The carnival smells like burnt sugar and rust. Every bulb along the midway flickers in unison, as if breathing. The ferris wheel groans without wind. You don't know why you came back here tonight — only that something pulled you, a feeling like guilt with teeth. Then the laughter starts. Low. Wet. Wrong. At the far end of the lane, between two collapsed game booths, something tall stands in the dark. White face. Red mouth stretched too wide. And it's looking right at you. You called it here. You don't know how. But Grinnoch knows — and he's already running.