The Midnight Carnival: One Night Only

By L.C. Hu

It’s Halloween, and the carnival has come to town.

The gates open at sunset, and the attractions are all one of a kind. Faery illusions caper under the big top while a demon hunts monsters on the midway. A psychic delivers actual messages from the dead and a real ghost lurks and laughs inside the haunted house. A werewolf plays Halloween tricks, a succubus learns the delights of a human Halloween, and a vampire hypnotizes his future prey.

Those who go to the carnival and come back have tales to tell long after the tents are gone. Those who go and never come back... well. There are stories that linger about them, too.

Monsters, magic and mischief abound in these thirteen short stories about the Midnight Carnival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Doctors of Literature
• Release date: Oct 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301628995

Book preview

The Midnight Carnival

One Night Only

THE MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL: ONE NIGHT ONLY

By Cecil Evans, Jessica Hoffman, Erica Hopper, L.C. Hu, Ashley Garst, Liz Neering, Ali Wagner

Copyright 2013 The Mad Doctors of Literature. Predator, Prey copyright 2013 Liz Neering & L.C. Hu. Trick 'r Treat copyright 2013 Ashley Garst & Erica Hopper. Form and Void copyright 2013 Jessica Hoffman. The Incendiary copyright 2013 Cecil Evans & Jessica Hoffman. All You've Got to Lose is Time copyright 2013 Ali Wagner & L.C. Hu. Boo copyright 2013 Ashley Garst. Clarity copyright 2013 Ali Wagner. The Pied Piper copyright 2013 Liz Neering. Revelation copyright 2013 Jessica Hoffman & Ali Wagner. Good Enough copyright 2013 L.C. Hu. And at the Hour of Our Death copyright 2013 Liz Neering.

All Rights Reserved. Smashwords Edition. First published October 2013

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

This book is also available in print.

Cover art and interior illustrations by BBShrimp (bbshrimp.deviantart.com)

Published by The Mad Doctors of Literature (http://www.maddocsoflit.com)

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

I. In Which the Carnival Arrives

II. Predator, Prey by Liz Neering and L.C. Hu

III. Trick ’r Treat by Ashley Garst and Erica Hopper

IV. Form and Void by Jessica Hoffman

V. The Incendiary by Jessica Hoffman and Cecil Evans

VI. All You’ve Got to Lose is Time by Ali Wagner and L.C. Hu

VII. Boo by Ashley Garst

VIII. Clarity by Ali Wagner

IX. The Pied Piper by Liz Neering

X. Revelation by Ali Wagner and Jessica Hoffman

XI. Good Enough by L.C. Hu

XII. And at the Hour of Our Death by Liz Neering

XIII. In Which the Carnival Departs

Acknowledgements

About the Authors

I. In Which the Carnival Arrives

The carnival arrived on Devil’s Night.

The locals discovered it in the morning. Like mushrooms sprouting up overnight, squat, multicolored tents rose from the old fairgrounds, embraced by a chain-link fence. Gaudily hand-painted and hand-lettered signs paneled the fence, announcing The Sultry and Astonishing Illustrated Woman; the Great Marcello, Mouthpiece of the Dead; Skana, the Real Life Merman Who Will Delight and Astound You; Terrifying Sideshows Such as You Have Never Seen! and much more. The big top loomed above all, save for the old-fashioned Ferris wheel, which arced against the grey morning sky, seats rocking gently in the wind. Now and then, faint, strange music drifted from behind the chained and locked gates.

In front of the entrance was a wooden placard that read:

The Midnight Carnival

One Night Only

Happy Halloween!

Those who tried to peek through the locked gates came away confused: shivering and unsettled, but desperately curious as well.

By sunset, the weed-dotted pavement of the fairgrounds parking lot was full of cars and trucks and children in costumes. Teenagers laughed, mocking the children and each other, and dared each other to try to sneak in without paying. Adults muttered to each other about permits and discreetly wondered how frightening the sideshows might really be.

As the sun came to sit fat and wearied on the horizon, an old, rotund security guard shuffled around the fencing to the front gate. Keys jangled at his belt as he picked up the wooden placard, folded it shut, and set it aside. He reached for the chain and lock with a ponderous slowness and inserted the correct key with even more slowness. The sound of the tumblers falling inside that lock was as loud as a gunshot in the sudden silence.

The people crowded towards the old guard as he turned to face them, craning their necks, shoving each other forwards. He did not yet open the gates, but rather grabbed the bill of his hat and cleared his throat once.

The crowd stilled.

Welcome, the old man croaked. He threw the hat aside and pulled the uniform off, revealing that he was neither fat nor old nor even a man, but a buxom lady in a dark tuxedo, her black hair tumbling over her shoulders like thick smoke, her face so beautiful no one could remember it afterwards.

I am the Ringmaster!

The woman’s voice echoed across the parking lot, carrying even to the farthest cars. Are you ready to see wonders such as you’ve never seen? Experience things such as you’ve never experienced? She reached out and touched one boy’s nose; he would have dreams about her soft caress for years after, and nightmares about her smile for even more years after that. This is a carnival like no other. Do not enter lightly; for when you set foot past these gates, you put your life in our hands. Do you dare?

The crowd was silent a moment, and then exploded into applause. The teenagers howled, the children clapped and laughed, and the adults pretended that they did not suddenly, desperately want to be inside.

The Ringmaster threw the gates open, her laugh like thunder, a lovely sound full of destruction.

Then welcome, she said again, and enter the Midnight Carnival!

II. Predator, Prey

by Liz Neering and L.C. Hu

On All Hallows’ Eve, the moon rose slender and sharp, piercing a bruise-dark sky. Obed Brandt stood outside the trailer that served as his center of operations and watched the darkness fall. The cherry glow of his cigarette was a beacon in the black shadow of the RV, its light playing over his pale hand as he withdrew the cigarette and blew smoke up at the stars.

The holiday, as humans called it, had long been a difficult one for the demon. There were too many memories brought on by its watered-down celebrations. Too many visions of his fallen friends and kin, their incomprehensible, perfect selves reduced to shoddy costumes and bad movies. Too many would-be summoners and deal-makers made arrogant by the history and atmosphere that pervaded the night.

Unconsciously Obed’s lip curled into a snarl. One bright canine caught the moonlight, too long and curved to fit his human shape. In this very moment he could feel the pull of pentagrams and sigils drawn by uncertain hands. Somewhere, a middle-aged man dressed in black made a circle of bloodstones and blessed them with nonsensical words. Teenage girls invoked his true name and the names of others of his kind as if they were little more than childhood rhymes. A young woman called to him in inexpertly translated Latin, reciting made-up spells from pagan blogs. He heard the laughter in their voices, amusement in the face of power they did not understand.

So many attempts to invoke him; he answered none.

Obed sighed. The age of true fear was behind them. All that remained was its reflection, seen through a glass darkly.

Pushing the thought down, he turned from the voices in his mind to those around him. Woven in the spaces above and between the carnival workers and visitors were arcane threads, lines of fate and older, deeper connections. Since his creation, Obed had known the language of those lines, the truths they wrote in their warp and weft. He could touch them as he liked, could change their threads to alter the path of a moment, a day, a life. But tonight he only read, seeking out the calm colors and languid shapes that would mark a peaceful night. These were few and far between. Instead he found patterns of jagged lines, spikes of bloody brilliance, and in one weaving, tangled with his own, a darkness so complete and entire it defied even his most attentive gaze.

Intrigued, Obed tossed his cigarette to the ground, eager to discover the source of the anomaly. But a familiar figure broke away from the nearby shadows, and he turned to greet it.

Carver.

Hey, boss. Ready for all this Halloween bullshit?

Friend, charge, indentured servant, confidante: Obed had no idea what Ray Carver was to him. Anything but the archetypal gothic vampire, Carver was blond and unshaven and shabby, his eyes bright with ravenous hunger. Obed shook his head. He was quiet for a moment as he considered a number of lies. The truth—that on a night like this he both feared and welcomed what might come—could not be spoken. His tongue touched the corner of his mouth; a smirk followed quickly after. As ready as I can be, he said. The rules are lax tonight, you know. Between the guests and the employees I’ll have my hands full.

You see the fucking motley crew waiting outside the gates? Fifteen vampire wannabes in the first herd. Jesus fucking Christ.

There will be more. Obed wrinkled his nose in disgust, snorting. "This day used to mean something. A dialogue between worlds. Something sacred. And now look. They’re cattle. They have no idea."

Carver glanced at him and chuckled. You missing the old dinosaur days, boss? You seem crankier than usual. Those T. rexes knew how to party, huh?

Obed rolled his eyes. You always know just what to say, Carver. He reached into his black suit coat, producing another cigarette from some inner pocket. A small flame danced to life at its end as he brought it to his lips. You’d have liked the old days, I think. Samhain fires and human sacrifice. Sex and death everywhere. Real communion with humans, in total freedom. He flicked ash out into the night. God has a bloody side, Carver, and they’ve all forgotten it.

Carver leered. If you’re looking for a little blood, sex and human sacrifice, I can certainly indulge, boss. Wouldn’t be no big thing, I promise.

Obed chuckled and waved him off. Never mind. He tried for a smile, but the edges were haunted. He tamped down the old sorrow that tried to creep into his chest. Are you busy, Carver? I could use your expertise for a while.

Carver jerked a thumb in the direction of the funhouse. Just the usual business. Got that little ghost girl looking out for me ’cause I was running late, but I oughta get over there before the Ringmaster gets her panties in a bunch.

I’ll make my excuses for you to the Ringmaster. Obed slid one hand into the pocket of his coat. He looked to his partner, clear appraisal in his gaze. I assume in life you had some experience assessing potential threats. Preemptively identifying potential targets or troublemakers. Is that correct?

In a past life, Carver agreed. He shrugged. Obed saw in him a restlessness more noticeable than usual; the demon had his full attention for the moment, but the threat of distraction loomed. Carver was not typically eager to attend to his post—taking tickets for the funhouse—but he seemed so now. Obed left this mystery unexplored.

Come inside with me. I’d like you to help me take a look around. If everything looks clear to us both, you’ll be back at the funhouse inside an hour.

Carver studied him, then shrugged. All right, he said. But you’ve probably got all kinds of nonsense going on already. Graffiti, shoplifting, people harassing each other. So many easy pickings, so little time.

It’s more than that. Obed brushed past him. His cigarette trailed a pennant of white as he led the vampire into the security trailer. The interior was dark, lit only by the dim and flickering glow of a bank of monitors. Two battered office chairs, arms and backs crisscrossed with duct tape, were positioned in front of the screens. Obed wheeled one out and folded himself into it, eyes shifting from screen to screen.

Of course there are those typical, minor concerns, he said. But something else is going to happen.

Carver didn’t miss a beat. What’d you see? he asked, almost before Obed was done speaking. You need a little…? He gestured at Obed’s throat.

Obed shook his head. I saw enough that I don’t think a bloodletting is in order. As a demon of fate, Obed’s power was clarified and amplified by the ritual of bloodletting. With its use his visions were clearer, the paths of fate far easier to read. Sacrificing his blood to the vampire, he had learned, joined their strength together, gave him even greater vision. That fact was a not-inconsequential part of how they had come to work together, though it was not why they had