Page 10 of Carnival Monster

As he moves deeper into the forest, he’s oblivious to the danger stalking him. I move silently, my footsteps muffled by the soft earth. The darkness rises, eager for the taste of blood.

I close the distance between us, my breathing slow and steady. The man pauses, leaning against a tree as he fumbles with his zipper, trying to take a piss. The stench of sweat and the reek of alcohol assaults my nostrils, but I push past it, focused solely on the task at hand.

As he finishes relieving himself, I strike. My hand clamps over his mouth, stifling his startled cry. I yank his back against my chest, my other arm snaking around his throat in a chokehold. He struggles feebly, his movements sluggish.

I tighten my grip, feeling his windpipe constrict beneath my forearm. Before he loses consciousness, I release my grip on his throat, letting him slump to the ground in a gasping, wheezing heap. He clutches at his neck, his eyes wide with terror and face a purple shade as he stares up at me. The darkness inside me loves his fear, drinking it in like a fine wine.

I reach into my pocket, my fingers curling around the hilt of my knife. The blade glints in the moonlight as I pull it out, the sharp edge catching the drunk’s eye. He scrambles backward.

“P-please,” he stammers, his voice hoarse. “Don’t hurt me. I-I have nothing.”

I tilt my head, studying him. The mask hides my face, but I know he can feel the weight of my gaze, the cold calculation behind it.

“You have something I want,” I say, my voice low. “Your fear.”

I take a step forward, holding the knife at my side. His eyes dart from the blade to my mask, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He tries to crawl away, but his limbs won’t cooperate, his body sluggish from the alcohol and lack of oxygen.

I crouch beside him with the knife hovering inches from his face. He flinches away, whimpering. The darkness inside me purrs with satisfaction, savoring the terror that rolls off him in waves.

“Do you know what I am?” I ask. “What do I do to people like you?”

He shakes his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. “N-no, please. I don’t...I don’t know anything.”

I lean in closer. My demons have taken over now. “I lurk in the shadows,” I breathe. “The monster that haunts your nightmares.”

I press the flat of the blade against his throat, watching his pulse jump beneath the cold steel. His body is trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“And you, my friend,” I continue, my voice almost gentle, “are my plaything tonight.”

Fear turns to pure terror and I feed off it. His wide eyes dark between my mask and the surrounding forest. A whine escapes his cracked lips. It’s music to my ears.

The voices in my head are louder in their approval, urging me to savor this moment. Urging me to drink in his terror before ending his pathetic existence. I tilt my head, studying him like a cat toying with a mouse before delivering the killing blow.

“Please...” he croaks, his voice hoarse with fear. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just let me go.”

I chuckle, the sound muffled by the mask. “Let you go?” I ask, my tone laced with amusement. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The voices are screaming now, pushing me further into insanity. I know that this bloodlust stems from trauma buried so deep I wouldn’t know how to dig it out. I press the blade harder against his throat, drawing a thin line of crimson. His body goes rigid.

The darkness roars, reveling in the hunt, in the thrill of the kill. I can feel it clawing at my insides, desperate to be unleashed, to taste the warm gush of blood.

“You’ve wandered into my domain. The shadows are my playground; you’re just another toy for me to break.”

The drunk’s eyes widen further, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “P-please,” he begs, his voice barely a whisper.

The monster within me snarls, its claws digging into my soul, demanding to be set free. The hunger for violence consumes me. My grip tightens on the knife, my knuckles turning white with the strain.

He opens his mouth to beg again, but I silence him with a sharp jab of the blade, piercing the soft flesh of his cheek right into his mouth. He screams, the sound muffled by the blood that bubbles from the wound.

“Shhh,” I coo. “No more begging. It’s time to embrace the darkness.”

The blade glints in the moonlight as I raise the knife. The drunk tries to scramble away, his movements frantic and desperate, but it’s useless. I’m on him in an instant, my weight pinning him to the ground.

The voices in my head reach a fever pitch, their shouts of encouragement fueling my movements. The monster inside takes over my psyche as I let myself fall and bring the knife down over and over, slicing through flesh and muscle with ease. His screams are music to my ears, a symphony of agony that sends shivers of satisfaction down my spine.

The darkness consumes me, blotting out everything but the thrill of the kill and the intoxicating scent of blood. I lose myself in the blade’s rhythm, each strike fueled by the dark hunger that gnaws at my soul.

And through it all, the voices speak their perverted prayer, their words a siren song that guides me deeper into the abyss.

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