The Sinister Carnival That Appeared Overnight

One morning, the townspeople awoke to find a carnival standing in the empty field outside town.

No one had seen it arrive.

The towering Ferris wheel spun slowly, though no one was aboard.

The air smelled of burnt sugar and something else—something rotten.

A sign at the entrance read: 'Welcome.

We’ve Been Expecting You.' Curious but wary, the townspeople entered.

The carnival was alive with flickering lights and distorted music.

The game booths offered prizes that seemed too perfect—dolls with glassy eyes, watches that ticked backward.

A clown with hollow eyes whispered to a child, 'Win, and you’ll never leave.' The child’s parents turned,

but the clown was gone.

As night fell, the carnival changed.

The laughter turned to distant screams.

A man entered the hall of mirrors and never came out.

His reflection remained, pounding on the glass, eyes wide with terror.

A woman on the carousel realized the horses had real, blinking eyes.

The ride wouldn’t stop.

The carnival had claimed them.

By dawn, the carnival was gone.

The field was empty, save for trampled grass and a single, torn ticket.

The missing townspeople were never found.

But sometimes, on quiet nights, the wind carries distant carnival music.

And if you listen closely, you might hear the echoes of laughter—laughter that doesn’t belong to anyone you

know.