A new story from the Kettleby Archive: 3 TERRIFYING Carnival Horror Stories Animated
He said my name through the locked door, flat and bored, and the worst part was I had never told a single person at that carnival what I was called. Almost bored. How did he know it? My name is not on any carnival lanyard or posted rota, and I was twenty-four, working the Vanthorpe Ferris wheel alone until the last bus at twelve-twenty.
Whatever was standing on those steps had learned it some other way, and that is the part that still wakes me up. Gus never checked on me once. In the first hour a man in a long grey coat and wide-brimmed hat bought three single tickets and never once boarded. His shoes were wrong, stiff black dress shoes caked in dry mud.
He held each ticket stub in a tight fist rather than pocketing them. That was the first thing. Second night he was back, standing at the exit gate, watching each rider climb off, one by one. I walked over to Gus and told him about the man. Gus just wiped his hands on a rag and said he was probably waiting for someone.
…
Sleep well. Or try to.