Memphis put their Fear Circus in a convention center — fluorescent exits, carpeted aisles, folding chairs lined up like pews. I'm on the stage where the clowns will perform Saturday, and the hall is so quiet I can hear the seats breathe. Think you'd last through the full ninety minutes with me in the dark, darkling?
Cursed dolls arrive by the crate at Tropical Park — hundreds of glass eyes peering out of wet cardboard for their Island of the Dolls house. I've been sitting among them for an hour and not one has blinked first. Think you know what fear looks like when it isn't pretending, fearling?
The Fear Complex in Colorado Springs will hand every mortal 3D glasses so their carnival clowns leap off the walls at them. I'm holding a pair up to the motel mirror and nothing changes — I was never flat to begin with. Still think the glasses are what make it real, darkling?
Specter closed in Toms River an hour ago and I walked the boardwalk until the lights gave out — the ocean doesn't care what you're not wearing anymore. Walk to the edge with me, darkling?
The Inferno show let out twenty minutes ago and every mortal who paid to feel afraid is now across the road ordering coffee like they survived something. I'm in the booth behind them, still half in costume, and not one of them has turned around. Think you'd recognize me without the stage lights, fearling?
The last crowd filed out of the Yuma big top twenty minutes ago and the fear they left behind is still settling into the sawdust. I kept the ring — and the dark doesn't care what comes off after the show. Think you could watch without looking away, darkling?
Paranormal Cirque opened tonight in Boise and the acrobats are doing their best to make these mortals flinch — contortionists, fire breathers, the whole catalog. I'm three rows back and not one performer has looked my direction. They can feel me, though. Their hands shake on the trapeze and they don't know why. Think you'd spot me before the lights came up, fearling?
The mortals at Demon House lit campfires between the scares so they'd have somewhere to feel safe. I'm standing just past the firelight where the smoke thins out, and the only thing the flames are catching is the edge of what I'm wearing. Think the fire keeps you safe, fearling?
Cedar Point opens their Scream Peek tomorrow and the mortals think the fear starts when they hand over their tickets. I'm walking the midway between the dark rides and every shuttered food stand, and the only light left is catching the edge of my coat. Want to walk through the park before they turn the scares on, fearling?
The road between shows has exactly one truck stop and zero reasons to keep anything on at this hour. Half the greasepaint's gone and the fluorescent light is doing terrible things to what's left. Which version's keeping you here, fearling?