Book Intro: The Calm Before the Clown
By day, it was just a carnival.
Brightly colored tents swayed lazily in the spring breeze, their stripes of red, gold, and violet reflecting the sunlight like festive ribbons. Children clutched sticky cones of cotton candy, their laughter blending with the cheerful organ music echoing from the carousel. Barkers called out prizes in exaggerated tones, and the scent of popcorn, roasted peanuts, and fried dough hung thick in the air. On the surface, it was pure joy—safe, nostalgic, almost magical.
To most, the Carnival of Wonders was just another traveling show that rolled into quiet
towns, opened its gates, and brought smiles before disappearing again like a dream.
But not to John Doe.
John wasn't just part of the crew. He lived the carnival—the rusted trailers behind the funhouse, the early morning setups, the late-night pack-downs, the unspoken rules no outsider ever saw. To the crowd, he was "Johnny the Strongman," the quiet, unassuming giant who ran the ring toss and occasionally lifted heavy things with a wink. But backstage, he was something else entirely. A protector. A secret-keeper. And lately… a man haunted by things he couldn't quite explain.
His coworkers were a strange bunch, even by carnival standards.
There was Misty, the contortionist with too many smiles and a laugh that never quite reached her eyes. Vinny, the magician, who never unpacked his real name and never talked about what was in his locked trunk. And Gus, the aging clown who never took off his makeup—even when the lights went out and the crowds went home.
They all knew the rules of the carnival. Don't stray past the boundary flags. Don't talk to the mirrors in the funhouse. And whatever you do, don't be on the grounds after midnight.
But this was just another sunny afternoon. The rides spun, the children screamed with delight, and the air was thick with happiness.
No one noticed the way the shadows pooled under the Ferris wheel, or the smell of iron beneath the sweet candy glaze.
Not yet.
The Carnival of Wonders had many faces.
But once the sun set, it became something else entirely.
Something hungry.
Something cruel.
Something that had been waiting far too long.
John Doe wiped his hands on a rag already soaked in oil and axle grease, the faint hum of carousel music thumping behind his temples like a memory he couldn't shake.
He didn't talk much—not out of rudeness, just habit. When you work the circuits long enough, you learn that small talk dies fast and secrets last longer than applause. That morning, he'd helped unload crates behind the tilt-a-whirl and fixed a busted light panel on the Ferris wheel. It was supposed to be his half-day. Supposed to be.
But as always, the carnival had other plans.
"John, we got a situation," barked Manny, the gruff operations manager who never made eye contact unless something was broken. "Spinners are acting up again. Middle gears locked. Think you can take a look?
John grunted in agreement, brushing a strand of black hair from his face. He slung his tool belt over one shoulder and started the familiar trek toward the far end of the grounds. The Spinners—cheap, nausea-inducing teacups with flashier lights—had a bad habit of jamming at the worst times. Usually right before the crowd flooded in for the evening rush.
He passed Misty along the way, sitting cross-legged on a ticket booth counter, twisting her arm behind her back in a way that made his spine ache. She offered a wink and a sugar-sweet, "Careful out there, Johnny. The gears bite."
John didn't respond. He never did. She liked that about him.
The Spinners sat in the shadow of the old haunted house ride, the one Gus always called The Boneshack, though no one remembered why. John knelt beside the ride's control panel, opening the corroded access door with a groan of protesting metal. Something was off. Not broken, just… wrong. The gears weren't jammed—they were fused. Like they had melted and cooled again, in a shape that didn't make sense.
He squinted into the darkness behind the ride's machinery, where the sunlight didn't quite reach.
There it was again.
That smell—metallic and heavy, like rust and something else. Something sour.
A breeze blew past, too cold for mid-afternoon, carrying a whisper of something that might've been steam… or breath.
John straightened slowly, his instincts prickling under his skin like a dog sensing thunder.
It was just another ride. Just another day at the carnival.
But deep down, he knew better.
He always had.
And somewhere behind the paint and popcorn and laughter…
The Carnival was watching.
Chapter 1: Beneath the Gears
John crouched again beside the Spinner's core. He reached into the warped gear system, fingers grazing the metal carefully. The surface was warm—too warm for a ride that hadn't run in over an hour. He tugged on a wrench, but the bolt wouldn't budge. It felt… sealed. Like something had fused the steel with unnatural heat.
He muttered under his breath and adjusted his grip.
Clink.
A small object fell loose from between the jammed gears, bouncing once before settling in the dirt. John picked it up. It was a coin. Old. Silver, but not the kind used for carnival tokens. Faintly etched into its surface was a symbol—a
jagged-toothed smile beneath a bleeding crown.
His brows furrowed.
This wasn't from any game he'd ever seen.
"Found somethin'?"
John turned slightly. Vinny the magician had appeared without a sound, as usual. He stood with his usual lazy grace, one hand stuffed into his dark waistcoat, the other holding a half-smoked clove cigarette. He stared at John with those mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown.
"Just a jam," John lied, pocketing the coin.
Vinny raised an eyebrow, exhaled a thin curl of smoke. "That so?"
John didn't answer.
Vinny didn't press.
Instead, he crouched beside the Spinner and tapped one of the metal arms. "You hear it too?"
John looked up. "Hear what?"
Vinny paused, eyes scanning the ride. "It's faint. Like… breathing. Under the rides."
John stood slowly, his shoulders tense. "Maybe the hydraulics."
"Sure," Vinny replied, but the word didn't sound convinced. "Hydraulics."
The silence stretched.
The organ music stopped.
The two men turned their heads at the same time, looking toward the carousel. Not broken. Not fading. Just… silenced, all at once. No fading
notes, no winding down. As if the music had been cut off mid-song.
John's hand dropped instinctively to the heavy wrench on his belt.
From somewhere deeper in the carnival grounds, a scream rang out.
Not a playful one. Not laughter.
It was brief. Panicked.
Then silence.
Vinny straightened. "That didn't sound like hydraulics."
John took a step forward, staring toward the Funhouse. The mirrors were still intact, glinting harmlessly in the sun.
But in their reflection…
Something moved.
Too tall. Too thin. Smiling too wide.
Gone when he turned around.
John didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
The carnival wasn't broken.
It was waking up.
And the sun hadn't even set yet.
To be continued...