╭~Art by━╮

╰━~•♥•~━╯
It always comes in the fall. When the first leaves begin to turn and a harvest moon hangs low in the sky. It begins with a tingle of anticipation—a sense of dread or wonder, but nothing more. Out of the blue, the residents of a village sense that someone or something will soon enter their lives. Then the handbills appear—eerie, teasing flyers, that arrive from nowhere as if carried into the wakening world by the nigh wind, promising that the Carnival is near. By the next morning, flamboyant tents, midway lights and fantastic rides themed after the frightfully familiar icons of Halloween will have already risen from the grounds of some formerly vacant field like the bones of a disinterred corpse.

To those who flock to its spectral spectacle, the Carnival is a traveling horror show that offers a “safe” glimpse of the abnormal and the unnatural. For once in their lives, for just a coin or two, common folk can brave the shadows to walk and mingle with the boogeymen that haunt their nightmares. But come sunrise all trace of the Carnival will vanish into the mist of morning like the memory of a dream. Leaving the townsfolk to wonder if was it ever real or just some fevered dream. Some will long for the daughters of Samhain to return, others will dread their arrival, but the few who chose to embrace their inner-demons on that harrowing night will find a strange sanctuary amid the dancing shadows of a phantasmal fare.