"Two tickets, please," she asked. The salesman ripped off two slips of paper and slid them across the counter.
"That'd be two bucks," he said. She dropped eight coins and picked up the tickets—one for her, and the other for her son, Jack.

She held her son's hand as they neared the gate. The fences were painted cherry red, pearl white, and bright yellow. Large signs and posters hung from tall wooden posts. Lads and lasses arrived in huge batches, towing their parents behind them. Their clothes were just as colorful as the carnival itself: many girls wore frilly, strawberry red dresses, silvery silk stockings, beige hats festooned with vivid violet ribbons or bubblegum pink flowers, and polished, charcoal black shoes; several boys wore navy blue shirts or jackets, khaki pants that brushed their ankles, dull white running shoes, and wore plain baseball caps on their small heads; a lot of adults donned pastel coats, pencil-grey or denim trousers, patterned shirts or blouses, and shoes in different hues of brown.

She handed the tickets to the attendant at the gate. He gave one glance before he grabbed a stamp and marked the tickets with dark purple ink. He handed them back to her.

"Have a good day!" he bade them.
"We will!" said Jack.

As soon as they entered, the noise rushed into their ears like water bursting a dam. What a cacophony! The gentle giggles and hearty chortles clashed with the screams and cries of spoiled children. Vendors shouted slogans and musicians played their instruments loudly. Bells would ring often, signaling that a prize has been won. The scent of buttery popcorn and sweet candy filled the air.

"Mommy, mommy, can we go there?" he asked, pointing towards the tent at the far end.

"Not yet, Jack. Let's explore this area first," she replied.

They turned left and ambled down the board walk. Their feet stepped slowly on the wooden planks. At their sides lined many booths: some were striped, others were plain, and the rest were festooned with polkadots. Jack named the colors of the booths as they walked past them: apple red, milk white, sea blue, banana yellow, bright orange, leafy green, lavender purple, bubblegum pink, chocolate brown, and pitch black. On the left side, a clown with a rainbow wig blew brightly colored balloons and twisted them into shapes. Squeak, squeak, went the balloon as it rubbed against itself. The clown's brown eyes caught sight of Jack.

"Hey kiddo! Would you like a balloon?" he offered.
"Yes, please!" Jack said. The clown grabbed a royal blue balloon and shaped it into a sword. He handed it to the boy.
"Here you go."
"Thank you."

Jack waved goodbye to the clown and continued walking with his mother. It seemed that the boardwalk had been curving right, for the next thing they knew they were nearing the main street. Small tents hosted games, like ring toss and clay pigeon shooting. Several presents sat on the shelves inside the tents. There were toys, plush teddy bears, and one kid even won a set of mugs. Neon signs and whimsical tunes lured passersby to the game tents. If that didn't entice them enough, there were people who were hired to roam the carnival and convince visitors to drop by their booths. "Win prizes!" they would say. "For only twenty cents a game!" they would say. One of them began waving at Jack.

"Hello there, young lad! Would you like to play a dame of darts? Hit anywhere, you get a prize! Hit the bullseye, you win five dollars! Step right up, don't be shy... you've got three tries to win a prize!"
"How much for a game?" asked Jack's mother.
"Only a quarter," he replied. She dropped a coin on his hand and in turn he handed three darts to her son.

The board was just a few meters from the throwing spot. In the middle of the board was a single, tiny dot. The bullseye. Hitting it should be easy, shouldn't it? He placed his hand high and behind him before he swung it forward. The dart whizzed through the air and pierced the edge of the board.

"Congratulations, you won a rubber ball!" the attendant announced. He picked up a plastic chest of neon balls, each of them seemingly glowing.

"The indigo one," Jack requested. He was given the indigo ball. Under the shade it looked dark blue, but under the sunlight it appeared to be purple.

Jack picked up another dart. It some quickly the moment it left his hand and hit the wall. He missed. He still had one more chance. He picked up the last dart and aimed just above the bullseye. He threw. The dart flew gracefully across the tent and hit the target squarely in the middle.

"Bullseye! Here are your five dollars," said an attendant. She handed a banknote to Jack's mother.

They waved goodbye. So far the carnival was fun, but Jack felt that something was lacking. Then he remembered: there was a large tent at the far end. His friends had told him all about it. It was where they held the "Greatest Show on Earth": daring trapeze artists swung from one corner to the other; brave men tamed the lions; magicians made snowy doves and rainbow confetti appear from thin air; and there were many more performers too, all of them donning colorful costumes and powdery makeup. The honking of horns and tunes of the trumpets played inside his head. His watch told him that it was ten o'clock in the morning: too early to watch, for the first show would begin at three o'clock in the afternoon. Instead, looming in front of him was a large, dark grey house. Jack looked at it with horror.

Cackling and screaming echoed within the house. Its striped fence, painted crimson red and bone white, dared little children to come inside. Thick canvas walls hid the shouting and shrill shrieking from outsiders. Jack gripped his mother's hand tightly as they neared the ominous building. He asked his mother,

"Mommy, can you accompany me there please?"
"I can, but are you sure you want to go in?" she asked.

   Jack nodded his round head shakily.

   "We can go back if you want. If you're too scared, there's no need to go there."
"But my friends tried it, and I want to try it too," he said. Tears painted his crystal blue eyes. He seemed hesitant.
"If you insist, then we shall visit the Haunted House. But let's eat first... it's not good to go about on an empty stomach."

She tightened the tie on her chestnut hair and led him to the concessions area. Food stalls sprang into view. Pop! Pop! Sizzle, sizzle! Salty popcorn, juicy hotdogs, mouthwatering burgers, and cotton candy galore were sold at the stalls. So many savory snacks and sweet treats to choose from. Jack watched as small, brown kernels exploded into fluffy white clouds, and then drizzled in golden butter. Next to it, wisps of cyan and magenta floated into the air and rolled into a large cloud. Pale sausages rolled across a charcoal plate, slowly turning as red as bricks. Just a whiff of their scent was enough to make anyone drool. The sounds of fizzing soda and slurping of juices coupled nicely with the sweet aromas. Jack knew he was hungry, but he didn't have much of an appetite. He's heard all sorts of stories about the Haunted House: pale skeletons rattled their bones; ghosts jumped at visitors; ladies with wan faces and long, mottled hair flashed wicked smiles; and masked figures chased people around while wielding chainsaws. Good Lord! Jack dreaded them wholeheartedly. What pushed him to go was the dare his friends gave him. He still heard their voices in his mind, calling him "Cowardly Custard" or "Sir Scared-a-lot" and all other demeaning names. Just the mere thought of it made him sick.

"What would you like?" his mother asked. He snapped out of his thoughts in an instant.
"I'll j-just h-have a hotdog," he stuttered. The man at the counter picked up a sausage from the grill and nestled it in a big, beige bun. He drizzled it in viscous sauces and sandwiched a few leaves in between the bun and the sausage. Jack's mother handed a few banknotes and gave the hotdog to her son.

It didn't take more than two minutes before the entire snack disappeared into his tummy. Was he hungry? Yes. But was that why he ate so quickly? Partly. Somehow, the fear that ate him up made him devour the snack instead of nibbling it like a rabbit. He washed down with a gulp of cold soda and they proceeded to the Haunted House.

There it was. An eerie voice beckoned to him from the inside. A faint tune played inside the building, and it grew louder the closer they got. Jack looked to his front, sides and back. No one. No one but his mother. He was the only little boy around, and he hated it. If only he were bigger, then maybe he wouldn't be as afraid. His teeth chattered quietly. His puny legs were trembling. His navy blue shoes squeaked at every step. Jack didn't want to go. Jack needed to go.

"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied.

And so they went in. The warm yellow lights were very dim, and the walls were painted black. Blacker than charcoal. Nothing too bad so far. Jack breathed deeply. "It will be over soon," he told himself.

Ring, ring, ring! Handbells sounded loudly from all sides, shaking violently in the hands of pale ladies whose faces were concealed by their black hair. Jack's eyes widened and he ran off to the next room. He shook. There were no lights, save for the light that passed through a white curtain on the left wall. A shadow crept up the curtain and a crimson-stained hand fingered its edge.

"Boo!" The curtain was drawn back instantly to reveal a man with a deformed face. In his other bloody hand held a knife. Jack screamed and dashed out of the room. His hand dropped the balloon and swung wildly as he ran. His heart beat rapidly. Sweat was beading on his forehead. His tiny feet ran faster than it had ever run. Left and right of the corridor, ghastly figures sprang at him from within framed paintings. A masked man chased him around with a chainsaw. A door. Jack barged through it and slammed it behind him. It should be over, right?

Meanwhile, Jack's mother tried to run after him. She swore that she held him tightly, but suddenly he slipped out of her grasp like a greasy glove. It was too dark to see most things. The costumed actors didn't scare her at all... it was the fact that she might not see her son again.

"Jack! Where are you? Can you hear me? Jack!" she called out. She breezed past the cast members and searched for her son. Maybe he had reached the exit already. After a few turns and climbing flights of stairs, she found herself outside of the Haunted House. There were several people around her, including a group of young children, but he was not there. There was no Jack.

If Jack knew that he didn't have to pass through any door, he would've followed the path and found himself out of the building. But he didn't. Instead he took a left turn and trespassed into a forbidden room. His mother did not know of his mistake, so she took a right turn instead and passed by the door. It looked like an emergency exit from the outside, but the reality was far from that.

Surrounding Jack were about a dozen clowns. Under the pale white light he could see their neon wigs, powdered faces, brightly patterned suits and oversized shoes. He wasn't afraid of them when he first saw them, but the longer he stared the more fearful he became. None of them were like the one that gave Jack the balloon. Eerie smiles crept up their lips and wickedness glinted in their eyes.

"Look what we have! Another boy has fallen to our trap," said one.
"See how small he is! He must be helpless," said another. They closed in on him like a pack of wolves surrounding their prey.
"Do you want to play with us?"
"Come play with us!"
"There's no turning back, kiddo!"
"I want to go home!" Jack bellowed.

He reached for the door, but they grabbed his limbs and tied a cloth around his mouth. They carried him out of the room. A metallic grey van opened its rear door and they tossed him into the back part. They locked him in. The rumble of the engine sounded almost immediately. Poor Jack peered out the window and banged his fists against it.

Not so far away, a chestnut-haired woman was talking to the security guards. Tears rolled down her fair cheeks as she retold them her story.

"I'm sorry, madam, but we couldn't find your son inside. We're still checking the rest of the park," one officer informed her.
"Oh, please find him! He's only eight years old," she pleaded.
"We will, ma'am. We shall call the police soon," said another officer.

She nodded her head and sat on the bench, her head hung low. Little did she know that she shouldn't have ignored the sound of a moving van, making its way out of the park.