Page 1 of Carnival
PART I
“If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.’’
– Friedrich Nietzsche
1
Rose
“You fucked a clown.’’
Aria’s words aren’t judgmental; they’re just filled with disbelief. She blinks, eyes narrowed as she tries to process the information I just threw her way. I don’t blame her, though. It’s not the sanest or smartest thing I’ve ever done.
“Yes,’’ I confirm.
She leans back into the bed’s headpost, arms folded in front of her chest. I’m already squirming in my seat. She’s never taken this long to process a piece of information. Then again, it’s not often that she hears that her best friend lost her virginity to a clown.
“Huh,’’ she straightens up, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on her knees. “When did this happen?”
“For my eighteenth birthday.’’
“And you’ve waited nearly two years to tell me this – why?”
“Because!” I exclaim, standing up from the chair and pacing around her bedroom. “Damn it, this is getting ridiculous.’’
Aria immediately understands. It’s like the missing piece of the puzzle falls into its place, and her eyes widen, then a laugh of disbelief slips from her lips. She blinks, staring at me, and I do my best to avoid that harsh gaze.
“You fucked a murderer?”
I wince. “I don’t know! Maybe?”
“Did he take off his clown mask while he was fucking you?”
I groan, flopping on her bed, headfirst into the pillow. Aria laughs, then lies down next to me, poking my ribs.
“Come on, now I’ve got to know.’’
I turn my head to the side, looking at her. “No, he didn’t take off his mask.’’
“Are you certain that it’s him?”
For my eighteenth birthday, Aria and I went to and visited the infamous Halloween carnival in New Orleans. The carnival lasts a whole week, with many activities and plenty of haunted houses, terror houses, and everything of the sort.
Being the only daughter of Hudson and Noelle De Santis – people who own one of the biggest criminal organizations in the world – she got us VIP tickets, and we flew there for my birthday weekend, which aligned with Halloween night. It was one of the best nights of my life. At some point, we decided to visit the scariest horror house, and we got separated. Of course, we were drunk beyond belief when we entered it, and I met one of the scary clowns there.
The mask had cracks in it, was covered in fake blood, and had a scary smile. All I saw were those deep brown eyes that managed to have me lower my panties within ten minutes. I’m not proud of how I lost my virginity, nor am I proud of how I ranaway as soon as it happened. Nor the fact that I quite literally begged him to fuck me.
The following Monday, the main topic was the murder that took place in the very same house where I’d lost my virginity. The culprit was never caught, and the murders continued until last Halloween. The main difference is that last year, they finally caught a glimpse of the murderer.
It was the very same man I’d slept with.
I can’t prove it. I can’t guarantee that it’s him, but the mask is nearly too similar. Now that I’m thinking about it, the blood seemed almost too realistic. The bastard probably killed someone and then fucked me to relieve his stress.
Halloween is in a week and a half. Which means that he’ll probably strike again.
The only reason I even know this is because every single news reporting channel is telling people to be cautious. The carnival will be filled with police officers, possibly the FBI, too. The man has killed seven people, and no one’s stopped him yet.
There’s a possibility he won’t show up, either, or he’ll just switch the mask so it won’t be suspicious. Somehow, I don’t believe in that possibility. Something about that man is so dangerously familiar. I inspected every picture available on the internet with a fine-tooth comb, and I can guarantee that the clown murderer is the same man I’d slept with.
