center of the room. There were also several animals that seemed to have fish bodies attached to them instead of lower trunks and legs. It was obvious that some weirdo had simply sewn the heads onto fish tails. I don’t know which seemed creepier—a half-animal/half-fish monster or some creepy psycho in a back room stitching it up.

  I shuddered. I’d certainly had my fill of the freak show. Evan seemed cool, but this was a little too much. I looked over at my new friend, who seemed to be smiling as he strolled by the cases, running his hands over the glass as though he wanted to take one of the dead displays home with him.

  There was a man sitting on a stool inside the shack, and I assumed he was the one in charge of this particular exhibit. When we came in I’d noticed a small wooden door in the back of the shack—probably leading into the barn I’d seen outside.

  “What’s back there?” I asked casually, making eye contact with the stern-looking man. He returned my stare blankly. “Not for you, kiddo. Move along,” he said gruffly.

  I looked over at Evan, expecting him to insist on going back there since he probably knew the guy, but Evan seemed ready to go now. He exchanged knowing glances with the man on the stool, then led me by my arm away from the shack.

  Chapter Six

  “Come on, let’s ride the Ferris wheel!” Evan pulled my arm in the direction of the huge metal wheel in the sky. From here, it looked to be at least twenty stories high.

  Despite my nerves, I allowed Evan to lead me straight to it, climbing into the first cart at the bottom. A metal bar closed over our waists, the metal clanking sound reminding me that it was too late to turn back now.

  At least I won’t die from falling since I’m locked in, I thought warily. But I may have a heart attack.

  I sensed the sounds and movements of the ride whirring to life. Evan awkwardly sat beside me, his hands lying limply at his sides. I’d always imagined holding hands with someone when I rode the Ferris wheel.

  The wheel started to turn, jerking the cart forward, and then we were lifted off the ground. I reached for Evan’s hand desperately. My stomach filled with that feeling of butterflies. Not the good type of butterflies either.

  We rose higher and higher, the cart swinging back and forth with the wind, the entire seat unsteady and creaky. Freezing in fear, I stared straight ahead, trying my best not to look down. Get through this, and then you can relish in your bravery later, I promised myself. Just keep your eyes closed. Just keep your eyes closed, I repeated over and over in my head.

  But when we got to the tip of the very top, Evan shouted out, “Look, Josie! There’s that girl you were looking for yesterday!” and those words left me with no choice but to open my eyes and look down.

  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a spectacular 360-degree view of Lamison Point. Never in my life had I been privy to a view like this. It was breathtaking. And terrifying…Leave it to Freya to ruin this moment for me, I thought sulkily.

  My eyes drifted over to where Evan was pointing. Sure enough, there she was, standing a few feet from the freak show tent where we’d been only a few moments earlier. She looked tiny from up here, less intimidating…

  Freya wasn’t alone. She was arguing with someone, and even from here, I could see the bizarre contours of his face—it was that old guy, Pockets.

  Freya leaned toward the man, wagging her finger angrily. I’d seen her like that before—she was pissed.

  Suddenly, Pockets grabbed Freya by both shoulders, shaking her back and forth violently as he yelled.

  “Hey!” I screamed, trying—stupidly—to stand up in the cart. “Freya!” I shouted, but no one could actually hear me from this elevation.

  “Sit the fuck down! You’re scaring me!” Evan hissed. The cart rocked back and forth dangerously. I quickly sat back in the seat, still trying to see what was happening with Freya and Pockets.

  But the cart moved backward, descending back down from the top. As we passed the Ferris wheel operator at the bottom, I called out for him to stop the ride. I needed to get off and go help my friend!

  But the operator didn’t see me, and once again, the cart was jerking forward, heading to the top of the wheel. The wheel didn’t stop at the top this time, but I caught a glimpse of the freak show tent area. Both Freya and Pockets were gone.

  We circled back around nearly six times, but I never saw her again.

  After exiting the Ferris wheel, I dragged Evan around the park, searching for Freya and/or Pockets. Evan was obviously irritated by this, but he tagged along, playing the role of dutiful friend.

  Wherever Freya went, she’s nowhere near here, I thought hopelessly. I wanted to make sure she was okay. But why did I even care? Especially after what she said the other day, a voice in the back of my mind scolded me. I thought about her lips moving, making fun of me for trying to be friends with her. Lesbian, she’d called me.

  “Fuck
it, she probably went on home,” I said finally. I felt bad for ruining the Ferris wheel ride and dragging Evan around, so I agreed to ride a few more rides.

  After getting jerked around on the bumper cars again, and then feeling like a human glue stick in the spaceship ride, I was ready to get the hell out of there. I said goodbye to Evan. Once again, the Carnival de Arcanorum had left a bad taste in my mouth.

  Chapter Seven

  By the end of the school week, I’d concluded that either Freya was totally ditching school or she was doing a damn good job of avoiding me. Since the Freya-sighting from the top of the Ferris wheel, I hadn’t seen her, not even once. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was cutting class to hang out with that old, gross boyfriend of hers, and in all honesty, I wasn’t too worried about her.

  Not until her mother showed up at my house asking questions.

  When I got home from school on Friday evening, Freya’s mother, Filomena, was sitting on the cotton fabric ottoman, next to Candy. “Hi,” Filomena spoke softly, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. She was an older version of Freya, without the crazy-colored hair, purposefully tattered clothing, and goth-like makeup.

  She didn’t even wait for me to sit down before she started talking. “I haven’t seen her in days, not since she left the house to meet you for the carnival. I know Freya can be a wild child, but she wouldn’t run off without at least calling me. Her cell’s been turned off, which is uncharacteristic for her. Please tell me you know something, Josie.” Her eyes were pitiful, pleading.

  I gave a sideways glance toward Candy. She was clutching Filomena’s hand, her face scrunched up in worry. Normally, I’d want to call her out for being a phony bitch, but something on both of their faces told me they were being dead serious. They were scared.

  So, I had no other choice…I told them everything I knew. Well, not everything. I told her that Freya was with a boy at the carnival, but I didn’t tell her the boy was a man…and I also didn’t tell her they were arguing.

  I don’t know why I held the details back. Perhaps, some part of me still believed Freya was just fine, and I didn’t want to say anything to get her in trouble with her parents. She’d really hate me then, I thought glumly.

  Filomena left, but only after making me promise to call her if I heard from Freya. I sat in my room, chewing the inside of my own cheek until it was raw and bleeding. I had to take matters into my own hands. I had to go back to the carnival.

  I left through the front door without saying goodbye to my dad or Candy. I didn’t walk to the carnival—I ran.

  If something had happened to Freya, it would be all my fault for not sticking around and making sure she was okay the other night. Yeah, she said some shitty things…but I still wouldn’t want any harm to come to her.

  I had to find Pockets and Freya, settle this confusion once and for all.

  The houses I passed flew by in a blur as I ran with a quickness fueled by intense anger. It was anger toward Freya for screwing me over…and anger toward Pockets for taking advantage of her, and for putting his hands on her the other day. Anger toward myself for giving a damn about Freya…

  I stopped short as I reached the edge of the abandoned school zone. The lot was empty.

  All of those rides and games and booths…all of those people…

  How the hell did they get out of town so quick? If not for the scraps of candy, traces of streamers, and popped balloon particles, I never would have believed that such an enormous carnival had been right here, in this very spot, just a couple days ago.

  My heart was racing, pounding so hard in my chest that it ached.

  The carnival was gone. Pockets was gone. And Freya was gone along with him.

  Chapter Eight

  Coming up with the plan was the easy part. Putting it into action was where things got tough. Screeching to a halt, I parked my bike in front of the local library. Please be open, I wished, crossing my fingers as I reached the entrance door. It was a dull one-story building, the same ‘Nelson County Public Library’ sign hanging on the door, along with a list of warnings. Don’t enter without shoes. No cell phones or food, etcetera. I muttered a silent prayer of thanks as the door swung open wide before me.

  It was so early the sun wasn’t out yet, but old Miss Hamm was manning the front desk. I smiled at her politely. She’d been working the library counter for as long as I could remember. Flashes of her younger self sporting a beehive came to mind. All I knew was that she’d been the only librarian since I was a kid.

  Miss Hamm was an intimidating woman, and the kids at school were slightly frightened of her. I was no exception.

  “Is there a computer terminal open?” I asked, resting my hands on the front counter, mindful to keep my elbows back. Silently, she pointed to a row of large computers near the magazines. They were seriously out-of-date.

  “Thanks, Miss Pig…Miss Hamm, I mean…” I said, nearly calling her by her local nickname, “Miss Piggy,” for her large yellow curls and snout-like nose.

  My big master plan was to use the internet to search for The Carnival de Arcanorum. Very original, right?

  Surely I’d be able to find some sort of show schedule with dates and locations for the carnival’s next event. If I knew which town they were scheduled to appear in next, then I could track down Pockets and question him about Freya.

  I typed the words “Carnival de Arcanorum” into the Google search box. Instantly, I was taken aback when I found no listings for a carnival by that name.

  There were multiple listings for other carnivals and online carnival games, and even a Latin word translation website, but no website for the Carnival de Arcanorum, and no hits mentioning its name.

  Flabbergasted by the lack of results, I clicked on the Latin translation website. I was surprised to learn that the word “arcanorum” meant “secret” in English.

  As though that really helps me. They’re so secretive that they can’t be found! I thought, exasperated.

  Despite the setback, I was still determined to search out the Carnival de Arcanorum. There had to be another way.

  Next, I typed in “Freak Show de Arcanorum,” but again, no luck. I even went so far as to type in the name “Pockets” and “Evan” paired with the term “Carnival de Arcanorum,” but once again wound up disappointed.

  I searched every social media site I could think of for the carnival or names of its workers I could remember. Shockingly, there was still nothing.

  Who didn’t have a social media profile these days? I wondered, irked by the fact that I was getting nowhere with this search. Despite my disappointment, my determination remained intact—nothing would stop me from finding Freya. I just needed to figure out another way to track down the carnival.

  ***

  It was not until three o’clock in the morning that I remembered the name of the bearded woman. Her name was Lucy. I jerked out of bed, yanking on a pair of scruffy sweats. It was the middle of the night—a school night—but that didn’t stop me from climbing down the tree limb outside my bedroom window and hopping onto my bike in the rain…

  When old Miss Hamm arrived at work that morning, she was less than pleased to find a sleeping girl on the concrete steps to the library. She nudged me with a brown loafer. Startled, I quickly got to my feet, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I looked around, confused initially. But then I remembered I was at the public library. Lucy.

  Miss Hamm said nothing, but she unlocked the door and held it open for me. I tried to be patient as she brewed a pot of coffee. Although I never drank the stuff, I accepted the warm mug she offered me.

  With the first sip, my face crumpled. Thankfully, Miss Hamm was there, offering me a cube of sugar.

  “Okay,” she said, taking a seat at the small work station beside me. “Tell me what this is about, young lady.”

  My initial plan was to just tell her about the book and ask for her assistance in finding it. But before I knew it, I was spilling out the entire story to old Miss Hamm. />
  “Have you reported all of this to the police, Josie?” she asked, her brows furrowing slightly.

  “Yes.” And it was the truth. Yesterday—after Freya had officially been announced as missing—her mother, Filomena, had filed a police report. Detective Sanchez had interviewed most of Freya’s classmates already, including me. Despite my earlier reservations about not wanting to get Freya in trouble, I’d told Detective Sanchez what I knew. If holding back information impeded the investigation, I didn’t want to be responsible for it. All I wanted to do was find Freya, and that meant being honest with the adults that could help with the search.

  “Well, it sounds like the police are investigating already, Josie. You should trust them to do their jobs.” Miss Hamm looked at me sternly.

  “I just need to find this book and more information about the author that wrote it. If I find out anything useful, ma’am, I will certainly contact Detective Sanchez immediately.”

  She pursed her lips, but then finally seemed satisfied that I was telling the truth.

  The library was completely deserted at this early hour. For that, I was grateful. “Now tell me the name of this book,” Miss Hamm stated matter-of-factly, her long, wiry fingers poised in a perfect typing pose over the keyboard.

  I sighed, closed my eyes, and braced for the embarrassment. “My Beard Is Sexy, that’s what it’s called.”

  I opened my eyes and glanced over to gauge her reaction, but surprisingly—and thankfully—she took it in stride, and was hard at work typing.

  “And what did you say the author’s name was again?” she asked.

  “Lucy something. I don’t know her last name. Does that mean we won’t be able to find the book?” Like a popped balloon, I could feel all hope dissipating.