I had read the list of instructions thousands of times. The crimson carnival can only be

found by following a series of specific directions as outlined by those who successfully ventured

there in the past. Just as described by the moderators of the private online forum, I found

it at 3.53 am on a Friday the 13th, out in the countryside after a series of meandering

twists and turns that I had followed meticulously as outlined by those who had journeyed to the carnival

before me. The detailed instructions were specific, a required pain and personal sacrifice,

but I was willing to do what I had to. My palms still stung from where the bladed

pierced it, and I'd intentionally left the wound on dressed. Again, another necessary

part of the journey. Blood poured from it all over the steering wheel. This seemed distant

and unimportant now. I had found the place. After years of hearing about it, reading about

it, researching and building up the courage, I had actually found it. I turned off the engine

and got out of the car, the cool night air crisp and fresh as I breathed in. Walking towards

the engines of the fairgrounds, I saw no one else around. The outside of the place was

empty and devoid of visitors, forsaken. The moon was a sliver and a dark night sky above.

Most of activity could be heard from within the fair. Carnival barkers and rides allowed

ding-ding-ding of someone winning a prize. Everything that would make you think it was a regular

carnival, an ordinary fair. A clown was at the entrance. His face was painted bright

red around the eyes and mouth, his hair and around nose so crimson. He wore yellow pants

with suspenders and welcomed me, waving an oversized glove-tand as I approached.

Oh, ho, ho, ho. I've got a surprise, it's true. Who found the crimson carnival? What

a delight it's you. The clown in the yellow pants was there, just like all the reports

had said. You found the place, my friend. Get inside and have some fun. Your time now

...