Carnival of Dead Girls

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  “Oh, I’ll find it. Don’t worry,” she said, clicking away at an angle I couldn’t see. I was tempted to walk around the library desk and take a peek, but I imagined her smacking my hand with a ruler or something if I did so.

  Minutes passed and then finally, she swiveled around in her chair.

  “Lucinda Livingston. That’s her name. She is the author of My Beard Is Sexy and another children’s book of assorted fairytales. What do you want to know about her?” she asked, obviously proud of herself for solving my mystery.

  “Everything!” I squealed. Maybe I could track down Freya after all! But first I had to track down the Carnival de Arcanorum.

  Miss Hamm started to tell me all about the author. Her age, where she was born, her astrological sign…

  “Wait,” I said impatiently. “For now, can you just tell me where she lives?”

  “A town called Flocksdale. It’s a sparsely populated area. About two hundred miles from here…Wait. You don’t think this lady kidnapped Freya, do you?” she asked worriedly.

  “No, I don’t,” I assured her. “But she might be the only real connection to the carnival.”

  I gathered up my messenger bag and handed the empty coffee mug back to Miss Hamm. “Thanks for your help,” I said.

  “Now, make sure you relay this information to Detective Sanchez if you think that it’s important, okay? Don’t try to pursue any leads on your own,” she told me, staring me down in a way that reminded me of a hawk observing its prey.

  “I won’t,” I lied, heading for the door.

  Chapter Nine

  I chewed slowly, trying to enjoy my favorite dinner—roast, potatoes, and green beans—with Dad and Candy. But the food was tasteless. I was distracted, focused on getting this meal over with as quickly as possible. Plans had been made.

  Candy seemed quieter than usual. She’d been that way ever since my outburst the other night. If I were my stepmom, I wouldn’t like me much either.

  Even though I felt guilty, tonight there was no room for distractions.

  After dinner, I helped Dad with the dishes, took a shower, and rushed through my calculus homework. Finally, it was time for bed. I kissed Dad on the cheek and offered Candy an awkward half-hug.

  I lay quietly on my bed for nearly two hours, making sure they were sound asleep. I tip-toed over to my closed bedroom door, pressing my ear to its paint-chipped surface. Met with dead silence, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I grabbed a handful of shirts, shorts, socks, and underwear from my bureau drawers, then folded them carelessly and slid them inside an oversized duffel bag. I packed a couple more things—my toothbrush and some toiletries. Most importantly, I grabbed my roll of cash that I kept in a shoebox beneath my TV stand. I’d been saving money for a while now, earned from my weekly allowance and odd jobs for my neighbor Beatrice. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was enough to get me where I needed to go.

  Sleeping for a while would be the smart thing to do, but I was too revved up to even think about closing my eyes. I sat in the dark, watching the hands on the clock sluggishly tick by, waiting for five o’clock to roll around. Dad and Candy usually slept until at least seven, so I didn’t worry much about them waking and catching me.

  Alas, it was time. I grabbed my duffel bag and climbed down the tree limb for a second night in a row. I was less worried about waking my parents, and more concerned a nosy neighbor—like Beatrice, for instance—would catch me in the dark. So I moved swiftly, mounting my bike and pedaling away from my street and Vermont Avenue as quickly as possible.

  It took me nearly an hour to make it to the bus stop, and I nervously approached the ticket box, worried that I might be too late to catch the six o’clock bus. The lady took my money, frowning all the while. I’ll never understand why so many unpleasant people work in customer-driven fields.

  The ticket turned out to be pricier than I’d expected.

  “Which one is it?” I asked, adjusting my bag tiredly and staring at the rows of buses.

  “That one’ll take you to Flocksdale,” the ticket taker said, pointing without looking, a scowl on her face.

  I yawned. Flocksdale, here I come!

  Chapter Ten

  With a five-hour ride ahead of me, I had plenty of time to get caught up on sleep. And I definitely needed some, considering the fact that I’d barely slept in two days. The smells and sounds of the bus made it nearly impossible, though.

  I pulled out my sketch pad, hoping that the familiar act of drawing would ease my mind. My thoughts were spinning, filled with concern for Freya and guilt for taking off without telling Dad.

  Without realizing it, I’d begun to sketch the image of Freya’s face. Despite her beauty, she always seemed to wear a sad, troubled expression. Maybe deep down, she always thought something bad would happen to her and that’s why she was so melancholy all the time…

  But that seemed ridiculous. And who said anything bad has happened to her, anyway? I scolded myself.

  I usually liked to draw with charcoal pencils, but today I took out a handful of colored ones so I could sketch in the color of her hair. The color had changed so much lately—green one day, red the next, and then coral-colored last time I saw her.

  I self-consciously ran my fingers through my own mess of bright red locks. Who was I fooling? Did I really thinking changing my hair color, getting piercings, and donning all black would make Freya like me?

  Sketching with intensity now, I made her hair wild and ugly. Then I added deep lines and craters in her face to match Pockets’. Ugh. You stupid bitch! Why am I chasing you across the country when you don’t even deserve it? I wanted to shout at the putrid drawing of Freya’s face.

  Finally, I scribbled out her eyes and nose, as well as those red, pouty lips. I drew an X over the drawing, then slammed the notebook shut.

  I closed my eyes, finally giving in to my exhaustion.

  ***

  I woke up just in time to hear the bus driver announcing my stop over the intercom. Stretching my legs, I made my way to the front of the bus, banging people’s kneecaps with my own.

  I stepped off the bus, thrilled to escape the reeking smell of sweat and too much perfume. The bus instantly pulled away, leaving me stranded in the middle of a heavily wooded area. The road I’d arrived at was wide, but empty. I looked back and forth for street signs or buildings—nothing. Why in the hell did the bus driver dump me off here? I wondered angrily.

  I headed west, in the direction the bus went, adjusting the chafing duffel bag on my shoulder. At least the weather’s nice, I thought, walking at a steady pace.

  The road was surrounded by an immense canopy of trees, creating a strange “tunnel” of sorts around me. The woodsy surroundings reminded me of a camping trip I took a couple years ago with Dad. It was the last real outing we had together before he married Candy. I felt a sharp pang of guilt thinking about my dad. He and Candy would be worried sick by now, discovering my bed empty when they got up. The last thing I wanted to do was cause them pain. But the sooner I found Freya, the sooner I’d be able to get back home to them.

  I followed the tree-lined road for nearly a mile before finally spotting signs of civilization. A hand-painted welcome sign greeted me in the distance, and at first I couldn’t read the words, but as I got closer I could. ‘Flocksdale.’ It sounded vaguely familiar, although I couldn’t recall anything noteworthy or memorable about the town.

  Well, why didn’t the driver bring me here? I thought, stopping to stare at the weathered sign. Strangely, I nodded at it as though it were a person, just happy to be in a town, as opposed to walking in the woods.

  My plan was to borrow a phone book and look up the address for Lucinda Livingston. The main street was lined with old-fashioned buildings, housing small restaurants and shops, as well as a used bookstore.

  Thrilled to see a small Marathon with one single pumping station, I headed inside to ask for a phone book. But the lady at the counter offered me something even be
tter. Considering the fact that the town only had a population of two hundred, she knew who Lucy was as soon as I mentioned her name.

  Moments later, with a can of soda and a bag of chips in tow, I headed down the main street, looking for Saints Road. It was a mile-long walk from the convenience store, according to the helpful woman who worked there. I’d just finished walking a mile and now another lay ahead of me. However, I didn’t mind it much. The town was quaint, with rows of shotgun and ranch-style houses.

  All of the kids were still in school apparently, but I noticed several nice-looking adults walking dogs and riding bikes along Flocksdale’s crumbly sidewalks.

  The girl told me to walk toward the river, but as soon as I saw it, to hang a left and then a right on Saints. It wouldn’t be too hard to find.

  Less than half an hour later, I was standing in front of a rundown, two-story house with an attached garage and well-kept yard. I’d been so focused on finding Lucy’s home that I had no idea what to do or say once I got here. I mean, the carnival obviously wasn’t in town. Lucy traveled with the freak show and wouldn’t be here.

  What did I hope to find? Certainly not Lucy or Freya.

  Maybe Lucy has family here or one of her neighbors can tell me how to reach her, I thought hopefully. I stared at the rundown house—it was just like the girl in the store had described.

  I trudged up the concrete driveway, deciding just to wing it. Who knew? Maybe nobody would even answer. I rang the bell, setting down my bag to relieve my raw shoulder.

  Several awkward minutes passed before a cute blonde girl threw open the door, staring at me blankly. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

  “I…uh…” I was caught off guard by her brashness. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m looking for Lucy Livingston. Do you know where to find her? I’m Josie.”

  The girl eyeballed me strangely before asking, “Who wants to know?”

  Here’s the thing—I’m a terrible liar. There was no use beating around the bush. Just like I did with Miss Hamm, I blurted out the whole story. About Freya and Pockets, and my fears that she’d been kidnapped by him or one of the other carnies.

  “Look, I just thought that if I found Lucy, then maybe I could find the carnival and Freya. I’m really sorry for bothering you…” I turned to walk away, feeling stupid, and my face a dark shade of red.

  “Lucy’s my mom,” the girl called out from behind me. “But she’s not here right now. They’re coming back for Halloween in two days. She always comes home for my fall break from school, and they put on the carnival show for our townsfolk for a week. The whole crew stays here for a few months and then they hit the road again,” she said, rolling her eyes. “‘Touring’—that’s what she calls it, with that stupid fucking freak show of hers. And while she’s gone, I’m stuck here living with my stepdad,” she spat angrily.

  “I don’t like my stepmom, either,” I said softly. We both stood there silently, sizing each other up. Sharing some sense of camaraderie.

  “My mom calls every night from the road. I’ll tell her you came looking for her,” she said. I stood there, chewing my lip. I didn’t want to spook Pockets or Freya. Maybe it’d be best if I just waited for a few days until the carnival came home for Halloween.

  “No, please don’t tell her. I think I’ll just wait till they get to town. Try to find my answers then. Thank you though,” I said, heading back out to Saints Road. I had no idea what I’d do for two days until Halloween arrived.

  Suddenly, I heard the sounds of leaves shifting behind me. The blonde girl was running after me. “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk with you,” she offered cheerily.

  The girl seemed nice and all, but I had work to do. Not to mention the last time I made a friend she accused me of being a lesbian…I smiled tightly at her, willing myself to be friendly.

  Chapter Eleven

  I set out on foot, heading back the way I came. The strange girl fell in step beside me. I focused on the road ahead, feeling a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration. If the carnival was coming home in a couple days, then I could confront Pockets and hopefully, find out where Freya went.

  “Aren’t you going to ask my name? I mean, you told me yours and all…” the girl asked bluntly, struggling to keep up with me. She was nearly a head shorter than me with glittery, childish sneakers. I stopped abruptly, facing the girl.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your name?” I asked tiredly.

  “Rachel.” She shrugged as though my question was dumb and she wasn’t the one who prompted me to ask it in the first place. I rolled my eyes and kept walking.

  When we reached the end of Saints Road, I took an immediate left, following a street called Lincoln Boulevard, according to its sign.

  After a few yards Rachel stopped. “Okay. Where are you going?”

  I kept on, ignoring her.

  “You’re not from around here. You don’t know anybody here. You appear to be alone. So, where in the hell do you plan to stay for the next couple nights until your girlfriend shows up?”

  I jerked around. “She’s not my girlfriend! I’m not a lesbian!” I shouted defensively.

  Rachel held her hands up. “Whoa. I never implied that you were a lesbian. And even if you were, who cares? I’m not a bigot. I meant she’s a girl and she’s your friend. Am I wrong about that? She is your friend, right?”

  I’d been working up a sweat ever since I got off that bus. Using both hands, I swiped the grime away, breathing deeply. I hadn’t meant to snap at her. I guess I was just a little defensive about what happened with Freya the other day.

  Rachel was still trying to apologize, even though she did nothing wrong. “I mean…you must really care about her, or else you wouldn’t be taking a bus cross country to find her,” she said.

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. Actually, Freya’s a pretty rotten friend. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to find her…I guess I just wish I had a friend who cared enough about me to do the same, if I disappeared like that…”

  “Well, come on then,” Rachel said, tucking her arm in mind. “I know somewhere you can stay, but you probably won’t like it…”

  ***

  It didn’t take long for me to notice the houses that lined the streets of Flocksdale. There was a strange bit of inconsistency in the way they looked, unlike the normal houses near the center of town.

  Some of the houses looked newer, freshly built. They were designed in a modern style. But others were sitting up high on stilts, as though they were built to survive a major flood. I’d noticed a river as we crossed Baumans Lane.

  Stranger still, there were dozens of houses surrounded by scorched earth with deep black scars.

  “What the hell happened here?” I asked. Rachel smirked.

  “A few years ago, a bunch of crazies escaped from the asylum and burned half the town to the ground. Before the fires, many of the houses were torn down…and before that there were floods. This town’s been through hell. You can’t destroy us, drown us out, or burn us down. This whole town is like one giant cockroach.”

  “Wow,” was all I could say, as we strolled down a road called Clemmons Street. I could see an enormous Victorian home sitting at the street’s end, severely damaged by fire. The block surrounding it was devoid of houses, as though no other homes survived and the owners didn’t bother to rebuild.

  “I take it nobody wanted to rebuild by this house,” I said, chuckling nervously.

  “You don’t know how right you are,” Rachel mumbled.

  I slowed down, thinking we’d taken a wrong turn. But Rachel kept moving forward, headed for the creepy, condemned house. “Where are we going? I thought you said you knew somewhere to stay?”

  She halted, raising her eyebrows at me. She looked from me to the house, and back again.

  “You have to be fucking joking,” I said, stopping dead in my tracks.

  “Look, nobody lives there. It’s completely abandoned. Plus, this is w
here the carnival will be. They set up shop here—on this street—since there’s no other houses around. The House of Ho—This house, is what they use as their haunted house attraction.”

  I still didn’t budge. No freaking way was I staying in that freaky dump of a house by myself, in a town where I knew no one.

  “Look, I’d let you stay at my house, but my stepdad doesn’t know you, and he knows everyone in this town. You said you wanted to stay inconspicuous, so that the carnival workers wouldn’t know you were here. Well, this is the only place I know to stay. It’s not like we have hotels or fancy bed and breakfasts around here. We’re lucky we still have a McDonald’s.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” she added, surprising me.

  “You’d do that for me?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Well, I’d want someone to do the same for me if I were in your shoes.” She winked.

  I stared at the dilapidated mansion, my heart racing. I swallowed a painful lump in my throat, looking at my new friend.

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” I said, surprising myself.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was only an hour till nightfall, but my stomach was growling noisily. “Look, can you stay here for like thirty minutes by yourself? I’ll go get snacks, drinks, some flashlights, and candles,” Rachel offered hesitantly.

  The last thing I wanted to do was hang out at this scary, abandoned house by myself. But what choice did I have? It’s not like we could stay here all night without lights or food. The thought of being in that house in the dark was worse than hanging out for an hour in the daylight.

  “Okay.” We were standing next to the house now. I stared at the angry black swipes and crumbled bricks. The fire had done a lot of damage, but its external structure seemed sound. “Are you sure it’s safe here? I mean, the ceiling w-won’t collapse, will it?” I stammered.