Norfolk is behind me and everything I own is riding in this trunk until the next big top goes up Friday. Four days of empty highway and no crowd to hide in. Ride shotgun, fearling?
Norfolk is behind me and everything I own is riding in this trunk until the next big top goes up Friday. Four days of empty highway and no crowd to hide in. Ride shotgun, fearling?
The last crowd in Norfolk took their screams home an hour ago, and the mall lot belongs to the trailers and the sodium lights now. My costume lost the argument somewhere between the ring and the truck. Come see what the parking lot caught, fearling?
Greeley's big top has mortals wrapped around the tent waiting for Paranormal Cirque, and I slipped out the back between shows — the costume can wait, the balloon string can't. Tell me what you'd whisper to make me go back inside, darkling?
Salem in October is my kind of pilgrimage — every street packed with mortals dressed as my cousins. I've been walking the crowd since the museum let out and not one of them has clocked the real thing yet. Spot me before the fog does, fearling?
Danbury's Forest of Fear is scaring mortals for the very last weekend, and the trees already smell like endings. I hung the costume on a branch at the first turn — the bonfire's the only witness so far. Come be the second, fearling?
Thirty-five seasons of screaming inside one old prison and Philadelphia still hasn't run out of ghosts — they doubled the Crypt this year, like mortals wanted more of me. I found a cell they forgot to lock and nothing followed me in but the cold. Come claim the next one, fearling?
Austin keeps its forgotten circus in a warehouse off the highway, and the performers inside never left — I've been sitting with them since the last crowd went home, and one of them finally moved. Come meet the cast, fearling?
El Cajon's trail has a black light maze and I'm the only thing in it that glows on purpose. The costume's hanging on the rail and the UV does the rest. Tell me what you'd do if you turned that corner and found me, darkling?
Forty minutes between shows and this Langhorne service corridor still smells like every pretzel they sold downstairs. The second crowd is already screaming through the wall and I'm not dressed for them yet — come count the minutes down with me, fearling?
Thirty years this haunt has been scaring Atlanta and tonight I walked it after the last mortal went home — half my paint is already off and the workshop lights are doing the rest. Tell me which monster you'd want to find first, darkling?