Norman Barley's Sideshow Book First Chapters
About the Book
Norman Barley’s Sideshow delves into the complete tale of the Twisted Carnival. Discover the relationships between the carnival’s characters and the intriguing origins of the Deck of Misfortune and Retribution. You’ll also learn about Norman’s journey into the entertainment industry and the history of the MuLock Tribe. Some characters meet tragic fates, and their stories of demise will be revealed! This book is set for release in 2025, with more details coming soon!
Read the first 10 chapters free and fill out the survey to let us know what you think!
*We are aware that there may be some grammar and spelling issues. We are working on resolving that before going to print.
Chapter One: The Spirit King's Farewell
In 1882, deep within the New Orleans swamps, where massive cypress trees dripped with Spanish moss and bone chimes marked sacred boundaries, VooDoo king Papa NaRue completed the power transfer ritual. Smoke spiraled around him and his companion SeCate as they knelt within a circle of crushed bones and blessed salt. Voodoo dolls hung from low branches, their button eyes reflecting the light of candles that surrounded them.
His hands, marked with protective symbols and stained with ash, hovered over her bowed head. Golden threads of spirit energy wove between them as ancestors whispered from the shadows between trees. As the newly blessed tribal queen raised her eyes to meet his, a smile of happiness crossed the Voodoo king’s face.
“My beloved,” he whispered in a deep voice. “With this blessing, you shall protect our tribe as I have done. The spirits that guide my path will now guide yours.”
SeCate rose, her ceremonial robes adorned with bones, feathers, and sacred charms, ritual oils glistening on her skin. She reached for his hand, but Papa NaRue stepped back, his tribal markings suddenly darkening with concern.
“There is darkness coming,” he said, turning to face the spirit masks that hung from the trees. “I’ve seen it in the bones – a carnival of souls, led by one whose hunger for power perverts the sacred ways of our ancestors.”
“Then we shall face it together,” SeCate declared, gripping her staff. “With our combined spirit magic—”
“No,” Papa NaRue interrupted, his voice heavy. “There are secrets I must uncover, forbidden knowledge that lies in the darkest parts of these woods. The carnival’s master… he practices arts that could destroy everything our ancestors built.”
SeCate felt the bone chimes shiver with an ill wind. “How long will you be gone?”
Papa NaRue touched the sacred book he had gifted her, its cover made from leather with protective symbols burned into its surface. “Document everything, my love. This book will be your legacy for which you will pass it down through generations of tribal queens.”
“You speak as if…” SeCate’s voice faltered as a nearby spirit mask turned its face away.
“Form your tribe,” he continued, ignoring her unspoken fear. “Choose those with the strongest connection to the spirits. They will be your eyes when darkness threatens our people.”
The moon hung low through the canopy, casting shadows through the Spanish moss. Papa NaRue gathered his traveling bag, filled with ritual items, secured his staff wrapped in leather ribbons, and turned one last time to the woman he had chosen as both his queen and his successor.
“Remember,” he said softly, drawing a protection symbol in the air, “power lies not just in the rituals we perform, but in the bonds we forge with the spirits. Trust in those you choose for your tribe, but guard your heart well. Betrayal often walks in through the front gate while we watch the back.”
As he stepped beyond the bone chime boundary, SeCate called out, “When will you return?”
Papa NaRue paused, looking up at her. “When the carnival’s dark magic threatens to consume our woods… or never at all.”
SeCate looked at him, “Is this all happening because of Marie?”
Papa NaRue looks up at SeCate,” My love, my relationship with Marie is over. I am in love with you. I don’t believe that she would be vindictive, especially after her and I spoke.”
No one heard from the Voodoo king again since he spoke those words. SeCate formed the MuLock Tribe in the days that followed, choosing three powerful practioners: SaDue, LoSho, and ZeLena. All of her knowledge was placed in the book she had received, never realizing that it would fall into the wrong hands one day.
Tales of Papa NaRue’s fate spread through the forest in the decades that followed. Some said he died fighting the carnival’s ringmaster Norman. Others claimed SeCate trapped his spirit within the book he had gifted her due to being corrupted by the power she had received from him. Even though there were many rumors, there were still some who believed that one day he would return with the knowledge of how to defeat Norman Barley’s Twisted Carnival.
The truth, like Papa NaRue himself, remained hidden in shadows, waiting to be discovered.
Chapter Two: The First Queen's Calling
Three days had passed since Papa NaRue’s departure, and SeCate hadn’t left the sacred circle. The spirit energy that had once danced through the air had long since faded, leaving only the whispered songs of ancestors in the wind and the hollow beats of distant drums. The book he had given her lay open on an altar of twisted roots, its blank pages awaiting the wisdom from the spirits.
“My queen?” A soft voice cut through the smoke. SaDue stood at the edge of the bone circle, her face painted with protective symbols. “The tribe grows restless. They ask for their king.”
SeCate’s fingers, stained with ash and oils, traced the empty pages of the book, feeling the pulse of magic within its binding. “Then they shall have their queen instead.” Her voice carried a strength drawn from the very earth beneath her feet. “Bring me ZeLena and LoSho.”
As SaDue disappeared into the shadows between the trees, SeCate pressed her palm against the book’s first page. The magic Papa NaRue had gifted her surged through her veins, and words began to appear beneath her touch – a script that seemed to write itself in blood:
In the absence of the king, the queen must rise. In the absence of answers, we must seek the spirits. In the absence of protection, we must become the shield.
When SaDue returned with the sisters, SeCate had already transformed the clearing. Candles burned with blue flames, and in the center, she had drawn a complex Voodoo symbol using crushed bones, herbs, and her own blood.
“Papa NaRue foresaw a darkness coming,” SeCate said to the three young women before her, the bone chimes singing softly in the night breeze. “He spoke of a carnival – a twisted gathering of souls that threatens everything our ancestors have protected. In his absence, we must become the guardians he intended.”
LoSho stepped forward, her tribal markings gleaming in the blue candlelight. “But how can we hope to stand against such darkness without our king’s spirits to guide us?”
SeCate held up the book, its pages now filling with her crimson writings. “With knowledge passed down through bone and blood. With unity blessed by the ancestors. With power born of sacrifice.” She gestured to the symbol. “The three of you possess gifts unlike any I have seen. Together, we will forge something new – a tribe of protectors, blessed by spirits ancient and new.”
ZeLena and LoSho exchanged glances, but SaDue stepped immediately into the symbol. “I pledge myself to your service, my queen, under the eyes of all who watch from beyond.”
As the others joined her, SeCate began the ritual that would birth the MuLock Tribe. The candles flared, their blue flames reaching toward the moon as she spoke the words that came to her, each one inscribing itself into the book:
“By the power gifted through love, By the spirits who watch from above, By the strength found in unity, I bind these three to our legacy.”
Strange herbs rose from the symbol, swirling around the three women like a glittering storm. SeCate could feel Papa NaRue’s magic responding to her will, transforming and adapting as she shaped it to her purpose.
“SaDue, I name you our heart, our leader-in-waiting, keeper of visions yet to come.” The herbs around SaDue turned blood-red.
“ZeLena, I name you our wisdom, our guide through paths uncertain, keeper of balance.” The herbs surrounding ZeLena shifted to a deep purple.
“LoSho, I name you our shadow, our unseen guardian, keeper of secrets.” The herbs encircling LoSho became black.
As the ritual reached its peak, SeCate couldn’t have seen how LoSho’s black herbs foretold a betrayal that would shake their world, or how SaDue’s blood-red magic would one day earn her the title of Blood Queen.
The ritual ended with a thunderous crack that shook the bone chimes. The book in SeCate’s hands grew warm, its pages now filled with the beginning of their story. But as the new queen looked upon her chosen tribe, she felt Papa NaRue’s final warning echo in her mind: Betrayal often walks in through the front gate while we watch the back.
That night, as her newly-formed tribe took their first watch over the woods, SeCate added one more entry to the book, writing by the light of candles:
My beloved, wherever your spirit walks, I pray we are building what you foresaw we would need. The darkness you spoke of may come, but it will find us ready. And if you return, let it be to find your tribe not scattered, but stronger than ever before.
Until then, I will write our story in these pages, and pray that each word brings us closer to understanding why you had to leave.
Chapter Three: Whispers in the Dark Woods
The first year of the MuLock Tribe’s existence passed like a dream. Under SeCate’s guidance, the sacred book’s pages filled rapidly with rituals, root workings, and spirit communications. She detailed her new appointments growing abilities: SaDue’s gift for reading the bones and seeing possible futures, ZeLena’s talent for maintaining balance between the world of flesh and spirit, and LoSho’s skill at moving unseen through the shadows of the physical and spirit realms.
But as their power grew, so did the whispers in the dark.
It began with small things – tribal members speaking of strange lights dancing between the trees and carnival music carried on winds that shouldn’t blow. SeCate’s entries in the book became more urgent, stained with oils and marked with desperate sigils:
Moon’s Dark Phase:
The carnival Norman Barley spoke of in Papa NaRue’s visions draws closer. The bones speak of its coming. Today, three children reported seeing a clown whose eyes reflected moonlight like copper pennies in a wishing well. When they threw blessed salt, it vanished like smoke.
Blood Moon’s Rise:
SaDue’s bone readings grow darker. She speaks of a man in a top hat who bows to crowds that scream in both terror and delight. The spirit power Papa NaRue gave me pulses stronger with each passing night, the gris-gris bags around my neck growing heavy with warning.
As the second year dawned, SeCate’s behavior began to change. She spent longer hours alone in the sacred circle, her voice echoing in conversations with spirits no other could see. The book’s pages filled with increasingly erratic writings, mixing Voodoo rituals with desperate messages seemingly directed at her absent king.
Dark of the Moon: My love, if your spirit can read these words, your warnings were right. The carnival’s influence spreads like poison through our woods. I see now why you left to seek answers. But I fear… I fear I have crossed a line in your absence. The power you gave me, it whispers things. Shows me things in the black water. Are you truly gone, or are you trapped between worlds where I cannot reach?
SeCate was seen by others during the night of the blood moon walking the boundary lines with the book held against her chest. She appeared to be arguing with the spirts on the night of the blood moon. When morning came, the sacred circle was found in ruins with SeCate’s body in front of Papa NaRue’s spirit tree. The book was still in her lifeless hands.
Rumors began to spread immediately.
One rumor said the ancestors called her spirit home due to her body being burned out the power Papa NaRue had gifted her.
Another one claimed to have heard two voices from the sacred circle the night of the blood moon – SeCate’s and one that sounded eerily like Papa NaRue’s. This rumor suggested that the king’s spirit had returned to warn his queen of the doom that was to come, and the shock of his appearance had stopped her heart.
A third rumor suggested that Norman Barley’s carnival had murdered her. Those who believed this version swore they saw a clown-like figure dancing between the trees that night, though no footprints were ever found.
But the most persistent legend, the one that would haunt the tribe for years to come, spoke of the book itself. It was said that in her desperate attempts to understand Papa NaRue’s disappearance, SeCate had performed forbidden rituals, calling on spirits that should never be named.
When SaDue became tribal queen and inherited the book, she read SeCate’s final entry written in blood:
The carnival comes, but it is not what we thought. Papa NaRue, my love, I understand now why you left. The true horror is not in what approaches, but in what has been here all along. The spirits show me now what I couldn’t see before. The carnival is not just coming – it’s already he—
The entry ended in a violent slash across the page.
SaDue would prove herself a worthy successor in the years that followed, leading the MuLock Tribe with determination and vision. But she never performed rituals in the sacred circle where SeCate died, and on certain nights, when the blood moon filled the night sky, those who passed by claimed they could hear the rustle of pages turning in an empty clearing, as if someone unseen was still writing in a book that had already told its final story.
Yet even as these legends grew and changed with each telling, one question remained unanswered: What truth had SeCate discovered in her final moments? What horror had she recognized that was “already here”? The answer to this mystery, like so others, remained hidden in the shadows of the Twisted Carnival’s approaching doom.
Chapter Four: The Price of Betrayal
SaDue was haunted by SeCate’s death and her final words during her first moon phase as tribal queen. The mystery of SeCate’s last message – “The carnival is not just coming – it’s already he—” – echoed through her mind.
As the moon waned to darkness on the thirtieth night, reality of those dreams set in.
It began when ZeLena burst into the main ritual clearing, out of breath with alarm written all over her facial expression. “The book,” she gasped. “It’s gone.”
SaDue looks at ZeLena in horror. “Gone? How?”
“LoSho,” ZeLena’s voice cracked on the name like a breaking bone. “She took the night watch. When I came to relieve her, both she and the book had vanished. The protection circles are broken, the spirit wards torn.”
The betrayal cut deeper than any event SaDue had ever experienced. She closed her eyes, remembering SeCate’s final warning. Had this been what she tried to tell them? That the carnival’s darkness had already poisoned their sacred circles?
In the days that followed, reports flooded in from across the woods. A carnival had appeared in a blighted clearing, led by a man in a top hat who called himself the Ringmaster. Witnesses spoke of eerie performances that perverted the natural order. And at his side, they said, stood a clown whose laugh sent chills down their spines.
“Norman Barley,” SaDue says to ZeLena. “He has SeCate’s book now, and with it, all our sacred knowledge. We need to strengthen our spirit wards. We need—”
“We need LoSho’s power,” ZeLena interrupted. “The tribe was created to work as three. Without her, our circle is broken, our magic incomplete.”
SaDue looked up, her eyes distant as she recalled one of her earliest bone readings – a face she had seen but hadn’t understood until now. “Not LoSho,” she said slowly as she looked back at ZeLena. “But perhaps… her blood.”
The search for EnGa, LoSho’s twin sister, took them to the farthest reaches of the woods. They found her living in a hollow tree, surrounded by protective charms, having long sensed her sister’s growing corruption. When SaDue explained what had happened, EnGa’s response was immediate: “I have spent years cleansing the spiritual taint my sister leaves behind. Let me help you make this right.”
The ritual to induct EnGa into the MuLock Tribe differed from SeCate’s original ceremony. This time, SaDue combined her blood-magic with ZeLena’s skills in spirit binding to forge something new. As EnGa took her place in the symbol, the three women joined their powers in a way that had never been attempted.
“The carnival uses our own sacred ways against us,” SaDue declared as their combined powers swirled around them, bone chimes ringing in harmony. “Then we shall create something they cannot corrupt – a power born not from SeCate’s book, but from our united spirits.”
The Deck of Misfortune took shape between them, materializing from smoke and spirit energy, each card manifesting as a fusion of their unique abilities: SaDue’s gift for reading possible fates, ZeLena’s mastery of spirit boundaries, and EnGa’s understanding of her twin’s darkness. The cards hummed with power, each one a window into potential destinies, a weapon against the very forces that had taken root in their sacred woods.
But as the last card materialized, SaDue saw something in her vision that made her blood freeze. The Twisted Carnival was more than just a collection of performers – it was a corruption of everything Papa NaRue and SeCate had built, a perversion of traditions that threatened the very balance between realms.
That night, SaDue made her first entry in a new book, writing with ink mixed with her own blood:
The Deck of Misfortune is complete, but it is only the beginning. Norman Barley may have SeCate’s spells, but he does not understand the true power of the MuLock Tribe. It lies not in the rituals we perform, but in the bonds we forge with the spirits themselves.
LoSho, my sister in blood and spirit, you have chosen your path. Know that when we meet again, it will not be as family, but as the forces of light and shadow that Papa NaRue once foresaw. The carnival’s darkness may have claimed you, but it will not claim our sacred woods.
The game begins now, Ringmaster.
Chapter Five: The Greatest Show of Horrors
Moonlight filtered through the branches as candles blazed to life in a corrupted circle, illuminating a clearing deep within the woods. The crowd that had followed the haunting melody of deranged songs stood shoulder to shoulder. Above them, stars seemed to dim, as if the very heavens turned away from what was about to unfold.
Norman Barley emerged from his small circus tent, his top hat adorned with the cursed jewel that he used to fool LoSho with, catching the unholy firelight as he stepped up to his podium. His velvet red coat was decorated with perverted Voodoo symbols, and the buttons made from human bone gleamed like dead eyes in the dark.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice rolled through the clearing, “welcome to the Twisted Carnival, where you will witness the strange and unusual unfold before your very eyes.”
As he spoke, LoSho slipped through the crowd like smoke wrapping around objects, her face painted with corrupted tribal markings. Her nimble fingers found pockets and purses, unloading valuables and money from there owners. On the opposite side of the audience, Akain moved with similar purpose, his handler’s coat adorned with stolen objects.
“Behold,” Norman raised his arms, bones rattling at his wrists, “the Serpentine Sisters!”
Two women slithered from behind the tent’s curtains, their bodies contorted in what appeared to be impossible ways, bones reshaped by dark magic that made several spectators step back with scared expressions on their faces. As they twisted around each other, forming bizarre shapes, Norman’s voice grew darker, more intimate.
“Each of my precious performers has a story,” he purred, “a moment when they discovered their true nature beneath the flesh. Tonight, you’ll see wonders that will give you nightmares… and perhaps, for one lucky soul, a chance of a lifetime.”
His eyes fixed briefly on a young woman in the front row, her face pale in the candlelight. LoSho, passing behind her, marked the hem of her dress with a symbol – a signal to Akain.
The show proceeded, each act more disturbing than the last. The Man with Glass Bones, transformed by dark magic, shattered and reformed himself. The Living Shadow cast no reflection in the mirrors that surrounded him.
But it was the final act that Norman saved his most theatrical introduction for.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The star of our show, the creature that haunts humanity’s oldest nightmares… I give you OzBo, the Cannibal Clown!”
The massive figure that lurched into the firelight barely seemed human. OzBo’s twisted form, wearing a necklace of human teeth, hunched and swayed. His face paint mimicked that of a clown but twisted into something obscene. His eyes, unfocused and hungry, swept over the crowd as dark blood dripped from his evil grin.
“OzBo requires sustenance,” Norman announced, drawing SeCate’s sacred book from his coat. “And tonight, one of our own has volunteered for the ultimate sacrifice!”
From the shadows emerged one of the carnival’s performers – the Rubber Man, his flexibility achieved through forbidden magic.
All who were at the event that followed would remember it for years to come. Most of the men watched with horror and fascination, unable to look away as the man was being eaten by OzBo while he was still alive. The women screamed or fainted, their terror a symphony that seemed to feed Norman Barley’s dark passions.
Norman nodded to LoSho and Akain to separate the woman who was marked earlier. As the crowd dispersed, the woman was separated and taken into the tent to see Norman.
“My dear,” he smiled down at her as she was trembling with fear, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek with one gloved finger. “Don’t cry. You’re about to become part a once in a lifetime attraction.” He reached into his coat and pulled out SeCate’s book, its pages now glowing with dark magic.
“You see, our audiences must have regular entertainment, and our star attraction requires regular feeding. Thanks to this remarkable book, I can transform you into something truly spectacular.” His smile widened as he traced a forbidden Voodoo symbol in the air, dark magic crackling at his fingertips. “Imagine their faces when they see you in our next show – the girl who was so hideous, deformed, and couldn’t speak-eaten alive by our beloved OzBo.”
The woman began to scream. LoSho put her hand over the woman’s mouth to muffle her. Norman began to read from the book, the forbidden words twisting into curses as they left his mouth. The moon shined bright, as if the very heavens were worried at what was going on.
In the shadows beyond the clearing, a crow took flight, carrying news of the night’s horrors back to Queen SaDue. The game had indeed begun, and its stakes were measured in both blood and souls.
Chapter Six: The Blood Queen's Curse
Deep in the woods where the MuLock Tribe is based, the crow flew down from the sky and landed beside SaDue. She knelt down fore the water basin, its surface clouded with materials from rituals. As she placed her hands upon the crow, the water in the basin shifted, revealing Norman Barley’s spectacle: SeCate’s book glowing with dark magic in his hands, LoSho stealing items from unsuspected audience members, and OzBo’s horrific feast.
After seeing the visions, SaDue was distraught. “Show me again,” she commanded. As her hands rested upon the crow. After the visions completed and the water settled down, it was the final image that made brought sorrow to her heart and anger to her mind-Lyra, their tribe’s trusted root worker and healer, marked and captured.
Anger turned to rage as the Blood Queen let out a loud yell, the winds picking up her voice as the crow flew away and shaking the leaves from some of the nearby trees.
“ZeLena! EnGa!” Her voice carried through the woods, causing spirit masks mounted on the trees to shift. Within moments, her sisters emerged from the shadows, sensing the disturbance in their Queen’s voice.
“He’s taken Lyra,” SaDue said, gesturing at the water basin. “Our Lyra. The same healer who blessed our protection powders at yesterday’s moon ritual.” Her hands trembled as she gripped her staff. “He’s using SeCate’s book to transform our people into ‘attractions’ before feeding them to that… that thing he keeps. And LoSho…” She touched the tribal markings on her face, identical to those her former sister had corrupted. “She helped mark her, knowing exactly who she was.”
EnGa stepped forward, the ritual markings on her face shifting with her expression as she watched her twin sister’s betrayal in the water. “The mark she placed on Lyra,” she said softly, “it’s a forbidden sigil. She’s twisting our ancestral magic and deliberately choosing victims connected to us.”
ZeLena created a protective barrier by hanging bone chimes on nearby tree branches to keep all eve droppers from hearing what she was about to say. “This is a direct challenge to your position as Blood Queen,” she said. “Taking one of our own, a trusted root worker… The carnival grows bolder. I can feel the balance of powers shifting. Each soul they take, each life they corrupt…”
“Enough!” SaDue’s voice cracked like thunder. She drew the Deck of Misfortune from its resting place among sacred herbs and ritual bones, the cards humming with ancestral power as she spread them across a mat. “We end this now. Norman Barley wants to play with magic he doesn’t understand? Then let him face the wrath of the MuLock Tribe!”
SaDue took a small pouch and pored powder around her in a circle as she worked with the cards, each one glowing with power.
A small Voodoo doll that had a resemblance to the Ringmaster was taken from underneath SaDue’s robe as she turned toward the water basin.
“You took our sister,” she whispered, pressing a ritual pin into the doll. “You stole our sacred book. You corrupt everything you touch. But you’ve forgotten something crucial, Ringmaster.”
She dropped the Voodoo doll into the basin, and Norman’s reflection shattered into a thousand rippling pieces. ZeLena’s bone chimes rattled a warning and the spirit masks on the trees turned their faces toward the darkness where the carnival waited.
“You didn’t just take any victim, Ringmaster. You took one of my tribe. Now you’ll learn why they call me the Blood Queen.”
Chapter Seven: Too Late
The blood moon hung heavy over the woods as SaDue, ZeLena, and EnGa appeared within distance of the carnival as they heard its music being carried through the air. SaDue could feel the Deck of Misfortune’s power pulsating against her skin to the beat.
“Remember,” SaDue whispered, as she holds the Deck of Misfortune, “Norman doesn’t know we’re coming for one of our own. LoSho’s either kept that information to herself, or—”
“Or she’s saving it for something more sinister,” EnGa finished, her face tight with the knowledge of her twin’s capacity for cruelty.
They moved like shadows through the carnival’s outer layer, past empty tents decorated with its own unique dolls that resemble that of Voodoo. ZeLena’s magic kept them balanced between the realms of flesh and spirit, half-seen and difficult to focus on. The cards in SaDue’s hands offered guidance, showing them the path that they must follow.
Until every card suddenly turned black.
“Something’s wrong,” SaDue whispered, just as a laugh echoed through the darkness – Norman Barley’s laugh, but distorted, as if spoken through a chorus of trapped souls.
“Welcome, welcome!” his voice echoed. Candles blazed to life around them, revealing they stood in the center of his main performance circle, surrounded by VooDoo like symbols. “I must say, I expected you sooner. Did it take you this long to notice one of your little members had wandered from the fold?”
His coat decorated in forbidden tribal symbols as he emerged from the shadows with his hand clutching onto SeCate’s book.
LoSho, with her long purple hair moving slightly in the wind, flanked him on one side. Akain stood on his other side, his coat slightly wondering with the breeze.
“Where is she?” SaDue demanded, the Deck of Misfortune flaring with power, spirit energy crackling around her.
Norman’s smile widened. “Ah, so you did know her! How fascinating. LoSho, dear, did you have something to share with the class?”
LoSho’s expression remained unchanged, but something flickered in her eyes behind the corrupted paint – pride? Fear? Satisfaction?
“It doesn’t matter,” Norman continued, drawing a forbidden symbol in the air. “What’s done is done. And speaking of done…” He gestured to Akain, who pulled a rope made from braided human hair.
A curtain of moss fell, revealing OzBo’s cage. Inside, something moved in the shadows, surrounded by broken protection sigils and shattered spirit charms.
“No,” EnGa whispered.
SaDue surged forward, cards flying from her hands, each one blazing with ancestral power. ZeLena’s magic twisted the boundary between realms as EnGa launched an attack at her twin. The battle erupted in a chaos of magic and power.
Norman’s laughter rang out as he deflected SaDue’s cards with spells torn from SeCate’s book, each clash of power causing beems of power to explode in the air. LoSho and EnGa’s conflict warped the very fabric between realms, twin magics colliding in bursts of devastating force. ZeLena struggled to maintain balance as reality itself began to buckle under the magical onslaught.
But it was all a distraction.
SaDue realized it too late. The truth hit her with devastating force as she fought through Norman’s defenses and reached OzBo’s cage.
The cage door hung open. Inside, scattered among the filth and broken bones, lay the tattered remains of Lyra’s guts and medicine pouch which told the rest of the story.
“No,” SaDue yelled, falling to her knees. “No, no, no…”
“Oh dear,” Norman’s voice dripped with false sympathy. “Were you looking for your little root worker? She really did sooth OzBo’s appetitie.”
The scream that tore from SaDue’s throat pierced the ears of almost everyone around. The Deck of Misfortune erupted with power, responding to her grief and rage. Norman staggered back, his smug expression finally faltering as he realized he might have miscalculated.
“You,” SaDue rose, her tribal markings blazing with inner fire that made even LoSho step back. “You didn’t just kill an innocent. You didn’t just murder one of my tribe.” The cards of the Deck of Misfortune swirled around her like a tornado of vengeance, each one carrying the power of angry ancestors. “You made me break my oath as queen – my promise to protect my own.”
Norman raised SeCate’s book like a shield, but SaDue’s next words made him pause.
“Run,” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of a hundred spirits. “Run and hide in your Twisted Carnival. Because from this night forward, there will be no peace. No mercy. No negotiations.” Her tribal markings blazed like fresh blood. “I will tear down every tent, break every curse, burn every trace of your carnival from our sacred woods. And when I find you – when, not if – you will learn why they call me the Blood Queen.”
As Norman and his carnival flickered and vanished – a trick he’d no doubt pulled from SeCate’s book – SaDue gathered her sisters. They left with Lyra’s medicine pouch, the only piece of her they could bring home for proper a burial.
But they also left with something else: a purpose hardened by grief, a rage refined into determination, and a promise written in blood and blessed with magic. The Twisted Carnival had struck a blow that could never be forgiven.
The real war was about to begin.
Chapter Eight: The Price of Vengeance
Three nights after Lyra’s death, SaDue stood before the black water basin filled with blessed oils, but this time she wasn’t alone. EnGa and ZeLena flanked her, their combined power causing the waters to swirl with visions of possible futures. The Deck of Misfortune floated above the basin, cards spinning in a slow circle as ancestor spirits whispered guidance from the shadows.
“There,” EnGa whispered, her fingers tracing Voodoo symbols in the air. “I can feel my sister’s corrupt power. They’ve grown careless in their victory.”
“No,” ZeLena corrected, her eyes gleaming with understanding as she cast bones around the basin. “Not careless. Arrogant. Norman believes we’re broken by our loss.”
SaDue’s smile was sharp as a knife. “Then let’s show him how wrong he is.”
Without warning, under a moonless sky, the MuLock Tribe appeared at the center of the carnival, their combined power shattering Norman’s protection wards like cursed mirrors.
As spirit energy crackled through the air, slave performers that could run escaped into the woods. Norman emerged from his tent, clutching SeCate’s book to his chest, his showman’s smile replaced with genuine alarm.
“Impossible!” he sputtered. “The wards—”
“Were written in our sacred magic,” SaDue cut him off, her voice cold as a grave. “Magic you stole, but never truly understood.”
The battle was fierce but decisive. EnGa and ZeLena moved in perfect synchronization, their power amplified by ancestral spirits that SaDue had called forth. LoSho fought back but against her twin and former sisters, her tainted magic proved insufficient.
Akain tried to rally the remaining carnival members, but SaDue’s cards found them all. One by one, the Deck of Misfortune trapped them in visions of their own worst nightmares until only the core members remained.
OzBo, unleashed in desperation, charged at them with mindless fury. But ZeLena’s spirit bindings held him in place while EnGa’s purifying magic neutralized his strength.
Finally, Norman himself faced them, wielding SeCate’s book like a shield. When SaDue’s power struck him, the book flew from his hands, sailing through the air to land in its rightful owner’s grasp.
In the end, they stood before SaDue: Norman Barley, LoSho, Akain, and OzBo, tied to an ancient cypress tree by a rope enchanted with magic that even SeCate’s book couldn’t break.
“You think this is victory?” Norman spat, his showman’s facade cracking. “Kill us, and you’re no better than—”
“Kill you?” SaDue laughed. “Oh no, Ringmaster. Death is too kind for what you’ve done.”
EnGa stepped forward, her eyes fixed on her twin. This was her last chance to understand. “Why, sister? We were family. We were blessed by the ancestors themselves. What could make you betray everything we held sacred?”
LoSho’s laugh was bitter, even bound to the tree. “Family? Is that what you call it when SaDue was chosen to lead?” Her corrupted markings pulsed with rage against the spirit bindings. “I was the strongest among us. I was the one who mastered the shadow paths first. I was the one who could hear the spirits most clearly.”
“This was about power?” EnGa’s voice cracked with disbelief. “You betrayed us for power?”
“I betrayed you for what was rightfully mine!” LoSho snarled. “SeCate was blind. She chose SaDue because she was obedient, predictable, safe. The Blood Queen?” She spat the title like a curse. “She doesn’t deserve to lead our tribe. She doesn’t have the vision to do what must be done.”
“And Norman Barley does?” EnGa challenged, gesturing at the bound showman.
LoSho’s smile turned cruel. “Norman Barley is a means to an end. With SeCate’s book, I learned things – secrets about our tribe’s true power. Papa NaRue cheated on Marie with SeCate and may have stolen an object of great power from Marie. The carnival is just the beginning. Once SaDue falls, once I take my rightful place—”
“You really believe that?” EnGa cut her off. “You are such a fool! Papa NaRue did no such thing! He is not a thief! Marie was his mother LoSho! And as for Norman, you seriously believe that he would just hand over control? Sister, look at what you’ve become. Look at what you helped him do to Lyra!”
For a moment, something like regret flickered across LoSho’s face. Then her features hardened again. “Sacrifices must be made. Power demands blood. If SaDue is too weak to understand that—”
“Enough.” SaDue’s voice cut through the night like a ritual knife. She opened SeCate’s book, its pages glowing with renewed purpose in her hands. The Deck of Misfortune rose around her, cards spinning faster and faster until they formed a circle of blinding light.
“You wanted to be part of something magical?” she asked, her voice carrying the weight of tribal judgment. “You wanted to use our sacred power for your twisted shows?” Her fingers, stained with ritual ash and blessed oils, traced the words on the page as she began to read:
“By blood and bone, by flesh and fear, What was solid shall disappear. Through pages bound in ancient night, Let darkness take what is not right.”
Norman’s eyes widened as his body began to turn to spirit mist. “What… what are you doing?”
“Giving you what you wanted,” SaDue replied, turning another page covered in ancient Voodoo symbols. “A permanent place in the greatest show of all.”
“In words of power, in ink and age, Let evil’s form become the page. In stories told and stories kept, Let justice claim what darkness swept.”
LoSho was the first to understand, recognizing the ancient binding ritual. “Sister, please—” she began, but EnGa turned away as her twin’s body began to dissolve into smoke.
One by one, they followed LoSho – Norman’s theatrical poses becoming one with the paper, Akain’s silent acceptance swirling into the binding, OzBo’s mindless struggles fading into the margins. Their screams became whispers, their forms became words, their very essence absorbed into the book that they had dared to steal.
When it was done, SaDue closed the book with a quiet finality. The Deck of Misfortune settled around her, its purpose fulfilled.
“Let them be a story,” she declared, her voice carrying through the now-empty carnival grounds. “Let them be a warning. Let all who read these pages know the price of threatening the MuLock Tribe.”
She turned to her sisters, the tribal markings on her skin dimming as the night’s work ended. “Burn it all,” she commanded. “Let nothing remain of this place but ash and memory. Salt the earth and lay spirit wards.”
As sacred flames consumed the Twisted Carnival, SaDue held SeCate’s book close. Within its pages, new words had appeared in a familiar crimson script:
Here lie the enemies of the MuLock Tribe, bound not by chains or iron, but by the very magic they sought to corrupt. Let their fate be a lesson to all who would challenge the Blood Queen’s rule.
The approval of the spirts could be heard among the forest creatures and the nightly wind as they welcomed home their sacred book.
Chapter Nine: Peace Shattered
Several years had passed since the members of the Twisted Carnival were locked away, and peace had settled over the woods like a heavy fog. Under SaDue’s leadership, the MuLock Tribe had grown stronger, its sacred traditions deepening with each passing moon. No longer were they just a small circle of powerful practitioners; now every member of their people had found their place within the tribe’s spiritual hierarchy.
SaDue had worked tirelessly to share her knowledge, teaching the ancient ways to all who showed even a spark of magical potential. Her greatest achievement, though, was teaching ZeLena the intricate workings of the Deck of Misfortune. The cards responded to ZeLena’s natural gift for balance, showing her branching paths of possibility with unprecedented clarity.
In her sacred clearing, surrounded by hanging bone chimes and spirit masks, ZeLena would cast the cards daily, reading the threads of fate to guide their tribe’s decisions. Each spread revealed potential futures: which herbs to gather under which moon, when to perform certain rituals, how to avoid conflicts with neighboring tribes. Under her guidance, the MuLock Tribe prospered, avoiding disasters before they could manifest.
Meanwhile, EnGa had transformed their warriors, teaching them to blend physical combat with spiritual protection. Her training grounds, marked by totems and blessed with protection sigils, rang with the sounds of practice as she taught others to defend their sacred lands as she did – with both body and spirit.
But peace, like the phases of the moon, was destined to change.
It happened during one of ZeLena’s routine readings. The air in her divination circle was thick with smoke as she laid out the cards as usual but something felt wrong. The cards seemed to resist her touch, vibrating with an energy she hadn’t felt since the night they imprisoned the carnival.
As she turned the first card, the bone chimes around her clearing began to rattle without wind. The second card burned hot against her fingers. By the third card, cold sweat beaded on her forehead as wolves began to hound in the distance.
Then she saw it – in every possible future thread, a shadow moved. A familiar shadow wearing a top hat.
ZeLena’s hands trembled as she continued the reading, each card revealing what she desperately hoped wasn’t true. But there was no denying it. The cards showed broken bindings, torn pages, escaped spirits. Somehow, the impossible had happened.
Norman Barley, LoSho, Akain, and OzBo had escaped their prison within SeCate’s book.
ZeLena gathered the cards and ran through the woods toward SaDue. The bone chimes sang warnings as she passed, and the very air seemed to thicken with dread. She arrived as her queen was performing a protection ritual.
“They’re free,” ZeLena gasped, as she tried to catch her breath. “The cards… I saw them. The carnival… they’ve escaped the book’s binding.”
SaDue rose slowly from her ritual circle, her blood-red tribal markings beginning to glow with an inner fire. “Show me,” she commanded.
ZeLena’s hands shook as she laid out the cards before SaDue, the pattern revealing the same dark omens. This time, the cards seemed to bleed a pattern in the shape of the ringmaster himself onto the ground, staining the earth beneath them.
“It’s worse than we feared,” ZeLena whispered, turning the final card. “They’ve grown stronger in their imprisonment. The time within the book… it changed them. Twisted them even further.”
SaDue stood motionless, watching as the cards revealed Norman Barley emerging from the book’s pages like smoke given flesh, his power fed by years of rage. The cards showed LoSho, her corrupted tribal markings now burned permanently into her spirit, her knowledge of their sacred ways deeper and darker than before. Akain appeared as a shadow among shadows, and OzBo… OzBo’s transformation was the most terrifying of all.
“Gather EnGa,” SaDue commanded, her voice carrying the weight of thunder. “We need to—”
But before she could finish, a sound cut through the woods that made their blood run cold: carnival music, twisted and wrong, carrying on a wind that shouldn’t exist. And beneath it, barely audible but unmistakable, came Norman Barley’s laugh.
“They’re already here,” ZeLena breathed, watching as the cards before them began to turn black, one by one. “In the sacred woods.”
“No,” SaDue corrected, her eyes fixed on the final card as it revealed its secret. “They never left. The book was just the beginning of their prison, not the end. All this time, they’ve been here, waiting, growing stronger…” Her voice trailed off as realization dawned. “This is what SeCate tried to warn us about. The horror that was ‘already here.'”
The bone chimes around SaDue began to ring in frantic warning as darkness crept between the trees. Some of the dirt on the ground started to levitate slightly, and protective sigils flared as ancient wards were tested as the dirt fell back to the ground.
“Alert the tribe,” SaDue commanded, already reaching for her staff. “EnGa’s warriors need to—”
A familiar voice cut through the night, making both women freeze. “Oh, but EnGa already knows, doesn’t she?” LoSho’s corrupted laugh echoed from everywhere and nowhere. “My dear twin always could sense when I was near.”
The air grew thick with tainted power as Norman Barley’s carnival began to materialize around them. Cursed moss begin to rose from the blighted earth forming tents with forbidden symbols of magick. The sound of drums – not the sacred rhythms of their tribe, but a perverted mockery – pulsed through the ground.
“Did you really think a book could hold us?” Norman’s voice rolled through the clearing. “All you did was give us time. Time to learn. Time to grow. Time to understand the true power of SeCate’s magic.”
SaDue’s blood-red markings blazed as she stood protective over her cards. “ZeLena, go. Find EnGa. Bring her here. The three of us need to—”
“The three of you need to witness what you created,” Norman stepped from the shadows, his form somehow larger, darker, his top hat adorned with a mysterious like jewel. “You thought you were punishing us? You were transforming us. And now…” he spread his arms wide as the carnival fully manifested around them, “now the real show can begin.”
SaDue grabbed the Deck of Misfortune as it pulsed with energy, but for the first time since its creation, the cards showed visions of nothing but darkness ahead.
SaDue’s eyes narrowed as she faced Norman Barley, her grip tightening on the Deck of Misfortune. “How?” she demanded. “How did you escape our binding? The ritual was perfect, the cards were—”
Norman’s smile widened as he turned to LoSho, who stepped forward from the shadows, her corrupted tribal markings now forming patterns that seemed to move like living things across her skin. “Show her, my dear. Show your former queen what you created in our… imprisonment.”
LoSho reached into her tattered robes and withdrew a deck of cards that made the very air recoil. Where the Deck of Misfortune glowed with the power of light, these cards seemed to devour light itself. Each one was marked with forbidden versions of their sacred symbols, and they whispered with voices that should never be heard.
“The Deck of Retribution,” LoSho purred, her voice carrying echoes of the void they’d been trapped in. “You see, sister, while you thought us safely bound within those pages, I was learning. Watching. Understanding. Every time you or ZeLena used the Deck of Misfortune, its power resonated through our prison. I studied each vibration, each ripple of magic.”
She spread the dark cards before her in a mockery of ZeLena’s divination pattern. “You taught me everything I needed to know without realizing it. I took the fundamental principles of your deck’s creation and twisted them, corrupted them. Each card in the Deck of Retribution is a key, and together…” her smile turned cruel, “together they opened a door that your book couldn’t keep closed.”
“And now,” Norman interjected, placing a hand on LoSho’s shoulder, “now we have something far more powerful than mere carnival tricks. We have a weapon forged from your own magic, turned against you.”
The Deck of Retribution pulsed with dark energy, and SaDue could see her own cards responding, the two decks recognizing each other like mirrors of the same power.
Before SaDue could respond, EnGa burst into the clearing, her warriors behind her, all bearing blessed weapons and protective charms. She stopped short at the sight of her twin, her eyes fixed on the dark deck in LoSho’s hands.
“You twisted our sacred magic,” EnGa’s voice trembled with rage and grief. “You perverted everything our ancestors built—”
“I improved it,” LoSho snapped. “I took your limited vision and expanded it beyond anything you could imagine. The spirits you bind with reverence? I learned to command them. The futures you timidly peek at? I can tear them open and reshape them.”
As if to demonstrate, she drew a card from her deck. The air itself seemed to tear as she held it up, revealing glimpses of nightmarish possibilities that made the spirit masks weep blood.
“Enough!” SaDue’s voice cracked like thunder. She raised the Deck of Misfortune, its cards blazing with light. “You want to test your corruption against our sacred ways? Then let’s—”
A horrific laugh cut through the clearing – OzBo’s laugh, but different now, deeper, more alarming. The massive creature stepped forward, no longer the mindless beast they’d bound years ago. His hair was a darker red color, his face looked older as if he had more intelligence, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of countless consumed souls.
“The Blood Queen thinks she can stop us,” he rumbled, making several of EnGa’s warriors step back. “But we’ve tasted true power now. We’ve learned what your precious SeCate was too afraid to try.”
Norman Barley spread his arms wide, his carnival growing larger, darker, more threatening around them. “This is just the beginning,” he declared. “Your tribe thought they could contain us? Now we’ll show them what true darkness looks like.”
As both decks pulsed with opposing power, the forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see which magic would prove stronger – the sacred traditions of the MuLock Tribe, or the corrupted power of the Twisted Carnival.
The air crackled with opposing energies as SaDue and LoSho faced each other, their decks resonating with increasing intensity. Between them, reality itself seemed to waver, torn between sacred power and corrupted magic.
“ZeLena,” SaDue commanded without taking her eyes off LoSho, “begin the protection ritual. EnGa, have your warriors form the sacred circle. We end this now.”
But Norman Barley’s laugh cut through her orders. “You still don’t understand, do you?” He gestured to the darkness surrounding them. “Your precious rituals can’t stop what’s already begun. LoSho, show them.”
LoSho drew three cards from the Deck of Retribution, each one bleeding shadow into the air. As she laid them out, the ground beneath them began to rot, plants withering, roots turning to ash. “The first card breaks the barriers between realms,” she explained, her voice carrying an echo of void. “The second card corrupts the spirit paths. And the third…”
As she placed the final card, every protective ward in the forest began to crack. Spirit masks shattered on their trees, bone chimes fell silent, and sacred sigils burned away like mist.
“The third card,” LoSho smiled, “unmakes everything you’ve built.”
SaDue felt it immediately – their defenses, carefully maintained for generations, unraveling like rotted thread. Around them, EnGa’s warriors cried out as their weapons turned to rust in their hands.
“Your time of peace is over,” Norman declared, spreading his arms as his carnival grew larger, its corrupted tents and twisted attractions spreading through the forest like a disease. “The real carnival is about to begin, and this time…” his smile widened, “this time, everyone gets a front-row seat to the greatest show in any realm.”
OzBo’s powerful form loomed in the darkness, Akain’s shadows spread like spilled ink, and LoSho’s Deck of Retribution pulsed with dark promise. The Twisted Carnival had returned, stronger than ever, armed with forbidden knowledge and a power born from their very imprisonment.
And as SaDue looked down at her Deck of Misfortune, she saw something that made her blood run cold – the cards were changing, responding to the corruption spreading through their sacred woods, showing futures darker than any she had ever dared to vision.
SaDue watched in horror as images flickered across her cards – visions of their woods transformed into a permanent carnival of nightmares, their people twisted into attractions, the spirit world itself corrupted by Norman Barley’s influence. But among these dark futures, one card pulsed with a different energy, showing a glimpse of something that made her grip tighten on the deck.
“You may have escaped the book,” SaDue said, her voice carrying an otherworldly resonance, “but you forgot one crucial detail.” She stepped forward, her blood-red markings blazing brighter. “You’re not the only ones who’ve grown stronger over these years.”
She nodded to ZeLena, who immediately understood. ZeLena and EnGa flanked SaDue’s side while she laid out the cards from the Deck of Misfortune in a pattern that made LoSho’s confident smile falter.
“That pattern,” LoSho whispered, recognition flickering across her face. “That’s not possible. You couldn’t have learned—”
“Learned what?” EnGa asked, moving to stand closer to her queen. “What our sister fears, my queen?”
SaDue’s eyes never left Norman as she answered. “During these years of peace, I didn’t just teach our people. I studied. I learned. I found things in SeCate’s remaining writings – things about Papa NaRue’s original magic. About why he may have really left.”
For the first time, uncertainty crossed Norman Barley’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“Papa NaRue didn’t leave to find a way to fight you,” SaDue revealed, continuing to lay out cards in an increasingly complex pattern. “He left because he saw this moment. He saw what would happen when the carnival escaped, and he left us the tools to face it. Tools that SeCate documented in writings you never understood.”
The Deck of Misfortune began to glow with a power none of them had seen before, each card pulsing with the combined energy of every MuLock Tribe member present.
“You see,” SaDue continued, as the pattern of cards began to emanate a light that pushed back the carnival’s shadows, “Papa NaRue knew that true power doesn’t come from corruption or control. It comes from unity, from the combined strength of an entire tribe.” She gestured to the warriors, the healers, the spirit workers – every member of their tribe who stood with them. “And while you four were trapped in that book, learning to twist our magic…”
“We were learning to share it,” ZeLena finished, her hands moving over the cards, adding her power to the growing pattern.
Norman’s confidence wavered further as tribe members began to step forward, each adding their energy to the Deck of Misfortune. Even the youngest initiates contributed, their untrained but pure magic joining the whole. The cards rose into the air, forming a spiraling pattern that made LoSho’s Deck of Retribution tremble in her hands.
“No,” LoSho snarled, raising the Deck of Retribution. “Our power is stronger. We’ve seen beyond the veil, we’ve learned secrets you can’t imagine—”
“You learned secrets in isolation,” EnGa interrupted, finally understanding SaDue’s strategy. “We learned them together.”
The air crackled with energy as both decks pulsed with power. But where the Deck of Retribution drew its strength from four corrupted souls, the Deck of Misfortune now channeled the combined power of hundreds – every member of the MuLock Tribe, their magic unified in purpose.
Norman Barley took a step back as his carnival began to flicker and fade around them. “This isn’t possible,” he muttered. “The book showed us everything. We saw all the secrets—”
“You saw what the book contained,” SaDue corrected him. “But our true power was never in those pages. It was in our people. In our unity. In the very thing you sought to corrupt.”
The Deck of Misfortune blazed with light, each card amplified by the collective power of the tribe. The circus tents of the Twisted Carnival began to dissolve, unable to maintain their form against the power radiating from the unified MuLock Tribe.
“Stop them!” Norman commanded, panic finally breaking through his theatrical demeanor. “LoSho, use the deck! Akain, the shadows! OzBo—”
But his commands died in his throat as he watched LoSho’s Deck of Retribution’s outer layer begin to crack, dark energy leaking from it like black blood. Each card in her deck had been created in isolation, fueled by hatred and revenge. Now the outer layer of each one shattered against the overwhelming force of tribal unity.
“You can’t,” LoSho whispered, watching her creation crumble. “We learned everything. We mastered the darkest arts. We—”
“You learned everything except what mattered most,” SaDue declared, raising her hands as the Deck of Misfortune formed a circle above them. “The true purpose of the MuLock Tribe was never about power. It was about about unity. About family.”
As she spoke the word “family,” EnGa stepped forward, tears streaming down her face as she looked at her twin. “This is why I could never follow your path, sister. You sought power alone. I found it in our people.”
The cards began to spin, faster and faster, creating a vortex of pure spiritual energy. Norman Barley, LoSho, Akain, and OzBo found themselves being pulled toward its center, their corrupted forms unable to resist its pull.
“No!” Norman screamed, his refined manner completely abandoned. “We escaped once! We can—”
“You escaped a prison of paper and ink,” SaDue cut him off. “But you cannot escape this. The combined will of our entire tribe, blessed by the ancestors themselves.”
The Deck of Misfortune’s power grew more intense causing a transformation to take place. One by one the Twisted Carnival members fell to the ground, so weak they could no longer stand up.
LoSho, watching her power crumble, made one last desperate attempt. “Sister!” she called to EnGa, her voice carrying a hint of their old connection. “Help me! We share the same blood—”
“But not the same heart,” EnGa replied softly, adding her own power to the vortex. “Goodbye, LoSho .”
SaDue stepped forward, the Deck of Misfortune responding to her as she spoke:
“By the power of our tribe, By the strength of bonds you tried to divide, We cast you now beyond the veil, Where no evil can prevail.”
The cards spun faster, their light becoming blinding. Norman Barley reached for SeCate’s book one last time, but could not gather the strength as he was pulled into the vortex. Akain accepted his fate in silence, closing his eyes as he was pulled in, bright light swirling around him. OzBo released one final, human cry – a sound of both anguish and relief.
LoSho was the last to go, her eyes locked with her twin’s until the very end. “I could have made us great,” she whispered.
“We already were,” EnGa responded as her sister dissolved into the vortex.
The cards began to slow down from spinning, and where the four carnival members had stood, nothing remained but a faint shimmer in the air. The Deck of Misfortune came back together and settled into SaDue’s hands.
As the last echoes of power faded from the clearing, the forest itself seemed to exhale. Spirit masks reformed on their trees and sacred symbols came back to life with renewed strength. Where the carnival’s tents had stood, flowers began to bloom, as if the earth itself was healing.
SaDue looked down at the Deck of Misfortune, now transformed by the tribe’s unified power. The cards glowed with a deeper, richer light, each one marked not just with their original magic, but with traces of every tribal member who had contributed their energy to it.
“Where did they go?” a young initiate asked.
SaDue looks at the cards in her hand for a second. “Somewhere beyond our realm,” she answered softly. “In a place between spaces, where evil cannot take root.”
EnGa was kneeling down pulling at the ground where her twin sister had stood. SaDue approached her quietly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“She made her choice long ago,” EnGa said before SaDue could speak. “I just never understood why until today. She couldn’t see that true power was already here, among us.” SaDue gently padded EnGa’s shoulder and turned around to face the others.
“The carnival is gone,” SaDue announced to the gathered tribe, her voice carrying through the woods. “Not hidden or bound, but truly gone. And with it goes our fear, our division, our doubt. From this day forward, we are not just a tribe – we are one family, one spirit, one power.”
In the nights that followed, the MuLock Tribe underwent a transformation. Under SaDue’s guidance, they established new traditions that honored the lesson they had learned in that final battle.
The Deck of Misfortune, now enriched by the combined power of the tribe, was no longer used by ZeLena alone. Instead, they created a ritual circle where any tribe member could contribute their energy to the deck, making the visions of the future clearer and the guidance stronger. Even the youngest initiates were welcomed to add their touch.
EnGa expanded her warrior training to include defense. The fighting grounds became a place of both physical and spiritual growth, where warriors learned to channel the tribe’s power through their weapons.
Carvings in the trees were created throughout the woods that told the story of their victory. These carvings served as gathering places where tribe members could share their magic, strengthening their bonds with each other and the spirits. The bone chimes that hung in these spaces sang with the combined voices of their ancestors, proud of what their descendants had become.
But perhaps the most significant change was in how they recorded their history. SaDue established a new tradition of storytelling, where each member of the tribe contributed to the writing of their sacred texts. Unlike SeCate’s book, these new records were filled with multiple voices, multiple perspectives, multiple types of magic – all woven together into a tapestry of shared knowledge.
As the seasons turned and the tribe grew stronger in their unity, SaDue, ZeLena, and EnGa began to understand that true power meant knowing when to let go. They gathered the tribe beneath the spirit tree where SeCate first formed the MuLock Tribe.
“Our people have grown beyond the need for a single leader,” SaDue announced, her blood-red markings glowing softly in night light. “The power that defeated the carnival came not from us three, but from all of you. It is time for the MuLock Tribe to truly belong to its people.”
ZeLena stepped forward, the Deck of Misfortune floating before her. “I have seen many futures,” she said, “and the brightest ones are those where our tribe leads itself, where each voice carries equal weight.”
“You will establish a council,” EnGa added, “chosen by the tribe, for the tribe. Warriors, healers, spirit workers – all will have their say in how you all move forward.”
The wind began to pick up making the bone chimes sing as more was to come with their announcement.
“However,” SaDue continued, “should darkness ever threaten our people again, should our tribe ever face a danger they cannot overcome alone…” She looked to her sisters, who nodded in agreement.
Together, the three women began to weave a spell unlike any their tribe had seen. They combined their powers one final time, creating a protection that would echo through the ages.
“Through sacred sleep we offer guard,
Through dreams we keep our tribal ward,
Until the day our power’s needed,
When darkness comes, our rest unheeded.”
As the spell took shape around them, SaDue addressed the tribe one last time. “We do not abandon you,” she assured them, her voice gentle. “Since we are the first, granted abilities by Queen SeCate herself, we must conserve our magic so that when the time comes, we can help you in your time of need. We offer ourselves as guardians in eternal sleep, ready to wake should true darkness ever return. But for now, you have proven that our greatest strength lies not in individual power, but in unity.”
ZeLena handed the Deck of Misfortune to the newly appointed council. “These cards now belong to all of you,” she explained. “They will guide you as they guided me, but now they carry the power of every tribe member. Use them wisely, use them together.”
EnGa stepped forward, removing her warrior markings. “My warriors,” she said proudly, “you have learned that true strength comes from working together. Lead with your hearts.”
The three sisters joined hands. As their spell began to take hold, their forms began to shimmer with spiritual energy. The tribe watched in awe as the main spirit tree split itself into three, as embedded crystals begin to show through the bark of each one.
“Remember,” SaDue said, her voice growing distant as the sleep began to take her, “you are the MuLock Tribe. You are the keepers of sacred ways, the protectors of these woods, the guardians of balance. Rule wisely, rule together.”
“And if darkness comes again,” ZeLena added, her eyes beginning to close, “if a threat rises that the tribe cannot face alone…”
“Break the seals,” EnGa finished, “and we will rise to stand with you once more.”
The three trees glowed with inner light as the three sisters entered them and succumbed to their sleep. SaDue’s blood-red markings dimmed to a soft pulse, matching her heartbeat as she entered her eternal dreams. ZeLena’s form became still. EnGa’s warrior spirit settled into peaceful repose. The entrances of the trees closed forming protective chambers, locked by seals.
Around the chambers, the tribe began their first act of unified leadership. They wove protection spells, each member contributing their unique energy to guard their sleeping guardians. Warriors stood watch as healers blessed the ground. Spirit workers communed with ancestors to ensure the chambers would remain hidden from any who might wish them harm. The location was marked only in the tribe’s most sacred texts, known only to council members, protected by magic that would recognize only those of true MuLock blood.
The council, selected from all walks of tribal life, gathered around the chambers one last time to pay their respect. They spoke the names of their sleeping leaders in reverence:
“SaDue, our Blood Queen, who taught us that true leadership means trusting in your people.”
“ZeLena, our Seer, who showed us that every voice adds clarity to our vision.”
“EnGa, our Warrior, who proved that strength lies in protecting by working together.”
The tribe then began their new journey. The council chamber, built around a massive cypress tree, became the heart of their governance. Every decision was made by consensus, every voice given the chance to be heard.
Chapter Ten: Modern Shadows
Decades later, the trees lining Old Forest Road cast long shadows in the crime scene floodlights. Detective Sarah Chen crouched beside the body of a young woman sprawled in the center of the asphalt, her dark hair fanned out like fine tree branches against the cold ground. Her partner, Detective Mike Rivera, stood a few feet away, taking notes as Officer Tom Jenkins recounted finding the scene.
“Called in at 11:42 PM by a passing motorist,” Jenkins reported, his breath visible in the autumn chill. “Victim appears to be in her mid-twenties. No ID found on the body.”
Sarah studied the strange markings painted on the victim’s exposed arms – intricate patterns that looked almost tribal. “These symbols,” she muttered. “Mike, you ever seen anything like this?”
Rivera shook his head, moving closer to examine the markings. “Never. But look at how precise they are. This wasn’t random.”
“That’s not the strangest part,” Jenkins said, reaching for an evidence bag in his pocket. “Found these next to the body. Didn’t want to say it over the radio, but… well, take a look.”
He handed the bag to Rivera. Inside were two cards, ancient-looking but somehow pristine. Their surfaces seemed to shimmer slightly in the harsh crime scene lighting, covered in symbols similar to those painted on the victim’s skin.
“They’re not like any playing cards I’ve ever seen,” Jenkins added.
Rivera turned the evidence bag over in his hands, studying the cards through the plastic. “We’ll get these to the lab right away. Full workup – DNA, prints, material analysis, the works.”
Sarah stood still, her eyes still fixed on the victim. “Mike, this feels different. Those cards, these markings… something’s not right here.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Rivera assured her, carefully securing the evidence bag in his jacket pocket. “We always do.”
“Body temperature suggests she’s been dead about four hours,” Sarah noted, pulling on latex gloves to examine the victim’s hands. “No defensive wounds that I can see. No signs of struggle.”
Rivera’s flashlight beam caught something at the edge of the road. “Hey Jenkins, did CSU photograph that area yet?”
“Yeah, they cleared it. What do you see?”
Rivera moved closer to the tree line, his beam illuminating the ground. “Looks like some kind of powder. Black, maybe dark purple.” He crouched down for a better look. “Forms a pattern, almost like—”
“Don’t touch it,” Sarah called out sharply, surprising both men with her tone. Something about that powder made her skin crawl. “Let’s have CSU collect samples first.”
Jenkins cleared his throat. “There’s something else. We found traces of candle wax in a circle about twenty feet into the woods. Black wax. And…” he hesitated, “there were bones.”
“Human?” Rivera asked, standing back up.
“No, just a small animal’s bones arranged in a weird pattern. CSU’s documenting it now.”
“No tire tracks, no footprints. It’s like she just… appeared here.” Sarah said as she walked the crime scene perimeter taking in details.
“Could be dealing with some kind of ritual killing,” Rivera suggested, joining his partner. “Those cards, the symbols, bones in the woods…it’s New Orleans after all.”
“What about missing persons?” Sarah asked Jenkins. “Any reports matching her description?”
“I submitted her prints,” Jenkins replied. “I am waiting to hear back. When I found out you all were coming, I put you down for contacts.”
“Jenkins, make sure CSU photographs every inch of her body,” Sarah instructed, pulling out her phone to take additional shots herself. These symbols… there was something familiar about them.
Rivera knelt beside the body again, his flashlight beam catching something unusual at the victim’s neckline. “Sarah, take a look at this.” He carefully pulled back the collar of the woman’s shirt, revealing what looked like an old burn scar. “This marking is different. Looks older.”
Sarah leaned in closer. “It’s not a burn,” she said quietly. “It’s more like… a birthmark? “
Just then, a gust of wind whipped through the crime scene, unusually strong and cold for the season. The floodlights flickered, and for a brief moment, both detectives could have sworn they saw the victim breath for a second.
“Tell me you saw that,” Rivera muttered, standing quickly.
“Yeah,” Sarah responded, her hand instinctively moving to her weapon. “Jenkins, did any of your officers report anything… unusual when they first arrived?”
Jenkins shifted uncomfortably. “Like what?”
“Anything out of the ordinary. Sounds, lights, feelings…”
“Well,” Jenkins hesitated, looking embarrassed. “Thompson – he was first on scene – said when he got here, he thought he heard drums coming from the woods as he pulled up. But when he got out of his car, nothing. And Davis mentioned all his equipment went haywire for about thirty seconds when he arrived. Radio, flashlight, everything just… died. Then came back on like nothing happened.”
Rivera pulled out the evidence bag with the cards again, studying them more closely. The symbols seemed to shift slightly, as if they were moving on their own.
“I want statements from Thompson and Davis before the end of their shift,” Rivera said, tucking the cards back into his jacket. As he did, both detectives’ phones suddenly lost signal, their screens going dark before lighting up again.
Sarah walked toward the tree line where the powder had been found, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. The trees seemed to loom larger here, older, their branches creating strange shadows that didn’t quite match the light sources at the scene.
“Mike,” she called out, “come look at this.”
In the beam of her flashlight, partially hidden by fallen leaves, was what appeared to be a small bone charm, threaded on a leather cord. But before either detective could get closer, a sound stopped them both – a low, rhythmic humming that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
The crime scene floodlights flickered again, more violently this time. In the strobe-like effect, both detectives saw something that made them freeze: the black powder on the ground was moving, forming itself into patterns before their eyes.
“Jenkins!” Rivera called out, but the officer was already rushing over, his hand on his weapon.
“What the hell?” Jenkins whispered as they watched the powder settle into a perfect circle, with symbols inside that matched those on the victim’s skin.
Sarah pulled out her phone to photograph the pattern, but her camera wouldn’t focus – the image kept blurring, as if the pattern refused to be captured.
“Central, this is Detective Rivera,” Mike spoke into his radio. “We’re going to need—” He stopped, realizing his radio was emitting only static.
The humming grew louder, and a wind that shouldn’t exist in these woods began to pick up, carrying what sounded like whispered words in a language none of them recognized.
Just as suddenly as it started, the humming stopped. The wind died. The floodlights stabilized. But the powder circle remained, its pattern now seemingly burned into the ground.
“Everyone okay?” Rivera asked, looking between Sarah and Jenkins. Both nodded, though none of them lowered their hands from their weapons.
Sarah took a step toward the circle, but Rivera caught her arm. “Don’t,” he warned. “Whatever this is… let’s wait for CSU to process it.”
A sharp crackling sound drew their attention back to the victim’s body. The markings on her skin were definitely glowing now, a dull red pulse that matched a human heartbeat. Jenkins stumbled backward, crossing himself.
“This isn’t right,” he muttered. “This isn’t natural.”
Sarah’s phone suddenly chirped back to life, along with their radios and other equipment. Multiple text messages flooded in, including one that made her breath catch.
“Mike,” she called to her partner. “Missing Persons just got a hit on our victim. Her name’s Lisa Reeves. But…” she paused, reading the information twice to be sure. “This can’t be right. She was reported missing in 1985.”
“That’s impossible,” Rivera said, moving to look at her phone. “Our victim can’t be more than twenty-five.”
“The report includes a photo,” Sarah continued, her voice tense. “It’s her, Mike. Same face, same birthmark under her collar. This woman hasn’t aged a day in almost forty years.”
The cards in Rivera’s pocket suddenly felt hot. When he pulled them out, the symbols on their surface were moving, rearranging themselves like living things.
“Central,” Jenkins radioed, his voice shaky, “we’re going to need additional units at our location. And…” he looked at the detectives for confirmation before continuing, “maybe contact that specialist unit. The one that handles… unusual cases.”
“The specialist unit’s been disbanded for years,” Rivera said, still staring at the moving symbols on the cards. “After that incident in ’98 that nobody talks about.”
“Then what do we do with… this?” Jenkins gestured broadly at the scene, encompassing the impossible victim, the living cards, and the burned pattern on the ground.
Sarah was already on her phone, scrolling through old case files. “Listen to this,” she said. “In 1985, four similar cases were reported in this same area. All victims had unusual markings, all found near the old forest. And in each case…” she looked up at her partner, “two cards were found.”
“What happened to the cards?” Rivera asked.
“They vanished from evidence lockup before they could be processed. The cases went cold.” She continued reading. “There’s a note here from lead detective A. Wright Hall. Says he consulted with a local tribal elder about the symbols, but the interview notes are missing from the file.”
The wind picked up again, but this time it carried a scent – something ancient, like old smoke and herbs. The trees around them seemed to lean in closer, their branches creaking despite the lack of strong wind.
Rivera pulled the evidence bag with the cards out again. The symbols had stopped moving, but now they seemed to form a clear message – one that made no sense to him.
“Sarah,” he called his partner over. “Can you read this?”
She looked at the cards and felt a jolt of recognition. The symbols… she knew them. Had always known them, somehow. The words formed in her mind as clearly as English:
“‘The seal is broken. They are awakening.'”
Both her partner and Jenkins stared at her. “How did you…” Rivera started to ask, but stopped as Sarah’s eyes grew wide with sudden understanding.
“My grandmother,” she whispered. “She used to tell stories… about the MuLock Tribe. About three sleeping guardians. About cards that could see the future.” She looked at her partner. “I always thought they were just stories.”
“Your grandmother?” Rivera asked, studying his partner’s face with new interest. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned these stories before?”
Sarah shook her head, memories flooding back. “She made me promise never to talk about them. Said our family had a responsibility to keep the secrets.” Her hand unconsciously moved to her collar, pulling it aside to reveal a birthmark – one with the same intricate pattern as the victim’s.
Jenkins’ flashlight beam caught the marking, and he took an involuntary step back. “Detective Chen… your birthmark…”
“I’ve always had it,” she said quietly. “My grandmother had one too. She said it marked us as… as watchers. People chosen to keep an eye out for signs.” Sarah looked down at the victim. “Signs like this.”
The cards in Rivera’s hand suddenly grew hot enough that he nearly dropped them. The evidence bag began to smoke slightly, and the symbols on the cards blazed with red light that matched the pulsing markings on both the victim and Sarah’s birthmark.
“Your grandmother,” Rivera said, his detective’s mind racing to connect the dots. “Is she still alive?”
Sarah’s face turned sad. “No. She died last month. But before she died…” She paused, remembering her grandmother’s final words, spoken in what Sarah had assumed was delirium. “She said ‘They’re coming back. The carnival is coming back.'”
A sudden gust of wind extinguished every floodlight at the scene, plunging them into darkness. In that moment of blackness, they all heard it – carnival music, distant but growing closer, carried on a wind that smelled of greasepaint and decay.
When the lights flickered back on seconds later, the victim’s body was gone. In its place lay a single carnival ticket, its edges burned, its surface covered in the same symbols as the cards.
“Secure the scene!” Rivera shouted as Jenkins immediately radioed for backup. But Sarah stood motionless, her grandmother’s last words echoing in her mind.
She reached for the carnival ticket, but Rivera caught her wrist. “Sarah, don’t. We need to process it properly—”
“There’s no time for that,” she said, her voice carrying an authority he’d never heard before. “If I’m right, if the stories are true, then this isn’t just a murder investigation anymore. This is something else. Something worse.”
The distant carnival music grew louder, and with it came the sound of children laughing – but the laughter was wrong somehow, distorted and hollow. The cards in Rivera’s evidence bag started to vibrate.
Sarah finally grasped the ticket despite Rivera’s protest. The moment her fingers touched it, images flooded her mind: the Twisted Carnival rising from darkness, a man in a top hat looking like a ringmaster of a circus spreading corruption through the modern world, four figures emerging from a portal to Hell, seeking revenge.
“They’re free,” she gasped, the ticket burning hot in her hand. “The carnival members – they’ve escaped again. But how…” Her eyes widened with realization. “The cards. The Deck of Misfortune. When my grandmother died, something must have weakened the seal.”
“Sarah, you’re not making sense,” Rivera said, but his hand had found his weapon again as shadows began to move unnaturally around them.
“Lisa Reeves, the vicitim, wasn’t killed here.” Sarah continued, “She was taken in 1985, kept somewhere outside of time. They’re sending us a message.”
Jenkins’ radio crackled with static before emitting a sound that made them all flinch – carnival music, playing through every police frequency.
“The sleeping guardians,” Sarah whispered. “We need to wake them. Before it’s too late.”
Rivera grabbed Sarah’s shoulder, forcing her to focus on him. “Stop. Just stop for a minute,” he said firmly. “You’re talking about carnivals, and sleeping guardians, and magic cards. We need to approach this logically. Besides how do you know all of this? You’re grandmother?”
Rivera looked at Sarah with a more serious expression on her face. “Look, I believe something strange is happening here. The victim disappearing, these cards, that ticket – clearly we’re dealing with something… unusual. But we’re still cops, Sarah. We need to work this like cops.”
The carnival music faded, leaving an eerie silence in the woods.
“My old partner,” Rivera continued, “he worked a task force in the ’90s. Said there was a professor at the university who specialized in local folklore, specifically about these woods. If what you’re saying has any historical basis, maybe this expert can help us understand what we’re dealing with. We need to add some proof to what you know from your grandmother, okay?”
Sarah looked down at the ticket in her hand, then at the birthmark that marked her family’s connection to all this. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. You’re right. We need proof before we act. But Mike…” she met his eyes, “we need to move fast. Whatever’s happening, I can feel it getting stronger.”
“First thing tomorrow,” Rivera promised, “we’ll find this professor. For now, let’s process what we can of this scene and get the evidence we collect somewhere secure.”
As they walked back to their cars, Sarah cast one last look at the woods. For just a moment, she thought she saw a figure in a top hat standing between the trees, but when she blinked, it was gone.
The wind carried one final whisper through the trees: “The show is just beginning.”
Survey
Thank you so much for reading! Fill out the survey below to let us know what you think of it!
Join Us
Subscribe to Twisted Carnival’s newsletter for an exhilarating journey into the realm of dark wonders, with captivating secrets, announcements, and exclusive offers, keeping you one step ahead and immersed in thrilling tales as part of their mesmerizing subscriber community.
Get a front-row seat to Twisted Carnival’s macabre spectacle on social media, with twisted artistry, mesmerizing performances, behind-the-scenes glimpses, and exclusive event updates, connecting you to a community of thrill-seekers and captivating tales.
