• “Come one, come all, to the Neverlasting Carnival!" A man, tall and slender stands atop a barrel, staring across the crowd. His eyes are orange, his hair is black and long, though much is covered by his tall top hat. "Ladies and gentlemen, children and adults of all ages! Come one, come all, to the Neverlasting Carnival!" You narrow your eyes as you stare into that painted face. You take in his clothes, the whip at his hip, the cane resting against the barrel. These things mark him as the ringmaster, you supposed, the leader of the circus and the whole carnival. And anyway, you think, who else would be announcing the carnival? You chew on your lip worriedly. There was something in the air, besides the excitement so admitted from the crowd of men and women and families a plenty. A charge of danger, and you make a face. Maybe you should turn back, you think. You almost turn to go when the man's words hook you in again. It was as if they were laced with some magic that kept you as his marionette, he the puppet master.
    "Come one, come all! Music and food, shows and rides! All to your amusement, my friends! Please, enjoy your stay!" he proclaims, beaming at the crowd. But then, the smile takes a cunning turn, and he leans into the crowd. Everyone around you leans in, and as do you, as if you were all waiting to hear some deep, dark secret. "But be aware, my friends," he says to you all in a low voice. The smile continues to curl his reddened lips, and his eyes twinkle with some unknown emotion. "Everything is not as it seems." He suddenly straightens up, and you all lean back with a gasp as he and his cane disappear in a bang and a cloud of smoke.
    Excitement courses in the air in a heavy current as people surge all around you to enter the carnival. Now out of the ringmaster's spell, you wonder if you should leave now. You look back at the empty road behind you, and shake you head, staring forward again. No, no, you would continue on. For now, yes. You follow warily after the gushing crowd in front of you, and as soon as you reach the grounds of the carnival, you regret ever setting foot there and no taking off. A sense of dread begins to fill you, so strong you cannot fight it off totally. You try to suppress it to the best of your ability as you trek onward aimlessly. You know not where to go, and that is how it would stay, it seemed.
    After a long period of time of being surrounded by crowds and clowns dancing atop stilts, after wandering past tents emitting loud music or animal-like roars or gasps of a crowd or noises such as those, after wandering past food stalls and many amusement rides, you finally stop in front of the Hall of Mirrors. From what you can see from your outside view, it seems deserted. That was good. You hadn't liked crowds, and you never would. You walk up the stairs and inside the hall.
    Everywhere are mirrors. You constantly bump into the glass, bruising your face and limbs as you do so. But still, you move onward throughout the endless maze, wondering vaguely if there was an exit to be found.
    You pause in your steps, eyes flickering about. What was that noise, you ask yourself? You could have sworn you had heard some evil little cackle and a rush of footsteps, but as you looked in the mirrors that surrounded you, you saw nothing. And your ears picked up on nothing. So maybe you had been hearing things. You nod to yourself. Yes, you were only hearing things. You continue walking, but as you go, things seem to get continuously colder. And that dread you had tried to suppress flourished within you like plants in spring. You were ever so cautious now, looking this way and that as you moved silently, arms wrapped over your chest.
    You stall again. More laughter, more footsteps. And as you look around, the laughter grows closer, the footsteps louder and faster. It hadn't stopped this time. Someone was coming! You shoot off like a frightened doe, your gut telling you to do so. You run and run, until you slam headlong into a mirror, falling onto your rear on the hard ground. You blink to refocus, and then your eyes widen. The footsteps, the laughter, all around you. And as you stare into the mirror in front of you, the ringmaster suddenly appears. A sick, conniving smile is painted on his face, and he begins to laugh.
    "Why hello there, girl, what might your name be?" he inquires, and you don't respond. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, your jaw is tight with anxiety. "Oh come now, don't be shy!" His smile grows wider, malicious suddenly. He drags you to your feet by your shirt collar, and the next thing you know, your head has been smashed into the mirror before you. Sharp shooting pain spreads from your forehead to the back of your head, and then warmth and wetness. Reflecting glass plinks to the dirt ground, and thick blood dribbles from your forehead. He lets you go, and you try to stumble away, a scream building in your throat. What had that been for? What was going on?
    He seems to have let you get away. You don't hear his footsteps, and things have returned to normal. You press your back against the cold mirror and you press your arm against your forehead, trying to staunch the blood flow and mop some of the crimson liquid up. You hiss in pain, narrowing your eyes, scowling.
    And then, things went quiet. Too quiet. Your eyes slowly move around, taking in your reflected surroundings, and you begin to sidle to your left. Slowly, noiselessly. What if he was still there, waiting for you?
    "And we meet again." You draw a short gasp, and you turn to look up into the orange eyes of the ringmaster. He had followed you. But how? You had not seen him, you had not heard him! His smile was still wicked, and he said, "You have something I want, you know. And I won‘t stop for anything to have my prize, girl." He grabs hold of your small body before you could do a thing and tosses you to the side as if you were a mere rag doll. You lay there, limp, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of you. His footsteps echo heavily as he walks up to you, carelessly stepping on your hand and crushing it with his boots. You try to scream, but it was blocked by something in your throat. He laughs at you, and you hear him rummaging for something in his jacket pocket. Your eyes widen as he pulls out a needle, filled with an acidic green liquid. He laughs again, and kneels down beside you. He rips off your sleeve, and tugs your arm forward, revealing the blue veins that streak your pale, thin arm. You struggle a bit, but his cold grip was exceedingly strong. He presses the tip against the crease in your elbow. Not hard enough to break the surface, though very close to doing so.
    "Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit." he promises you. But you could read through his lies. You try one last fight before the needle pierces your skin in a sharp flash. Blood trickles down, and you lay so still, eyes wide as you stare straight into his orange eyes, squinted slightly from his smiling. But the silence only lasts for a few split seconds.
    Whatever had been blocking your throat was long since gone. For now, you screamed. And screamed. A burning agony coursed in your veins, spreading so rapidly your brain could not keep up with it. It was nothing like you had ever felt, and would ever feel in your life. You writhe and shriek blood curdling screams. You cry and beg for mercy and death in-between your screams, curse the ringmaster and everything, scream more.
    And outside, everyone stares at the Hall of Mirrors, eyes wide in utter bewilderment and fear. They heard your screams, yes. They heard them well. Too well. Who couldn’t? And before they know it, all goes to black around them. The deepest, pitch-est black. Entirely impossible to see through, so black.
    And a cackle of what could only be pure wickedness erupts from no where.
    And the Neverlasting Carnival has now just truly begun.