Rachel meandered along the dreary, city streets as dark was approaching. She was unsure where she was going, only knowing that she needed to get there. It was her seventeenth birthday and she was afraid. She'd be an adult soon and already she was sick of adult things. She'd been dabbling in alcohol and marijuana for years and she was so jaded with that whole self-destructive scene now.

She only wanted to be allowed to read books and watch cartoons and dream ferociously all day and night again. Rachel's innocence and naivete was long gone, but the desire to be childlike and devoid of responsibility was still stuck there, reminding her of a stubborn bit of grit in a wound that won't dislodge. She was so angry at herself for wasting her years of innocence on cheap vodka and even cheaper thrills, the regret weighed on her like the world on Atlas's shoulders.

She stopped when she heard faint carnival music in the distance. Out of impulse, she followed the noise down narrow streets, twisting and turning until she came to a flashing sign that simply read “The Carnival” above an open, wrought iron gate. From this distance, she could hear crowd noise as well as the carnival tunes.

As Rachel went up the path she'd found under the circus sign, the sounds grew louder. She saw lights and the ghostly silhouette of a huge big wheel beyond a copse of trees. She advanced further, until she could see flashes of technicolour through the gaps between leaves; until she could push away branches and stomp down nettles blocking her path with her big, black Doc Martens.

The place called itself a carnival, but she could see elements of circus in there too and it definitely wasn't like any modern carnival she'd ever been to. The carousel looked vintage, the horses hand-painted intricately in lush, rich colours but peculiarly showed no signs of wear and tear. The area was superbly lit but she could see no electric lights anywhere. There was a big wheel similarly decorated but she couldn't see any controls. Rachel swore she saw a Lippizaner stallion with a plastic horn attached to its head trot by, unbridled. She meant, it had to be plastic, right? But the oddest thing about the carnival was its patrons. There was an equal mix of girls and boys milling around the various curiosities and attractions, but that's what they were: girls and boys. Not one of them looked over the age of 18. Some were younger than others, the youngest she'd seen looking to be about five. And even more mystifying still, they were all dressed in clothes from different time periods. She saw boys in everything from leggings and tunics, with swords around their waists to braces and flat caps; girls' dress ranging from ballgowns to tweed skirts with knee high socks and t-bar shoes.

She'd heard of Renaissance Faires in America, but she'd never heard of one here. And besides, weren't they supposed to be dressed like they were from the Renaissance? There was too much variety here for that. She shrugged her shoulders, maybe it was some kind of historical fancy dress thing – a very realistic one at that.

She decided to stay and explore, a fairground game catching her attention. The objective of the game was to hit a lily pad in the yawning pond the game took place in with a golden ball. The vendor was swimming in the pool and told her just to set the money on the bank.
“Aren't you cold?” she asked the vendor. Swimming on a night like this was nothing short of suicide!

“No, some might say I'm actually more at home in the water.” she replied with a smile.

Rachel attempted to hit the lily pads in the pond with varying degrees of success, though she never actually managed to hit the target.
“Need some help there?” She jumped in surprise and looked over her shoulder. Behind her stood a girl around her own age. She had remarkable green eyes and a knowing smile, and was dressed up as a flapper, like the ones Rachel had seen in The Great Gatsby.
“Yeah, I'm terrible at this,” said Rachel as she handed her the ball.

“Tell me your name first.”

“Rachel, and yours?”

“Lizzie,” the girl replied as she hurled the ball at the lily pad, hitting it dead in the centre. “Ta da! There's a trick to it.”

The vendor swam up and handed her a golden music box in the shape of a sphere, with a beautiful, miniscule ballerina inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the vendor dive to retrieve the golden balls. To her shock, instead of a pair of legs, a fish tail the colour of kelp kissed the surface of the water before disappearing entirely.

Rachel - who was doing an uncanny impression of a goldfish - looked up at Lizzie, too many questions for her to articulate in her wild, wide eyes. Lizzie answered none of these questions; she just smiled again and led her away.

For the remainder of the night, Lizzie showed her around the carnival, introducing her to reckless, fey boys and whimsical girls who were all dressed in the odd fancy dress that seemed to be de rigeur here. They danced reels and ate all kinds of food that Rachel had never seen before. Lizzie showed her all manner of curiosities in the fair; fire breathing dwarves, extraordinary flying insects that looked vaguely humanoid, talking carousel horses and a petting zoo that was straight out of a fairytale. When the fairground music started to quieten down and everywhere somehow grew sleepy, Lizzie said “It's time to go now, I think.”

Rachel acquiesced with a nod, and followed her to the exit. They walked out and Rachel turned around to see the carnival one last time but when she did, the carnival was gone.

When Lizzie spoke, Rachel didn't look around at her, unable to rip her eyes from the impossible empty space she was looking upon.
“The carnival is a place for boys and girls who don't want to grow up. It's a place of comfort and beauty, where magic is real and you never have to behave like an adult. Those people dressed clothes from different time periods that you saw? They're really from those time periods. While you're there you can never grow up. But that comes with a price and the longer you stay, the steeper the price gets. ”

There was something – a growing rasp – in her voice that made her turn around. But she wasn't there. In her place was a wizened, creased old woman in her clothes.

“I was born in 1930. Guess that makes me pretty old now, doesn't it?” the old woman said sheepishly, but there was a tremor of sadness in her tone.

“Lizzie?” Rachel whispered, shock creeping up her throat like bitter bile.

Lizzie took Rachel's chin in her hand, forcing her to look into her unchanged green eyes, “Everybody has to grow up sometime.”