Cirque

2: 𝑯𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒅

I kicked open the iron gates leading to the park, biting my lip at the small shock of pain that rushed through my dirty white tennis shoes. The gates were never locked, even at night, but I always underestimated just how stiff they were. I ran to my old, white trailer I had lived in for as long as I could remember. I fished the spare key from underneath the brown doormat, and was about to twist the door open when a thought spun into my mind.

I shook my head slowly. Mum wouldn't approve of me going to the carnival, I was sure of that. Plus, she wouldn't even believe me about the letter. I knew her and her no-nonsense mentality all too well. No, what I needed right now was to see Carlos. If anyone would, he would be sure to believe me.

I spun around on my feet, my shoes skidding on the wet whitewashed steps leading to my trailer. The trailer right across from mine was slightly smaller and much darker, painted navy with lime-green lights lining the windows which revealed a couple glass cases filled with various plants. I skipped down the steps and dashed across the well-worn path between my trailer and Carlos'.

I knocked on the door three times before giving it a huge wallop. This was mine and Carlos' secret knock that we had had ever since we had first met that sticky summer when he had moved into the park. His parents were gone now, but even then, they had seldom been at home and we had been inseparable, spending every moment of that long summer vacation together. Those days seemed like a whole lifetime ago now.

"Cassandra, What's up?" Carlos said, opening the creaking door in an instant. He ran a hand through his dark curls and flashed me his signature smile showing his pristinely white teeth.

"The...carnival..uh...letter!" I gasped out, breathing heavily. The impossibility of all the details I had brushed off earlier were slowly starting to sink in. How could an abandoned carnival still have music playing? Abandoned meant abandoned, as in completely dead, no visitors for nearly fifteen years. What sort of ghostly serial killer had tried to invite me on a date with death just now?

"Hey, hey, calm down. You're all right now." Carlos didn't let me say another word. He wrapped me up in his warm embrace that smelt like apples at the end of autumn and fallen pine cones. The rough wool of his sweater felt like home.

There were lots of things wrong with my life, but Carlos wasn't one of them.

Before I knew it, he had me sitting down on his beat-up old couch, a steaming mug of tea cradled between my hands. "Want to talk about it?" He said, genuine concern in his deep brown eyes. I could stare into those eyes all day and not grow tired of them. I took a slurp of searing hot tea and tried my best to sort through my scattered thoughts. "There was someone out by the old carnival. I think they wanted to find me."

"That's messed up, Cass. Want me to call the police or something?"

Carlos really was the sort of best friend anyone would dream of having. He was just so kind and thoughtful. I smiled despite my creeping fear and shook my head. "Everything's messed up in this city, Carlos, and the police only make it worse."

Carlos gave me a sad grin of his own, and before I really knew what was happening, he was kissing me, his hands tangled up in my hair, my back pressed against the couch. His lips tasted like salted caramel and forgotten memories.

Okay, maybe he was a bit more than a friend.

I broke off the kiss with a small gasp, pressing against his firm chest with one hand. Honestly, I could have kissed him all night, but there was something weighing on my mind that I just needed to say out loud before it slipped from my thoughts. "Wait a minute, Carlos, there's something else."

"It's all right, Cass, you can tell me anything."

"I had a letter. It was an invitation to the carnival. It came last Wednesday, right as the clock hit midnight. I remember thinking the mail carrier must be drunk or something. And tonight, it's..."

Carlos's eyes opened slightly as he realized what I was thinking. Tonight was Wednesday once again, exactly one week from when the first letter arrived. We both slowly turned around to look at the old digital clock that Carlos kept on his kitchen counter. Its neon lights looked like red ghosts floating in the night.

The clock read eleven fifty-nine. My heart started to beat so loudly in my chest I was sure Carlos must be able to hear it. I felt an electrifying tremor rush through my body. I should have been petrified, but was this feeling fear or something else?

The clock struck midnight with the sound of an electric guitar riff, like the opening of a metallica song. It was just Carlos's custom made clock, but it felt so ominous in the darkness.

Wait, the darkness?

I looked up at the roof of the trailer. The ceiling fan was still silently turning around, but there were no lights to be seen. "Carlos, were the lights always turned off?"

Carlos shook his head slowly, his dark brown eyes wide with fear. "No."

Just then, the door swung open with a slow creak, like it had been pushed by an invisible hand. The cool midnight wind crept through the trailer and made me grasp my arms together, shivering. Every bit of sense in me was screaming to stay back, but I slid past Carlos off the couch and took a hesitant step forward, craning my neck towards the open door.

Carlos stepped in front of me, holding my arm in his soft grasp. "No, Cass. This is dangerous, stay back. I'll take a look." Carlos had fierce determination written all over his face, and I felt my face flush at the touch of his protective hand. Without waiting for a response, he let go of my arm and walked forward again. He stopped right outside the door.

"Carlos?" I asked hesitantly, trying to see where he was. "Is everything okay?"

After a moment of silence Carlos's voice came from outside the trailer, "Yeah."

Despite his warnings, I slowly followed after his voice. Something had happened during this night, I was sure of it. I stepped through the door into the frigid air and saw Carlos standing a ways away. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Carlos' face was pale, and his strong hands were trembling. He quickly hid something behind his back. "Oh, it's nothing! There was..." Carlos swallowed before forcing his voice to sound more confident, "There was nothing there."

"Nothing? You're absolutely sure?" I asked, eyeing Carlos hesitantly. If it was nothing, would he have had such a disturbed look on his face? Before I could press him any further a gust of wind breezed across the trailer park, blowing strands of brown hair from my bun. A piece of paper flew from behind Carlos' hands which he had been hiding behind his back. The envelope was pure snowy white, except for the middle which had a smear of red across it, like a gaping wound. "Don't lie to me like that, Carlos!" I said, running towards Carlos and trying to grab at the letter as it fluttered to the ground. "I knew you saw something."

"No," Carlos insisted, "I lied to you for your own good. Cass, listen to me. There's something wrong with these letters, we shouldn't read them." Carlos grabbed at the letter again, trying to stop me from reaching it.

I shoved his arm out of the way, trying to snatch the letter from the air. "Carlos, how could you? You can't make those sorts of decisions for me."

We both fell silent as the letter slipped out of both of our grasps, propelled upward by another gust of wind. It flipped through the air, turning around to reveal a few words scrawled in pure black ink across the back.

Delighted to make your acquaintance.

The letter drifted to the ground, lighter than a feather. As it fell, a sweet scent drifted through the cold air. The perfume was an indescribable scent, simultaneously intoxicating and alluring. It smelt like a nobleman waltzing through a circus, the delicate scent of roses intertwining with dust and excitement, cotton candy and popcorn.

It was as though everything else ceased to matter but the letter. I could hardly hear Carlos cry: "No, Cass, don't!" as I slowly reached out for the letter, just before it hit the ground. Time seemed to move slower than molasses as I reached my hand out to clutch the ghostly white paper.

My fingers lightly grasped the edge of the paper. It felt soft and creamy. I brought it up to my face to take a closer look at the flourishing red letters staining the front, but my vision was blurring. The world looked like one of those peculiar paintings I saw on one field trip to the London Art Gallery, and then it looked like nothing.