A Shadow at the Carnivals Edge

The carnival was a kaleidoscope of noise and light, a swirling kaleidoscope of sugary pink and Ferris wheel glow.

Four-year-old Jami clutched her daddy's big hand, her small fingers lost in his warmth. The air smelled of popcorn and something sweet, and the laughter of strangers was a happy hum. Everything felt safe, a soft, bright world.

Then she saw him.

He wasn't near the games, or the rides, or the bouncy castles where the other clowns usually were. He was standing by the edge of the crowd, just past the bright lights, where the shadows began to swallow the ground. He was tall, impossibly tall, and his suit was a faded, dusty red, like old bloodstains. His face was painted white, but not a clean, happy white. It was cracked and peeling, revealing patches of something dark beneath, like dried mud. And his smile… oh, his smile. It stretched too wide, a jagged, black line that seemed to tear his face in two, showing rows of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. His eyes, two pinpricks of black, stared right at her. Only her.

"Daddy," Jami whispered, tugging on his hand, her voice suddenly small and reedy. "The clown."

Her daddy looked down, his smile gentle. "What clown, sweet pea? Do you want to go see the one making balloon animals?"

He hadn't even glanced where she was pointing. He hadn't seen him.

A cold dread, sharp and sudden, pricked at Jami's chest. She looked back. The clown hadn't moved. His head was tilted, just slightly, and his smile seemed to widen, if that was possible. One long, bony finger, tipped with a dirty, yellow nail, slowly lifted and beckoned. Come here, little girl.

"No, Daddy! The other clown! The scary one!" Her voice rose, a whimper now. She pulled harder on his hand, wanting to run, to bury her face in his leg.

Her daddy chuckled, bending down. "There's no scary clowns here, honey. Just happy ones. Are you getting tired?"

He still didn't see. He couldn't.

Jami squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the clown away. When she opened them, he was closer. Just a few feet away, standing still as a statue, his black eyes fixed on her. The air around him seemed to shimmer, a distortion in the bright carnival lights. She could almost feel the coldness radiating from him, a chill that seeped into her tiny bones. He didn't make a sound, but she heard a faint, high-pitched giggle, like dry leaves skittering across pavement, inside her head.

He raised his other hand, and in it, he held a single, deflated red balloon. It looked shriveled, like a dead thing. He offered it to her.

"Daddy, please! He's right there!" Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging.

Her daddy scooped her up, lifting her high onto his hip. "Who's right there, my little shadow? Let's go get you some ice cream, that'll make you feel better." He turned, carrying her away, his back to the shadows.

Over his shoulder, Jami saw the clown. He was still standing there, unmoving, his smile a permanent, horrifying slash. But now, he wasn't just beckoning. His head was tilted even further, and his mouth, that impossibly wide, jagged mouth, began to open. Slowly, slowly, until it was a gaping black maw, a void that seemed to swallow the dim light around him. And from that darkness, a whisper, thin as a spider's silk, drifted to her ears, even over the carnival's roar:

You'll be back, little girl. You'll be back for your balloon.

Jami buried her face in her daddy's shoulder, trembling. The sweet smell of popcorn was gone, replaced by the faint, metallic tang of something old and cold. She knew, with the chilling certainty only a four-year-old can possess, that she would never forget the clown no one else could see. And she knew, too, that he would be waiting.

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