The sun had not yet risen when mr. Jones came in for work and the early Wisconsin air was still chilly.










He was grumbling to himself, as he did most of his days, this time about having gotten the early shift. Again.












They had even recently hired new help, men a good deal younger than himself no less. But no, they still chose to send in good old Jones.


















Still mulling over his own self pitty, mr. Jones shuffled on to the little wouden storage place at the outskirts of the carnival.



The skies where cloudy and the grass still damp with dew. Not at all a day for the carnival.














Or a day to get up at 5 in the morning for work, he thought sullenly.























That's when something caught his eye. A leathery black object, abandoned on the ground. As he moved closer, he found that it was in fact a woman's handbag, lying at the far end of the carnival.



























Hoping that his day may not be a complete waste, mr. Jones slowely reached down towards it.











And that's when he heard the it.












It came from far away and almost sounded like a tapping noise.



















He turned his gaze to where the sound was coming and with the handbag still in his grasp, he started moving towards it, praying that it wasn't something he would have to fix.



















As he neared it though, the sound became clearer. It was a dripping noise, coming almost rhythmly.

























Drip. Drip. Drip.






















It was coming from the fairestwheel.














A strange feeling passed through him, telling him that something wasn't right.



















But he kept on moving. The sound kept coming, louder and louder. As did the beating of his own heart.






Something was definitely not right.



















And then he noticed it. A big, red pool of blood.








The puddle lay underneath the bottom seat of the fairestwheel which was facing in the direction opposite of him.
























He felt a jolt go through his spine, but he could not seem to stop his legs from going foward. Silently as he could he kept sirceling the seat.























The blood pool was large, much to large, he thought.









His breath came out hard ans shaky, making big puffy white clowds in the cold morning air.













He was almost in front of it now.














The dripping sound continude. Drip, drip, drip.










He could feel his pulse rising and hear the blood rushing through his ears.



















Don't look, something inside him suddenly screamed. What ever you do, don't look, don't look, don't...














He was in front of the seat now.














And he felt his body go cold as his whole world shook.











No words could discribe the sinister scene before him. He could feel the vile rise in his throat along with the desperate scream he coudn't conjure.

















It was a woman, young and may even have been pretty if it wasn't so obvious that she was dead.












Her body lay twistedly on the seat like a broken doll and everything was the same shade of red.




















His mind took in all of this information, yet all the while his focus remained only on the woman's pale white face.














Her eyes stared blankly at him but she was smiling.







Or so it was made to look.















A long deep cut had been made on either side of her mouth, creating a big bloody grin from ear to ear.












This can't be happening, he thought.











She's dead.






















He couldn't seem to prosses anything else. His mind felt sluggy and the entire world seemed to be moving in slow motion.























Not just dead, he thought, killed.


























And then the worst thought came to mind.





















She was killed. And he was here, all alone.












The woman's dead face smiled back at him eerily, as if she realized this to.





















Finally the screams came, and they did not stop.