The carnival had been abandoned for years, its rusted rides groaning in the wind like dying beasts. Yet, on the eve of Halloween, the lights flickered back to life. Neon pulsed against the fog, and the distant sound of a calliope twisted through the trees. Lena shouldn’t have gone inside. But the rumors—of a clown who never left, who still lurked in the hall of mirrors—drew her in. The ticket booth was empty, the turnstiles creaking as she pushed through. Popcorn littered the ground, stale and scentless. Then she heard it—a wet, wheezing laugh. Not from ahead of her. Not from behind.
From inside her own throat.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the laugh bubbled up again, deeper this time. Unnatural. The mirrors lining the path reflected not her face, but a grinning figure in tattered motley, its eyes black pits.
"Everyone loves a clown," a voice whispered—right against her ear.
Lena ran. The carnival stretched impossibly, tents multiplying, exits vanishing. The calliope music swelled, now a distorted scream. She stumbled into the big top, where a single spotlight illuminated a slumped figure in the center ring.
Its head snapped up.
White greasepaint cracked like old porcelain, revealing something glistening beneath. The clown’s grin split wider, teeth sharpening into needles. "You stayed for the show," it crooned. "Now you’re part of it." The last thing Lena saw was her own reflection in its glassy eyes—laughing, laughing, as the thing that wasn’t a clown peeled its face off to make room for hers.
By dawn, the carnival was dark again. But if you listen closely on Halloween night, you can still hear the echo of two voices laughing…
