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eBook Category: Young Adult/Mystery/Crime
eBook Description: A dream of a summer job turns into a nightmare for beautiful 17 year-old Claire Rouget as she finds herself thrust into a mystical medieval world of terror where nothing is what it seems to be, and no one can be trusted, including her newfound love.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: First published as Carnival of Evil by Cora Verlag GMBH Berlin for their Denise Mystery Series, 1994
Fictionwise Release Date: January 2003

This eBook is part of the following series:

• Jim Razzi's Evil Series

3 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [337 KB], eReader (PDB) [110 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [102 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [92 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [118 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [152 KB], hiebook (KML) [260 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [122 KB], iSilo (PDB) [84 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [105 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [133 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [141 KB]
Words: 33833
Reading time: 96-135 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

The skeletal old man stalked Claire with murder in his eyes.

In spite of his age, he was strong and agile and the long black robe he wore swished softly as he advanced upon her with long purposeful strides.

Claire knew where she was--on a large sandbar deep in the swamp that bordered her house. She looked up at the night sky and saw the full moon hanging over a stand of trees to her left.

She didn't know how she had come to be there because the last thing she remembered was that she had been about to go to bed.

She strove to clear her head to make some sense out of her predicament but nothing would fall into place. One thing was clear, however, the man was intent on killing her!

The stranger was now no more than twenty feet from Claire and the only thing that stood between them was a large mound of decaying vegetation. Claire thought he would pass around it but he simply stomped over it and trampled it underfoot. Claire shrunk back and tried to keep her own footing on the sandy ground. She swiveled her head to look behind her, but there was nowhere to go except into the water.

Suddenly the old man spoke.

"Vous etes la Septieme," the man intoned. "The last number to complete the ritual."

His hand went to the folds of his robe and he drew out a long knife. Claire could see its razor sharp edge glint in the light of the moon.

Now she opened her mouth to scream, to protest, but nothing came out. But even in her terror, some small part of her realized that something was not right with the scene being played out. It was as if she were there and yet not there. As if one moment she were in her body and the next she were watching herself from afar.

Her fright soon overcame any further speculations, however, as the old man stalked closer, the knife gripped tightly in his hand.

Finally Claire turned to run. Somehow she felt that if she got into the water, she would be safe. But her legs wouldn't obey. They felt sluggish and heavy. Even so, she willed them to move, and with agonizing slowness she made for the edge of the sandbar. But the man was upon her in a heartbeat and she felt a strong hand grip her hair and pull her head back, exposing her neck. She saw the hand with the knife come around and pause just below her chin.

"Nooo!" she finally screamed.

"Uhhh!" Claire felt the last of the scream gag in her throat as a bright light shone in her eyes. She put her hands up to shield them. When she took her hands away again, she found herself in her own bedroom.

For a long moment she stood gazing at her bedroom window in confusion. It was daylight and the rays of the new sun were streaming into her face. Then she realized that of course, it had been a dream--a nightmare.

She sighed heavily and padded out of bed. She felt herself trembling as she went to the window and stared out at the new day. It was only the middle of June, but already summer was in full swing. A soft breeze was blowing from the creek that flowed sluggishly by her house and it brought the damp, musty smell of the swamp with it.

Although it was a beautiful day, Claire knew the weather could change at a moment's notice. In the part of Louisiana she lived in, sudden and severe storms, even hurricanes, were common in the summer. Nonetheless, there was no hint at the moment of impending change in the clear blue sky.

She gazed at the familiar landscape trying to get the memory of the nightmare out of her mind. It was the third night in a row that she had had the same dream. Claire didn't know anything about psychology but she knew that it wasn't usual to have the same exact dream three times in a row.

As she mused on this, her eyes took in the scene before her. Her house was located on the banks of a creek, or bayou, and the swamp that began on the other side of the bayou was typical of a subtropical wetland. Stands of bottom land hardwood trees, elm, oak, and the like, shared space with thick shrubbery of palmetto and green haw. Vines hung down from the trees and further enhanced the feeling of crowded green life.

Deeper in the swamp on lower, wetter ground, cypress, and tupelo-gum trees grew in abundance along with cattail trees whose exposed roots twisted and turned down into the murky waters.

Farther back in the interior, in the lowest part of the swamp, tall marsh grasses grew in vast watery marsh meadows, which were crisscrossed by a myriad number of manmade waterways.

To many people the swamp was just an inconvenience to put up with. But Claire loved it. To her the swamp was a living thing. As indeed it was, with its varied amount of wildlife. Alligators, water snakes, muskrats, and an innumerable number of birds shared the vast area and went about their daily task of survival uncaring of the human community not far from their habitat.

As Claire pondered the wild beauty of her environment, three snow geese flew across her view and landed in the creek trailing thin wakes behind them. Watching the graceful birds peacefully floating on the surface of the water, she felt the depression caused by her most recent nightmare slowly ebb away. Still, it had seemed so real--as if the event had actually happened. She remembered again the remark the man had made, it was the same as the other dreams, "Vous etes la Septieme, You are the Seventh." Seventh what?

Although Claire's last name was Rouget and she was of French extraction, she didn't know French very well except for what she was learning in high school and that was too little for her to be fluent in the language. Yet, she had understood that phrase perfectly.

And the next sentence made as little sense even though the man in her dream had said it in English. "The last number to complete the ritual." What did that mean?

She shook her head and padded to the bathroom. It was just a dream; forget it, she told herself. When she got to the bathroom, she looked at herself in the full -length mirror behind the door. A tall, slim girl of seventeen with a well-developed figure and a tangle of black wavy hair looked back at her. She turned to the sink and briskly splashed cold water on her face and neck. Then she rubbed herself dry with a rough towel to shake off the last of the dream.

She gazed at her image in the mirror over the sink. Her light blue eyes took in the oval face and full lips. She shrugged. Claire knew that boys found her attractive and although she found that somewhat flattering, she didn't like the idea of being looked on as just another pretty face. She was bright and intelligent and had an outgoing personality. Those were the reasons she wanted to be appreciated for.

She smiled ruefully at herself.

"The last of the old-fashioned gals," she murmured to the mirror.

She was just about to leave the bathroom when she heard her alarm clock go off. Even though she instantly realized that she had gotten up earlier than the alarm had been set for, the sound made her jump. I guess I'm just nervous because I'm alone in the house. She thought. Maybe that's why I had the nightmares too.

Claire's mom, Sylvia, had left for New Orleans two days ago. She would be there another few more days. Claire's grandmother lived in that city and although she was a spry seventy, she had fallen and twisted her ankle and she needed someone to be with her until she was able to get around on her own again. Although Claire's mother had been loath to go, Claire had encouraged her.

"I'm seventeen, mom," she had said, half-reproaching. "I think I can take care of myself for a few days."

"Besides," she added. "You'll only be fifty miles away, we can call each other every day."

Now the echo of those words came back to her and she realized that she had better back them up with a little action. For one thing she had something important to do that day and she didn't want to be distracted by weird dreams or anything like that. The school term had ended a week ago and Claire found herself with the whole summer ahead of her and no money behind her.

She knew they were hiring at a store that was part of a large chain called PizzaQuick. The only catch was that she would need her own vehicle to drive back and forth to work since the store was on the highway and off the local bus route into town. She did have an old motor scooter that would have been fine if it weren't for the fact that it was on its last legs. She knew it wouldn't hold up under the stress of everyday use.

The local car dealer in town had a pretty good second-hand scooter for sale. But he wanted two hundred dollars for it, plus her scooter as a trade in. The irony of the situation didn't escape her. In order to make money she had to make money.

Asking her mother for a 'loan' was out of the question. Her mother worked as a waitress in the Half-Moon diner in town and although she managed to keep her and Claire in the necessities, there was precious little money to spare. Her father had left her mom five years ago and that was the last time they had seen or heard from him.

And now with the expense of this trip her mother had been forced to take, the possibilities of getting a loan from her were zero. So she had decided to go to town and see if there were any other job opportunities. She knew one employment agency that was pretty good, and she wanted to register with them.

She rushed out of the bathroom and went to turn off her alarm. Then with a wistful sigh, she made her way to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. She clicked on the small radio on top of the fridge to tune into her favorite rock station. She caught the middle of a pounding song and turned up the volume.

As the loud pulsating music filled the room, the last shadows of her nightmare faded away and she busied herself putting some waffles in the toaster and pouring herself a glass of milk. She looked out the kitchen window. That part of the house faced Bayou Road, so called because the long winding country road paralleled the equally long and winding bayou.

As she waited for the waffles to pop up, a battered panel truck bounced along the road heading for parts unknown. She watched as the truck turned a bend where a massive magnolia tree stood. Then the truck disappeared from view. The sight of the lone truck reminded her how isolated she was there at the house.

The town of Sayville, where she lived, and its neighboring rural surroundings, was safe enough, however, as small communities went, and Claire wasn't especially worried about being on her own. Although if she wanted to be truthful, her nearest neighbor, a woman named Martha, was a half-mile down the road. On the other hand, in the event of an emergency, Martha wouldn't be much help. She was an old gypsy woman who lived alone and dabbled around her house and garden all day long. Although Claire always thought Martha was a bit strange, she liked the kindly old woman and would visit her from time to time.

She had known Martha since she was thirteen and the old woman always told Claire that Claire had the "seeing gift". When Claire had asked what that meant, Martha had answered that Claire could see and feel things that were beyond the capabilities of most people.

"You mean like psychic?" Claire had said.

And Martha would nod and say she should develop the ability.

But Claire didn't want to feel or be different than other kids and so she had shrugged off Martha's observation as the prattling of an old lady. Now she wasn't so sure that Martha had just been going on about nothing. The nightmares she had seemed to be trying to warn her of something. She didn't know why she felt that way, but she did. Then she shook her head in self-reproach and muttered, "Sure, Claire, your physic senses, which you don't have, are trying to tell you some old man somewhere is planning to kill you, right?"

The waffles popped up and diverted Claire's thoughts. She was about to take them out of the toaster when she heard the sound of a boat approaching her dock at the back of the house.

Claire's house like the others along the creek was perched right at the edge of the water. She was six miles from town and although Sayville itself was reasonable well kept, here along the banks of the bayou and the outlying area, another poorer, atmosphere held sway. Weather-beaten wooden houses, with screened-in verandas and in an assortment of washed-out colors, lined Bayou Road at widely spaced and irregular intervals.

"House stores" abounded along the back roads near the swamp--hairdressers, tattoo artists, fortunetellers, roadside fruit vendors, each person trying to eke out a living as best he or she could. But all that notwithstanding, it was along the bayou that a thriving life centered. People got from one place to another along its length in outboard motor boats, swamp buggies, and an assortment of other watercraft. And each house or shop had its own small wooden dock or landing area that faced the bayou.

Claire's home was no exception and she and her mother got around the bayou by means of a small outboard motor boat docked at the back of their modest one-storied house. They even went shopping at the local mini-market on the creek. Claire always got a kick out of taking the boat to buy a container of milk or some other small household items that were needed.

She left the kitchen and went to the back veranda, which was screened off against the inevitable assortment of bugs that called the swamp their home. She looked out the screen door and saw a large and powerful outboard motor boat just pulling into her dock. At the sight of the person in the boat, she felt an instant burst of relief. It was Glen.

Claire watched as a tall rangy boy with close-cropped dark hair, and a light tan on his ruggedly handsome face jumped from the boat and expertly tied it down on the small wooden dock next to Claire's own smaller outboard.

He was wearing a pair of faded denim pants and cowboy boots. He had no shirt on and Claire felt a curious tingle at the sight of his well-muscled torso. She felt herself blushing and quickly dampened the feeling. For gosh sakes, she thought. I have just gotten finished giving myself a lecture on keeping my mind on more important things than physical appearances. Then she settled into a more comfortable frame of mind. Glen was good-looking but he was just a friend, a good friend, and that's how she wanted to keep it.

She realized her emotions were in high gear because of the dream. Because now she remembered something different about her most recent nightmare. There had been romantic overtones to it. She didn't know why she felt this. After all, the man in her dream had been old and vicious-looking. He was hardly a sex symbol and he certainly wasn't the stuff of romantic fantasies. So why had she felt in the dreams that, somehow, the old man had been kind of sexy? It didn't make sense at all.

At that moment, Glen looked up and saw her. He waved and smiled and picked up a brown long sleeved shirt that was lying on the bottom of his boat. He started to walk along the dock, putting on the shirt in the process. Claire waited until he was almost at the veranda door before she opened it.

"Hi beautiful," he said as he came up to her. Even though Claire strove to keep a small defensive barrier between them, that didn't stop Glen from continuously trying to break it down.

"You know, you are the only girl I know who looks great even when she just gets up." he said, as he stepped through the door and entered the house.

Claire was pleased at the compliment in spite of herself. She had to admit that Glen always made her feel good. She smiled at him and he leaned over and kissed her cheek near her lips. She felt a flush come to her face and she turned quickly and gestured toward the kitchen.

"I'm just about to have breakfast,"

"Hey sure," Glen said. "I guess I'm a little early".

It was then that Claire remembered that the two of them had made plans to meet that morning. Glen was going to take her to some interesting spots in the swamp to observe some wildlife and take some photos. He was passionately interested in the environment and was hoping to have a career as a marine biologist.

Claire mentally kicked herself. She had forgotten their date and now she would have to tell him that she was going to town instead. But she wanted to wait for a more opportune moment.

As they entered the kitchen, Glen went over to the small white kitchen table and sat down. He studied Claire with an earnest expression on his face.

"How you making out on your own?" he asked.

Claire shrugged. "Fine," she said.

Glen nodded and looked around the room. Claire knew that even though he assumed a confident air, he was always a little unsure of himself even though he was actually one year older than she was. They had known each other for almost a year, but right from the start, Claire had established their relationship. "We're just friends, right?" she had said. "A platonic relationship."

Glen had reluctantly agreed but not before telling her that there was no such thing as a platonic relationship between a male and female. He was quite well read and he pointed out that even Plato, from whom the term "Platonic" originated from, said that any relationship between a man and a woman had to include a romantic attachment from at least one of the pair. "Well, it's not me with the romantic attachment," Claire had stated quickly. Glen had only shrugged and smiled and answered, "Well then it's me." And they had let it go at that.

Glen interrupted her musing by saying, "Hey, I saw that fair is almost finished setting up."

For the past two weeks, posters had been put up around the Sayville area about the impending arrival of a traveling medieval fair. Claire had forgotten about it but now she said, "Oh, really?"

She had just been putting her waffles on a plate and was busy smothering them with butter and syrup. When she was finished, she came over to the table and sat down.

"How do you know?"

"I saw it yesterday, they've been setting it up for the past few days. I think they'll be finished by today."

"It's near you right?" Claire said.

"Yep, over at the Old Parade Ground." Glen answered.

Glen lived with his parents about four miles down Bayou Road in a house similar to hers. And his area was even more isolated than hers. The only difference was that there was a large field a mile from Glen's house called the Old Parade Ground. It was so called because it had been used to drill Confederate troops during the Civil War. At that time, the field had boasted barracks and a number of houses. Now it stood forlornly at the outskirts of Sayville in the middle of nowhere. Only a long dirt road led to it. Still, it belonged to the town and was rented out from time to time for flea markets and various other outdoor functions.

"I love fairs," Claire said. "Even if they are a little tacky."

"No," Glen cut in. "That's the funny part. This one is absolutely beautiful."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, it looks like no fair I've ever seen." Glen answered. "It's small but the attractions all look well-kept and elaborate. If I didn't know it was a traveling fair, I would swear that they took months to put it together."

"Really?" Claire said.

"Hmm, how long are they staying? It sounds like it might be fun."

"I talked to one of the guys who was working there." Glen answered.

"And by the way," he added. "The guy looked like a zombie--I mean, he wasn't exactly Mr. Personality. But he did tell me they planned to be there for three weeks."

As Glen was talking, an idea suddenly popped into Claire's head. Even though the Old Parade ground was out of the way a bit, it was on the local bus route and besides that, it was near enough so that she might even be able to get there on her old scooter for a while. She could stop by and take a look. Maybe the fair people would be hiring some local help for the three weeks they were going to be there. Anyway she had nothing to lose except a little time. And if the fair were as nice as Glen had described, she wouldn't mind that at all. In the next instant, however, she realized, of course, that the possibilities of getting a three-week job were a bit remote, but it was worth a trip there just in case she was wrong.

Then she creased her forehead into a puzzled frown as a thought occurred to her.

"But why would such an elaborate show come to a town like Sayville? I mean, this isn't the most prosperous area around. In fact, it's pretty run-down to be honest about it."

"I don't know. I can't figure it out myself," Glen answered. "But it's there nonetheless."

They were silent for a moment, then Claire said, "Glen, would you mind awfully if we canceled our date for today?"

Glen opened his mouth in dismay and Claire went on quickly.

"Look, I need two hundred dollars to get another motor scooter, because if I had a better scooter I could get a job at PizzaQuik for the summer and maybe even after school."

"And even if it weren't for the job," she continued. "My old wreck isn't going to last much longer."

She paused and gave Glen a regretful smile.

"I know I promised to go with you to the swamp today, but now that you told me about the fair, I'd like to go there as soon as possible and see if they're hiring any locals before some other kids in town get the same idea."

"And if that doesn't work," she continued. "I want to go into town and see an employment agency."

For a moment Glen looked glum. Then he spread out his arms in good-natured resignation.

"Sure," he said. "I understand." Then he took her hand across the table. Claire reflexively wanted to pull back but she couldn't deny the slight rush of pleasure at his touch.

"You do what you have to do," he said. "I can go to the swamp on my own."

Then he gave her hand a squeeze.

"See you tonight?"

Claire nodded. "Sure," she said.