The Forgotten Carnival

The rain had stopped just hours ago, leaving behind a heavy fog that clung to the ground like a shroud. Five friends—Jess, Mark, Claire, Ethan, and Lily—drove along an empty highway in search of one last thrill on their weekend road trip. The trip had been an impulse decision, spurred by a lottery they hadn’t even meant to enter, but when the prize was a paid vacation, how could they say no?

“Guys, I swear, I read about this online,” Ethan said from the passenger seat, his phone glowing in the dark. “The Forgotten Carnival. It’s real. It shows up once every ten years, and if we’re lucky—”

“Or unlucky,” Claire interrupted with a nervous laugh.

Mark, who was driving, rolled his eyes. “It’s probably just some urban legend, man. You’re always falling for that stuff.”

Ethan grinned. “Maybe. But you’re the one driving toward it, aren’t you?”

Lily, seated in the back, stared out the window, barely paying attention. She wasn’t as keen on ghost stories or urban legends. Still, there was something strangely enticing about the idea of a forgotten carnival. The idea of something lost to time, waiting to be rediscovered, sent a thrill down her spine.

It wasn’t long before they saw it.

In the distance, faint lights flickered through the fog, casting an eerie glow on the horizon. Jess leaned forward. “That’s... that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Has to be,” Ethan replied, his voice tinged with excitement.

The carnival loomed ahead of them, its tall, rusted rides and faded tents barely visible through the mist. A chill settled over the group as Mark pulled the car into the gravel lot, which seemed too pristine for a place that was supposedly abandoned. It was as if the carnival had been expecting them.

They got out of the car, staring in silence at the entrance. A sign, hanging crooked from rusted chains, read:

"The Forgotten Carnival: Enter at Your Own Risk."

At first, the carnival seemed harmless, even charming in a creepy, nostalgic way. The group wandered through the grounds, admiring the old rides and playing the games that still worked. The lights were dim, flickering as though they could go out at any moment, but no one seemed particularly concerned.

Lily noticed a stuffed bear hanging from a game booth. It was dusty, but its eyes seemed to follow her as she moved. She shivered and quickly looked away. “This place is giving me the creeps,” she muttered.

Mark and Ethan, on the other hand, were having the time of their lives. They found the old carousel and immediately hopped on. The horses, chipped and worn from age, looked as though they’d seen better days, but the carousel began to spin, slowly at first, then faster.

“Whoa, this thing actually works!” Mark shouted over the eerie, tinny music.

Jess and Claire watched from a distance, a growing unease settling in the pit of their stomachs. “Something doesn’t feel right,” Claire whispered.

Then it happened. The music began to slow down, the carousel moving at a jagged, uneven pace. One of the horses—its eyes now gleaming in the dim light—moved its head, almost imperceptibly, as if watching them.

Suddenly, the carousel jerked to a stop, throwing Ethan and Mark off balance. They stumbled off, laughing nervously. “Maybe we should stick to the games,” Mark said, brushing dust off his jacket.

But the strange occurrences didn’t stop there. As the night wore on, the group began to see figures in the distance—shadows of carnival performers, clowns, and costumed characters. At first, they thought it was part of the atmosphere, but these figures never spoke, never came close, always just out of reach.

By midnight, the carnival was no longer charming—it was alive. The once-lifeless rides began to move on their own, the lights flickered in rapid bursts, and the music grew louder, distorted, like it was coming from a broken record.

“Where is everyone?” Jess asked, her voice shaking. “I mean, it’s a carnival... there should be other people, right?”

Lily pointed to the Ferris wheel, which had started turning, though no one was inside. The air around them grew colder, and the sense of wrongness became too heavy to ignore.

That’s when they heard the laughter.

It started softly, as if carried on the wind, but soon it grew louder, maniacal. They looked around but saw no one. Then, from the funhouse, a clown emerged. His face was painted in the usual grotesque way, but something about him was off—his smile too wide, his eyes too dark.

He gestured for them to come inside.

“No way,” Claire whispered, backing away.

But it was too late. As if the carnival itself had decided, the group found themselves pulled toward the funhouse, their feet moving of their own accord. The distorted mirrors inside showed not their reflections but twisted, horrifying versions of themselves—versions where they were disfigured, trapped, or worse, dead.

“I want to leave,” Lily whispered. But when they tried to leave, the exit was gone.

The carnival wasn’t just a place anymore—it was a predator, and they were its prey.

One by one, the group was separated. Claire, in her attempt to escape, stumbled into the haunted house, only to be consumed by the shadowy figures that lurked within. Jess and Mark, trying to climb onto the Ferris wheel for a better view, found themselves trapped at the top as the wheel spun faster and faster, the safety bars breaking apart.

Lily and Ethan were the last. Together, they discovered that the carnival was feeding off their fear, growing stronger with every moment they stayed. They had to make it to dawn, or they’d be trapped here forever.

But time was running out.

Lily and Ethan made it to the heart of the carnival—the big top. Inside, they found a ringmaster, a figure cloaked in shadows, sitting on a throne of twisted metal and bones. He smiled at them, tipping his hat.

“You’ve survived this long,” he said, his voice like nails on glass. “But every carnival needs a final act.”

In a desperate bid for freedom, Lily and Ethan charged toward the exit. But as they reached the door, Ethan was pulled back by unseen hands. Lily, now alone, escaped into the night.

As dawn broke, she looked back at the carnival one last time. It was fading, disappearing into the mist as if it had never been there. But as she turned away, she saw a reflection in the glass of the car window—the twisted, ghostly image of the ringmaster smiling back at her.

The carnival may have vanished, but its curse was far from over.

The End. . .