Twisting, turning, macabre terrors of the night undulate in a mad, writhing dance to the devil’s song of the Carnival. The entrance fee, paid once ensnared, is Comfort and Sleep. The games cost Dreams, but Nightmares are the prize and everyone is a winner. The bloated tents sit in corpulent decadence, soured by time and horror. Ignore the stains of blood. There’s plenty of time to leave more, and everyone takes a turn. Yes, the grounds seem empty, but don’t try to leave. There lurks a new Terror in every shadow, and besides, the gate is locked.
Good night, my child.