Carnival Mayhem

It has been years since I left my hometown, and I don't think I'll ever return. I do miss the timeless idles of the country, the sultry, gently undulating hills, and the cool, quiet sanctuary of the woods. I can still picture the night sky in my mind's eye, the endless black canvas speckled with glittering stars so vivid and clear they seemed within easy reach of your hand. Even now, the remembrance of the lonesome, poignant howls that would sometimes emerge Just a deep desire to return. But I have sworn to never step foot within that cursed town again. Not after what happened.

Traveling to circuses or carnivals is a common sight if you live in a town like mine. Too small to warrant a permanent establishment of its own, but too big to pass up as a business opportunity, especially in the summer months. Large colorful banners in the town center usually put up weeks in advance would herald the coming of a new attraction. sometimes so poorly photocopied that you could barely make out the words, much less the images, festooned the streets, a constant reminder that fun and laughter would soon grace the prosaic place we called home. To be honest, I think the adults were often just as excited as the kids.

Living in a small town has its perks, but having interesting preoccupations isn't usually one of them. Most of the townsfolk were poorly educated farmers, fortunate enough to inherit a piece of forbearers. Life was a constant drudgery of chores and backbreaking labor with little in the way of entertainment. The television had only a handful of channels, assuming you had a TV set, to begin with, and the one social event that happened with any regularity was a church on Sunday. The pub enjoyed a booming business, though. And so we all rubbed our hands in glee when one late spring morning we awoke to see workmen putting up a giant cloth banner that screamed, in crimson letters, awaits you. My family owned a small shop in the town center selling provisions, and we lived in the quarters directly above, so we were among the first to witness the thrilling sight. Word spread and soon some of the workmen were accosted by eager teenagers wanting to find out more about the carnival. You see, the roving funfairs that had visited us in the past were well-known operators. Not the big-timers, perhaps, but their names were not unfamiliar. But no one had ever heard of the Carnival of Lights. What the workers could tell us is that they had been contracted by some company in a nearby city, a company they were working with for the first time. And no, they weren't told when exactly the carnival would be set up in our town.

The air of mystery about the whole affair only heightened our anticipation. We told ourselves it had to be a new entrant to the carnival scene, a hitherto unheard player making its debut, possibly from the continent a few of the older folks ventured, nodding sagely. the continent was incomprehensible to us kids, but the exoticism they connoted and promised was not lost on us. There were a few utterances of skepticism amongst the adults as to why any newcomer would choose, of all places, this humble backwater, but they were soon shushed with indignant admonitions not to rain on the town's parade.

The days lengthened and summer drifted in like a warm breeze, bringing with it the joyous cries of children I would sprint every morning to the open field near the outskirts, where any funfair, circus, or carnival would customarily set up shop. Disappointment met us each day, until one morning, a marvelous scene greeted us. They must have started during the night, for the frames of the rides could already be seen peeking through the scaffolding that enveloped them. The whole place was a hive of activity, and before our awestruck eyes, we saw the carnival slowly take form. There were roller coasters. The biggest we had ever seen. our hearts we immediately knew where we'd be making our first stop once the gates opened. As we ran madly, whooping at the top of our lungs, back into town, a different banner awaited our gobbling eyes. Open tonight, it triumphantly declared, we high-fived one another, drunk with happiness.

The rest of the day seemed to drag on interminably, so much so that by late afternoon we were each unceremoniously booted from our homes on account of our incessant whining, married parents had gladly parted with us to buy some peace.

We reached our destination well before dusk had fallen, but already a thick, bustling crowd was thronging the unopened entrance. "'Ah, man,' complained my friend Harry, a tall, spindly boy whom puberty had caught early and rather awkwardly. "'Well, perhaps I'll have VIP tickets for sale,' he said, jingling his bulging pockets, which were fuller than any of ours. His father opened the pub, which meant he bikes or shoes, but not the modesty to refrain from rubbing it in our faces. Still, he was not ungenerous when it came to sharing, possibly the sole reason we grudgingly accepted him as one of the gang, though there were many times I felt like kicking him in the shin.

Of the three, I considered Gregory my best friend. He was a rather quiet boy, unwilling to proffer any views unless pressed, though often his remarks turned out to be the most intelligent of the lot. body, he was a frequent target for snide remarks from the rest of the class. No one ever laid a finger on him though. James, the brash leader of our little quartet with outsized arms, saw to that.

As twilight fell, it soon became apparent why the carnival was so named. Lanterns, hundreds and hundreds of them, each giving off a lurid red, came to life with the dying of the day. The scarlet spots of light did little to brighten up the area, instead casting a bloody sheen on every angle they caught. Fantastic!" cried Harry appreciatively, clapping his knee enthusiastically. A murmur of approval rustled through the crowd, which had fallen silent at the resting site.

It looks kind of creepy, squeaked Greg as he sidled up to me, trying not to let Henry hear him. I didn't know it was supposed to be horror themed. It didn't either. A certain repulsion had risen within me, driving out all the earlier excitement. If it had been just Greg and me, we surely would have turned around and left. Henry's enthusiasm seemed to have spilled over into James. Come on, you guys! Felt his strong arms pushing me toward a surging crowd. The gates had opened. If we don't hurry, there will be a line at the roller coaster for sure. Heard in like a pair of clueless calves, Greg and I glanced around wildly at our surroundings. Loud music, somewhat cheerfully discordant, blared from the speakers. It was difficult to see where we were going, but the shadows clung on stubbornly into every corner like right. The staff all wore white, expressionless masks, the kind that evokes a visceral, unexplained discomfort from the pits of your psyche. Blood-splattered signs promised horrifying experiences. The boat ride to nowhere, the silent hall of mirrors, etc. All the cliched stuff. There, the guillotine coaster.

Henry jabbed a finger excitedly at a sign composed of letters with wickedly jagged edges. Without turning to see if we were following, he dashed off practically being pulled along by an eager James who had an iron grip on her wrists. As expected, there was already a long queue ahead of us. Mr. Moneybags craned his neck to see if there was an express line for those willing to pay for a VIP ticket, only to settle back down with a crestfallen frown on his face. As the queue crawled along, the two ebullient boys each expertly gave their prediction on how stomach-churning the ride was going to be, based on what they could My buddy and I could only exchange glum glances as the air was punctuated by screams now and then, screams that sounded way more terrified than exhilarated. We both loved roller coaster rides, but the eerie atmosphere of the park had diminished our appetite.

As our turn drew closer, a safety warning came into view. Attention! You must be this tall to die. ride. We stared at it, mouths agape. None of us had ever seen such a sign before. You must remember that this took place decades ago, back when common sense was thought to be a lot more common and safety regulations existed only for the most dangerous of activities. I was suddenly aware of the looks my friends were giving me. I had always known myself to be the shortest among my friends, and even when I took roller coaster rides previously, my head barely poked through the harness. But never had I thought it to be a problem. I ran towards a sign refusing to believe it. The closer I came, the further the blood-red line floated up defiantly. At last, the truth was staring me in the face. I was too short to ride. It's strange how human psychology works. The moment something is off-limits it instantly becomes more desirable. All the dread and reluctance I had harbored toward the ride vanished the moment I realized I wouldn't be allowed to ride it.

Greg stared at me in surprise. You know, I could just stay with you if you don't want to wait alone, his plump face showed at me hopefully. I shook my head vigorously. No way, I'm coming along. Ignoring his obvious chagrin, I shuffled my feet to maintain my inconspicuousness, or so I hoped, position, between my friends as the queue hustled forward.

The roller coaster was back, its seats empty. What? Where're the passengers?" The employee at the turnstile turned towards us, his eyes looking oddly alive behind the stiff white mask. "'You disembark on the other side,' he informed us roughly, pointing to the further end of the ride, where tracks disappeared ominously into a dark cavern. I wanted to kick the big mouth so hard. He just had to draw attention to us. No, me. Keeping my head down and fingers crossed, I tried to scurry through the turnstile as unsuspiciously With my back foot nearly clearing the threshold, the hallelujahs were already on the tip of my tongue. Hold it! I nearly jumped out of my skin as the behemoth of the voice struck my ears like a sledgehammer. Mr. Gruff White Mask had my shoulder in a painful, vice-like grip. You're too short to go on this ride, pal, he growled, sounding anything but pally. Ah, come on, mister, I pleaded. I sat on the other roller coasters before. I'll be okay, I tell you. I met his flinty gaze beseechingly, hoping his hard brown eyes would soften.

Out, the verdict announced, the unsympathetic carnival-goers behind me began prodding me aside with sharp elbows, heedless of the gross injustice that had just befallen me. Dejected, I looked on sadly as my friends scrambled for the best seats. Well, Henry and James did anyway. Greg wanted to round like a lost child before reluctantly sitting down beside a fat sweaty dude who was alone. hungry, hummed, and creaked, and the cars began to inch forward, he threw me a look of desolation, tinged with fear, as if he were a ghost, fresh on its way to Hades. As it turned out, that was the last time I ever saw him alive.

The roller coaster disappeared with a loud whoosh, and remembering what the turnstile employee had said about the ride ending on the other side, I left the boarding platform and trudged alongside the tracks, across the grassy field. Strident screaming, followed by the low rumble of wheels on the tracks would greet my ears with a screeching train of terror as its captive passengers hurtled past me for yet another round. Torn between relief and petulant anger at being left out, I kicked up divots in the dirt, as it made my way towards the gaping cavern at the far end. Something about this large, maw-like opening stirred up a deep sense of unease within me, especially the way it seemed to swallow up the screaming humans each time, they plummeted helplessly into the inky void. me seemingly slowing as I began to make that steep ascent that proceeded the plunge into the awaiting jaws of the man-made grotto. The hullabaloo had somewhat subsided, no doubt because the horse throats on board were taking a much-needed rest. Gasp, as the first car crested the peak, the hollow of the cavern came alight with a red, hungry glow. The riders must have seen it too, where the hollering, almost appreciative, returned in a sharp crescendo.

Something felt distinctly wrong. Without knowing why I started sprinting, the train nearing full throttle by now was streaking further and further away. That was when I heard it. The screams turned up several pitches, now possessing a tinnitus of genuine fear. Silence. A deep, empty silence. My lungs were nearly bursting. I raced into the cave, which was still awash in that eerie red glow I will never forget live. Bedazzled by my sudden dive into the light, I squinted around in confusion. The passengers were sitting, stock still in their seats, mute and frozen. The ground was strewn with balloons, or so I thought. What a weird way to end the ride was the only thought my dazed mind could sputter out.

A sudden movement behind the stationary roller coaster caught my eye. A plank of some sort was being lifted towards the roof. I rubbed my eyes, urging the stars in my eyes to go away. No, not a plank, far thinner and sharper. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the light, a sickening realization ripped through my shuddering body. It was a blade, a monstrous three-yard-long blade that had passed through each sobbing, throbbing throat like a hot knife through butter. I turned and ran, and ran. only a primal fear that powered my legs beyond endurance and consciousness. One moment I was dashing blindly through the darkness, and the very next I was out like a light.

They had assumed I was dead, one of the many that had been senselessly slaughtered in the accursed carnival, until they found me in the bordering woods. I was told it was the work of some demented cult, seeking to sacrifice as many as they could before they did themselves in. I never got around to hearing the details though, mainly because my mouth would widen to a scream anytime someone spoke of it.

It's been years and years since, and I've been through countless therapists to little effect. Even now, I can hardly make it through a night without recalling the blood-red scene in the cavern. Worst of all, the abominable sign that had, ironically, saved my life. You must be this tall to die.