Page 12 of Carnival

Rose

S oft chirping of birds can be heard in the distance, the soft sunlight of a very warm spring day casting a beautiful shine over the grass.

There’s a house in front of me, a bigger one, enough to fit an entire family of six.

It’s beautiful, with a garden of bright red roses on each side of the porch.

It extends back toward the woods behind the seemingly calm family home.

The lake is peaceful. The light hues of blue reflect from the sunlight, the clean water shining.

The peaceful atmosphere fills my veins, and the soft breeze hits my face.

Yet, there’s a foggy sense of unease as I skim my surroundings, my eyes falling on three children sitting on a small blanket near the lake, right across from me.

Their faces are blurred, but it’s two boys and a girl, seemingly around the same age. She has long, light brown hair falling down her mid-back. One boy is behind her, adding a lot of small daisies to her braid, decorating it with careful movements.

The girl stops for a moment and turns her head to the side and takes a quick glance at the boy.

Although I cannot see their faces, I can hear her soft giggles reverberating all around us.

The two seem to be in their own world for a little while, until the other boy that’s across from her clears his throat.

Something in my chest tightens.

I know these children from somewhere, yet I can’t pinpoint exactly where from.

There’s something about this scenery that completely causes me to halt.

Perhaps it’s the way the fog is getting thicker the louder the children’s laughter is getting.

Perhaps it’s the chills that continuously run down my body, or the fact that I’m unable to move from this very spot.

Every fiber of my being is yelling at me to run forward, to cross the lake, swim through it, and go to the children. A wave of eeriness creeps up my neck, as if something terrible is about to happen. The longer I’m standing there, unmoving, the greater the hog gets.

The bright blue sky is replaced by different hues of grey, some dark, some light, and all creating a sensation that the storm is brewing. The wind starts blowing, the cold air hitting my face and causing the coldness to reach the depth of my bones.

The boy across from the girl leans forward and seemingly whispers something in her ear.

They’re too far from me to even try and hear what they’re speaking about, and although their faces are blurred, I can read the body language of the boy behind the girl.

He’s angry; he’s almost desperately trying not to lash out at the other boy.

The little girl’s laughter turns high-pitched, and my body all but recoils at the sound. My ears start ringing, and my vision gets blurry as I press my palms to my ears, crouching down, trying to block out the noise.

My eyes are squeezed shut, my head buried in my knees, and no matter how much I want to shake off the eerie sensations, it’s impossible. It’s as if she’s right there, laughing in such a creepy manner, right into my ear.

But when I force myself to open my eyes, there’s no one near me.

The fog is so thick that I can no longer see anything in front of me; the grass under my bare feet is sharp, wet, and uncomfortable to stand on. I push myself back into a standing position, eyes skimming around me.

The laughter has stopped, but the fear of being watched doesn’t leave me.

Nothing but mass and masses of fog are around me, and with each turn I take, I’m unsure if I’m even moving or if it’s all in my head.

The lake that was once near is nowhere to be found — which I should be grateful for. Knowing my luck, I’d drown.

The mist clears a small path in front of me, and I don’t hesitate to step forward. My feet are getting cold, palms sweaty, and goosebumps start appearing on my skin. I flinch every time I think I hear something, only to turn around and see nothing — no one.

Then, I stop moving.

My blood runs cold, my hands fisting by my side, almost unable to move them. My entire body goes rigid, breath coming out my mouth in short pants, my heartbeat picking up the pace. It takes me a couple of seconds to comprehend what I’m seeing — though I’m still struggling.

The little girl from earlier stands a few inches away from me.

If I dared to reach with my hand, I’d be able to touch her.

Her little white dress has the ends coated in a crimson shade of red, dripping down on the grass.

Some of it trickles down her legs, her bare feet entirely covered in the liquid.

The daisies in her hair have wilted, some starting to fall out, the previously cute braid now a messy nest on her head. But that’s not what’s got me creeped out. It’s not the fact that she’s soaked, head to toe, as if she’d taken a dip in the lake earlier, either.

It’s the mask that she has on her face.

The same clown mask James has. It has the same crack, same details, and same face drawn on. Yet, seeing it so up close on such a young child causes my stomach to churn, the ache spreading all the way up to my chest, and I’m not sure how to explain the feeling.

Her eyes are pitch black; even the sclera of her eyeballs are in the same shade.

I straighten up, my body unmoving. I’m paralyzed in fear, the sheer horror of what I’m seeing enough to freeze me.

I swallow a thick lump as she takes a step forward, looking at me with those devil eyes, staring right into my soul.

“Why are you here, Rosalie?” She tilts her head to the side painfully slowly, and I don’t dare to look away. Her voice is sweet — almost syrupy sweet, to the point of causing a wave of discomfort to spread through my body.

“And… where am I?” I whisper slowly, not trusting my own voice.

She giggles, but it’s the darkest, most disturbing sound I’ve ever heard. It reminds me of the horror movies I used to watch, and judging by the way this is developing, I’d say I’m this little girl’s next victim.

“A dream.’’

“Your dream?” I ask.

“No, silly,’’ she giggles again. “Your dream.’’

“It looks more like a nightmare, if you ask me.’’

Another giggle from her, and I’m desperately trying to hold my vomit back.

I have never, ever felt as scared as I’m feeling right now.

Realistically, I could kick her and make a run for it, but something tells me that this child is an entity so dark that I’d get swallowed whole before even getting the chance to properly kick her.

“Well, it’s your dream, so it’s up to you how you see it.’’

I blink, trying to understand her words. I don’t even notice her inching closer to me until the mask is a single inch away from my face, and I suck in a deep breath. My eyes dip down, and I see the girl floating. She’s actually fucking floating.

If I wasn’t scared before, I sure as fuck am right now. Everything in me is telling me to look away, but I’m aware that the moment I dare to do so — this nightmare will turn into something much more wicked, and more disturbing, and I’m scared I’ll never wake up.

“Who are you?”

Another obnoxious round of her giggling fills my ears.

The sound scratches my brain in all the wrong ways, especially since I’m looking directly into the dark abyss of her eyes.

There’s no humor in those, just a black, deep hole that’s slowly starting to suck me in.

Almost as if it’s mocking me, my inability to resist and to pull out of it on my own.

“You don’t remember me?”

Her voice is child-alike, innocent, the way you’d expect a seven-year-old to sound, but I know better.

The intonation behind the sweet voice is filled with mockery, taunting and daring me to ask more.

Her bloodied hand reaches and starts playing with a strand of my hair, twirling it around and leaving the red prints all over.

“No,’’ I whisper, voice cracking.

“How weird,’’ she mumbles, voice taking a deeper, darker edge. “Because it was you who killed me.’’

My lungs collapse at the words, wind getting knocked out of them. Suddenly, I cannot breathe, I cannot think or even see what is happening. Her small hands are wrapped around my throat and surprisingly, she’s strong as hell.

Her cheery laughter turns into a demonic sound, rough, deep and bone-chilling.

My eyes snap shut, tears running down my cheeks as I try to wiggle my way out of her grabby hands.

Instead, she lifts me off the grass, holding me in air and squeezing the sides of my neck, effectively cutting off my oxygen.

A loud gasp comes from me, my heart hammering in my chest. I can’t stop the tears from sliding down my cheeks, I can’t prevent the sheer fear that slithers into my body, coiling itself around my heart and spreading its poison through my veins.

I open my mouth to speak, yet no words come out. It’s like my tongue has started to swell, barely fitting in my mouth. I force myself to open my eyes, and a loud scream pierces through my lungs, the only sound I could muster.

The little girl’s mask has fallen off, and instead it’s a decayed body. Body fluids start trickling down her face — or what was left of it. Her eyes are as black as they used to be, her teeth rotten, the grin widely spreading on her face.

The instant smell of the dead hits my nose and I recoil, her skeleton hands holding my throat even tighter.

The fluids splash all over me, a few droplets falling into my mouth.

A wave of nausea builds in my throat, and I’m unsure of how to prevent vomit from coming out.

Soon enough, her body is nothing but a skeleton, with her hair still wet, still messy with dried, wilted daisies in it.

“You killed me, Rosalie,’’ her voice is loud, nearly bursting my ear drums. “You don’t get to just forget about me, you don’t get to just block it out and live your life freely. You’ll pay for what you’ve done.’’