Whispers in the Abandoned Carnival

On the edge of town, the once-thriving carnival had always loomed as a specter—a decaying skeleton of discarded rides and tents encircled by rusty metal and weeds that had grown tall. Everyone avoided it. Some claimed the site whispered at night. Others claimed they saw lights entering and exiting the toppled booths. But Maeve did not fear ghost stories. She was drawn to them.

She squeezed through a gap in the fence around midnight, her boots tightening into dry leaves. The weather was colder here, oddly still, as if time had stood still when the carnival closed down thirty years ago. Her flashlight explored the darkness, illuminating jagged remnants of what used to be: mold covered blackened cotton candy machines, spiderweb-patterned shattered funhouse mirrors, and carnival rides that groaned with wind.

Maeve grew up hearing the rumors. Everyone in town did. The carnival came out of nowhere, flashy and loud, thrilling the town for three weeks. Then, after nightfall, it vanished. No goodbye. No semis. Just empty fields—and whispers that wouldn't quit.

When Maeve first heard the whispers, she was five. She remembered hearing unreal-sounding music, gentle laughter, and the sound of a carousel turning far away outside her window. Her parents told her it was her imagination. That place, however, had always seemed incomplete.

She was here, decades later, not only for answers but because she'd been drawn here by something within herself.

Her flashlight struggled as she passed the "Tunnel of Terror," the walls painted still in cracking reds and blacks. A faded sign over the door groaned in the wind: "Enter if you dare… but don't forget how to leave."

She kept walking.

The carousel took up the middle of the grounds, the horses worn, their eyes chipped, gnawed away. Vines wrapped around the bottom as if restraining it. Maeve lingered and looked at the stillness, which was ringing in her ears. Then, far away, a whisper.

"Maeve…"

She spun, light flashing into the night. Nothing. nothing but the creaking of a worn sign gently swaying in the breeze. But the air was not the same—thick, heavy, as if it were holding its breath.

The carousel creaked.

It began to turn, slowly, improbably. No lights. No sound. Only the sound of worn-out gears scraping against time.

Maeve's heart raced. Breath quickened, her own steaminess clouding in front of her. She backpedaled, but something held her motionless. That voice. it spoke her name.

The whisper edged closer and intoned, "You came back." "You always do."

She remembered now. A flash of a spin ride. Shrieks where there were giggles. A boy—her brother—holding her hand, and then nothing. Lost in the crowd, out of sight. She'd filed the memory away. Her parents never spoke of it. The police said that he'd wandered away and vanished.

Maeve knew better.

The light on the flashlight expired.

Darkness surrounded her.

But the voices did not fade.

"Stay with us."

"Ride again…"

"Finish what was started…"

Maeve stumbled backward, her foot catching in something soft. She sat down hard, palms in the gravel. She stared down—and saw it. A child's shoe. Small, worn, and old.

Her brother's.

The carousel groaned louder, going faster now. And then—music. Off-key, distorted carnival music, as if being ripped out of the ground. Lights on the edge of the ride—green, red, yellow—blazed into being like initial sparks from faded recollections.

Shapes inched by the horses. Figures. Children. White and distant, faces blurry like smoked glass. They rode on the horses, swaying, all eyes on Maeve.

"You left us," one voice said.

"Find him," another breathed. "He's still here…"

Maeve moved, shuddering. Her mind told her to run. But her legs took her forward. direction of the carousel.

As she approached, the horses slowed. The commotion became quieter. She seemed to be looking directly at one white horse with a missing eye and gold trimmings. On its back was a child. White hair. Small hands. The same eyes.

"Eli?"

She whispered.

The boy didn't say anything, but he smiled.

Maeve called me. A cold, shivery jolt that made her feel like she'd entered a different era went through her the moment her hands touched the carousel pole.

The carnival sprang to life.

Blinding lights Laughter. Music. Crowds rushing, Popcorn-eating and game-playing. It was like time turned back, pulling her into the evening her brother disappeared.

She saw her own image. Maeve in her infancy. Holding Eli’s hand. Walking toward the carousel.

Then—the flicker.

A masked man. A red coat. A top hat in black.

He approached the ride, lifted Eli, and smiled.

The silence followed. The world froze.

Maeve missed it, and the carnival vanished once more. deterioration and rot return. But now, she remembered.

She had turned and saw him. The hat man. By the "Tunnel of Terror." Arm extended, face hidden.

"You want him back," he said to her. "Then come ride."

The whispers grew louder. Pushing. Ravenous.

Maeve recoiled.

She stood straight, firm voice, "No." "He's not yours any more."

She pulled out a charm—her mother's locket, a photo of Eli within. She held it tight.

The wind howled.

The whispers screamed.

And the carnival began to collapse in on itself—rides twisting, tents tearing, shadows screaming as if torn from the earth.

The carousel burst into flame—green and blue fire that didn't burn, but cleansed.

And when the silence came back, Maeve was alone.

The field was empty.

No wreckage. No movement.

Only grass. At last returning to health.

At her feet: the locket. Open. Inside, two smiling children.

Maeve walked around and went away.

There were no whispers left.

But the memory—was finally calm.