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Brett

Being surrounded by this demented fucking shit twenty-four, seven is really starting to get to me. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a good Halloween party or carnival as much as any other good ol’ southern boy. Problem is, this one never ends.

These sick fucks actually seem to get off on it all.

I swear on my daddy’s grave, if these people knew what all went on behind the scenes at their beloved Carnival of Darkness, they might think twice about handing over their hard earned cash.

Shit!

Just thinking about all the sick things I’ve seen in the last six months makes my damn stomach turn. I’d surely be happier than a pig in shit if I could get the hell out of here. But that ain’t in the game plan just yet. Wish I had never accepted this god-forsaken job. I owe Mac my damn life, so when the man says jump, I don’t even ask how high until I’m already in the fucking air.

For now, I have to keep up appearances and keep acting my part. I run the menagerie. It’s my job to care for the animals used around the C.O.D.  Lucky me, I also get to put on a little show once a night. You just gotta love being ogled by a shit ton of freaks while riding a horse and lassoing a hot chick who is wearing very little in the clothing department. Not to mention that same chick just happens to be running from a knife-wielding, creepy ass, blood-covered clown.

I get no damn satisfaction in roping some helpless woman so that the clown can catch her. Hell, each and every night my need to take that fucking knife from the clown and give him the fight of his life grows harder and harder to resist.

If it was all an act, maybe I could look the other way a bit easier. Unfortunately, I know that it’s not. I know that each and every night the girl gets kicked, dragged around, and stabbed, and not a single fucking second of it is fake.

Her screams of pain and her fear-filled eyes are one hundred percent real. They fill my dreams, turning them into nightmares I can never escape.

Copyright © 2016 by Becca Moree