Why do the mirrors show reflections that don't match? What causes the temperature to drop in certain corridors? How do the shadows move against the strobe lights? Why do the night workers hear laughter when the attraction is closed? What makes the animatronics move when they're unplugged?
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Happiness is simply a temporary condition that proceeds unhappiness. Fortunately for us, it works the other way around as well. But it’s all a part of the carnival, isn’t it?
― Federico Fellini
The carnival arrived without fanfare on a moonless Tuesday, its weathered trucks materializing in the vacant lot like phantoms condensing from shadow. By morning, striped tents and rusted rides stood fully assembled, though no one remembered hearing hammers or seeing workers through the night.
Children pressed against the chain-link fence, mesmerized by the slowly turning Ferris wheel that creaked its ancient song. The haunted house loomed at the carnival’s heart---a Gothic mansion of painted plywood and genuine dread, its windows glowing with sickly yellow light that seemed to pulse like a dying heartbeat.
Sarah Martinez bought her ticket from a gaunt man whose smile revealed too many teeth. The magic maze beckoned beyond the haunted house, its mirrored corridors promising infinite reflections. She entered alone, following painted arrows on warped floorboards that groaned beneath her feet like something in pain.
The first mirror showed her reflection perfectly. The second added subtle shadows beneath her eyes. By the third, something else stood behind her shoulder---tall, angular, with fingers that stretched too long. Sarah spun around to find empty air, but the mirrors now showed dozens of her, each one slightly wrong.
The maze twisted impossibly, corridors multiplying beyond architectural logic. Her reflections began moving independently---walking when she stopped, smiling when she frowned, mouthing words she couldn’t hear. The temperature dropped with each turn until her breath fogged the glass, obscuring the faces that were no longer her own.
Emergency crews found the carnival gone by dawn, leaving only deep grooves in the earth and a single mirror propped against the fence. Sarah’s reflection trapped inside, her mouth moving in silent screams, her eyes pleading with anyone who looked closely enough to see her still walking through an endless maze of glass and shadow.
The mirror now sits in evidence storage, covered by a heavy cloth that occasionally rustles though no wind stirs. Sometimes, late-shift officers report hearing faint carnival music echoing from the basement, accompanied by the distant sound of footsteps on creaking boards.
