Page 20 of Runt's Haunted Ride
We moved deeper into the lodging area. A trailer with windows that showed different scenes depending on which angle you viewed them from—one moment showing a normal interior, the next revealing a bear attacking the glass, then a field of running horses. There was a tent that breathed, its fabric expanding and contracting like lungs. Wind chimes made of what looked suspicious like finger bones clicked softly each time it exhaled.
And I thought the midway was spooky.
My gorilla instincts were screaming warnings with every step. This place felt how the encounter with Mortis felt—saturated with what we believed was magic, and not the glitter wand kind. I could almost taste it: metallic, something organic, dirt maybe, rotten eggs and stagnant water.
We'd been walking for maybe twenty minutes when Fang suddenly stopped and spun to face me, his expression dark with barely contained fury.
"You feel that?" he demanded.
"Feel what?"
"That... crawling sensation. Like something's watching us. Judging us." Fang's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "We didn't have any of this shit till you arrived down here."
I blinked, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"
"This," Fang gestured wildly at the lodging area around us. "All this creepy supernatural bullshit. Things here were calm until I moved you over here, and suddenly we've got shadow creatures and breathing tents, and god knows what else."
"That's not—"
"Don't give me that shit," Fang cut me off, his eyes grey and enormous.
"Gentlemen."
I knew the voice before I even turned to see him. Mortis. I slowly pivoted around and took in the man who frightened me more than any other man I'd ever met.
"Sir," I said, averting my eyes.
Fang squared his shoulders. "Ringmaster Mortis, good to see you."
Mortis tilted his head toward the right skull. "Is it?"
"Ah, well," was all Fang got out before Mortis spoke again.
"If you'll excuse me, I have a message to convey." He glided past us, heading toward the red tent. About three feet away, he shifted around so just the top of him faced us. "Good to see you too." He spun back around and continued on his way.
Fang stayed in place, staring at me for a long moment, his filed teeth catching the dim light as his lip curled in disgust. "Runt, so help me, you better not be bringing bad juju down on us. Because if you are, President or no President, I will make sure you pay for it." He turned and stalked away, mumbling to himself about tents and Mortis.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Just then, something hit me like a physical blow to the gut. My knees nearly buckled, and I had to catch and brace myself against one of the trailers. Then again, the feeling of another jab. I sucked, gasping for air. I jerked my hand away and straightened up, forcing my legs to work.
"What the hell?" I said to no one. I bent, placing my hands on my knees. Taking a few deep breaths, I regained my composure, grateful that Fang hadn't been here to watch.
What is with that tent? Or was it seeing Mortis?
My eyes went to the red tent just in time to see Mortis emerge. The tiniest of mischievous-looking smiles on his facethat disappeared the minute he was at his full height. Without seeing me, he went the other way around the tent and headed back to the carnival.
Every part of my gorilla pushed me toward the tent. But I couldn't. Not with Fang sulking around, already blaming me for the carnival being what it was. But every instinct I had was screaming that the tent was some kind of trap, some dark magic bullshit designed to lure in and take advantage of idiots like me. And yet there was something there calling, urging, almost begging for me.
As much as I didn't want to, I forced myself to go the opposite direction of the red tent, catching up with Fang near the large central tent he'd mentioned earlier. Up close, it was even more impressive—at least fifty feet across, with walls made of heavy canvas that had been painted with intricate designs. Symbols and patterns that seemed to shift and writhe when I wasn't looking directly at them, similar to the tattoos on Mortis' face.
"This is the rehearsal tent," Fang said, his tone still cold but at least professional. "Performers use it to warm up and practice acts that are too dangerous or too big for their personal spaces."
He tried the entrance flap, which was secured with a heavy padlock that looked like it'd been fished from the bottom of the ocean. Satisfied, he nodded and continued the patrol.
The next hour was a study in torture. Every step we took seemed to bring us closer to that red tent, then we'd veer away at the last moment. The pull was constant now; a living thing coiled in my chest that tightened with every breath. My gorilla was beyond agitated—it felt furious and desperate. This wasn't normal. I was beginning to think this was more than Mortis fucking with my head.
We'd just completed our second full circuit of the lodging area when Fang's radio crackled to life.
"Fang?" The ringmaster's voice slithered through the speaker, making my skin crawl even through the distortion of the radio. "There are matters we must discuss regarding the change to the VIP night. I require your presence at my office immediately."
