The Silent Carnival: A Lullaby of Shadows and Teeth (chapter one-seven)

Chapter One

The Veil of Twilight

Where yesterday there had been just mist and woods, the carnival suddenly appeared as a jagged silhouette at the edge of Hollow's Brook, resembling a scar on the horizon. With her motor coughing into silence, Evelyn parked her rust-eaten automobile at the gravel road's mouth. The villagers had steered clear of her inquiries, their gazes darting to the forest as though the trees might listen in. After polishing the same spot on the counter for a whole minute, the gas station attendant murmured, "Don't go there after sundown." "It isn't intended for living people."

However, Evelyn had always been adept at entering unwelcome spaces.

Decades of neglect had bleached the once-vibrant arches of the carnival's entrance into a yawning pit of splintered wood. Letters flaked to ghosts on a crookedly hanging sign that said, "Leroux's Carnival of Wonders." The scent of rot and burning sugar filled the air. Through the twilight, Evelyn's spotlight revealed skeletal rides, including a Ferris wheel that creaked like a dirge in the wind and a carousel with horses stopped mid-gallop, their eyes vacant. There were remnants of grandeur beneath the deterioration, though, such as gilded curlicues on a ticket booth and a moth-eaten banner that read "The Greatest Show Beyond This Earth!"

She entered.

She was initially discovered by the Sorrowful Clown.

His face was a hideous caricature of happiness as he leaned on a popcorn cart, his tears streaking his cheeks in azure waves and his scarlet smile breaking porcelain-pale skin. The sole source of warmth in the darkness was the ember of a cigarette that dangled from his fingers.

His voice was like gravel under a boot as he rasped, "You're late." "The show has been anticipating it."

With her notebook in hand, Evelyn maintained a steady tone. "Which show?"

It was a dry rattle of a laugh from the clown. "Girl, you're here to write that one. The person who writes you Ash was tossed into the breeze by him. "Three guidelines: Avoid going on the carousel. The mirrors are not reliable. When the music begins... He left a smudge of greasepaint on his temple after tapping it. "...run."

He vanished into the darkness before she could say anything more, leaving behind the odour of remorse and wax.

Answers were promised at the Hall of Mirrors.

Evelyn's reflection shattered inside, with a dozen different versions of herself elongating, distorting, and disappearing. She was depicted as a child holding a bloodied teddy bear in one mirror, and as a ghost with hollow eyes and a noose of shadows in another. Her breath caught. This isn't real. But when she extended her hand, the glass froze, and she briefly felt the icy touch of tiny, frigid fingers on her own

Her shoulder was squeezed.

Behind her, a sliver of a woman wearing bruise-colored veils, the Mute Fortune Teller stood. Her grip was hard, but her eyes were twin nothingness. The Tower, with its tower collapsing under a tempest, was the tarot card she pushed into Evelyn's hand. Then, with silent lips, she pointed to a tent with curtains.

Come and take a look.

A man's face twisted in anger, a car crash, a child's laughter smoke coiled into forms inside. Evelyn felt her chest constrict. Her Memories. The walls of the tent rose to a scream, whispering in a hundred voices

Quiet.

Evelyn's wrist, where a scar showed through her sleeve, was indicated by the fortune teller. A query. A caution.

The music started as Evelyn staggered back outside, the notes unraveling at the edges of a calliope's sorrowful howl. A sickening green glow filled the fairground as lights came to life. Shadows gathered and squirmed.

The Charismatic Ringmaster stood in the center of the middle.

He was tall, with his top hat obscuring his eyes and his tailcoat sewn with constellations. It was a blade when he smiled.

"Yes, Miss Clarke." His voice was sweet, but underneath it was the sound of gears grinding. "You have been anticipated."

Evelyn stopped. Her name had never been revealed.

He purred as he moved in closer, saying, "Every soul here has a role to play." Sweet as funeral lilies, the air grew thicker. "I believe yours will be …illuminating."

The carousel behind him started to spin, its horses silently snarling as they pulled their mouths back.

The Ringmaster's gloved hand reached out.

"Should we start?"

The Sorrowful Clown peered in the distance, his painted smile quivering.

The next act in the carnival had been selected.

Chapter Two

The Feast of Echoes

Under the pale lights of the carnival, the Ringmaster's glove glistened in the air, its black satin glistening like oil. Evelyn felt her heart pound in her throat. The journalist in her, the part that had spent ten years sifting through lies and deceit, leaned forward despite all her instincts telling her to turn around. She grasped his hand.

Cold and as unforgiving as iron, his fingers clamped around hers.

The word slithered into her ear, sticky with promise, as he whispered, "Splendid."

Life around them made the carnival tremble. Rigging moaned, tent flaps billowed without wind, and somewhere a drum started to beat—a sluggish, irregular pulse like a failing heart. With its horses now running earnestly and their mouths snapping at the air, the Ringmaster guided her past the carousel. In the darkness between the stalls, Evelyn caught glimpses of shapes: slouched bodies with excessively long limbs, eyes that gleamed like glass fragments.

She pulled her hand free and shouted, "What is this place?"

With a constant smile, the Ringmaster cocked his head. Miss Clarke, a sanctuary. A transitional area where regrets fester and questions change. In front of him, he pointed to a huge tent whose red stripes had turned like dried blood. You eat dinner with the performers tonight. Think of it as a orientation.

The feast

Inside, a long table extended into the darkness, and everyone turned to stare. Slouched at the far end, Evelyn recognized the Sorrowful Clown using a knife longer than his hand to peel the skin of an apple. Beside him, veils gathered about the mute fortune teller like smoke. The seats were occupied by others: a woman with a face like melted wax, cooing to a thorn doll; a fire-eater whose breath smoldered faintly; a contortionist folded into a chair, her spine a question mark.

The smell of cloves and mildew filled the air.

The Ringmaster led Evelyn to a seat covered in moth-eaten velvet and declared, "Our newest guest." "Darlings, be mindful of your manners. She is not yet one of us.

She saw a porcelain plate full of delicacies that made her stomach turn: a soup swirling with iridescent spores, a goblet of wine so dark it seemed to swallow the light, and candied beetles gleaming in syrup.

The fire-eater, flames dancing in his pupils, urged, "Eat." "You are honored at the feast."

Evelyn's arms were folded. "I don't feel hungry."

Hisses exploded across the table. The contortionist's neck creaked and her head whirled almost backward. She spat, "Rude,"

Silence dropped like a blade as the Ringmaster held up a hand. "She will discover." Evelyn was pinned by his stare. "Or she'll give the hogs food."

Something outside the tent gave a moist grumble at the word hogs.

The Gift of the Sorrowful Clown

With a nod of his hat, the Ringmaster disappeared after the “feast” (Evelyn sipped water, claiming medication), leaving her to fend for herself—or so he said. The carnival's stare weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Near a shooting gallery with decaying stuffed animals dripping sawdust as prizes, the clown stopped her. The sharp, heated teeth of a key he pressed into her palm.

"For the cage of the lion," he muttered. "Midnight. Keep him from seeing you.

"Why assist me?" Evelyn inquired.

His tears shone like cobalt. You make me think of her. The one I was unable to save. "The Fortune Teller's visions—they're not just yours," he said when he paused. The funfairIt sews itself into you. draws strands from your worst hours. makes them authentic.

A child's high, well-known laugh echoed. Evelyn gasped with surprise. Lila Twelve years later, her sister's laugh remains the same.

She whirled toward the direction of the noise.

The Ghost Train

The chuckle took her on a rusty train trip with a wolf-like engine. The automobiles were open coffins, their cushions moldering. Once more, the voice was as distinct as a bell: “Evie! Come play!

Evelyn got inside.

The train lurched ahead and plunged into a tunnel that was covered in whimsical paintings of a stormy road, a picnic, and a swing set. The scenes changed. The swing set ropes thickened into nooses, and the picnic blanket turned into a bloodstain. Her heart stopped as she saw the last mural: a car upside down in a ditch with a tiny girl's arm showing through broken glass.

Lila

The train came to a screaming stop. Evelyn's wrists were grabbed by cold hands. tiny hands.

"You abandoned me," Lila's voice cried in the shadows. "You said you would stay."

A sob choked Evelyn. “I couldn’t I was twelve”

"You ran."

She was pulled into the emptiness by the hands.

The Cage of the Lion

With the key blazing in her fist, Evelyn woke up slumped outside a cage. In the distance, the bell of midnight tolled. A huge lion with patchy fur and cataract-streaked eyes paced inside the bars. A locket, which had been cracked open to display a picture of a young woman—possibly the clown's former love hung around its neck.

Behind her, the Ringmaster's voice reverberated. "Oh. Don't you think curiosity does bite?

Evelyn got up, her legs shaking. What is contained in the locket?

"A soul," was all he said. They are gathered by the carnival. keeps them alive in relics and stories. I believe yours would look beautiful in glass. He leaned in. But wouldn't you prefer to fight? You're here for that reason. to outrun the female who made it out alive.

Evelyn became more determined. The key was thrown into the darkness by her.

The Ringmaster chuckled. "Well done! However, Miss Clarke, the game has only just begun. Additionally, the carnival always prevails.

Her sister screamed as the lion roared as he vanished into the night.

The Option

At daybreak, Evelyn returned to her motel and washed the carnival grime off her body. The Fortune Teller's face flickered behind her as she looked in the mirror, mouthing a single word as the scar on her wrist itched:

Quickly.

The Tower card cracked in her pocket.

Keeping her hands calm, she poured a sip. They wanted her to be terrified. Rather, she was angry.

Lila's voice was heard during the carnival. She recalled.

It would be burned to the ground by Evelyn.

The Sorrowful Clown lit a cigarette outside, out of sight. His neck was now encircled by the lion's locket.

"Good luck," he whispered, "girlie."

The snow-like ash fell.

Chapter Three

The Pyre of Memories

In Evelyn's hand, the match hissed to life, its light quivering in the moist air of Hollow's Brook. With a gasoline can at her feet and the stink of fuel piercing her nose, she stood at the edge of the circus at nightfall. When she had purchased it, the motel manager had given her a strange look. He had drawled, "Fire is a fickle friend." "Especially in this area."

She threw the match.

It was killed by an invisible breath in the middle of the arc.

"Tsk. From the Ferris wheel above, the Ringmaster's voice murmured, "Naughty." His silhouette was a cutout against the scarred sky as he sat atop a rusting gondola. "Did you truly believe it would be that simple?"

Evelyn struck a second match. "Let's investigate."

The flame lunged this time, coiling up her arm like a serpent of fire. Her flesh blistered when she covered it with her jacket. As she backed away, the carnival's gates slammed behind her, and the Ringmaster's laughing followed.

The Vision of the Silent Fortune Teller

As though drawn by the aroma of charred cloth, the Fortune Teller waited in Evelyn's hotel room, primarily seated on the bed. The veils rustled in the imaginary wind. She touched Evelyn's forehead without a ceremony.

Darkness. Then

A young man wearing greasepaint, laughing while kissing a woman wearing a sequined outfit that resembled a lion tamer. The human Sorrowful Clown. Joyful. The carnival, flags as brilliant as blood, shouting and colourful. Then there is screaming. As the audience applauded, oblivious, the lion's locket broke loose in the middle of the performance, causing the woman's soul to dissolve into light. "She's part of the show now," the Ringmaster comforted the Clown as he screamed. Forever._

The carnival burning was the new vision. It was flesh, not canvas and wood, a beast of sinew and teeth writhing in the fire. Unburned, the Ringmaster grinned as he removed his skin to reveal a hollow core of static and stars.

With a gasp, Evelyn broke free. The Fortune Teller's eyes begged as she handed out a vial of black stuff.

She silently mouthed, "Burn it." Burn him.

The Heartbroken Clown's Disclosure

At the cemetery, he discovered her kneeling next to Lila's worn headstone. The locket glinted under the clown's ruffled collar as his boots crushed gravel.

"Did you not see?" His voice was rough as he said. How long does it take them? Not only the deceased. The forgotten

With the vial in her pocket, Evelyn stood up. "Why hand over the key to me? Why even assist?

"Because she isn't the only one haunting you," he said, jabbing a finger at Lila's grave. You haunt yourself. And that is what the carnival feeds on. The ember from his cigarette carved an arc through the dusk as he flicked it. "I once attempted to burn it as well. It failed. However, you— He looked at the vial. "Your venom is superior."

"How much does it cost?"

He broke his smile. "You'll have a memory of the carnival." A genuine one. The sort of thing you hold on to like a rosary.

Lila's chuckle. Evelyn's little hand in hers. The final intact item.

"Take action," Evelyn advised.

The Carnival's Center

Midnight. Around her, the carnival came to life in a way she had never seen before, with rides swaying like spine bones and tent flaps breathing. In her pocket, the powder hummed ravenously.

At the carousel, where its horses were now savage and fat with heaving ribs, the Ringmaster was waiting for her. Miss Clarke, you're back so quickly? I feel flattered.

Evelyn dusted her palm with the powder. "Let's dance."

She let out a blow.

The dust caught fire in the air and turned into a swarm of flaming moths. The Ringmaster's fitted outfit was scorched as they charged for him. He laughed and stumbled. "Yes! You savage creature!"

The carnival let out a shriek. Evelyn was slashed by the shadows that sprang from the torn ground. She ducked and ran toward the middle tent, past the Hall of Mirrors, which was now a cathedral of screaming faces.

The source throbbed inside: a huge, beating heart that was suspended in a cage of ribs. Photographs of innumerable souls fluttered like feathers from the lion's locket that dangled from it.

Evelyn threw the last of the powder.

The Offering

The heart burst into flames. Voices liberated, the carnival's shout turned into a chorus of whispers. The lover of the clown. Lila. So many others.

Evelyn, however, was sucked up by the earth first.

The Ringmaster was crouching over her as she woke up in a nothingness. Starlight was leaking through his shattered porcelain face. He growled, "You took my toys." "I'll take yours, then."

He touched her sternum with his thumb.

A flashback came flooding back: Lila squeezes her hand, alive. "Did you break your heart?"

"I wish to die," Evelyn muttered.

The recollection vanished.

The Ringmaster shivered with delight as he took a breath. "Mmm. Priceless."

Following

The carnival was gone by dawn, leaving only the stench of sulfur and burnt ground. Empty, Evelyn knelt in the ashes. The ghost of Lila's hand was still there in hers.

The locket was empty as the Sorrowful Clown walked up. He remarked, "You saved them."

"Not me, though." She spoke in a bland tone. Empty.

He gave her one cigarette after lighting two. "You're one of us now."

She smoked quietly. That evening, she would catch a glimpse of Lila's face on her own in the motel mirror. A murmur: "Thank you."

Evelyn, however, didn't look.

The Epilogue of The Ringmaster

A new carnival spread its tents in a town without a name. A child's laughter reverberated in the Ringmaster's chest as he adjusted his headgear.

He assured the dark, "I'll take everything next time."

The music of the calliope started.

Chapter Four

The Hollow Heart

Although Lila's hand was no longer remembered, its absence became more evident.

Every night, Evelyn was awakened by the calliope's music, which slithered tauntingly through her motel window. Her wrist scar no longer itched; instead, it thrummed, a slight pulse that only she could hear in sync with the far-off carnival music. Her eyes sparkled silver, like coins thrown into a wishing well, when she gazed at her reflection for too long.

The sad clown referred to it as "carnival rot."

While she was packing a duffel bag with kerosene, roadmaps, and a stolen revolver, he slouched on the bonnet of her car and whispered, "It's in your marrow now." "You are a bridge. Half there and half here. He will utilize you to strengthen the new carnival. More ravenous

A lighter was thrown inside the bag by Evelyn. "Then I'll also burn that one."

The clown coughed dryly as he laughed. "Girl, you don't understand. It's no longer yours to burn. You participate in the performance. At her feet, he flicked his cigarette. "But hey—follow the moths if you're determined to die spectacularly."

She looked up. As they passed, a group of paper moths with constellation-painted wings fluttered by.

"His trail," replied the clown. "He has always enjoyed being in the spotlight."

The Path to Nothingness

She followed the moths north through skeleton cities and overhanging woodlands. Evelyn occasionally heard Lila's voice over the static on the radio: "Evie, you're losing pieces." Return home.”

She didn't get any sleep.

When she brought up the carnival at a petrol station outside of Nowhere, Ohio, the attendant froze. The letters on his nametag were smeared and read JIM.

He wiped his oil-stained palms on his slacks and murmured, "I saw it last night." "Bigger than previously. The cages contained things. Not creatures. He looked down at her scar. "Aren't you one of them?"

Evelyn made a cash payment. "Jim, what's in the cages?"

He went pallid. Children. But they all had the wrong eyes. like the eyes of dolls.

As she re-entered the roadway, the moths swarmed her windshield.

The New Carnival

Under the moonlight, its tents glowed like sick tissue as it squatted amid a cornfield. This carnival was alive, with popcorn stalls emitting sweet, narcotic smoke and flesh ribbons braided into its flagpoles. The rides were sluggish. Children with too many joints in their fingers and adults with sewn smiles made up the ugly parody audience that shuffled toward the main tent.

Evelyn's scar was scorched.

From the loudspeakers came the Ringmaster's voice: "Ladies, gentlemen, and lies! The performance tonight is... personal."

Hood up, she blended in with the crowd, but the carnival was aware. A carousel horse's glossy eyes gleamed as it turned its head to follow her. Like spider webs, cotton candy adhered to her boots.

The Bargain of the Mute Fortune Teller

With her veils now as dark as a starless sky, the Fortune Teller stood next to a ring-toss game that had been rigged. With her fingers chilly enough to cause bruises, she took Evelyn's arm and pressed a fresh card—The Lovers—into her palm, blurring their faces.

With anxious eyes, she mouthed, "You have to make a decision." You or him.

"Select what?" Evelyn growled.

The main tent was indicated by the fortune teller. The throng roared inside.

The Performance

The Ringmaster's top hat was a swirling emptiness, and his new coat was woven from shadows. The crowd parted for Evelyn like rotten flesh, and he bowed as she walked in.

"Our very special visitor!" He moaned. "The woman who provided us with fire"

Behind her, the tent flaps closed.

Two individuals were in a cage onstage: a child, perhaps eleven years old, with mirrored orbs for eyes, and next to him—Evelyn. Or a flawless, undamaged version of herself, grinning and with all of her memories still intact.

With gloved hands outstretched, the Ringmaster murmured, "A trade." "The soul of the child for yours." Allow me to fill the void in your heart with this. He pointed to the beaming Evelyn, who waved as Lila's laugh spilled out of her mouth.

"Trade! Trade! Trade!" was the chant of the audience.

Evelyn took a step forward. The girl, mended from scars and smoke, was reflected in the boy's mirrored eyes as he pressed against the bars.

"If I say no, what will happen to him?" she inquired.

It was the Ringmaster who smiled. "He turns into... entertainment."

There was a pit of writhing, needle-toothed shadows as the cage floor cracked open. The boy let out a whine.

Intervention of the Clown

There was a gunshot.

The Sorrowful Clown stood smoking a pistol in the entryway to the tent, tears of fresh greasepaint smearing his cheeks. The crowd let out a yell before vanishing into smoke and rats.

The clown yelled, "Run," and threw Evelyn a rusty axe.

She swung at the lock on the cage. The phony Evelyn attacked, fingers lengthening into claws, while the boy scurried out. "Without us, you're nothing," her voice screamed. "All that is left is ash."

With his pistol pressed to the empty space beneath the man's cap, the clown struggled with the Ringmaster. He yelled, "Do it!" at Evelyn.

She lifted the axe.

The Option

The blade lingered.

Either kill the youngster or destroy the phony Evelyn, which is the final remnant of Lila's memories.

Despite the clown's gunshot tearing through his chest, the Ringmaster laughed. He spat at Evelyn, saying, "She's in you now,." "You will never be at liberty."

The axe dropped.

The phony Evelyn broke into glass fragments and static. The youngster disappeared as the Fortune Teller's veils carried him away.

The Ringmaster's laughter persisted even as the carnival collapsed inward, shrieking.

"This isn't over," he muttered as he dissolved. Evelyn Clarke, you'll feed me once more. You'll beg to.

The Repercussions

The carnival had been reduced to cinders when Dawn discovered Evelyn and the clown in a burned cornfield. Like ivy, her scar had grown and was now growing up her arm.

While dressing a cut on his thigh, the clown remarked, "You kept your soul." "For the most part."

Her gaze was fixed on the horizon. "He's still alive."

"No. However, you bought the child some time. Perhaps you bought yourself some time. He gave her one cigarette after lighting two. "Girl, what's next?"

The smoke curled silver as Evelyn breathed. "What cannot die, I find a way to kill."

The clown gave a nod. "Then you'll require something worse than fire."

He threw her a blood-stained map that had been chewed by a moth. The town known as Mercy's End is the destination.

He said, "Ask for the Bone Weaver." "And don't say my name."

The Whisper of the Ringmaster

The radio crackled to life as Evelyn entered West Virginia that night.

"You performed admirably today," the Ringmaster crooned. However, kids are such ephemeral things. I'll take someone you really love next time. Oh, hold on—"You don't have anyone left, do you?" A pause

Evelyn switched off the radio. Slithering through the scar on her wrist, she heard his following words without it:

"I'll just need to create someone."

Chapter Five

The Bone Weaver's Requiem

At the base of the mountains, Mercy's End huddled like a freshly butchered body. The wooden sign of the town was hanging crookedly, its letters worn to "M__rc_'s _n_." As Evelyn passed shuttered shops with boarded-up or broken windows, her boots crunched on gravel littered with animal bones and broken glass. The taste of damp ash and iron filled the air.

She followed the map to a chapel on the outskirts of town, where a ragged spire of antlers had taken the place of the steeple. The property was enclosed by a fence of braided ribs that were adorned with finger bone wind chimes.

The domain of the Bone Weaver.

The Dust and Teeth Workshop

The chapel had been completely demolished and reconstructed into a maze of shelves, each one containing dolls sewn from human flesh, jars of teeth, and spools of sinew thread. A loom, with its warp threads laced with vertebrae, dominated the middle of the room. A figure, ageless and genderless, sat at it, a moving mosaic of bone fragments covering their face.

"Evelyn Clarke." The Bone Weaver's voice sounded like a saw-through bone rasping. "You have a desperate and gasoline-like fragrance. And him.

The clown's map was held up by Evelyn. "You could assist me in killing the Ringmaster," he continued.

The Weaver's robe hung down like a shroud at a funeral. "Death? No. Unmake? Maybe. Cold breath frosted her scar as they circled her. However, you bear his rot. Your pulse contains it. Your sinew.

"Is it possible for you to take it off?"

"I am able to exchange it." The Weaver selected a glistening, poisonous green thread from the loom. A witch who dealt with things worse than carnivals once had her soul in this. It will burn his poison out of you for a while if you put it in your veins.

The thread was eyed by Evelyn. "How much does it cost?"

The Weaver flashed a slender smile. "A recollection. You haven't lost one. One that you love.

The Recollection

Evelyn's forehead was touched by the Weaver's bony finger.

At midnight, she enters Lila's unoccupied room covertly; she is sixteen. On the pillow is her sister's plush rabbit, its fur matted with tears. It is a talisman against the hollow walls of the foster home, and Evelyn tucks it inside her rucksack. It is the final evidence that Lila was real, and she has been sleeping with it gripped to her chest for years.

The memory changes: smoke consuming the last remnant of her youth, the rabbit burning in a garbage can during her first breakup with college.

Evelyn let out a gasp and pulled away. "That is no longer there. I ruined it.

However, you continue to hold onto the ache," the Weaver remarked. That's what I desire. the sadness of losing it.

"Why?"

"A fundamental element is grief. Whole universes are supported by it. The needle was donated by the Weaver. "Are you a trader?"

Evelyn paused. It was like leaving Lila behind to give up even the anguish of her memories. However, the scar was pulsing, with black tendrils already reaching her collarbone.

"Take action."

The Weaving

Her wrist was punctured by the needle.

The thread burned through Evelyn's veins, causing her to scream. A thousand broken deaths and the witch's soul roiling inside her were among the visions that sprang forth. The Weaver's loom clattered like a storm's ribcage as they murmured in a language of whispers and cracks.

Evelyn's scar had gone by the time it was over. Faint green glow pumped beneath her flesh in its place.

The Weaver declared, "It will hold until the moon bleeds." The witch's hunger will then awaken. She will eat you from the inside out if you don't kill him by then.

"How can I get rid of him?"

A music box made from a human skull was opened by the Weaver. There was a corroded silver key inside. "He is the carnival." Its heart is unlocked by this, but only a soul that has been marked by him may use it.

The key was taken by Evelyn. It recognized her and hummed.

The Weaver pressed a glob of wax into her palm and whispered, "One last gift." It solidified into a little flute of bone. "When the hounds arrive."

The Hounds

Three wolf-shaped shadows with carnival-light-prickly eyes waited for her at the town's edge. Their eyes dropped open as the Ringmaster said, "Miss Clarke, running only makes the game sweeter."

Evelyn held up her flute.

Its tone was cold, a screech that froze the air, rather than sound. Howling, the hounds vanished into mud.

However, the triumph was fleeting. "The moon bleeds in seven days." The Weaver's warning reverberated as the flute fell to dust.

The Invitation from the Ringmaster

A billboard with blood-red letters dripping came to life again on the highway:

EVIE, GO HOME MIDNIGHT CARRY THE KEY

There was a montage of pictures behind it, including the Sorrowful Clown, the youngster she had spared, gas station staff, motel clerks, and others who were all staring at nothing while wearing carnival collars around their necks.

Hostages

The radio crackled with the Ringmaster's laugh: "Let's exchange. Their lives for yours. You'll play the hero once more.or at last acknowledge that you are mine.

The Peace

Evelyn stopped, trembling. Her eyes were a faint green glow in the rearview mirror. Now welded to a necklace around her neck, she felt the key.

She was haunted by the clown's words: "You participate in the performance."

However, the Witch's thread coiled eagerly and vindictively inside her.

She grinned.

Allow him to attempt to take her.

The Epilogue of The Bone Weaver

The Weaver wove a new doll in the chapel, a lanky figure with a blank patch of skin for a face and a tailcoat. They threaded the loom with strands of Evelyn's abandoned sadness while humming.

They said to the void, "Soon." "The requiem will come soon."

Outside, a calliope's faint scream was carried by the wind.

Chapter Six

The Heart of the Carnival

In a valley where the moon hung low and swollen, its surface veined with scarlet, the carnival waited for her. Evelyn entered the gates, now forged from childish horrors and twisted iron—carousel horses with headlights for eyes, swing sets that had corroded into spikes. The carnival's heartbeat, a bassline of fear that echoed the witch's veins, throbbed through the air.

Each seat was a cage of bones, and the hostages were suspended from the Ferris wheel. With pieces of Evelyn's resolve reflected in his fractured mirrored eyes, the child from the tent dangled at the top.

From everywhere and nowhere, the Ringmaster's voice crooned, "Welcome home."

The Song of the Hostages

The Fortune Teller's veils were torn as she was chained to a popcorn cart. As Evelyn went by, she mouthed the warning: "The heart is a trick."

With his face paint crumbling into a sneer and his necklace empty, the Sorrowful Clown skulked along the hall of mirrors. He whispered, "He's using them as anchors." "If you let one go, the carnival starts to fall apart." However—

However, he will be aware," Evelyn concluded. With a nod, the clown opened and closed his lighter. The click, click, click

The hostages above started singing, a dirge twisted from a nursery song.

"Put a needle in your eye, cross your heart, and hope to die."

Their voices caused the ground to tremble.

The Gambit of the Ringmaster

At the carousel, which was now a spiral of sharp blades and moth-eaten plush, he was waiting for her. Lila's laughter was woven into the hem of his tailcoat, which shimmered with memories that had been stolen.

"You had the key," he remarked with a smile. "How sweet."

The edges of the bone key bit Evelyn's palm as she held it. "Release them."

"However, they're having fun." His fingers snapped.

With cages lowering toward a pit of thorns, the Ferris wheel lurched. Evelyn at twelve, running from the car disaster; the clown's lover disintegrating; the witch in her thread shrieking for release; the boy's reflection breaking apart even more.

The Ringmaster sang, "Miss Clarke, tick-tock." "The moon will soon bleed."

The Unmaking

He was tackled by the Sorrowful Clown.

With blades tearing the Ringmaster's coat into smoke and static, they collided with the carousel. The clown yelled, "Go!" and pinched him with one arm while he scrambled for his lighter with the other. "The heart!"

Evelyn took off running.

Rides cracked like tendons and tents deflated into sinew as the carnival trembled. Visions of Lila begging, the Bone Weaver's loom, and her own visage in the Hall of Mirrors, hollowed out by the witch's hunger, made the road to the heart a maze of fangs and memory.

She arrived at the center.

The heart, hung in a cage of rib bones, was a hideous sphere of muscle and music box gears. Like ghosts against glass, their faces were crushed into the skin as it pulsed with stolen souls.

Evelyn drove the key into the center of it.

The Feast of the Witch

The heart cried out.

From Evelyn's scar, the witch's thread sprang forth, a verdant conflagration consuming the decaying heart. The carnival broke apart, with tents soaring into ash and rides falling. The cages of the hostages broke.

But the Ringmaster, his figure vacillating between man and nothingness, climbed out of the ruins.

He spat and clawed at her, saying, "You ruin." "This was my masterpiece!"

"And your coffin is now."

The ultimate blow was delivered by the Sorrowful Clown, who threw a lighter into the witch's fire.

The Ringmaster's scream was consumed by the whitened fire.

The Price

The valley was bleeding with dawn. All that remained of the carnival was a scar on the ground.

Once again human, the boy knelt amid the ashes and sobbed. With her veils now as gray as storm clouds, the Fortune Teller held him in her arms.

His paint rinsed clean, the Sorrowful Clown sagged against a stone. He was just a man below it, elderly, tired, and free.

"You succeeded," he squealed.

Evelyn put her hand to her chest. There was silence in the witch's thread. In her hand, the corroded key fell apart.

But as the rot spread, Lila's voice grew softer.

She flinched and the clown saw it. He whispered, "Nothing's ever really gone." "Just rearranged."

The Funeral of the Bone Weaver

The Weaver stitched the doll's last stitch in the chapel. The image of the Ringmaster shifted, then remained motionless.

They whispered, "Go to sleep now," and then they burned it.

A song of endings was sung by the flames.

The Silent Carnival is the epilogue.

Evelyn had stopped hearing the calliope while she stood at Lila's tomb. The witch's hunger was a faint echo, and the scar on her wrist was a light line.

Recovered from the ashes, she set the plush rabbit on the monument.

"I'm going to stay," she muttered.

A carnival was still going on somewhere, but the music had gotten softer.

Evelyn started to recall how to breathe in the quiet.

Chapter Seven

The Spaces Between

Like a portrait left in the rain, the world after the carnival had a softer edge. Evelyn made her home in a town that no one could locate on a map, where the days smelled of pine resin and far-off storms, and the nights were filled with cricket music. She rented a home with a rusted-out mailbox and a porch that dropped like a weary smile. The neighbors spoke about the woman who strolled the woods at dusk, her hands flowing through the air as if brushing against phantom threads, and left casseroles on her steps.

Her wrist scar never completely healed. She claimed it hummed on certain mornings.

Farewell to the Sorrowful Clown

One October evening, he showed there without warning, his hair gray at the temples and his face devoid of paint. He was carrying an unlabeled bottle of bourbon and a carton crate filled with vintage vinyl recordings.

As he settled into her porch swing, he remarked, "They're rebuilding the highway north." "May cause issues that are better left unsaid."

Evelyn watched the sunset seep into the trees as she sipped her coffee. "You're going to leave."

"Gone already." He gave the box a nod. She owned these. The tamer of the lion. believed that they ought to be given to someone who receives it.

Up until midnight, they listened to the records, which included a woman's voice that sounded like honey and smoke and crackling jazz. He hesitated as the clown got up to go. "You do realize that he's not gone? He and similar things are found in the dirt. The quiet.

Evelyn put her hand on her scar. "I understand."

By morning, he was gone, but the documents remained.

The Gift of the Silent Fortune Teller

Her veils, now as white as moth wings, appeared in a dream.

The scene: An empty carnival tent. Lila's stuffed bunny is on a pedestal with a single spotlight. The dusty, wrinkled hat of the Ringmaster. There is a choice: either take the rabbit and bring back the memory, or let the quiet deepen.

A little, iron, ordinary key was in Evelyn's hand when she woke up. There was a tarot card beneath her pillow that read The Fool, with its figure fearlessly plunging into a chasm.

The Door

Winter arrived early. On a morning stroll, Evelyn discovered the door—a faded blue object, standing by itself in a clearing—where Frost had etched the windows into lace. No house, no walls. Only the door, with crow bones and dried roses hanging from its frame.

The key was suitable.

Instead of a room, there was an endless hallway of mirrors within. Evelyn as a sister who stayed, a journalist who quit, a lady who blazed hotter and shorter—each reflection presented an unselected version of her existence. With their weave now woven with stars, the Bone Weaver stood at the conclusion.

Even though Evelyn hadn't said anything, they said, "You've come to ask."

"Is this thing real?"

The Weaver let out a laugh that sounded like ice breaking. "As real as your wounds. As real as your ghosts. To the mirrors they pointed. "This is now the home of the carnival. in the crevices. Within the could-have-beens.

Evelyn grabbed Lila's bunny out of her pocket. "Is she visible to me?"

The needle of the Weaver hesitated. Indeed. You won't stay, though.

The Final Recollection

A field was visible in the mirror. Lila chasing fireflies, alive and whole. No vehicle collision. Not guilty. A girl giggling beneath the June sky.

Evelyn touched the glass with her palm. "I apologize for running."

Lila smiled as she turned. "You returned."

The glass became foggy. The field was vacant when it cleared.

The Letting Go

At the edge of the forest, Evelyn buried the rabbit beneath an oak tree. She never came back, but she kept the key to the door. Though it no longer seemed like a taunt, she occasionally heard the faint waltz of a calliope through the trees.

It had a lullaby-like sound.

The Shadow of the Ringmaster

A toddler in a distant city claimed to have heard music when they put their ear to a storm drain. Overnight, a store owner discovered that his window displays had been transformed into ghoulish dioramas. In the shape of a man wearing a top hat, a street lamp flickered.

However, these were minor concerns. transient items.

Since Evelyn's war, the world had become more vigilant and was aware that the evil feast could not be allowed to continue unchecked.

The Keeper of Thresholds: Epilogue

Evelyn still carries witch thread and iron nails in her pockets as she strolls through the woods. Maps with door markings, hunter and weaver phone numbers, and a vinyl record that only plays during new moons are all kept in the cottage's spare room.

Sometimes she is discovered by travelers—those who are frightened by humming silences and by laughter in deserted chambers. She cautions them about the gaps between and gives them coffee.

She claims that not all of them are hungry. "But always have a lighter with you."

Her wrist scar remains silent.

She smiles, goes out onto the porch, and murmurs as the wind delivers the aroma of burnt sugar:

"Try me."

THE END