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Pedro was charming, and Asami hoped, interested in her for all the right reasons. The other boys had—shall we say—different motivations. Her body? No, not her body. Sure, she had been complimented on her figure by Pedro and others. Dudes had mentioned her silky hair and soft skin. But the real reason guys were now interested in her was her past.

She’d had three dates since the incident, and within ten minutes, her would-be partner had brought up the carnival. On the last occasion, she had asked Todd to stop the car and let her out. She had ubered her way home rather than talk to him about it.

The Final Girls were the only ones she’d talk to about that night anymore. Everyone else thought she was out of her mind.

The chain restaurant wasn’t busy tonight; four other groups occupied it. Pedro had asked for a booth under a painting of the George Washington Bridge with real tea lights shining on the illustrated supports. He dipped his cheese stick appetizer in ranch sauce. “The sunrise this morning reminds me of your eyes.”

What a strange compliment. “Uh…thank you? Do you think my eyes are yellow or something?”

“No, they shine.” Pedro swallowed. “Like the sun shines over the horizon. You shine.”

She had dated a jock, a nerd, and a punk rocker. Pedro fancied himself a poet. Okay. She’d allow Pedro a pass for that one. “Interesting way to put it. Thanks.”

Pedro took a quick drink of his Arnold Palmer. “I’ve always thought you were pretty. Even before.”

Even before.

Without hesitation, Asami stiffened, grabbed her purse, and stood, pushing back her chair.

Pedro squinted. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

Asami didn’t acknowledge his question. “Good-bye, Pedro.”

“Asami?” Pedro stood. “Asami!”

She sprinted and shoved open the door, ignoring her date’s pleas to return. She stormed down the street with no destination in mind. When they spoke of her, they always referred to the Asami “before” and the Asami “after.” After the carnival, after the murders, after the madness. She had tried to leave the incident behind her. Today, Asami went as far as to silence the alerts from the Final Girl chat group. She hadn’t checked it in twenty-four hours to try to leave her past behind.

But the past wouldn’t stay there.

She hadn’t wanted to go to the carnival the night of the tragedy. Vlad had organized it and invited her, Mildred, Jai, and Jeet. They had entered the fairgrounds under a banner announcing the traveling show as the “Carnival of Brood.” When Asami turned around, the lettering looked different, and backward she read “Carnival of Blood.” An “R” on one side, and an “L” on the other? She must’ve had too much beer.

The mirror maze, the rollercoaster, and even the creepy clowns contributed to the charm. Her group had been eating cotton candy when the two-foot-tall puppets strolled up. They had strings attached, dragging on the ground behind them, but they reminded Asami of the animatronics in amusement parks except these props were made of wood.

The little figures tumbled and danced jigs while the crowds held up their phones. Asami never enjoyed marionettes and scrolled through her cell at first. The first scream brought her attention back to the performance. And the boy holding his stomach, blood spilling out over his fingers, caused her to drop her phone.

Marching away from her date with Pedro, Asami stopped on the street and leaned against the wall. The images of the incident paraded through her mind. A gangly man in makeup holding a dagger blocking the exit. Jai shrieked while a puppet drove a knife into Mildred’s back. Asami dropped Jeet’s severed hand after the lengthy man—the puppet master—had snuck up on them. And how could she forget the cobra that had popped out of the box in the center of the mirror maze? Minutes before, a guy had stumbled out of the maze with an ax. He had said it had a box of weapons. Later, she found the same man dead near the coaster.

She had found a belt of blades—wrapped around the dead carnie’s knife thrower—and had armed herself. The puppets patrolled the main grounds, and Asami had to clamp a hand over her mouth when she peeked around a corner at them. The marionettes now resembled Vlad and Jai. That blasted puppet master had transformed them somehow, and her former friends hunted her with their needle-like weapons.

She had convinced others to fight the puppets while she confronted the man. The angular puppet master had sliced her a few times. But Asami had prevailed and stuck her last blade deep into his gut. She had stood over him while the light extinguished from his eyes and his minions, closing in on her, had collapsed to the ground.

Asami took a deep breath and pushed away from the building. Time to call it a night. She was nervous about this date and had awoken just after two this morning. She had prevented herself from consulting the Final Girls chat in an attempt to make this day as “normal” as possible. Now, Asami struggled to keep her eyes open. Time to go home, take a bath, and select relaxing nature sounds on her cell. Anything soft and delicate. Anything unlike the harsh, jarring noise of the carnival. Anything to block the sound ringing in her ears.

Wait. Her ears were hearing carnival music.

Asami gulped as she strode forward, the music increasing in volume. She turned a corner in the neighborhood close to her home and blinked at the dazzling white lights. No! It couldn’t be.

A carnival—the same one she had nearly died in—vacated an empty lot outside her neighborhood. This time, however, the banner displayed the wording “Carnival of Blood.”