Blood Carousel

By A.I. Nasser and Scare Street

Step right up, enjoy the show, and pay no attention to the eyes watching from the darkness.

The carnival is back in town, and for Jack Heldon, that's not a good sign. Since the last time it had come to the small and quiet Lensfield, Connecticut, he's been plagued with nightmares of burning walls, raspy chuckles, and fiery red eyes in the dark. Ted Barton's killing spree is still fresh in his mind, and Jack knows the carnival was behind it all.

Now it's back for more.

But the people of Lensfield are none the wiser. As they are drawn into the lights and music of Ebenezer's Carnival, evil begins to feed again. Jack and his friends are forced to come face to face with the horrors of their past, and the evil that tore them apart. While trying to break the carnival's hold, they quickly realize that debts must be paid, and promises cannot be ignored.

Because there's no escaping the clutches of Ebenezer's Carnival and the screams within.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scare Street
• Release date: Aug 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9798224740628

A.I. Nasser

At the age of four, Ahmed I. Nasser’s parents decided that the best way to keep a hyperactive child occupied was to teach him how to read and constantly bombard him with books. Since then, the world of imagination has constantly consumed him. He quickly decided that the only way to feel fulfilled was to spend his time writing one story after the other, even opting out of a career as a pediatrician, despite ten years of struggling through med-school.Influenced by Stephen King, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, he has been writing since the age of 12 while travelling the world with his family. Now, finally settled in Egypt, he divides his time between teaching Middle School English Literature and finding the best ways to scare his family and friends.

Book preview

Prologue

There was very little in this world that could wake up Steve Rum. As a child, his mother was quick to embarrass him in front of their guests, telling and retelling stories of how she would practically have to set a marching band loose in his room just to stir him from his slumber. As he grew older, the habit never really changed much; he lost count of how many classes he had missed during his college days and how many dates he had screwed over just because he couldn’t wake up on time.

When he married, his mother had told Alison that she was in for a lifetime of hellish mornings; his new bride had politely smiled and shrugged it off. It would be a constant topic of argument during the next fifteen years of their marriage, especially when he was jumping from one job to another because he couldn’t make it to work on time. Even when he was late for his court meeting, blowing away any chance he had to win custody over the twins, Alison had just smirked and shook her head in frustration. To the judge, he was the man who couldn’t care enough to wake up early for the sake of his children.

That’s why the night shift in Gambler’s Park was a blessing. He had answered an advertisement in the classifieds, looking for a graveyard shift groundskeeper who could keep the horny teenagers and the druggies out of the park at night. They had hired him on the spot, and Steve couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.

Usually, the park was empty, and it was rare that he would bump into any trouble on his regular rounds. He had a lot more time on his hands now, enough to read and brush up on his French, and definitely didn’t have to worry about sleeping in. There was no denying just how much of a night person he was, and strolling through the empty park after midnight, feeling the cool air against his skin, was enough to lighten his mood every time.

Of course, there were many other perks, too. The bi-annual concerts that were held in the field behind the duck pond were always something to look forward to. The crashing of the music and the crowd of drunken freshmen was something he would probably never get used to, but he reveled in the energy of those nights. The lights, the laughter, the simple joy of being alive. It made him feel less lonely, like he was part of a secret group of people who truly understood the value of the night.

And, of course, there was always the carnival.

Steve sat on one of the many park benches dotted across the open field and watched the carnival staff set up.

What did they call themselves? Carnies?

He smiled as he took a long sip from his coffee cup and let his eyes wander over the bright lights and the flashing colors.

They’re here for a week, his supervisor had told him earlier, and they’re donating a hell of a lot of money from their proceeds. Make ’em happy, Rum.

Steve intended to do just that. Not because of the donations, or the threat of being fired, but because he always enjoyed the traveling carnivals he had experienced as a child. He could still remember the first time his parents had taken him to one, back when he was only six. The food stands, the games, the rides. And of course, the attractions. There were always attractions.

Not to mention the crowds of guests that strolled back and forth between the stands, laughing and joking, voices rising up into the night and filling the air with merriment. There was a peculiar charm to it, a welcoming that made him feel like this was exactly where he belonged.

Steve wondered if the carnivals of today had lost that charm.

Another sip from his coffee, and he was on his feet, stretching. A light drizzle had started, and he pondered walking over to where the carnival was setting up and offering his help.

Quite a sight, isn’t it?

Steve jumped, his heart slamming into his throat, his hand instinctively reaching for the mace he kept in his pocket. A man sat on the bench he had just occupied, tall and slim in a dark suit, legs crossed and hands folded on top of one knee. His top hat hung low, covering his eyes, and a narrow nose peeked out from under the brim. A cane leaned lazily against his thigh, and Steve could barely make out the man’s strange smile that seemed to extend from one ear to the other.

It will be even more majestic once it’s operational, the man continued, looking up at Steve. The red, green, and yellow lights from the fields beyond reflected in the man’s dark eyes, and Steve felt a slight chill race down his spine.

You shouldn’t be out here, Steve managed to stutter, keeping his grip tight on the bottle of mace in his pocket while trying his best not to seem too threatening. For all he knew, the man was just another friend of the night who had come to watch the carnival being set up. Harmless.

Of course, there was still the matter of how he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, but Steve felt that he could let that slide for now.

My apologies, friend, the man’s smile widened even further. I must have startled you.

The man stood up, his tall frame easily towering over Steve, and despite the slim figure, he seemed to block out all lights around him in a shroud of eternal darkness. Steve watched the man grab his cane and swing it between his fingers effortlessly.

My name is Ebenezer Cage, the man introduced himself, and I run the establishment you were just admiring.

Of course.

Steve relaxed a bit, his hand sliding out of his pocket as he ran it across his forehead and wiped the few drops of sweat that had gathered beneath his brow. Sorry, Mr. Cage, I didn’t mean to offend, Steve stammered.

With his free hand, Ebenezer waved the apology away. No need, friend, he said with a soft chuckle, a raspy sound that seemed a lot more guttural than anything. It’s always nice to meet a fan of the carnival.

Steve ventured a slight smile, still uneasy as he tried to appear less uncomfortable. It seems like it’s going to be fun.

Ebenezer raised a slender finger and shook it slowly, his cane never stopping its spin. Ah, that is where you are mistaken, he said. It is an attraction like no other. I assure you, many have come to be deeply enamored with our little band of nomads, and it is often that I have had to close my doors to those wishing to join the life of the carnival.

Ebenezer stopped spinning the cane and brought it down in front of him, leaning his weight against it as his eyes bore into Steve’s.

However, I have quite the talent for spotting those who desire more than they can hope to find, and the carnival always delivers.

Steve returned the man’s smile and looked around him uneasily. The sounds of the night he had grown accustomed to were now gone. There was no chirping, no croaking, and no ruffling of leaves in the gentle breeze. It was almost as if the world had come to a complete stop except for them.

Tell me, friend, Ebenezer’s voice deepened as his eyes flickered different shades of red. What is it that you desire the most?

Steve frowned, unable to answer the question while at the same time a bit taken aback by it. He was suddenly transported to the carnivals of his childhood, sitting beside his mother in a small tent where an old woman waved her hands across a crystal globe and promised the ability to foresee the future. Steve felt a sudden familiarity here, except the old woman was replaced by a tall man that looked as though he had just stepped out of Victorian England.

I’m not quite sure, Steve replied. I never really thought of it before.

Ebenezer’s shoulders bobbed as he chuckled and shook his head. That can’t be right, he said. "There is always something."

Steve shrugged. I guess, the night.

Ebenezer’s head cocked to one side as he frowned at Steve, the smile on his face unfaltering. The night?

Yeah, Steve shrugged again. I’ve always loved the night. Never really liked the daytime. You know, the constant noise, the crowds, all that stuff. Always felt comfortable at night.

Ebenezer stared at Steve for a long moment before breaking into a fit of laughter.

Is something wrong? Steve asked.

No, no, of course not, friend, Ebenezer replied. If eternal night is what you desire, then I am sure the carnival can make that happen for you.

How?

Ebenezer stood upright, folding out into his complete height and holding the cane in both hands. The carnival always finds a way.

Steve was about to reply when a hand burst out of the ground below his feet and latched onto him. He felt a sudden burning sensation race up his leg and spread through him, coursing through his veins until it enveloped him in scorching pain. The hand around his ankle tightened as Steve opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

Ebenezer’s hand was clasped tightly against his mouth, and Steve’s eyes widened in horror as the man’s eyes burst into a bright glowing red. A deep stench of rot erupted from Ebenezer’s mouth, filling Steve with an odor of death and decay. The world around them blurred, and suddenly nothing was visible except for a heavy sheet of darkness that quickly enveloped them within it.

All you desire, Ebenezer’s voice echoed inside his mind, scratching like sandpaper against the inside of his skull. All for a price.

Steve felt the darkness close in and push against him, pulsating as if it were alive. It washed over his body in waves, wrapping him in its shroud, suffocating him within its vacuum. The hand around his ankle tightened then pulled, and as Steve began to fall into an abyss of nothingness, all that was left were the twin flames of Ebenezer’s eyes and the echoes of raspy, manic laughter.

Chapter 1

Jack Heldon knew books.

Ever since he was a toddler, his parents had told him stories about how he had sat completely still in his father’s study, staring up at the multitude of shelves filled with books. At one point, his father had found it a little disturbing, and just to make sure that his son wasn’t autistic, took a book down from the top shelf and handed it to Jack.

From that day on, Jack’s world consisted of nothing else outside the pages of a book. Sure, he would go to school, and there was no tearing him away from his friends and their adventures. But, when a book was handy, when the pages were open and the words jumped up from the sheets of paper to dance, sing, and laugh along with him, Jack Heldon was a completely different person. His father joked about it to his friends, smoking his pipe and waving at his son as if he were a specimen to be studied and admired.

And it wasn’t too far from the truth. By the time Jack was five, he was reading the small collection of Hardy Boys mysteries his father had stored on the lower shelves where Jack could reach them at will. At eight, he had graduated to abridged versions of classics while testing his skills with larger volumes of Clancy and Archer. By his tenth birthday, he was reciting Shakespeare. All to the merriment of his father and the mild worry of his mother, who believed Jack’s nose was stuck in a book longer than was healthy for a child his age.

Jack never blamed her for that observation, though. He knew that it was hard for anyone to truly understand how he felt when he was immersed in a book. The adventures, the love, the merriment, the fictional world of another person’s mind ultimately much more comfortable than the real one. No one understood that, not really, and Jack never minded. He was too busy flying with Peter and Wendy, falling down the rabbit hole with Lily, and bouncing up and down with Mr. Toad.

Majoring in English Literature had been a must, an expected outcome everyone foresaw. He had been labeled ‘most likely to die with a book in his hand’ during high school, and it only made sense that he would make those words true. By then, his father had died of cancer and his mother had no one else, and Lensfield College was known for its Humanities Department. He never had to be more than a five-minute walk away from home.

And through it all, Jack had his books.

That was why he didn’t hear the chimes above the Lensfield Books door as it swung open and allowed a much-needed breeze of fresh air to rush through the store. Jack was half-buried in a box of new deliveries, eyes wide and hands shaking in excitement as he emptied his treasure trove and marveled at the books, one by one. He loved the smell of a new book, the feel of its cover before the spine broke, and the way the pages fluttered before some idiot dog-eared them. It was like this every Friday, and Jack never failed to feel like a father welcoming his newborn to the world.

They’re your lifeline, his girlfriend, Faith, always said with a shake of her head and a half-smile. If the house were burning down, you’d save your books before me.

Jack always told her that she was being ridiculous, but deep down, he had a feeling she was right.

Jack?

It took Jack a second to register that someone else was in the store besides him. Lensfield was a small town, and the regulars were few. Jack knew them all, their schedules, and their visits to the store almost like clockwork. Mrs. Stevens on Saturday, early, ready to go through the batch of new arrivals before anyone else got the chance to. Mr. Gold on Monday, who always seemed to find the books no one else took notice of, the ones that kind of fell through the cracks and apparently waited for no one but him. And of course Jennifer Timm, college journalist with an eye for the non-fiction, every Wednesday evening just before he closed, her parcel of ordered books packed and ready for her by the door.

The other visitors were usually college students, and those never came in on Fridays. By then, most were already on their way back home.

Jack Heldon.

Jack looked up at the tall man standing just inside the door to the bookstore, glasses riding high on a long, almost beak-like nose, the hair on his head greased and combed to one side. Jack took