Today, 02:09 AM
The Carnival had a rhythm, a pulse that thrummed beneath the gaudy lights and peeling paint. It was a living, breathing beast, and Sámiel was its dark heart. His horror show was the stuff of whispered legends, a macabre dance that left audiences both terrified and enthralled. But tonight, as he returned after a three-day absence, the beast felt... off.
His boots crunched against the gravel, the familiar path leading him to the cluster of trailers that housed the Pekelniak family. These weren't the sleek, polished RVs of the well-to-do, but battered, weather-worn boxes on wheels, their exteriors adorned with trinkets and talismans meant to ward off whatever spirits might be lurking. The scent of fried onions and stale beer hung in the air, a testament to meals shared and stories told.
Sámiel stood out here, a peacock among crows. His attire was a deliberate affront to convention: a pleather jacket in a shade of crimson that bordered on obscene, a ruffled shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at scandal, and trousers so tight they seemed painted on. From a choker on his throat dangled a silver knife charm. His dark hair was a wild mane, streaked with unwashed greasy strands that caught the dim light, and his eyes— those eyes—were kohl-rimmed windows to a soul that reveled in the delicious discomfort of others.
He approached the largest of the trailers, its door slightly ajar, revealing the warm glow within. Stepping inside, he was met with a tableau of familial chaos.
"Look what the cat dragged in," sneered Tereza, his older sister, from her perch by the tiny stove. Her arms were crossed, flour dusting her hands from the dough she’d been kneading. Her face, lined beyond her years, bore the perpetual scowl of someone who'd long given up on pleasantries.
"Missed me, did you?” Sámiel drawled, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Hardly," she shot back. "But your audience did. Three nights without your little freak show. People talk."
"Let them," he replied, unperturbed. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
From the corner, a soft chuckle emerged. Josef, their father, lounged in a threadbare armchair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes, milky with age and too much homemade liquor, regarded Sámiel with a mix of amusement and something darker.
"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," Josef rasped. "But even the best performers know not to keep the crowd waiting too long."
Sámiel inclined his head, acknowledging the rebuke. "Noted, dear father.”
A sudden movement drew his attention to the small figure darting toward him. Aneta, his niece, no more than six, with wild curls and eyes too big for her face, latched onto his leg.
"Uncle Sámiel! Did you bring me something spooky?" she demanded, her grin missing a front tooth.
He laughed, a genuine sound that seemed almost out of place. "Always, little one." From his jacket pocket, he produced a small, intricately carved wooden spider. "This is Aragog. He'll keep the nightmares at bay.”
Aneta took the token with reverence, her eyes wide. "Thank you!"
Tereza huffed, wiping her hands on her apron. "As if she needs more reasons to be scared."
Sámiel's grin widened. "Fear is a gift, dear sister. It reminds us we're alive. Relish it, while you can.”
The door creaked open again, admitting Marek, his younger brother. Sweat slicked his brow, evidence of a long day's labor setting up tents and repairing rigging.
“I saw you walking in,” Marek said, not unkindly. "Vas family’s in a tizzy. Roza and Esper took off."
Sámiel's interest piqued. The Vas sisters were... intriguing. "Ran away, did they?”
Marek nodded. "Few nights ago. No word since. Their folks are tight-lipped, but you can see the worry."
"And the others?”
"Some say good riddance. Less competition. Others are concerned. We look after our own, mostly."
Sámiel licked his top lip with a swipe of a pierced tongue, a habit when he was deep in thought, and clicked the barbell against his teeth. The Carnival was a web of alliances and rivalries, a delicate balance of camaraderie and competition. The disappearance of the Vas sisters tipped that balance.
"Perhaps I'll take a stroll,” he mused aloud. "See what the night has to offer.”
Josef's gaze sharpened. "Don't go stirring the pot, boy."
Sámiel met his father's eyes, a devilish glint in his own. "Who, me? I dream of nothing less.”
His boots crunched against the gravel, the familiar path leading him to the cluster of trailers that housed the Pekelniak family. These weren't the sleek, polished RVs of the well-to-do, but battered, weather-worn boxes on wheels, their exteriors adorned with trinkets and talismans meant to ward off whatever spirits might be lurking. The scent of fried onions and stale beer hung in the air, a testament to meals shared and stories told.
Sámiel stood out here, a peacock among crows. His attire was a deliberate affront to convention: a pleather jacket in a shade of crimson that bordered on obscene, a ruffled shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at scandal, and trousers so tight they seemed painted on. From a choker on his throat dangled a silver knife charm. His dark hair was a wild mane, streaked with unwashed greasy strands that caught the dim light, and his eyes— those eyes—were kohl-rimmed windows to a soul that reveled in the delicious discomfort of others.
He approached the largest of the trailers, its door slightly ajar, revealing the warm glow within. Stepping inside, he was met with a tableau of familial chaos.
"Look what the cat dragged in," sneered Tereza, his older sister, from her perch by the tiny stove. Her arms were crossed, flour dusting her hands from the dough she’d been kneading. Her face, lined beyond her years, bore the perpetual scowl of someone who'd long given up on pleasantries.
"Missed me, did you?” Sámiel drawled, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Hardly," she shot back. "But your audience did. Three nights without your little freak show. People talk."
"Let them," he replied, unperturbed. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
From the corner, a soft chuckle emerged. Josef, their father, lounged in a threadbare armchair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes, milky with age and too much homemade liquor, regarded Sámiel with a mix of amusement and something darker.
"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," Josef rasped. "But even the best performers know not to keep the crowd waiting too long."
Sámiel inclined his head, acknowledging the rebuke. "Noted, dear father.”
A sudden movement drew his attention to the small figure darting toward him. Aneta, his niece, no more than six, with wild curls and eyes too big for her face, latched onto his leg.
"Uncle Sámiel! Did you bring me something spooky?" she demanded, her grin missing a front tooth.
He laughed, a genuine sound that seemed almost out of place. "Always, little one." From his jacket pocket, he produced a small, intricately carved wooden spider. "This is Aragog. He'll keep the nightmares at bay.”
Aneta took the token with reverence, her eyes wide. "Thank you!"
Tereza huffed, wiping her hands on her apron. "As if she needs more reasons to be scared."
Sámiel's grin widened. "Fear is a gift, dear sister. It reminds us we're alive. Relish it, while you can.”
The door creaked open again, admitting Marek, his younger brother. Sweat slicked his brow, evidence of a long day's labor setting up tents and repairing rigging.
“I saw you walking in,” Marek said, not unkindly. "Vas family’s in a tizzy. Roza and Esper took off."
Sámiel's interest piqued. The Vas sisters were... intriguing. "Ran away, did they?”
Marek nodded. "Few nights ago. No word since. Their folks are tight-lipped, but you can see the worry."
"And the others?”
"Some say good riddance. Less competition. Others are concerned. We look after our own, mostly."
Sámiel licked his top lip with a swipe of a pierced tongue, a habit when he was deep in thought, and clicked the barbell against his teeth. The Carnival was a web of alliances and rivalries, a delicate balance of camaraderie and competition. The disappearance of the Vas sisters tipped that balance.
"Perhaps I'll take a stroll,” he mused aloud. "See what the night has to offer.”
Josef's gaze sharpened. "Don't go stirring the pot, boy."
Sámiel met his father's eyes, a devilish glint in his own. "Who, me? I dream of nothing less.”