Halloween Haunts: The Carnival
by Sarah Faxon
As a child, I would count down the days until the Bay Park Elementary School Halloween Carnival. Christmas aside, the Saturday before Halloween was the most magical day of the year. Over the course of one weekend, my entire elementary school transformed. The dark skeletal hand of Halloween would stretch over the beige-toned single story halls, casting a magical shadow upon the lands.
The PTO, teachers, staff, and parental volunteers stormed the halls with rolls of shimmering black garbage bags, concealing any hint of classrooms hiding behind the crinkled plastic walls. White and iridescent spiderwebs streaked over the 1940s ceiling tiles and black lights temporarily mounted overhead. The fifth graders dawned torn and bloodied clothes and screeched or squealed at any who dared pass through their haunted hall. I can still smell the cocktail of fresh garbage bags, silly-string, fake blood, and the occasional fart-bomb the invasive sixth graders left behind.
In the square outdoor courtyard, the flat asphalt that normally radiated the Southern California sun like mirrors would be covered by tents of every shape and color, filled with the festive games of fall. Lumpy sandfilled bags flew through the air, striking pointed hats, ghosts, and ghouls from their posts. Strands of weblike line hung from poles ready to snatch wooden fishies from their kiddy pools. With each victory came a ticket, a step closer to the glorious wall of prizes.
The ultimate prize was the chance to swing a bat at the side of a derelict car; a vehicle with a terminal illness rolled in on the eastern corner, ready to take a beating from the young students who had earned enough to reap their revenge against the metal frame. While my memory is unclear if that was a tradition that happened year after year, I can still remember the sharp thwap of the bat against the car’s glass.
Amid the controlled costumed chaos, the peak of the festival for me was being at the side of my dear grandmother. My grandma Nelva had been a decorated PTA member since the 1950s when her own children attended the school. She always played a special role in the festivities. She was a legend on that campus and in that community. But if a stranger had run into her at the grocery store, they never would have guessed by the look of the pink curlers hiding beneath her silken scarf, that she took tremendous pride in building the scariest decorated house in our neighborhood. Year after year children ran away crying and shrieking in fear from the ghouls screaming and shaking in her trees. A pot of gold awaited the brave who ascended step after step up the red bricks to near the mouth of our lair, for my grandma always awarded those who earned their way. (Even if she pre-sorted all of the Snickers out for herself.) My grandma was the greatest and a true “Halloween-people” (to quote Kevin Wetmore and his wife). One year at the carnival, Grandma Nelva served as a palm reader and spent weeks leading up to the event learning everything she could about the craft. Dressed in the flowing robes of a mystic being she sat in the tent, reading the fortunes of those who came before her. The magical book she had used as her guide sits on proud display in my own cabinet of wonders today.
Beyond the spectacle of tents, inside the cafeteria, cake walks ran. One year, my best friend emerged victorious with a black frosted cake for us to raid once we returned to my grandmother’s home. At these carnivals, treats outweighed the tricks. Candy flowed like lava across the fair’s grounds. Us young entrepreneurs traded Fun-Dip for prize tickets, colorful candy-bracelets for Twizlers, and pink Bubble-Yum for slapsticks.
The carnival truly was the best time of the year in our community, for it brought people together, young and old. New friends, old friends, dear friends. In costumes or in civilian wear, we were there. Today, the Halloween carnival lives as a warm memory in my heart like a steaming cup of buttery apple cider in my hands. Recalling those days and those nights makes me feel like I am home again. Many of my favorite memories surround All Hallows Eve. From the laughter shared with my sweet grandmother as we decorated her house to making my husband look like Annabelle, there has always been joy around the safety of scaring people on October 31. It may only come but once a year, but for many of us horror people, every day carries hints of those spooky spells. The day itself brings us together over tricks, treats, and terrors, and when the magical skeletal hand of Halloween retreats, we are left with the memories and mountains of candy.
Bio
Sarah Faxon is a high school educator attending the University of San Diego pursuing her PhD in Education for Social Justice. Sarah is an award-winning fiction author of fantasy and horror stories who incorporates themes of resilience, hope, and human rights into her writing. Along with her non-fiction works, Sarah has two novels, a novella, collection of tiny tales, and many short stories published. Sarah is the co-chair of the Horror Writers Association San Diego Chapter. She currently lives in San Diego with her husband and two cat-children, Franklin and Hans.
Social Links
Blog: https://sfaxon.substack.com/
Website: https://sfaxon.com/
Latest Release
Tiny Dreadfuls: Horrors, Oddities and Tales of the Dark now on Amazon
Inspired by the classics of Victorian Penny Dreadfuls, this portfolio of horror shorts, oddities, and tales of the macabre from award-winning author Sarah Faxon, takes you through kingdoms of clouds, motel rooms crawling with unexpected guests, across the high seas, and to real-life haunted house stories.
Bound within this collection are twenty-two tales of detectives fighting demons, vampires pushing academics beyond their sense of reality, and the consequences of not heeding the wisdom of elders.
