At first posters take over dilapidated buildings, poles, walls, designated areas and none in particular, like a storm suddenly washing over everything. Crimson red, yellow, bold tellers, some straight, some crocked, it matters not, they are there, one on top of the other, sticking to walls and lamp posts. They are present on the streets, the wind carrying them until the posters meet a flat surface, a window, anything.
It does not matter which radio station you are listening to, the connection breaks for a moment, reception cloudy, leaving a crackle of a voice through the speakers no matter which way you decide to turn the dial. It’s there, raw, distorted, whispering at first, slowly, like the crawling of the fog that is creeping through the city “Come all, join us for a week of fun…” the last word as if not belonging in the vocabulary of that person, still warped no matter the frequency. However the voice is undeniable, Alaric Blackwell is back in town “Carnage Circus has returned.”
There is no sound of caravans on the cobalt streets that echo even the faintest whisper. The circus isn’t and then…it is. Like it should be, as if it was always part of the landscapes. As if when you look out the window and see the tents and attractions, it belongs. Even for a few days. It calls out to you from within the thick fog.
It’s everywhere, talk around the latest town, twisted music high in the air, an echo contributing to the white noise all around. And as days go by and posters start to peel you know the end of the show is near, another year or more to pass before the show will return, no guarantee of the same performance twice and it feels like losing something once it’s gone, a part unknown yet dear.
A group of people, wanderers, over and over again.
You never know when the circus comes to town until it’s there.
You never see it leave, part of the magic.
“Welcome to Carnage Circus everyone. It has been a while.”
Night Falls, Hope Rises Christmas Special, Carnage Circus Style 🔥
A gift for the creator of Carnage Circus and Talia Crane, the Queen of Angst and Smut, and my treasured friend @whatwouldvalerydo. Thank you for your strength, honesty, kindness, and your ability to strike just the right balance between compassion and passion. Happy Christmas, Your Majesty.
Summary: after seeing a fire dancer’s performance, Artemis is inspired to join the circus. Warnings: a little darkness, a single swear word.
Winter had arrived. The nights had grown long and dark, the winds blew biting and cold, and the frost glittered like diamonds under the light of the silver moonlight, which filtered through the clouds and the thick furling fog that hung in the air like the veil of a jilted bride. But, on the morning of the solstice day, there was a sudden and surprising burst of colour and of noise, of light and of life.
The circus had come to town.
No one knew where it had come from, nor where it would go next. No one had expected it to arrive at all, there had been no posters to announce its coming nor mentions of it in the papers. The town had simply gone to bed one night, and awoken the following morning to find the pointed tents and brightly coloured caravans set up in a nearby field. It had not been there before, but now it was, and that was that.
The rumours about the circus had circulated from the moment of its discovery, all of them as dark and as scandalous as the next. These rumours might have served to cast a dark mark over the circus, to bring it into disrepute and dissuade the locals from attending, but as it turned out, they served to have the opposite effect. By the time evening fell, fast and foggy and fatalistic, a great crowd had queued up outside the gates, all clamouring to get inside.
Artemis went unnoticed as she slipped through the gates alongside a group of nuns. Perhaps it was because of her small stature, or perhaps it was because she walked with her head held high as if she were meant to be there, but no one questioned her presence. Once she was inside the compound, she separated from the nuns to make her way through the circus alone, meandering past the jugglers and the clowns, the peanut sellers and the fortune tellers to the big top, where the main show was taking place.
As the show began, Artemis snuck beneath the raised wooden benches to watch it silently and secretly. It was spectacular. A black panther jumped through a hoop, a ventriloquist’s doll danced on the end of a string, and two acrobats whirled and spiralled from hoops and ribbons hanging from the ceiling.
“And now, ladies and gentleman, our piéce de resistance… The Living Phoenix!”
A large fake nest was brought out into the centre of the show ring, and as the crowd’s applause faded away, the lights dimmed and the nest burst into flames.
Inside the inferno, something was moving, making sparks fly outwards and casting abstract shadows across the sandy floor surrounding it. Artemis craned her neck to see better as the Phoenix rose upwards, but as it did, she realised that the creature emerging from the flames was not a bird at all, but a woman.
The woman had vivid red hair, eyes that seemed to shift between cool turquoise and warm amber, and skin so pale it seemed to sparkle in the firelight. As for the fire itself, it did not affect her. She moved inside it and with it, touching and holding and breathing the flames. Perhaps she was part-flame herself. Artemis would not have been surprised if that were the case; the woman may not have been truly a phoenix, but she could not be entirely human, either. Whatever she was, Artemis wanted to be it herself.
The show ended with Artemis still staring, open-mouthed and barely breathing, at the fire dancer, The Living Phoenix, her eyes watering from the brightness of the flickering light. As the crowds filtered out of the tent and towards the gate, she held back, considering her next move.
The circus was there for one night, and one night only. If she wished - really, truly wished - to run away with it, this was her only chance to do so. And so, instead of leaving the circus by the gates like the rest, she hid behind one of the tents, and once she was certain that no one was looking, stowed herself away inside the first unlocked trailer she could find.
The exterior of the caravan had been painted bright red and gold, but inside, it was dark, with the lights turned off and the curtains closed. She pulled them back slightly, and peeked out of the window through the narrow gap. Outside, the circus was being packed up. Soon, it would be leaving, and so would she. The roots of her hair tingled with anticipation.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Artemis’ heart sank at the sound of a woman’s voice behind her, and grimacing, she turned to see The Living Phoenix herself standing in the doorway of the caravan, her amber-coloured eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I liked your fire dancing,” Artemis told her. “I want to learn to do it, too.”
“So, you decided to sneak into my caravan?”
“I didn’t know this was your caravan.”
“No?” The Living Phoenix raised a single eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”
Artemis stuck her chin forward and looked her in the eye. “I want to join the circus.”
She had not known how she had expected the Phoenix to react, but it certainly was not for her to let out a quiet snort of derision and for a dark shadow to pass over her face.
“No, you don’t,” the Phoenix muttered bitterly.
“I do, honestly I do. I want to learn to dance on a ribbon and tame a lion and be one with the flames. I want to run away with all of you and never look back, not even-”
Her sentence was cut short as the Phoenix darted across the room and slapped her hand to Artemis’ mouth.
“Be careful what you wish for, especially around here,” she hissed. “This life is not all it is cracked up to be.”
“You don’t know what life I’ve come from,” Artemis told Phoenix as she writhed herself free from her grasp. “I don’t see that this could be worse.”
“Things can always be worse.”
“And they can always be better.”
The Living Phoenix laughed, a short, sharp, harsh sound. “In that case, you might as well stay put. Perhaps things will get better where you already are.”
“And if not?”
“Then you can pick another circus to run away with. But trust me, you do not want this one.”
The look in the Phoenix’s eyes was no longer confrontational, but deeply, unfathomably sad, as if their now-turquoise colour had come from a lifetime’s worth of tears. In a second, Artemis went from envying her to feeling sorry for her.
“Hopefully things will get better for you here, too,” she told her, with a smile that she hoped was reassuring. The Phoenix’s lips twitched a little, but she shook her head sadly.
“I ran out of hope a long time ago.”
“But you can’t run out of hope!”
“Can’t you?”
“No,” Artemis shook her own head. “There’s always some hope, somewhere. Hope is like the stars. Even when the sky is all cloudy and misty, like it is now, they’re still there. You just can’t see them, that’s all.”
“You have a point there.”
“I know I do.”
Somewhere out in the darkness, a clock began to chime. Twelve rings of a bell echoed in the air.
“It’s midnight,” said The Living Phoenix, casting a nervous look at the door of the caravan. “You should go home, before it is too late.”
“But-”
“You are not coming with us.”
Artemis sighed. “It was worth a try, I guess. Goodnight.”
“Good bye.”
“Yeah, good bye. And good luck.”
“And to you.”
There was nothing more for either of them to say, so Artemis left the caravan by the door The Living Phoenix held open for her. Outside, the fog had started to lift, and the bright shining lights of the circus had dimmed. Without them, it was darker than ever.
The Phoenix smiled as she watched the girl disappear into the gloom and turned her face to the heavens, where the stars could now be seen, shining in the inky expanse of night sky, where they always had been, and always would be.
“She burned, like a brand of fire. I wanted her to burn, to scorch my skin and wipe the slate clean. But the curse wasn’t skin deep, no, it had always been soul deep. And there I didn’t know how to let anyone in. Despite all the darkness, everything I hid so well, her light just laid it bare before my eyes and for that I could not look at her. I wanted to hate her from the very moment I saw her and realized who she was, or even better...what. But the curse didn’t even give me that. So I loved her, for I was lost the moment she became a part of the show and I saw colors around me once more.”
On 19.11.2021 I introduced the concept of Carnage Circus as an Alternate Universe (AU) for some characters of mine and some friends used in fanfiction. It was an idea I wanted to launch for Halloween. A small story I used in order to have fun, building a new world and giving it the Halloween vibes.
When I actually went back in time in order to find the date...I was stunned. In my mind, they had been with me always, it seems like yesterday that the idea came to life.
However they had lived and I wrote for them a long time after the initial announcement, last story for it being published on 02.11.2023
Back then...I let it lose, very few planning apart from the lore and some rules set in stone. I just wrote. And out of that love for the idea a story was born, alongside multiple other mini stories of before and after some time later.
Now I am sitting almost...half a year in 2025.
In the years/months between I sat with it, read it many times, had my better half publish a paper back version of it that I loved but terrified me at the same time. Because it meant in my head that he actually took time to read, to document and create a live version, something palpable when in my mind it had always been fiction, fantasy...even if I shared it online.
It stunned me into silence. Seeing an actual real copy of the story terrified me.
But I also shared it with friends. Brought it with myself on trips to read it over again, cringed, loved it and hated it at the same time. And one day while I was on the train going to a work meeting I wondered what I can change to make it better at least for me, just for me.
The paperback took a hit, massive one. I am surprised I didn't actually rip pages from the book. I wanted more. More lore than I spent hours thinking of, I wanted more love, more horror, more torment.
Now it's 2025. Am I ready?
No.
But i added chapters, changed names, made it mine more than before. I poured myself once more in a world that I thought forgotten and it felt like falling in love.
Is it ready to see the light of day? No.
Far from it.
But carnage was raw the first time over. And now with rewriting certain parts it's ever worse. I didn't gatekeep that story so I am doing the unthinkable now.
After being silent for so long and the characters not talking, now that they are speaking...I will launch them. They had a week to understand everything after denying practically all on this earth so I shall do the same.
When one chapter is ready, it's out.
I promised myself this year is trial by fire and Carnage Circus wasn't even in the works. Well...looks like a lot of things aren't so let's howl together.
Warning 🔞⚠️: A horror/thriller story depicting elements of blood, manipulation, death, murder, implication of sex or sex themes, abuse, guns, blood, smoking and alcohol consumption.
Footsteps traversed the stuffy office area, people moving from left and right, taking phone calls or talking to others as documents are being exchanged, the sounds a continuous hum despite the early morning hour. Several coffee filters continue to sing their mechanical buzz as people wait with their empty mugs, small talk and pleasantries being exchanged between tired eyes and smiles, yawns hidden behind open hands.
“Looks like this year you’re up.” The captain of the station announced proudly as he discarded a heavy box on top of an already cluttered desk, dust particles lifting, happily dancing in the air between him and the detective who barely took the time to lift his eyes, despite the plaque with his name on it tumbling onto the floor.
Assessing the worn-out label reading “Carnage Circus” he scoffed as his superior bent to place the plaque back on the desk, dusting it off slightly on his pants.
“Is this this a joke captain?” he asked unimpressed as he focused back on the report he was working on, meticulously going over it again as he always did before presenting it to the captain who oddly enough was still standing in front of his desk.
“No joke, you know how this goes every time. A case is still a case and this time you’re the lucky detective.”
Waving him off with his left hand, he did not bother looking at his captain “Find someone else, I’m not interested in ancient cases.” However, the shadow of his superior still loomed over his desk, that piercing stare of his grinding on his nerves. He knew well enough he was not going to let it go.
Setting aside the pen, he opened a drawer, taking out a cigarette, finally lifting his eyes to the man in question.
“No debate detective, it’s your turn and you just closed a case.” He said reaching out to grab the file from his desk, but was met with a heavy sigh.
“I still need to go over it one more time and sign it.” He said taking a long drag.
Opening the file, the captain pointed at the dotted line “Then sign in.”
Shaking his head, he grabbed the pen and provided his signature right under the name Ethan Warren.
The captain smiled, pleased with himself “You need a break Ethan. Work the case, take it easy for a week until they leave our jurisdiction once more. It’s been a while since they have been in our city.” Taking the case file, he left the heavy box on the desk. It was an order, not a request.
Ethan sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette as he looked at the obnoxious label. It was not his area in the slightest. Cold cases like the one before him were usually for rookies, Carnage used in stations across the country to scare them. Every city had a story to share about the mysterious circus and its directors. Because the one who suddenly decided to land back in his territory was not the first and something told him, he would not be the last. Like a gut feeling that manifested suddenly as soon as the idea sprung to life.
Putting out the cigarette he glanced around at his colleagues. He was one of the best detectives there. Used to working hard, long hours on the terrain, his sharp mind piecing together clues others missed.
This…he frowned at the dusty box was not him at all. He heard the ridiculous stories from others, how many detectives quit after looking into the circus even before the change in name. Some even went mad apparently, having said to witness devils and other atrocities they could not explain and were never proven.
And now, the case was sitting on his desk and something did not sit right with him. Last time someone from his station was assigned the case, it was supposed to be a simple easy questioning of the crew. It was an older detective, one year prior to the retirement he was so looking forward to. Poor bloke hung himself a few days after the circus left, doddles of the mirror house and shadows painting his notebook instead of answers from the crew.
The same crew…
“What a load of crap.” With a freshly lit cigarette between chapped lips, he carefully lifted the lid to read past notes of issues that occurred on the circus grounds or what he liked to believe were conspiracy theories at best. Because what they had were just that, ideas, nothing concrete, no solid evidence to link disappearances or deaths to the crew.
The poor soul that managed to stumble into the panther’s cage was ruled out as an accident. They couldn’t even recognize him when the animal was done with him, chunks of his body missing, a gruesome scene for those who were called to take what was left of him.
Another visitor was intoxicated, so the report said, him stumbling into the main tent, a ladder falling on him. Death, instant, not even a hesitation in the report. An accident.
A few apparently were seen entering the haunted house, however never came out. Reports state the circus closed the attraction for a few days each time as police searched, all doors and hidden areas opened, yet nothing was found. But then again, the people reporting the disappearance were always intoxicated to some degree, not a very credible source.
And then there was an influential figure the police had their eyes of for some financial schemes performed and abuse towards escorts and hookers. He was the last suspected victim from three years ago. Apparently, the bastard really liked to be present at every circus show, flaunt the latest girl on his arm, each night a new one. Until a certain beauty caught his attention. Iris Blackwell, the last addition to the circus.
Ash fell from his cigarette against her name, burning through the paper, Ethan cursing under his breath as he quickly pressed his finger against the paper before continuing to read.
Autopsy report: Death by strangulation with puppet cords as he found himself inside the props tent. No prints, his body twisted in the sharp cords as he struggled to free himself.
After that nothing. No more mysterious occurrences or so-called accidents. No more issues as if the balance was oddly restored in the middle of the chaos.
Turning towards older cases, a pattern formed in his mind, one he wrote down on his notebook for later. If he was going to work this so called mess of a case, he would make the best of it.
He would ignore how people stated the circus was cursed. That because of so many deaths, the Carnage name was forged when in the past it used to be something almost generic, fun, catchy. Yet despite the dark rumors circling it, whenever they were in any town, tickets for the main show sold within the very first hours, everyone as if attracted by some sort of morbid curiosity that had them flocking towards the mystery behind the tents and attractions.
Good marketing strategy, or so Ethan wished to believe.
Looking at the list of directors, Alaric Blackwell has held up the longest out of all of them. However, he also had the most changes in crew and main show acts. Until Iris.
“Looks like mister Blackwell is finally ready for another visit.” Ethan said sitting up from his chair placing the reports in his desk, locking it and pocketing the key. Running a hand through his hair, he then lit up another cigarette before stretching. He took his notebook, circling Iris’s name before he left his desk to grab a cup of coffee.
"And when the world all burns to ash and time stops forever in its tracks, maybe then I will let you go. But until that moment comes, you are mine and the circus is your home."
Inspired by the rewrite of Carnage Circus. Have an art piece as well.
Tomorrow I decided to make the business trip by train. Instead of almost two hours in a car, I will be spending almost four on the road, all alone with the paperback copy of circus 🎪 . Edits are a must. Characters will be more in depth, atmosphere darker, chapters longer.
Upon returning, I will be sitting down with my IAND cast and chatting them up, going over the first chapters once more because Twilight decided he wants to try his best. Nemesis needs a break before the heartbreak and Anonymous is happy to try and bring calm to the storm that is his team. Rose will bake cookies for her boys that she sees as her children, Lana is investigating and ignoring the testosterone and Hex is locked up in a room with her daughter, fearing the ghosts.
You don't want to know the amount of things I am working on on a daily basis, first inside my head, then on paper. But Circus is doing great, so here you go, a little something with character anew. New names, new chapters, new feelings:
“Touch me.”
Shaking his head, he grabbed her arms pining them in place, not letting her touch his skin “Don’t.”
“Why, what happens if I touch you? If you lay your hands on me?”
He pondered, carefully choosing the next words “You burn.” Iris blinking away the confusion from her face and failing in doing so “It burns, a destructive force at the tip of your fingers. Light trying to conquer darkness. And failing.” Pushing her away slightly, he turned away from her once more “Go. I don’t want you here.”
And there it was once more, the chaos that was his soul unleashing beyond the confines of his own persona. The director with his back turned, refusing to look at her. Her, a nobody before him, a woman that went by many names and yet none.
“No.” she refused despite the voices behind her growing louder, wicked whispers from the unknown willing her away, forcing her to take a step and then another towards the door. All her learned tricks were wasted on him, he would see through them in an instant. All that she used to be laid like useless bones at the threshold of the circus once she accepted his offer. She could not play him, she could not toy with him “Look at me.”
“Go away!”
“I’m afraid.” She barely managed to utter as her feet took her closer to the door, the darkness as if breaking its hold on her slightly “I’m terrified, but not of you.” Slowly he turned to spare her a glance, lips pressing lightly together, muscles in his jaw working as he tried to bite down on the desperate power trying to claw its way out “I just want to understand. I know you can’t tell me anything, so show me.” She stated extending her hand out to him “Touch me.”
