I considered the rest of our party. The others had lost interest in making fun of Brooke’s new porcupine companion. Instead, they were huddled around Dean staring down at his phone in rapt amusement. So be it.

I hustled to Cal and entered the conversation just as he was providing a description of the strange man to the employees.

“I’m not kidding,” Cal said in conclusion. “His face is just like I said, slimy.”

“He’s right,” I agreed, “but he covers over most of it with his hoodie. Has a bit of a slouch when he stands as well.”

Cal gave me an appreciative nod as we waited for the employees to respond. In truth, we were overreacting; prejudiced, really. The guy, whoever he was, hadn’t done anything wrong. To that point, he’d only inadvertently frightened or startled us. That was his greatest sleight. It certainly isn’t a crime to look different. Yet, upon encountering him a second time, my impulse had been to do exactly as Cal had : to tell one of the fair workers about him.

Morally, that makes me a pretty despicable person.

I don’t know what I was expecting the carnies to say or do. Not only had the guy not done anything wrong, he’d disappeared before we could even point our bigoted fingers at him. The carnies should have dismissed us as intolerant troublemakers.

Instead, they looked at one another a moment before one said, “I’ll tell him you’ll be late.” When the other employee nodded, the speaker left.

The remaining worker licked his lips thoughtfully, watching his departing friend. Eventually, he turned back to us. It was then that I realized I recognized THIS man as well, and our group’s last interaction with HIM had not been particularly amenable either.

“I know him,” he said, lips curling as if the admission were sour to his tongue.

“Who is he?” I asked.

Another pause as the man further deliberated. Then he sighed, relaxing somewhat. “Trouble.” He wiped the back of his hand across his lips and shook his head. “Big trouble.”

The glint on the back of the man’s wrist confirmed my suspicion : this was the foreman we spoke to during our last visit, the one Dean and Cal questioned. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to recognize us.

“Come on,” Cal urged, “you’ve got to tell us more than that. Please.”

The employee looked toward the tent’s now-abandoned shadow, sighed, and shrugged. “Yeah,” he admitted, “probably, I could do that.” He tilted his head to the side and then walked in that direction. Cal looked to me and I nodded. The rest of our group were still enthralled with Dean’s phone, though Brooke, drink in hand, was watching us. I gave her a little wave and held up a finger to let her know we’d be right back.

The carny led us to the “Cocina Especial” trailer. It was currently closed so the small seating area beside it was nearly empty. Our guide took a seat at one of the tables and we joined him.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“This conversation never happened,” he said as we settled in. Great opening.

“Never,” Cal said.

“I have a really short memory,” I agreed.

The man smirked, wiped his palm on his pant leg, and then extended it toward us. “Samuel,” he stated. We shook.

“The man you saw, he’s a former employee. Was with us for a few years.”

Cal scoffed, “’Former?’ Could’ve fooled me; we’ve seen him both times we’ve been here.”

Samuel nodded, frowning, “Yeah, maybe he hasn’t quite gotten the message yet. Can’t get rid of the guy.”

“Like a groupie?” Cal said.

Samuel’s expression hardened. “Like a groupie who shows up, starts bothering guests. Doesn’t go away when asked nicely; doesn’t stay away when ordered to.”

“What happened?” I asked. “He wants to be here so badly, why not keep him on the payroll?”

His frown deepened. “Couldn’t. We had to let him go.” He weighed his words very carefully as he added, “He was… scaring the kids.”

“Because of his face?” Cal said.

Samuel shook his head, “Nah. Other stuff.”

Cal and I exchanged a look; he winced for both of us. We didn’t want further elaboration on that point.

“What happened to him?” I asked, “to his face? Did something happen at the fair?”

Again, Samuel shook his head. “No, not here. That happened after he left – was fired. Some kind of trouble he got in. Nobody ‘round here seems to know for sure.”

“But there are rumors?” I pressed, “speculation?” Maybe it was the grim, guarded way Samuel was talking about it all or just a morbid fascination, but I found myself desperately curious.

Samuel smirked. “Always rumors,” he said, “gossip. Whatever he was caught up in, something went wrong. He ended up doing that to himself. Some kind of fire. I think he got surgery.”

“Reconstructive surgery?” Cal offered.

“Yeah, that.”

“Really?” Cal asked. “Did the surgeons forget to do the actual reconstructing?”

Samuel snickered. “Way I hear, wasn’t much left to put back together. Serves him right for what’s he’s done. But you didn’t hear none of that from me.”

“Should we be concerned,” I said, “about seeing him around again and again? Is he dangerous? What’s he been doing to bother your guests?”

“I can’t talk about that,” Samuel answered quickly. “Mostly it’s just trespassing… now.”

“You’ve told the cops?”

He scoffed. “Cops don’t wanna help us. We got a restraining order, so technically he’s trespassing. When they finally get around to showing up, though, ain’t nothing left of him but smoke. Like you saw for yourselves.”

He started to rise, but I had one last question I needed to ask. “Sorry.” I said. Samuel sunk back into the seat, waited. “What...what did you mean when you said he got ‘caught up in things’ after you fired him? What kind of things?”

“No, no, no,” he said, lifting his hands between us and shaking them. “Can’t talk about any of that.”

Another glance between Cal and I as Samuel stood once more. “I’m sorry, but I’m late for a meeting,” he told us.

We rose as well, and I was about to thank Samuel for his help when Cal asked, “What’s his name, this guy? In case we see him again.”

Out on the concourse, the man Samuel had been walking with had returned and was gesturing to him. Samuel lifted his hand in recognition.

“His name,” Cal insisted, “What’s his name, Samuel?”

“Don’t know,” the fair worker said, his face darkening. “But if you’re smart, you see that monster here or anywhere else, you run.” He paused as a group of shrieking children hurried past. When they were gone, he leaned toward us, quietly adding, “Lest you wanna end up like the others.” He lifted his eyebrows for emphasis, turned away, and left to rejoin his co-worker. The two hurried on without looking back.

As we watched them go, Cal said, “Well, I guess we don’t need to go to the spookhouse now.”

The goosebumps on my arms agreed whole-heartedly.