The Broken Carousel: The Ride of Nightmares
The Broken Carousel: The Ride of Nightmares
The old carnival sat at the edge of town, forgotten by most, its paint faded and signs rusted. Locals said it was haunted, cursed even. But to Jake, it was just another spot for urban exploration with his friends Lisa and Mark.
"Come on," Jake said, grinning under the beam of his headlamp. "How often do we get to explore a place like this?"
Lisa hesitated at the entrance. "I don't know... something feels wrong. Look at that carousel. It’s like it’s waiting for us."
The carousel stood eerily still, horses frozen mid-gallop, their painted eyes cracked and glassy. A strange wind blew even though the night was dead calm. The air smelled of old grease and something metallic—blood, maybe.
"Don’t be paranoid," Mark said, stepping over the broken fence. "It’s just an old ride. Nothing more."
They walked closer. A low creak echoed as if the ride had shifted on its own. Lisa stayed behind, her hand on the pepper spray in her pocket. She had heard the stories—the children that vanished in the 70s, the strange lights, the nightmares locals claimed to have after walking near it.
"Look at this thing," Jake said, climbing onto one of the chipped horses. "Still sturdy. I say we ride it. For the thrill."
"You're insane," Lisa said. "This place has been shut for decades. Nothing works."
But as Jake reached for the brass pole, a flicker of light burst from the carousel’s center. The music started—faint and distorted, like an old record warping in slow motion. The ride creaked and began to turn.
"That... that's not possible," Mark whispered, backing away. "There’s no power."
"Get off, Jake!" Lisa shouted.
Too late. The carousel spun faster. Jake tried to jump off, but his hands were stuck to the pole, skin burning on contact. He screamed as the lights flickered faster, casting grotesque shadows on the ground.
"We have to stop it!" Lisa yelled, running to the control booth. But the switches were rusted solid, the panel coated in grime and what looked like dried blood.
Suddenly, the music stopped with a loud snap. The carousel ground to a halt. Jake slumped forward, unconscious, but breathing. Mark helped pull him off, but something had changed.
Jake’s eyes fluttered open—and they were pitch black.
"Jake?" Lisa asked cautiously. "Are you okay?"
He smiled, a twisted, too-wide grin. "The ride never ends."
Then he collapsed.
Back at Lisa’s house, Jake woke up hours later with no memory of what happened. But that night, the nightmares began. He dreamed of the carousel spinning endlessly, of horses with screaming faces and mirrors that reflected nothing. Mark had the same dream. So did Lisa.
"This isn’t over," Lisa said, holding a mug of cold coffee. "That ride did something to us."
"We should go back," Mark said. "Destroy it. Burn it down."
"No," Jake said firmly. "It doesn’t want to be destroyed. It wants to ride. It wants us."
They ignored his warning.
The next night, they returned with cans of gasoline and matches. As they approached, the carousel started spinning on its own. Lights flared, casting shadows of children dancing in circles. The music played louder, and this time, the horses moved—their mouths opened wide, revealing rows of human teeth.
"Light it!" Lisa screamed.
Mark threw the gasoline, flames roaring to life—but the fire curved, bent unnaturally away from the carousel, as if an invisible barrier shielded it. The wind howled, a voice within it laughing coldly.
"You can’t stop the ride," Jake said, walking toward it like in a trance.
"Jake, no!" Lisa cried, grabbing his arm.
He turned to her, eyes again black. "He chose me. I’m the new conductor."
He vanished into the spinning ride. The horses twisted grotesquely, their bodies elongating, cracking. One let out a scream like a tortured soul.
Lisa and Mark ran.
The carnival burned—but only everything *except* the carousel. The fire consumed buildings, games, prizes. But the ride kept spinning, untouched, as if protected by some dark force.
Weeks passed. Jake was never found. People claimed to see a boy riding the carousel at night, laughing hollowly as the horses bled from their eyes.
Lisa left town. She never slept through the night again. Sometimes she woke up hearing carousel music in the wind or saw horses in her dreams, chasing her endlessly.
Mark disappeared six months later after telling his roommate he had to “take one more ride.” He was last seen walking into the woods behind the burned carnival grounds.
Years went by. The carousel remained. Locals posted photos online, drawing paranormal investigators and thrill-seekers. Some never came back. Others returned pale and hollow-eyed, unwilling to speak.
A podcast called “Whispers of the Forgotten” aired a two-part special on the carousel. In it, a man claiming to be a former maintenance worker shared chilling stories. He said the ride wasn’t built; it was *unearthed*. The ground below it had symbols. Circles, runes, bones.
"We didn’t install that thing," the man said in the recording. "We found it buried. Something wanted it dug up."
One investigator, Sarah Deacon, visited the site with infrared cameras and EVP recorders. Her final footage showed her walking toward the carousel and saying, "I can hear the music now." Then static. Only her scorched camera was recovered.
Lisa, now living in a city far away, received a package. No sender. Inside was a carousel music box—its horse missing an eye. When she wound it, it played the same distorted tune from that night. She screamed and threw it out the window. But the next day, it was back on her kitchen table. Dusty. Turning.
Unable to bear it any longer, she drove back to the ruins. The area was fenced off, warnings posted everywhere. But the gate had been cut open. Someone—or something—wanted her inside.
She stepped closer. The ride stood still, for the first time. The horses were watching her, their eyes sharper. One had Jake’s smile carved into its mouth.
"What do you want from me?" she screamed.
A voice whispered from the shadows: "Finish the ride."
And the carousel began to turn again.
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