A Serpentine Shadow

Hollowbrook. 

Hollowbrook - not a name for a person, or an object, rather, it stood for the ramshackle suburb which had a dark brook running through it, the water now dyed black. 

Why it was black, Evelyn never knew. It could have been the presence of brachiopods - their blood leeching into the once-clear water. Maybe the blood of Nuckelavee, washed down from somewhere upstream, from where no one knew.  Or, it could be the bones of Trolls, crumbled to dust by the suburb’s ancestors as they declared that troll bones had medicinal components. 

Evelyn scoffed. 

Medicinal components - more like malfunction-al components. 

On her face, held marks. Marks of sorrow. Grief. These were words enough to explain her feelings. The loss, tore the sinoatrial node from her heart, causing it to cease its beating. 

The words held depth. 

Grief - Loss - Sorrow

Their depths were endless. And, thus, sufficient to express her feelings. 

Today, it was the worst of them all. The fair had arrived, after 3 painful impatient years. The very 3 years ago, when her husband had consoled her that they would visit 3 years. Why 3 years? The fair went around the country and returned to every suburb - every 3 years. 

Everything was said in past tense as he no longer stood by with her. Rather he lay. Lay 6 feet below the ground 

And without her husband present to walk through the gates, everything felt devoid of comfort. It still held warmth as the sun shone down on the budding greens. That’s right. It was spring. 

A spring devoid of any love - at least not for her.

So a lonely widow wandered the deserted streets. Her grief hung heavy like a shroud, a shawl wrapping around her, keeping her in a trance, letting no light escape, turning the world monotone. 

Her gaze moved around and the carnival’s flickering lights promised solace. They reminded her of him. - And the one thought enough to bring her to her knees. 

She followed the path of crimson lanterns until she reached the heart of the carnival—a weathered carousel. Its ceilings were battered, yet the paint wasn’t peeling. Its walls boasted velvet, marble and rosewood adorning the floor. The horses and ornate gem, each colour. Sapphire. Onyx. Topaz. If you thought that it was the sapphire colour, you were very wrong. It was the gemstone in the flesh. 

The horses stood frozen, their eyes hollow and hungry. Unicorns, with their mouths poised open to bite. A bite that could kill. Centaurs with arrows raised, to anyone who dared kill another of their kind. 

The organ music played a haunting melody, and the carousel spun without wind, hand or chain. Evelyn hesitated, her breath misting in the cold air. She had nothing left to lose. And here it was literal, not metaphorical. 

The ticket booth had not yet appeared within her sight.

Rather, a metal contraption appeared, manned by a figure in a tattered top hat. His eyes were obsidian pools, their depths were a becken. and his smile revealed far too many teeth. 

“One ticket,” he rasped, his throat sounding as though a rose had been scraped down it, its thorns leaving a track in its wake. 

Jittering hands, and earthquake racketing in her body, it’s epicentre lay at her heart as she shakily brought a penny, the bronze dirty.

Evelyn stepped onto the carousel. The horses came alive, their manes twisting like serpents. Cobras and pythons weaving in and out, their bejewelled skin, creating geometric shapes. She chose the black stallion—the one with eyes like forgotten graves. And as the carousel spun, Evelyn glimpsed her reflection in the tarnished floor, echoing off every tile: her youth restored, her husband’s face beside hers.

The ride began innocently enough. The wind whispered secrets, and the horses galloped toward the unknown. Her feet barely skimmed the ground as the horses cantered, and their eyes burned cerulean blue, a fire so cold it burnt. 

But then the shadows shifted. Evelyn’s husband’s face twisted into a snarl, and the world blurred. Did it blur from the tears of horror from seeing something so horrifying or from seeing something that she would never have thought of or seen, rather something that would haunt her dreams? Perhaps both. She clung to the stallion, her knuckles white. Was it too late to go back to talking about trolls? 

The carousel slowed, and Evelyn dismounted. The carnival had changed. The tents were now shrouded in cobwebs, and the air smelled of decay. The smell of rotting flesh peppered her brain, the dark drizzle rained down, the pigment as inky as the brook. 

Her ballet flats mingled with the muddy ground, her frock now drenched in rainwater or was it sweat Perhaps both. 

Lightning brought the fair to life. 

A sign read: “Step Right Up: The Game of Desires.”

Was this a circus now - her brain scoffed.  Where her conscience told her to run and hide. Yet the better part of her brain backed down, and through the minimal amount of bravery and audacity she possessed she took a step forward. 

A gaunt man beckoned her. “To win a prize, dearie. Name your desire, and the game shall begin.”

Evelyn hesitated. Her heart yearned for her husband’s touch, for a chance to rewrite their tragic end. “I want him back,” she whispered.

The man grinned, revealing a tongue like a serpent’s. “Very well. Play the game.”

The rules were simple: Evelyn had to choose a door. Behind each door lay a different version of her husband—a chance to rewrite their love story. But if she chose wrong, she’d lose her soul. But - what was left of it anyway? 

Door One: The Young Lover 

Evelyn stepped into a sunlit garden. Her husband stood there, vibrant and eager. They danced, laughed, and kissed under blossoming cherry trees. But as the sun set, he aged rapidly, crumbling into dust. Evelyn fled.

Door Two: The Wealthy Merchant 

Her husband wore fine silks and counted gold coins. They travelled the world, but he grew colder with each treasure amassed. His eyes turned to ice, and Evelyn’s heart froze alongside them.

Door Three: The Eternal Artist

He painted masterpieces, capturing their love on canvas. But the colours bled, and the paintings whispered madness. Evelyn’s mind unravelled, and she clawed at the door.

Door Four: The Undying

Her husband emerged, immortal and scarred. He whispered forbidden knowledge—the secrets of the cosmos, the price of eternity. Evelyn’s skin cracked, her veins turning to stardust.

Desperation clawed at her. 

She chose Door Five: The Forgotten Poet. Here, her husband wrote sonnets that moved mountains and stirred oceans. But his words consumed her memories, leaving her hollow.

The gaunt man appeared - an apparition at the very least. “Choose wisely, dearie.”

Evelyn wept. “I want my old life back—the pain, the loss. I want to remember.”

The man’s eyes glinted. “Very well.”

The carousel spun backward, and Evelyn stumbled out. The carnival vanished, leaving only the black stallion.

“You chose well,” he whispered through the wind - gales brushing overhead. “Remember, my love. Remember everything.”

And so, Evelyn returned to Hollowbrook, her heart heavy, a hole unkempt. Yet, she remembered her husband’s touch, their laughter, and the final kiss before he slipped away. The carousel had granted her a twisted wish—a memory of love, pain, and the haunting melody of the Carousel of Shadows.

And in the quiet of her room, Evelyn wept—for the game, the choices, and the shadows that danced forever.