Writer's Games: Carnival

Quarter Finals [Male Entries]

ZACH FORRESTER

The muzzle of the pistol pressed up against Zach's head was still warm from the warning shot Callisto had fired into the air. Callisto's breath, in stark contrast, was cold on the back of Zach's neck. His body was frozen, not from the cold, since it wasn't actually very cold outside, but for a reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. Certainly it had something to do with the terror of having a pistol pressed up against his skull. 

Then there was the reason why he had the gun against his head in the first place: he didn't want to move at all. He was a murderer, and he had let Evangeline die. He was unwilling to give himself three strikes, and was willing to bet that Ritchie thought the same way. What was the point of going on if he didn't want to live, and he had no one left to live for? 

"Move, kid," Atilius muttered gruffly as Callisto's pistol moved to the soft spot at the back of Zach's head. 

He wouldn't feel like, Zach reminded himself. That one book he had to read freshman year, Of Mice and Men, had promised him that. At least something useful had come out of all his years at school. Still, Zach's legs moved beneath him. He had to keep going on, even if the only thing to come of it was his own survival. Sticking against his head until he stepped into the Fun House, the gun guided him forward. 

The door slammed behind him, and a dull red light flickered on. Just enough to see by, it colored everything the sickly color of blood. Zach subconsciously chipped away at the dried blood on his fingernails. He took a step forward, through a doorway that creaked open as though it hadn't been used in years. And Zach came face to face with himself. 

He frowned, reaching out to touch the mirror opposite himself. He could hardly recognize himself. His hair was disheveled in a way it hadn't been for years, and there were bags underneath his eyes. Blood, which he thought had only been on his hands, was splattered onto his face. Licking his fingers, he wiped a dried piece of blood off of his cheek. A thin layer of grime came off with it, although Zach supposed he had that all over his face. There was little to be done about it. 

A chainsaw revved in the distance, although Zach couldn't quite tell where it came from. The door slammed behind him and the chainsaw revved again, this one much closer to him than before. Uncertain of what else to do, Zach ran, sprinting deep into the maze. He had little time to think about where he was going, only that he had to run from the chainsaw man. Dead ends meant his certain death, so he avoided them at all costs. 

Then he came to one, and the chainsaw was closer, and he had nowhere to run. So Zach looked at himself, at the boy in the mirror he hardly recognized. This boy, he decided, was not one worth running for. 

MORGAN GRIFFIN

Crimson tears leak down to the ground,

The broken puppets I see as I look around,

At this misery, me it has found,

A horror show run by twisted clowns,

A sick insanity that knows no bounds,

Indeed without a sound, mine is going down,


I stopped pounding the rock into the soft wood of the crumbling concession stand, my arm aching from the repetitive movement of attempting to write without a pen. I honestly couldn’t believe people did this on rock in the ancient times, no wonder they were so fit. 

As I stood there sweating, I cursed Aitius with a million different insults for taking my journal. Why did he even want it?  Why did he even care if some kid he was preparing to kill had journal? Paranoia began to itch at the back of my brain; what if he was planning on publishing them? My. Poems. I imagined my heart and soul sitting on a shelf in the bookstore under Aitius’s name. I shuddered, I didn’t want my poems published until after I died like Emily Dickinson, they were just too personal and I most certainly did not want that bastard taking credit for them. My brain tried desperately to formulate a plan to get it back, but I found I had a focusing, random lyrics for poems flashed in my head. 

“Graffiti. Nice.” I heard clapping behind me as I spun around to see Cleo with Arwen and Maxine at her sides. I stared at the fresh scarlet blood that covered them, they must have all been forced into combat like I had been.

I dropped the rock, “Are you guys okay?” I asked with concern, still thinking about my journal in the back of my mind. Sometimes I wondered if I cared about books and literature more than human beings. I mean I still cared deeply about humans… its just that books might just be slightly more important to me. I do believe I’d be like the elderly woman from ‘Fahrenheit 451’ who decided to throw herself upon her flaming books than live in a world without them. I don’t think thats normal. Maybe I need to be medicated. Oh wait I already am- shit! My ADHD medicine must be wearing off. Wonderful.

“....it was horrifying.” Cleo was saying, her eyes wide. I felt really bad for zoning out. I guessed that she had just elaborately detailed her ordeal…. and I had been thinking about books.


I nodded my head, “I’m sorry. That's awful.” I tried to look sympathetic, but I feel like I only managed a strangled look. 

Cleo shrugged, “Well I’d like to say I will survive this but I’m not quite so sure.” She laughed uncomfortably running a dirty hand through her mangled brown hair. “What happened to you and why are you giving the poor shack a tattoo?” She asked changing the subject.

My face darkened, “That bastard took my journal!” 

Maxine looked confused, “Didn't you have to kill someone?” She asked, looking as if she had already jumped to the conclusion that I hadn't and I had gotten special treatment.   

I shook my head, “Yeah, it was hard. I don’t want to talk about it though, I want to write about it. You’re missing my point! He took my journal! My beautiful journal! You guys have to help me get it back. Please!” I begged desperately. Cleo and Maxine exchanged a look I knew all too well as ‘he’s crazy’. 

I frowned, trying to ignore the feeling of embarrassment that blossomed within my chest. “Whatever. It’s not important.” I said quickly, rubbing the back of my neck. Tensions were already running high between Cleo, and Arwen and I. I didn’t need to give her reason to backstab us. Maxine seemed pretty willing to think the best of us, but that didn’t mean Cleo’s concerns wouldn’t rub off on her.

Arwen was staring at the ground, she didn’t look good at all. Worse than Cleo, Maxine and I combined if that was even possible. Her body was covered in slashes of red and sickly grey bruises, her hair snarled and ratty. That wasn’t the part that scared me though- it was her eyes that sent chills running down my spine. Her beautiful hazel orbs usually filled with a steely determination, were empty, glazed over like she was dead. Why was I only just noticing this now as she glowered at me saying something about decapitation? 

“Morgan, you didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?” Arwen demanded frowning, placing a hand on her bony hip. The dim light of sunrise was beginning to leak through the clouds casting red streams of light down upon the land.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry Arwen, my meds wore off.” I said slowly, throwing a glance over my shoulder, looking down the long empty path lined with concession stands whose frames resembled skeletons in the coming dawn. 

Arwen let out a long tired sounding sigh. I glanced over at Maxine who looked more than a little wary, “Wait- you’re on meds? For what?” 

I shook my head tapping my fingers on my blood encrusted jeans, “Just Attention Deficit Disorder, I’m not like some deranged psychopath.” I shrugged uncomfortably rocking back and forth on my heels like a boat being tossed atop the waves of the teal ocean. 

Maxine nodded her head pretty openly, but Cleo looked way more critical. I was about to say something back when I heard a disgruntled grunt and the cock of a pistol from behind me.  I spun around to see a very irked Callisto holding a pistol. It was only then, in the dim light of the early morning, that I realized how truly creepy Callisto looked. He wasn’t one of those people that you describe as either handsome or ugly. Neither category suited him, no. With his scarlet hair, olive eyes that had huge bags underneath and his otherwise plain features, Callisto reminded me of some undead demon elf who had clawed his way from the sewage pipes of the city, pulling himself into our world to destroy us. 

“So this is where you little creeps wandered off too. You weren’t supposed to move.” He snapped irritatedly, rubbing one of his eyes tiredly. Maxine opened her mouth to snap something but Arwen elbowed her roughly. “March. To the funhouse now.”  He barked gesturing with our gun for us to move, a stagnate wave of dread washed over me as I began to follow Cleo who boldly led the way. Arwen fell into place beside me, I felt her grab my wrist and yank me closer to her. “Morgan are you listening to me?” She whispered, her voice a bit shaky.

I looked over at her and nodded, willing myself to focus on her. She looked down uncomfortably then looked back up. “Morgan, I-I had to kill this little kid.”  She said slowly as if the fact was eating her away inside. 

I placed my arm around her shoulder comfortingly. “Arwen it’s not your fault. Its not your fault you had to kill him, those bastards didn’t give you a choice. Look, I’m sorry we have to go through this, but we will make it. I promise.” I said softly, looking over at the looming funhouse that was now only a few yards away. I watched Sayuri prod the last few people inside.

Arwen shook her head, “It’s not just that, I like snapped. I thought he-” She stopped suddenly her eyes settling on an approaching figure who had twinkling chestnut eyes.

“My, my, my.” He said clicking his tongue rythematically like a metronome. “Are you coming clean to dear little Morgan here about what you did to little Bobby?”

Confusion stressed my brain as fear tightened itself around my neck like a noose, I looked at Arwen studied Aitius warily. I began flicking my wrist nervously, as if I could just shake the fear right out of my body.

“Aitius can this wait? Can we just shove them in the funhouse so I can take a nap already? I’m tired.” Callisto moaned in irritation, glowering at his partner who showed not the slightest hint of exhaustion. 
Aitius’s eye twitched, “Callisto. I am in charge. I make the rules. You can last a few extra minutes without collapsing.” He growled looking as if he wanted to maim the redhead. A sickly sweet smile played across his lips after a second though as he turned toward Arwen and I again. “Morgan, you look a bit perplexed…. Arwen you didn’t tell him did you?” He exclaimed in fake surprise cupping a hand over his mouth dramatically.

Arwen shook her head, “Tell him what? I didn’t ‘not’ tell him anything!” She yelled, exploding in Aitius’s face savagely, her dead eyes suddenly alight with a blazing wildfire. I was a bit taken aback by her outburst. Arwen was usually so collect….

I looked over toward Aitius who just raised an eyebrow smugly. “Why that you killed his beloved baby bother of course….” He turned to me as my heart dropped, it fell through an endless black eternity. “Bobby Griffin, your youngest brother whom you haven’t seen in 9 years? He was a black/Asian mutation thing? I’ll tell you I never would have suspected you two were stepbrothers….” He trailed off and took a step back, resembling a cat who was playing with a mouse. 

I shook my head numbly feeling the support beams of my sanity begin to sway in the wake of Aitius’s words. No. My brother wasn’t here. I would have known him. Right? “You're lying.” I said, my voice strangled and tight.

Aitius shook his head, reaching into the pocket of his neatly tailored coat. “I’m sorry we only have a post-mortem photo.” He said with sympathy I almost believed was real as he extended the paper toward me, it bent with the wind that tried to pry it from his hands.

I looked over at Arwen who appeared pale as a fresh fall of snow, her eyes were wide as disks as she stared at Aitius. I hesitantly turned back, ripping the picture from Aitius’s hands. My jaw dropped in horror at what I saw, a wave of nausea rolling up in my throat. The picture was that of a young boy, about 9 or 10 who looked as if his body had been attacked by a lion, his coffee colored skin was gashed open in multiple places, in place of his eyes were nothing but bloody pits. I had all I could do to keep from gagging. The kid looked like he had been tortured before he had been killed. In those first seconds I prayed to every God I knew of that this was not Bobby, that this was some other kid. Then my eyes focused on the nose, the shape of the mouth, his large protruding ears…. The picture fluttered slowly to the ground.

I crossed my arms over my chest, digging my nails into my arms as I felt my world crumble apart, tumbling the the great grecian columns of Atlantis as the massive waves pummeled them, dragging them down into the deepest, coldest depths of the ocean where no one could ever find them. I looked over at Arwen, her image was smeared like paint from the hot tears that blurred my vision. “Please tell me you did not do that. Please tell me he’s lying.” I gasped through the tears that clogged my throat.

Arwen said nothing. The silence was as heavy and painful as bricks, crushing me. I shook my head, how could she do that? Even if she hadn't known; she had tortured him. My mind conjured painful images of his last moments. I hadn't been there for him, I hadn't even recognized him. He must have been so scared.

I had always dreamed about being reunited with my brothers someday, to have a family, and now that dream was ruined, crushed, mutilated, destroyed.

Aitius clapped his hands, “Well I won't keep you from your fate any longer, just thought I’d break the news. Carry on Callisto.” He said briskly, I heard his footsteps fade away as a cold gun nozzle was shoved between my shoulder blades. 

I blindly walked forward, I felt a soft hand on my shoulder, “Morgan, I’m sorry-” Arwen’s strained voice dripped into my ears, I pushed her hand off my back. 

I wanted to forgive her, I wanted for things to be the same, but it felt like an animal had raked it’s claws across my heart, gashing its nails deep into the flesh. The wound was too fresh, too deep to simply be healed with an ‘I’m sorry’. “Arwen- just please leave me alone. I want to be alone.” I choked as Cleo pulled her back a few steps, whispering something in her ear.

Callisto prodded us up to the archway that led into the funhouse, a gaping black abyss shielded our eyes from what was inside. I paused knowing that I was not emotionally ready for this, I wished I had just a few minutes to regroup…. I wished I had time to sit down with a pen and write, draining my feelings onto the paper that swirled beneath my pen. I didn’t have that liberty though, so I began to chant the lyrics in my head as Maxine boldly put the first foot into the inky blackness.

‘So clashes the 21 guns,’

I stepped after her, feeling the damp air prickle my skin. I felt a warm hand grasp my wrist, “So we don’t get separated.” Cleo’s voice said.

‘Sometimes the young die old,’

‘Sometimes the old die young,’

I threw a glance over my shoulder at the sun that peeked out from behind the clouds as  it gracefully rose above the earth to complete its tireless circle of lighting our world. Generally the dawn was a sign of hope, a new beginning. But now it’s streams of light only seemed to wave me farewell ominously. 

‘But we will all die to our beating drum,’

I stepped forward and felt nothing beneath my foot, I let out a scream , my stomach jumping into my throat as I pitched forward, Cleo’s grip slipping from my wrist. I tumbled downward through the inky infinity cobwebs catching my body only to snap and fall with me. 

My body crashed into a wall of water, it swallowed my body as I slowly sunk downwards, stunned from the impact. I forced my eyes open chlorine stung my eyes a dimly lit man made river with water that was ever so slightly tinted turquoise greeted my eyes. The water had to of been about 6’ft deep or so. I pushed my feet off of the plastic bottom and broke the surface. 

“Morgan are you alive?” Arwen’s voice echoed downward, spiraling as it bounced off the walls. I considered not answering her, I really did, I wanted to be alone to grieve and work things out- even if it was in a delusional funhouse, but I inwardly knew how stupid that would of been. 

I sigh inwardly as I lifted my mouth above the waterline, “I’m okay.” I yelled a little water entering my mouth, the sharp taste stinging my taste buds. I spit it out, continuing my clumsy attempt at treading water.

“We’re coming down. Get out of the way.” Maxine yelled loudly. I looked to either side, the river was surrounded by  fake rock stretching upwards sharply. The river ran into two caves, I carefully ducked just inside one, grasping the slimy plastic rock to keep my head above the water. The water suddenly erupted, skyrocketing a column of water into the air. A second later the column collapsed back to the ground. Maxine, Arwen, and Cleo’s heads emerged from the water, their hair plastered to their faces and the grime and caked blood washing from their faces, dripping in streams down their faces.     

“We all here?” Cleo asked, glancing at me before her eyes flitted to Maxine who was wiping her fringe out of her eyes and Arwen who was looking downwards miserably. “Morgan, what's in there?” She continued taking charge of the situation as usual.     

I glanced into the cavern behind me seeing nothing but a deep coley blackness that impaired my vision. “I can’t see.” I said, the words feeling heavy on my lips. 

“Well, I guess we better find out then.” Maxine said stroking through the water with a grace that looked as if it came from years of practice. She breezed past me stroking seemingly fearlessly through into the unknown. Cleo followed her with a steely determination. I reluctantly let go of my rock and splashed like a drunken seal after them. It was reasons like this that I had managed to fail gym consistently every year. 

I paddled into the dark of the cave, I was mildly aware that Arwen swam up beside me, but I tried to ignore it to the best of my ability. I was about to attempt to swim faster when the room suddenly burst into light, blinding me momentarily as the light stung my eyes. Very slowly I opened my eyes, and when I did I wished I had kept them closed.  We swam through a huge cavern whose walls were lined with broken porcelain dolls of every imaginable type. Some were missing eyes, other’s limbs. Almost all of them had spiderweb like cracks painting their pale faces, the victorian dresses once brightly colored were now faded and dust colored. I swallowed, chills running up and down my skin like electricity. The dolls beady little eyes all seemed to be boring into my soul, furious with us for disturbing their sacred resting place. Thats what this was; a tomb.

I glanced over at Cleo whose jaw dropped a little as her eyes scanned the room. Arwen’s mouth was set in a grim line as she stared at a doll right near her who had fallen halfway into the water, her curly brown locks gently being tugged by the current.  Maxine was the only one who appeared unfazed, she was watching Cleo with amusement. “Come on guys!” She laughed, “They are just porcelain dolls!” 

That was when a shrill laugh pierced the heavy silence of the cave like a knife, I stared in horror as the doll’s eyes glowed an eerie red as their jaws moved up and down like puppets, a witch-like cackle coling from their mouths. Then the first doll fell from the ceiling landing like a cannon ball in the water. 

And then it was raining as the entire cave shook violently on the verge of collapse. “Swim!” Cleo barked fear straining her voice as she swam desperately toward the exit. Dolls rained down as I struggled forward, desperately clawing at the water pulling myself forward. I heard a slight scream I looked over to see a doll crack over Arwen’s head. Blood and porcelain splattered into the water as Arwen sunk below the waves. Fear tightened around my neck like a noose as I struggled toward her. I dove beneath the waves trying to drag her upwards. A doll fell into the water inches from  my head as I broke the surface and began paddling again. 

Arwen’s body dragged behind me limply, she seemed to get heavier with each passing minute, I knew she was slowing me down. She was wasting precious seconds that could mean life or death. The idea struck me like a rock; I could drop her and save myself. And for a second I was actually tempted to do it…. I shook my head, I couldn’t do that. 

The entrance was just up ahead, I had to make it. I pulled myself harder, I had to make it. A doll hit my shoulder, the shards slicing the flesh on my skin and neck the momentum pushing me under the water.

I broke the surface again and exerted every fiber of my being as I kicked my way free of the cave just as a huge rock fell in from of the exit. I let out a sob of relief, my body shaking from the stress as Maxine and Cleo helped us out of the water onto a vibrantly colored platform where some little boats were docked. The paint was heavily chipped and thick cobwebs covered them. We must of have fallen into the old  tunnel of love, I had remembered Arwen saying that they had built the funhouse on top of it because they were running out of area to build and the tunnel was so unpopular it was barely used.

I looked over at Arwen who lay on the ground beside me beginning to moan. I stared numbly at her, trying to forgive her. Every time I looked at her at her though an image of my brother’s mutilated face flashed through my mind. How could anyone intentionally kill a little kid so brutally? I knew she killed her father, but she had done that out of self defense. The pain of regret stabbed my heart like a thousand little shards of glass. Maybe it was my fault. I should've recognized my brother, I should have protected him. I shook my head, swallowing the agony, the misery and the deep sadness that threatened to explode from my body in the form of wet droplets that wanted to run down my cheeks. 

I wanted to be alone when I broke down, because once I did I didn’t think I could put myself together again. Arwen sat up in with a long agonized moan, her bright hazel eyes flitted toward Cleo who sat directly beside her. “What happened?” She asked slowly, as if it hurt her to speak.

Cleo shrugged, “I guess you got hit over the head with a doll, Morgan dragged you out.” She said looking at me as if she wasn’t sure if she had been supposed to say that.

Arwen looked at me, guilt clouding her features even more. “Thank you, Morgan. You didn’t have to do that.” She said quickly, then looked away, forcing herself to her feet. She wobbled and Cleo jumped up to support her. 

I remained silent. 

Maxine came running over to us, I hadn’t been aware that she had left. “Guys, I found stairs!” She said excitedly, beckoning for us to follow her. I slowly got to my feet, it felt like the entire world was weighing down on my shoulders, crushing me. I followed them to the door that would lead us upwards to the rest of the funhouse…. I just prayed we would be able to handle what would come next.

Somewhere deep in my heart I knew that we had never been able to handle any  of this, let alone what awaited us.

We had signed our fates the second we had so innocently stepped onto that roller coaster in hopes of just one last ride.

It's a shame we didn't know how final that ride really would be.