Page 11 of Carnival
Slowly, and as silently as possible, I start to pull my hand from under the pillow. The gun is safely tucked in my hand, and if it goes well, I’ll spook them and never have to use it. But the moment I start to pull it again, a loud chuckle reverberates through the room.
My body stiffens and my blood runs cold. A couple of sweat droplets slide down my forehead, but it’s cold sweat, and by now, I’m panicking internally.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Let go of the gun.’’
A small gasp slips from me. It’s a man. And somehow, the voice is rather familiar. It’s low, deep, and gravelly, and it sends chills down my spine. It’s unique, a little raspy, and definitely too husky. It doesn’t seem like it’s on purpose, though, since he isn’t even trying to whisper.
I have two options.
Either let go of the gun and pray that whatever he does to me doesn’t leave me permanently scarred or dead, or take the risk of shoving the gun in his face, given that I can almost feel his breath down my neck.
With no time to spare, I choose the second option, pulling the gun out and turning around. I sit up quickly and aim the gun in his face, only for my eyes to widen significantly. I’m like a deer stuck in headlights, barely breathing and unable to move.
It’s him.
The clown killer.
The man I lost my virginity to.
In the bedroom of the small house Aria and I rented.
The clown mask on his face is still as I remember. It’s white, with the left part of it slightly cracked. The details on the maskare something I don’t remember from the first time I saw him, but now, it’s all that I can think about. A red, almost blood-shade color is elongating the lips of the mask, making it way creepier than a normal clown mask would be. The same color is around his eyes, and somehow, the scarlet makes his dark eyes stand out even more.
I can’t miss the insanity within the depths of the brown. His pupils are dilated, and he looks like he’s about to pounce on me. The moment he sees the gun pointed at him, a flash of excitement runs through his eyes before it disappears, leaving me to wonder if it was just a fragment of my imagination or if it was real.
My breath hitches in my throat, and it slowly starts closing. My mouth is parted, lips dry, and I can barely breathe. He’s too close. I didn’t anticipate the distance between the bed and him would be mere inches. The hand that’s holding the gun trembles a little as the barrel is pressed into his shoulder.
“You’re trembling. Did I scare you?”
The mockery in his tone is unmistakable. I could practically feel a smirk hidden behind the mask, and although he has a gun pressed against his shoulder, he doesn’t try to move out of the way. If anything, he leans further into the barrel.
As if to taunt me. To challenge me. To dare me to shoot him.
“Who are you?”
My voice is barely above a whisper, and the cracks are undeniable. My jaw trembles, and I don’t know what to do. My mind is screaming for me to either whack the side of his head with the gun or simply pull the trigger, but my body isn’t complying. I remain sitting on the bed, frozen.
“Let’s not play this game, Rose,’’ he chuckles, managing to send another wave of chills down my spine. “We both know you know who I am.’’
I swallow. “The man who’s been killing all those people.’’
“More or less.’’
“What does that even mean?”
“Patience, Rose. You’ll find out all in due time. For now, let’s stick to the current topic. You do know who I am beneath this mask; all you have to do is figure it out.’’
My brows are slightly narrow. The tone in his voice suggests he’s mocking me, again, but at the same time, it holds some sort of certainty. As if we’d met before. As if we’d spoken before, and neither of us means that night four years ago. Sometime before that. But my mind seems to have blocked it entirely because the more I try to remember, the foggier my memory gets.
A knot forms in my throat, and I start feeling too suffocated. My skin is filled with goosebumps, and my heart is racing at a rapid speed. The fear all but consumes me, and every thought is out the window. All I think about is how to survive this, how not to die.
“You don’t remember me, do you, Rose?” He hums, though I can still distinguish the slight mockery in his tone. His head cocks to the side, his free hand gripping the barrel of the gun. Slowly, while looking straight into my eyes, he moves it and presses it right between his eyes.
A manic expression flashes in his eyes, a total opposite of the pure petrification in mine. My hand seems to tremble more, and I can’t pull it back. He’s gripping my wrist tightly enough so I can’t move it.
“I’m wounded,’’ he whispers. “Truly. All I wanted was for you to remember me. But no, you had to ruin all of this. But… that’s okay. I’ll figure out a new game for us to play.’’
“A game?” I whisper back, not trusting my voice.
