Joren awoke suddenly to the sound of a bell being rung repeatedly and without mercy for those still sleeping.

  He lay still for a moment, staring at the canvas ceiling while his mind slowly came to. The fabric curtain glowed with soft morning light as the bell continued to ring, signifying nine in the morning. A voice somewhere nearby shouted about pancake batter around various breakfast items, some of which sounded impossible. How could hashbrowns be battered, Joren wondered.

  On the other bed, Gus was already awake and halfway through a plate of something fried from yesterday, elbows resting on his knees as he hunched over like this was a perfectly reasonable way to begin the day.

  “You missed breakfast,” he said around a mouthful or funnel cake.

  “That smells old from here,” Joren replied, voice course from sleep.

  “So?” Gus said, as if that settled the matter.

  Joren pushed himself upright, the canvas walls still strange. Footsteps passed their sleeping quarters, wagon wheels rattled over packed earth on the outer town ring, and somewhere nearby a child cried loudly about losing ring toss.

  On the other side of Gus, Willow sat cross-legged on the bed examining a large, stuffed creature she’d won the night before.

  “I think it’s growing on me,” she said, hugging it tightly as she rolled around.

  At the crate, Bartholomew methodically sorted through their growing collection of items: old cider cups, twist ties from candied almonds, a tin whistle, and a small wooden frog with a painted grin.

  Willow rolled upright again and glanced over at Joren. “So where did you end up last night?”

  “I rode that big wheel,” he said. “And ran into Tsunami.”

  Gus swallowed mid-chew. “That the guy you met back in Brindlewood?”

  Joren nodded.

  “Was that the water guy?” Willow asked.

  “Yeah.”

  "What's he doing here?" Rico asked.

  “He said he’s tracking a courier who vanished along a route through here. Said he’d be around another day or two.”

  Bart turned the wooden frog so it faced the tent opening like a good luck charm. “A lively city is perfect for losing important things.”

  Gus frowned faintly at that, then shrugged it off. “Well, hopefully he finds what he’s looking for. Why don't we go out and do some more exploring?”

  Willow was already standing. “Yes. And let's not go overboard with the food this time, yeah?”

  “That seems unfair,” Gus said, grabbing his coat anyway.

  Rico pushed the flap aside and glanced out at the steady flow of people. “Crowd’s starting to pick up again.”

  “Well what do you expect,” Willow asked. "Most people sleep at night, but there is still tons of stuff that can only go on at that time."

  Bart slipped the wooden frog into his beard mess. “Well I want to try that 'roller coaster' thing that we saw last night.”

  Joren pulled on his coat and stepped out with them.

  The carnival was fully awake, but different from the night before. Some booths became shuttered after the night hours, while others were just opening as vendors began setting out game tools and stacking prizes on shelves. A ride finished a test run with empty seats before an operator waved the first riders forward.

  They moved with the current of foot traffic, passing food stalls finishing breakfast. Joren slowed near a large signboard posted in an open area. Weathered posters and business cards had been layered over one another until the board looked like a history written in glue and paper.

  “Hey,” he said. “Does any of this sound interesting?”

  Bart leaned closer, scanning the flyers. “Ooh, they have a museum. Let's find out the history of deep fried ice cream sandwiches."

  Rico leaned over Bart’s pointy head, squinting at the overlapping flyers. “It doesn't sound bad, but I doubt they have anything on deep fried anything."

  Gus stepped in beside them, scanning with sudden academic interest. “Hold on, hold on, historical food innovations are important to brush up on.”

  Joren rolled his eyes but laughed anyways. "Then let's go see it. Maybe someone there might know something about Oren."

  Rico and Bart exchanged glances, still unsure about who this Oren guy really was, but shrugged it off.

  Within no time, they finally found the museum located in one of the few solid structures in the city. With worn wood and covered in dust, it was hard to find, yet that wouldn't stop Bart and Gus who were tracking its very scent it seemed. The windows were caked and the sign overhead had faded beyond acceptable.

  Joren pushed the door open as it creaked in protest. Cool air met them immediately, carrying the scent of age and distant memories that few even knew anymore. Once they were fully inside, the noise of the carnival could no longer be heard.

  Glass cases lined the walls, filled with all sorts of memorabilia and trinkets. Hanging from rafters were masks, banners, and posters from acts long past. Mechanical contraptions rested on display tables, each with their own story attached.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Bart stopped just inside the doorway. “It's magnificent.”

  Gus leaned toward a display case, examining two tiny spiked objects. “Is that the original corn holder prototype?”

  Willow blinked. “That’s what you notice?”

  Rico moved more slowly, scanning the exhibits with quiet interest. To him, this was right where he wanted to be.

  “Remarkable craftsmanship,” he murmured.

  Willow wandered to a rack of masks, lifting one just enough to peer beneath it. “Imagine sweating under this thing in summer.”

  "Hello there, not often we get visitors." A voice spoke from out of nowhere.

  A surprised shiver ran down each of their spines as they turned to look at who was speaking.

  From behind a counter near the back, an elderly man stepped into view and was brushing dust from his sleeves. His hair was thin and white and a pair of small spectacles rested low on his nose. He wore a vest that once was a vibrant red but now showed years of love and usage.

  “Door doesn’t get much use anymore,” he said. “Most folks prefer the activities outside.”

  Willow released the breath she’d been holding. “You nearly stopped my heart.”

  He tilted his head slightly. “That would be unfortunate for business.”

  Rico stepped closer to a display case, reassured. “This place is amazing.”

  “Most of it has traveled farther than any of us,” the man replied.

  Bart clasped his hands behind his back. “Are you the creator of these wonderous inventions?”

  “Caretaker,” he corrected gently. “It's a memorial to the history of this town, after all."

  His gaze drifted up toward the ceiling as if he were looking for something.

  “The city you see outside wasn't always like that,” he started. “Before the tents and rides grew this large, it was a traveling road show with families who lived between towns, performing for the world."

  “Most folks assume it was built like this, but it wasn’t. Long before the rides and shows you see now, it used to be a small field in the trees where the traveling circus set up for a show. After doing two extra shows past what they intended, people still kept showing up."

  He gestured toward the walls.

  “Eventually, they just stayed here since the land didn't belong to someone. Then more people started showing up from all over wantin' to join the show. Paths started to become roads and canvas tents kept popping up. Soon after, they started cutting down more trees to expand the growing community."

  The caretaker brushed his hands together lightly, as if setting the past back on its shelf.

  “That’s how this place came to be,” he said. “Not planned, but a welcome place the circus folk can call home."

  Everyone looked around again, seeing the exhibits with renewed appreciation.

  “We were actually hoping to ask about someone,” Joren said as stepped closer to the counter. “A performer who might have been here."

  “Performers come and go every season,” he replied. “All of them leave posters, so you're in the right place, kid."

  “Names help,” he added, grabbing out a bin filled with posters. "Or if you know what kind of performer, I might remember."

  "His name was Oren. We met him on the road a while back but we weren't sure if he was real or not." Joren replied.

  "Hmm, that's a tough one. This town's been here for over seventy years, but I don't remember a performer by that name. I can look through the registry logs to see if I have any records of a poster here." The old man said.

  Willow glanced at Joren, then back to the caretaker.

  “He worked with puppets,” she added. “And told us a story about a city full of people with the same face or something. It was really weird."

  The old man’s brow creased faintly. "There is an ancient folktale that reminds me of, but that's been around for ages. Even since I was a kid, actually. I have a small collection of stuff from before the town formed, back when it was still a traveling act. If anything, it's possible there was one in there.”

  He glanced up from the registry he pulled out. “Was he an old guy?"

  Gus hesitated. "Um, not really? Mid forties I'd guess."

  "Strange. I'll do some digging, but it might take a little bit to go through both. Feel free to look around." The man said, now disappearing in the back once more.

  Willow folded her arms. “A city full of people with the same face,” she repeated softly. “That doesn’t sound unsettling at all.”

  Bart had already drifted back toward the string puppets, studying their design with intense focus while Rico moved toward a case of mechanical stage rigs.

  "What else was it about?" Gus asked, "It's so hard to remember the story."

  Joren pondered a moment. "I remember a girl who wouldn't wear the face that everyone else had and carried a stone with an eye carved into it."

  Willow lowered her arms. “That sounds less like a children’s story and more like a story meant to keep you awake at night.”

  Bart’s fingers paused on the wooden crossbar of a marionette. “I've heard of a story similar to that before. Symbols of the eye often indicate awakening in some cultures."

  "How do you even know that?" Gus asked, dumbfounded at Bart's infrequent outbursts of wisdom.

  Bart just laughed that cowboy-like laugh and turned back to whatever he was looking at. So long for getting a straight answer from him.

  Willow smirked. “He keeps his secrets in the beard.”

  Rico glanced between them and the suspended puppets. “Awakening to what, exactly?”

  Joren exhaled slowly through his nose. “Whatever it was, the story felt all too real to be a folktale."

  The museum creaked softly around them, old wood settling, fabric shifting high above. From the back room came the quiet slide of drawers and the faint rustle of brittle paper, followed by the old man returning with a paper.

  The caretaker emerged through the doorway again, moving carefully as he held a single sheet between his fingers. The paper was yellowed and fragile, its edges softened with time.

  He set it gently on the counter and smoothed it flat.

  “Didn’t find an Oren in the registrar logs,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “But I did find this in the older collection. It's titled 'Oren: The Master of Puppets'."

  Realization hit them all at once.

  "Oh yeah, he did call himself that, didn't he?" Willow said aloud.

  They leaned closer, examining the poster.

  The poster was quite simple. Ink lines sketched a small stage and a lone man in great detail for its time on it, sleeves rolled, strings extending downward to marionettes suspended in mid-motion. The puppets themselves were quite crude in comparison to what they saw on the road, but the face was unmistakable.

  Willow’s breath caught. “That’s him, no doubt about it.”

  Joren leaned closer, squinting. “Yeah, that is... but why is this from eighty two years ago?"

  The caretaker adjusted his spectacles and looked down at the corner notation, where a faint date had been written.

  “That's when the show occurred,” he said. “These were the early years of the circus before the town settled.”

  Gus shifted uneasily. “You’re saying he’s what? Eighty?”

  "I doubt it. Perhaps you met his son. I've never heard of someone looking so young that long unless he was an elf. Though, elves were not accepted by everyone at that time like they are now, so that's an unlikely possibility."

  Willow glanced at the poster again, then at Joren. “He didn’t feel like a son, he seemed too proud of himself."

  The caretaker nodded to himself and walked away.

  "Well, I feel like I know even less about what happened that day." Gus said to them.

  "Yeah, me too." Willow nodded in agreement.

  Rico looked toward the doorway where the old man had vanished, then back at the quiet room around them.

  Whatever they had encountered on the road was far more unsettling than they realized, but that was for a different time. For now, they just needed to enjoy themselves and take a short nap before they went out for another night of exploring and fun.