Short Horror Stories

Circus of the Damned

 What is it that we find inherently creepy about carnivals?

Is it the clowns? The vague threat of the unknown? The freaky faces and wanton thrills we are guaranteed to experience?

I've never really liked carnivals or circuses. Faires of any kind in general. They were crowded, stank of old fry oil and stickiness, if "sticky" could be considered a smell.

All the rides made me feel sick and most of the attractions freaked me out, especially the House of Mirrors. And the clowns, because, let's face it, nobody likes clowns.

I would never have come to The Grand Circus on my own, but my best friend had dragged me along, promising relentlessly that it would be fun.

I didn't see anything too "grand" about the Grand Circus. It was just a stupid circus in a stupid field in the middle of woods out in rural Georgia.

The summer night was balmy, and I resolved to do my best to try and have fun, for my friend's sake.

When my friend, Bjourn, offered me some drugs, I hesitated only a moment before taking a handful of them, washing them down with some overpriced, warm beer.

And that's when things started getting weird.

At first, I thought it was just the drugs.

The lights got dim and reddish in tint, casting an eerie vibe over everything. Colors seemed to swirl around me, mad faces popping out at me, startling me. And the laughter, the laughter in the air suddenly seemed acutely malicious.

And the talking; my friend became absolutely CONVINCED that everyone was talking about us, laughing at us, looking at us. Pretty soon he had me convinced, as well.

Everyone did seem to be whispering about us, watching us.

The rides were too much for us. The games all seemed too macabre and oddly violent. I didn't want to throw knives at a clown strapped to a wheel as it spun round and round sickeningly, thank you!

A firebreather made us scream out in fright. The bearded lady made us cry. The elephants all had glowing red eyes and long fangs, and they snarled and roared horribly at us.

One show was just a lone marionette, pirouetting forever, around and around on her pedestal while she wept tears of blood down her porcelain face.

The dancing bear was the very last straw for us, and we started looking for the exit.

Around and around we went, but we couldn't find the exit. All the signs seemed to be in Russian or something.

We stopped and asked the workers at an Elephant Ear stand for help, but they only leered at us salaciously with wet, drooling fangs.

"Fuck! We've gotta get outta here, Joe!" Bjourn said to me.

"Yeah, you seein' this shit, too?! This shit is whack, man." I agreed vehemently - and, if I was to be entirely honest with myself - a bit tremulously.

Clutching each other, we stumbled on, bleary eyes searching desperately for any sign of an exit, for any sign of hope at all.

Around and around we went, for what felt like hours.

It was a deep, moonless night, and the sky above us was a howling black abyss of pure, paralyzing isolation and fear.

I remember thinking that I had never known such fear. God, at the time, I had no idea how much worse it would get.

We kept stumbling along, eyes and jeers following us everywhere we went, and no one would tell us where the bloody exit was.

Hours passing started to feel like years.

I paused my hunt for the way out to look alternately for a restroom, but when I turned to elucidate this to Bjourn, it was to find that my friend was gone from my side.

I looked around wildly for him everywhere, spinning round and round like a mad carousel, screaming his name.

I was total panic.

Someone had taken him! I had to save him!

And yet I knew, deep down, neither of us were ever leaving the Circus of the Damned.

The sun was never coming up again, and we were doomed to be forever trapped here, as delirious, terrified tourists.

God, I fucking hated carnivals.

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Happy Halloween, all you ghouls and goblins! Stay safe

HRH