The Carnival

A creepy story based on the cliche writing prompt of "a cold and stormy night"

The carnival was bleak. The colorful lights did little to brighten the blackness of the sky. Stormclouds had blanketed the now-empty carnival, threatening to ruin the evening further with rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Scott knew it was time to go. All the other carnivals workers had packed up and left with the incoming weather. What a ghost town, Scott thought to himself, mildly creeped out at the atmosphere. Little did they help his unease, but Scott was thankful the automated lights were still on, as he made his way to opposite end of the carnival.

Strolling past the locked stalls and trailers, Scott shivered. He zipped up his hoodie and shoved his hands in his jeans, praying that the rain would remain absent until he reached his car. As he passed the funhouse near the middle of the carnival, Scott stopped. He tilted his head, and listened intently. He heard… music. Soft, happy tunes that usually filled the carnival during the day, now extremely creepy as it mixed with the eerie silence of night. Every ounce of Scott’s conscience told him to run, to just get in his car and drive away. Yet he stood, cemented in front of the bright, colorful door to the funhouse, listening to the continuing, low tone of music. In the mirrored glass that decorated the outside, he saw himself. A confused teenage boy with dark brown hair and matching brown eyes, a backpack slung over his shoulder and his hands finding safety in his pockets from the cold wind. As he studied his own confusion in the mirror, the automated lights turned off, throwing the carnival to the night. Thankfully, Scott could still a little of his surroundings. Although he immediately regretted this ability as he saw the funhouse door begin to open. Silently, the large, oddly-shaped door swung open to reveal blackness, a mimicked image of the stormy night sky. His heart sank as he saw movement within the darkness, and he turned to run without seeing exactly who, or what, was on the way to greet him.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Scott.” The voice cut through the air, and chilled Scott to the bone. He looked back as a flash of lightning gave him a clear view of the funhouse. In the doorway, a smiling clown waved a single, white glove. The large clown let out a deep, ominous laugh, and Scott realized he did not recognize the clown, but he did know all of the employees working at the funhouse. Whoever that was in the doorway, it was not someone working at the carnival. The giggling laughter echoed through the darkness, as Scott sprinted to his car. He collapsed into the driver’s seat, and without hesitation sped home. After that night, Scott vowed never to work the late shift again.