Page 3 of Hell of a Thing

“Sign and initial. Take it off and pass it back,” the ticket booth man shouted loud enough to be heard a few paces back.

Going to an attraction where I had to sign a waiver freeing the carnival and its workers of any wrongdoing was exactly my thing, and I stepped forward eagerly.

The people ahead of me barely looked at the paper before haphazardly scribbling their agreement. It wasn’t until the clipboard got to me that I realized why they didn’t linger on the details. The murmurs behind me from the hundreds of people still waiting their turn were like hot pokers urging me to go faster. Still, I couldn’t help but skim some of the bullet points. Something about waiving the right to hold the carnival accountable for injuries, trauma, or death.

Death? Surely, that had to be for theatrics, right?

I decided I didn’t care. This couldn’t be any more dangerous than skydiving.

Hastily scribbling my signature, my hand paused at the additional details they requested. My birth date? Blood type? Why the fuck would they need to know that? I opened my mouth to ask a question, but someone from behind me bumped my shoulder, only offering a laugh instead of a light-hearted apology.

Assholes. With a roll of my eyes, I filled in the rest with a steady hand before passing it back to the group behind me. I wondered if they’d give the waiver a second thought. Probably not. One of them mentioned an algebra midterm, and by the ruckus that followed, it seemed unlikely.

They signed the contract, practically fighting over who got it first. One tall guy held it high over a girl’s head, taunting her with it like a prize. The girl grabbed for the clipboard, and it came close enough to my face that I had to take a step back. But I’d caught the word dismemberment, and it gave me pause. I wanted to take another look at the contract, but an additional window opened up, and the line moved forward, carrying me along with it. Maybe it was for the best. Dismemberment was probably just part of the whole injury clause, anyway. Places like this always needed to cover their ass.

Stepping forward, the familiar weight of anticipation and worry filled my stomach as I handed the paper to the gruff-looking man behind the plexiglass. Scruff covered his chin, and his cheeks were round and blotchy.

“Contract, invitation, and I.D.,” he grumbled.

Fishing it out of the pocket of my bodysuit, I handed the items over, along with the entrance fee of twenty dollars. I fought to get every last coin out of the skintight fabric and dropped the funds with a clatter on the table. Ignoring the attendant’s glare as he begrudgingly counted out the money I’d quite literally scrounged and scraped together for tonight’s adventure, I drew in a shaky breath, smoothing the flap of my pocket down nervously. My pleather outfit left little to the imagination, but it had been on sale and it was an easy choice for the night. Plus, the fabric stretched well, all things considered. If needed, I could probably run pretty fast. I’d make a fuckton of noise, but I’d be able to do it. Not that I planned to, as the stilettos I wore confirmed. Every fiber in my being was set on sticking this night out.

The attendant barely glanced at my driver’s license before shoving it back through the little slot and holding out a hand, gesturing for my arm. Holding my camera safe to my chest with my free hand, I made sure not to bump it as I complied, hoping he didn’t tell me pictures weren’t allowed. Given the fact the woman didn’t say anything, I wasn’t too worried. With an eye roll at the camera, he slipped on a black paper bracelet, and I figured pictures were fine. He turned my wrist over. Holding my first finger firmly, he pricked my fingertip with one long, sharp black nail. Hissing, I tried to pull away, but he already flipped it back and pressed a bloody fingerprint to the paper.

“Hey!” I snapped, more from reflex than pain.

”You signed the contract. Shut up and move on,” he grumbled.

Ripping my arm away, my elbow ricocheted off the thick plexiglass, and I gasped at the flare of pain. Cradling it against my chest, I couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief as he called the next person forward. The guy cheerfully stepped around me. I was still staring at the back of his shirt when he flinched from his own wound.

Unlike me, he held his finger up like a badge of honor. His friends cheered, encouraging him as they rushed forward to get their own at each window. With a deep breath, a smile tugged at my thin lips as reality set in. This was the realdeal.

And so was this carnival.

An energy vibrated through the evening, and anticipation for tonight’s events filled me with an excitement that sang in my veins. I tilted my head back to the night sky, closed my eyes and breathed it in, spreading my arms wide. Tonight would bemynight to shine.

The humans were ready.

Ripe for the picking.

Surveying the booths as I moved through the crowd, I paused when I caught the sight of a ghoul hiding in the shadows cast by tall tents on either side. With a crook of my finger, the thing shuffled forward on mismatched limbs. A wave of disgust washed over me. Ghouls were too weak to take the shape of living humans and took only pieces of the dead, cobbling together the best bits to allow them the flesh they needed to manifest in the human realm. This one had taken the parts of a few different children, fitting incorrect limbs to the body and making it so it could hardly move about. The demon’s soul had twisted its shape into something new—a creature requiring living flesh to sustain its existence on the earthly plane.

If I’d had my way, we’d be rid of ghouls altogether. Horrifying to look at, ghouls spoke in stilted language, were easily distracted from their duties, and they stank. I turned away as the scent of rot burned my nose. They might reek, but they were plentiful, and I needed all the workers I could get.

If all went as planned, the souls from tonight would meet with the devil’s approval and line the shelves of his personal stores. If not, well, it’d be straight back to Hell and a life of torturing pathetic, squirmy worms broken years ago. It was tedious work to prod those whose minds were too far gone to feel the sting of my blades, but someone needed to do it.

A hand on my hip, I glared down at the ghoul, feeling a sense of satisfaction when its bloodshot eyes lowered, and it hung its lumpy, bald head.

“Yes, Mistress?” Dejected, the ghoul played with a wart on its crooked finger.

“I need everyone out in front tonight, Ghoul—everyone doing their part. We’re expectinghimsoon.” The creature’s eyes widened, and mucus dripped from its thick lips in a steady stream at the mention of our impending visitor.

“R-right away, of course, of course. I will do it, Mistress. I will make you proud.” Then it smiled at me in a gesture that must have been meant to instill confidence in its abilities, but I didn’t miss the eager shine in its eyes or the gleam of its sharp teeth.

“And no sampling. That must be done carefully and at certain stages in the process to ensure a quality product, and byprofessionals.” I scoffed, knowing all he wanted to do was tear into the tender human flesh and suck the marrow from their bones. Uncouth slob. He could wait to get his rations just like the rest of them. “You are to stay near the entrance and bring the fear.”

With a dejected nod, the ghoul lumbered off towards the ticket booth where carnival goers were trickling in.

With a satisfied spin that nearly sank my high heel into the muck from last night’s rainfall, I turned from the blur of lights to my tent and stepped inside to prepare for the ritual.

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