Chapter 3: Back, by Popular Demand
In October 2024, Roseway Cemetery has been reanimated as a grotesque carnival ground, the setting for The Roseway Cemetery Freakshow. The night is thick with mist and the lingering scent of caramel apples and popcorn, mingling with the earthy aroma of decay. Under the full moon's eerie glow, the cemetery has transformed into a bustling hub of macabre entertainment, drawing a curious crowd of living visitors seeking thrills and chills.
The sideshow tent, once a sanctuary of wonder, now brims with a dark, unsettling vibrancy. It is adorned with tattered, cobweb-covered drapes and flickering spectral lanterns. The atmosphere is charged with a sinister energy as the performers, each one a chilling echo of their former selves, enact their grotesque routines.
Karl of Germania, towering and undead, looms over the audience. His decayed head and hands are concealed beneath layers of burlap and canvas, giving him an ominous presence. He moves with an unnatural grace, guiding the living spectators through the tent with a menacing, silent authority.
Cordelia Courtaude, now a ghostly figure, stands on a pedestal painted in bands of red, white, and black stripes. Her spectral form is anchored to the pedestal, and she holds flickering candles that cast a dim, ghostly light. Cordelia speaks in a hissing whisper, inviting audience members to take their places in the open graves scattered throughout the cemetery. Her quieted voice, laden with a mournful tone, blends into the night’s chilling ambiance.
Jonty Johnson, resurrected as a lumbering zombie, performs with a grotesque flair. His barbell, now rusted and battered, is propped nearby, and he wields a large wooden mallet with a jerky, unpredictable rhythm. The Hi-Strike carnival game has been transformed into a nightmarish attraction where patrons must avoid Jonty’s erratic swings.
The Demonica twins, now ghastly conjoined ghouls, are a chilling sight. Only their heads, torsos, and arms remain. They rise and fall with a disturbing, disjointed movement. As they interact with the audience, their undulating forms create a sense of eerie, unsettling motion.
The Porcelain Woman, transformed into an ethereal specter, adds a terrifying dimension to the show. Her once-beautiful form is now a wraith-like presence, her screams piercing the night as she floats through the tent. Her shrieks add a horrifying soundscape to the spectacle, amplifying the dread that permeates the event.
The Loomara Sisters, freed from their cage, now free to prowl among the audience. Their gigantic spider bodies are a nightmarish sight as they attempt to ensnare those who venture too close. Their movements are quick and unpredictable, adding a palpable sense of danger to their act.
Trevor Smythe, the Human Pincushion, is now a zombie trapped within a wooden crate. The crate is impaled with swords and spears, each weapon piercing through the decayed flesh of Trevor. His zombified form twitches and jerks, creating a grotesque display of agony.
Spike, the Blockhead, hangs from the ceiling by a rope, sans legs and a wooden stake protruding from his forehead. As in life, the stake wasn’t driven deep enough to incapacitate him fully, so Spike thrashes about erratically, adding a disturbing element to the show.
Billy, the geek, is now a zombified boy confined to a cage. His grotesque act has evolved into a chilling display where he sustains himself on a diet of body parts. His hollow eyes and disheveled appearance make for a haunting tableau, reflecting his transition from a living sideshow geek to a nightmarish creature of the undead.
Bernard Adams, the fire eater, stands within a burning barrel, his flesh scarred and disfigured from the catastrophic fire. He breathes fire with a ghastly expertise, the flames casting flickering shadows that dance ominously across his undead form. The fire he expels is twisted and spectral, adding a dangerous edge to his performance.
Amidst this macabre spectacle, the coven of witches have taken up positions within the sideshow, blending seamlessly into the night’s activities. One witch operates the entrance ticket booth, her eyes glinting with a malevolent gleam as she collects tickets and welcomes visitors with a chilling smile. Another witch serves as a fortune teller, her tent draped in mystical symbols and candles. She gazes into her crystal ball with an unsettling intensity, offering cryptic readings that both enthrall and terrify her clientele. The third witch, seated on a swing that overlooks the entire production, watches the performance with an air of detached satisfaction. Her presence, swaying gently in the night breeze, adds an eerie, watchful quality to the proceedings.
The oddities booth has been resurrected with a grotesque array of curiosities. The two-headed goat now appears demonic, breathing smoke that adds a supernatural touch. The pickled punks, medical specimens, and bizarre artifacts are displayed with a morbid sense of theatricality.
But as the audience wanders between the twisted attractions, some take notice of a strange and unsettling detail among the graves: the headstones of the performers, those who perished in the infamous 1927 fire, bear dates that seem out of place. Rather than marking their deaths in that tragic autumn of the 1920s, the dates engraved in the cold stone span decades later, well into the late 20th century. The confusion settles into the crowd like a heavy fog, as visitors murmur about the discrepancy. Were these graves merely a part of the macabre show? Or had the performers somehow endured beyond their deaths?