She pointed to the colorful hand-drawn cards taped to the wall.

  “I receive one in the mail every week from my great-granddaughter.”

  Ren saw the pages of the scrapbook filled with black-and-white photos from long ago. Mrs. Wellshire no longer seemed like the ghoulish woman he had encountered the day before—her terror of the carnival seemed to have subsided. As she turned the pages, he saw glimpses from the story of her life. . . .

  Her wedding day.

  Her daughter’s tenth birthday.

  A Christmas morning with her kids.

  She and her husband on a cruise ship.

  “Life doesn’t slow down for anyone,” she said. “Best to enjoy it while you can.”

  Ren glanced down to check his watch but stopped himself.

  “I came to ask you about the carnival,” he said. “Something happened to my brother there last night. And this morning, he had a nasty bite on his arm, and—”

  Before he could finish, Mrs. Wellshire turned over her arm and pulled up her sleeve.

  “Did it look like this?” she asked.

  Ren examined her forearm, where a strange dark scar was striped across her withered flesh. The shape was the same as Kip’s. It looked like a tiny bat.

  “So whatever it was bit you too?” Ren asked.

  “I warned you to stay far away from that place,” Mrs. Wellshire said, pushing her sleeve back down.

  “I didn’t believe you,” Ren confessed. “But I do now.”

  Mrs. Wellshire gazed at him for a moment, and Ren wondered what long-ago memories were reeling through her mind.

  “What else can you tell me?” he asked.

  The old woman leaned back in her chair and pointed to the wooden desk in the corner of the room.

  “Look behind it,” she said.

  Curious, Ren walked over to the desk. He pulled it out toward him and noticed something carved onto the wall.

  Herbert Copeland

  Was Here

  Ren squinted in confusion.

  “Who’s Herbert Copeland?” he asked.

  “He lived in this room long before me. Died years ago, a few weeks after his one-hundred-and-first birthday. We were in kindergarten together just down the road from here. That boy had more freckles than you’ve ever seen.”

  Ren looked up at her.

  “But . . . how’s that possible? If he was one hundred and one when he died, he would have been a lot older than you. How could you two have been in kindergarten at the same time?”

  Mrs. Wellshire took a deep breath through her nostrils and let it out slowly, as if she was debating whether to let Ren in on a secret.

  Finally, she whispered mournfully, “It’s because the carnival stole more from him than it did from me.”

  14

  A Tale of Two Sisters

  “The carnival stole something from you?” Ren asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Wellshire said.

  “I don’t understand. Are you saying this same carnival came here when you were a kid?”

  The old woman glanced to the doorway to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It comes here once every seventy-seven years, when no one is left around to remember its last visit,” she whispered. “But I remember. I remember it all.”

  Ren glanced out the window at the carnival lights. He couldn’t decide whether to trust Mrs. Wellshire.

  “So what happened to my brother? Why is he different after riding the rides last night?”

  “How did he pay?” Mrs. Wellshire asked.

  “With tickets at first, then once we ran out . . . I don’t know how he paid,” Ren confessed.

  Mrs. Wellshire sighed. “It was the same with my sister and me,” she said.

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes. We were warned to stay away. But we snuck out that night anyway, unable to resist the carnival’s alluring scents.”

  Ren knew exactly what she meant. Once exposed to the stimulating sights and smells, it was difficult to forget them.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “After we ran out of tickets, a man wearing a black cape and with a clock on his cane told us we could give up a day of our lives to ride any ride our heart desired,” Mrs. Wellshire said. “My sister and I both did it. Then afterward, he pointed to a much bigger, faster ride at the back of the carnival grounds and said we could give a month, or even a year, to ride that one. The faster the ride, the higher the price. And each ride . . . chose us. It all adds up quicker than most realize.”

  “You mean you paid with . . . time?”

  “That’s what it stole from us,” Mrs. Wellshire said. “By the end of the night, I had already given up half a year of my life. I swore never to return. But my sister . . . she kept going back.”

  “How much time did she give up?”

  “She couldn’t get enough of the carnival’s thrills, so on the final night she purchased the special ticket—the one with unlimited rides. I left after one night, but she stayed . . . forever.”

  Ren’s head spun with questions. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Do you think that’s what my brother did?”

  “From what you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like he’s purchased the special ticket yet. But he’s received the bite, and he’ll try to go back again tonight.”

  “Is there any way to help him?”

  Mrs. Wellshire opened her mouth to speak, but the urge to cough overcame her. She wheezed violently, and Ren wondered if he needed to go get help for her.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, clearing her throat. “But I know someone who might have the answers you need.”

  “Who?” Ren asked.

  “My sister,” Mrs. Wellshire whispered, then pulled out a gold necklace from beneath the neck of her gown. She clicked open the antique locket, revealing a small, faded black-and-white photograph inside. “Don’t make the same mistake I did by letting the carnival take your brother. You have to find a way to stop him from going back tonight.”

  Ren’s eyes widened in astonishment. The photo was unexplainable. In it were two girls about Ren’s age. They both had dark hair and smiling eyes. And they looked identical. Just like . . .

  “Zora,” Ren whispered. “You were twins!”

  15

  Leave the Past in the Past

  It was only a couple miles to the carnival. The road outside the nursing home led straight to it. Ren ran some of the way, then walked, then ran again.

  Along the path, he saw the same flyer stapled to every telephone pole he passed.

  Don’t Miss Halloween at the Carnival of Horrors!

  Free rides until midnight for everyone who wears a mask!

  When Ren finally arrived at the carnival gates, they were locked. He didn’t see any carnies out on the midway, so he snuck through the bars of the entrance and went straight to Zora’s tent.

  The opening was tied off. Ren knelt down and raised the bottom of the canvas to peek inside. It was dark, and it didn’t look like anyone was there.

  “Hello? Zora?” he called out.

  When no one answered, Ren glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, then he rolled under the flaps and into the tent. He heard a rustling behind a nearby drape, where he could see the corner of Zora’s coffin-shaped bed.

  That’s why no one was on the midway, he realized. Carnies must sleep during the day since they’re operating the rides all night.

  “Who’s there?” Zora finally called out.

  “It’s Ren. The boy you led into the Mirror Maze last night.”

  There was a moment of silence, then she replied, “Hold on. Just give me a second to put on my face.”

  He knew what she meant. His mom always said that when she didn’t want anyone to see her without makeup.

  A few moments later, Zora appeared in her full black attire.

  “That was some prank you played on me last night—if it really was a prank,” Ren said.

  “I told you both to leave and never come back,” she replied. “But you didn’t listen.”

  “I came back because something happened to my brother,” Ren continued. “I thought maybe you could tell me what’s wrong with him.”

  “There’s nothing you can do for your brother,” Zora said. “He made his choice, and there’s no turning back now. He’s the only one who can stop himself.”

  She grabbed Ren’s arm and pulled him toward the exit of the tent. Ren noticed that she was careful to stay in the shadows, untouched by sunlight.

  Just before she threw him out, Ren shouted, “Your sister sent me!”

  Zora stopped and peered at Ren. Stunned.

  “You’re lying. I don’t have a sister,” she said.

  Ren reached into his pocket and pulled out Mrs. Wellshire’s gold necklace. Zora’s eyes grew wide.

  “Impossible,” she whispered. “Where did you get that?”

  “Your sister loaned this to me so that you’d know she’s still alive,” Ren said.

  Zora reached for a gold chain around her own neck and lifted an identical locket from beneath her shirt. She clicked it open, and a duplicate photo of Zora and Mrs. Wellshire as young girls stared back at Ren.

  “I know all about how the carnival steals time from kids,” Ren said. “I know that you should be really old, but you’re somehow still young. And your sister—she wants you to come visit her.”

  Zora stuffed the locket back beneath her shirt.

  “I can’t. I wish I could, but that’s not how things work here,” she replied, then walked back across her tent and began setting up her table for the coming evening.

  “Is it because of your father?” Ren asked.

  Zora glanced up.

  “The magician’s not my real father,” she explained. “He just took me in after I joined the carnival.”

  “Don’t you at least want to send your sister a message? Something to tell her you haven’t forgotten her?” Ren asked.

  “No. I decided long ago that the past is best left in the past.” Zora went back to organizing her table, then she paused and added, “How is she? My sister, I mean.”

  “She’s had a good life, as far as I can tell,” Ren said. “Had a family. Traveled a lot. She seems happy. But she’s nearing the end.”

  “Having a family sounds nice,” Zora whispered.

  She set up tiny skulls and bewitching cards around the moon-ball.

  Ren stepped toward her, sensing she was warming up to him.

  “Can you please tell me how to fix my brother?” Ren asked.

  “I’m sorry—it’s too late. There are no refunds at the carnival,” Zora revealed.

  “What do you mean?”

  She seemed to sense that Ren wasn’t going to drop the subject, so she compromised. “Okay. I’ll give you three questions. But then you have to promise to leave. Be aware. The magician can see and hear everything that goes on at the carnival.”

  16

  Three Questions

  Ren thought hard. He wanted to use his questions wisely.

  “Is the Tick-Tock Man the evil behind the carnival?” he asked.

  “Yes and no,” Zora revealed. “He’s sort of like . . . its ambassador. He was just like you once. All of us were. But he’s from a more ancient time. No one knows for sure how old he is.”

  Ren pondered her meaning, then moved on to his second question.

  “Where did the carnival come from?”

  Zora sat down at the table in front of her moon-ball. She looked at Ren as if she was afraid of what he might think if she told him the truth. “The carnival is . . . alive. It has existed since the beginning of time. Since the human heart was split into good and evil. The more deals the carnival made, the larger it grew. It preys upon the young, because they have the most currency to steal.”

  “Currency?” Ren asked. “You mean like . . . time?”

  “Heartbeats,” Zora corrected.

  Ren suddenly remembered the bizarre words Kip had mumbled at the breakfast table: “Beat, beat. Tick, tock. Every heart is a ticking clock.” Of course!

  “Every person is born with a certain number of heartbeats—of ticks,” Zora said. “The carnival feeds off them. It steals their seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, even decades. The customer decides in their heart what a ride is worth, and then they make payment. Giving up an hour of life for one ride is one thing. But two, three, four . . . quickly turn into twenty, thirty, forty. It becomes an addiction. And some, like your brother, can’t get enough. They keep coming back. And eventually pay the ultimate price.”

  “His life?” Ren asked.

  Zora shook her head.

  “A life can come and go, but there’s only one thing that lasts forever: the soul,” Zora said. “For unlimited rides, the customer has to be willing to sell it. Because of the bite, the Tick-Tock Man already has your brother’s soul in his possession, though it hasn’t been cashed in yet. But if your brother chooses to make the final transaction on Halloween night, he’ll be bound to the carnival until the end of time.”

  Ren couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Kip was on the verge of selling his soul so that he would never have to grow up and could ride the carnival’s rides forever.

  “You’ve already used up your three questions,” Zora said. “But I’ll give you one more.”

  It was too hard to pick just one. But Ren decided there was one that was more important than all the others.

  “How can I get back the heartbeats that Kip already sold?”

  “I told you, there are no refunds,” Zora said.

  Ren sighed, feeling defeated.

  “There is one way you could possibly trick the carnival. But it’s forbidden,” Zora said.

  “What is it?” Ren pleaded.

  Before Zora could reply, she looked up at something behind Ren and instantly grew paralyzed. Ren was just about to turn around to see what she was looking at when . . .

  A black bag was thrown over his head. Something pounded against his skull. And all went dark.

  17

  Carriage of Souls

  When he woke up some time later, all he heard was the sound of ticking. Ren wasn’t sure where he was. It was too dark to see anything. He suspected he must still be somewhere at the carnival, because he heard screams and laughter nearby.

  But when he shouted for help, the rides were too loud for anyone to hear him.

  Ren groped around in the dark and discovered what felt like a small barred window. He opened the blackened pane, and dusty moonlight poured in, casting a soft light in his prison cell.

  He was in a carriage of some kind.

  And the walls were full of . . .

  Clocks.

  Hundreds of them. Each one hung on a nail or sat on a shelf. Ticking, tocking, ticking, tocking.

  Strangest of all, there was a wooden coffin on the floor nearby, with red satin sheets spilling out of it.

  What’s that doing here? Ren thought. Is someone planning to bury me in it?

  An unfamiliar voice drifted out of the darkness. “Welcome to the Carriage of Souls.”

  Ren froze, realizing he was not alone. He saw someone crouching in the corner of the room inside another cage.

  He squinted, trying to get a better look.

  But his eyes soon widened in horror.

  The mysterious figure was wearing a tattered tuxedo and was sitting with his back against the wall. His head was twice the size of a normal human head and didn’t have a single wisp of hair.

  Instead, it had . . .

  Orange flesh.

  A green stem.

  And a set of eyes, a nose, and a jagged mouth cut out like a jack-o’-lantern’s.

  Ren scooted back against the wall in fright.

  Johnny Pumpkinhead, he thought, remembering the painting of him on the side of the freak show tent. I thought he was just a gimmick, but . . . he looks so real.

  “What do you want?” Ren asked.

  The jack-o’-lantern face suddenly blazed to life, emitting a saffron glow.

  “Many things,” the stranger replied.

  “W-where am I? Why are we here?” Ren asked, terrified at the sight of the impossible creature before him.

  Johnny Pumpkinhead laughed.

  “Indeed. ‘Where are we? Why are we here?’ Perhaps the two oldest human questions,” Johnny Pumpkinhead said, swatting at several flies buzzing around his rotted head.

  “Who put us here?” Ren asked.

  “The Tick-Tock Man, of course,” Johnny Pumpkinhead replied.

  Ren thought about it for a moment, then nodded toward the coffin.

  “Is he planning to kill us?”

  Johnny Pumpkinhead spit out a pumpkin seed and shook his head.

  “That’s where he sleeps. It’s his bed,” he explained.

  A shiver ran up Ren’s spine.

  “Are all the carnies . . . dead?” he asked.

  “On the contrary. We’re all very much alive. Very much,” Johnny Pumpkinhead replied.

  Ren gazed around the room, and the sound of ticking grew louder in his ears.

  “And the clocks? Why are there so many of them?” he asked.

  Johnny Pumpkinhead pulled himself up by the bars of his cage and stood the best he could.

  “They aren’t just clocks,” he answered.

  “What are they, then?”

  “Souls,” Johnny Pumpkinhead revealed, and the buttery light within his head grew dimmer.

  “Souls?” Ren asked.

  “Yes. As soon as a customer receives the bite, their soul-clock appears here in the Tick-Tock Man’s carriage. Until the Feast of Souls on Hallows’ Eve.”

  “What happens then?”

  “Do you really want to know? It’s quite terrible,” Johnny Pumpkinhead warned.

  Ren glanced around at all the clocks, wondering which one belonged to Kip. It was impossible to tell. All he wanted to do was find Kip’s clock.

  “Is there a way out of here?” Ren asked.

  “Depends. Have you received the bite yet?” Johnny Pumpkinhead inquired, though Ren had the feeling that the stranger somehow already knew the answer.

  “No,” Ren replied.

 

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