The smell of oily funnel cakes cut through the muggy summer night and the rattling racket of the tilt-o-whirl.

“It doesn’t seem right to be here without him”, murmered The Pale One.

No response from the friend. The friend fumbled with his winnings for the night; a square mirror decorated with a Def Leppard logo.

After a sticky and painfully long pause, the friend finally replied, “I feel sick”.

“Me too … but we need to keep looking”, said The Pale One.

Three nights ago, the friend, The Pale One, and the Other were here. Now, the Other was gone. It was hard not to blame that on the carnival worker from the other night. They knew better than to trust him.

The lyrics from Iron Maiden kept repeating in The Pale One’s mind.

I just had to see, was someone watching me?
In the mist, dark figures move and twist

Something inside both of them was screaming that they should leave. But teenage machismo overwhelmed those voices.