At the next morning, everything felt off.
The air outside smelled sweet, like cotton candy. Ahaan stepped out of his house and rubbed his eyes. In the distance, behind his school, tall red and white tents reached into the sky. Balloons floated. Faint music played — cheerful, like an old-timey fairground song.
But here's the strange part:
Nobody else noticed it.
Not his classmates.
Not the teachers.
Not even the shopkeepers across the road.
When Ahaan asked, they looked confused.
"What fair?"
"There's nothing there, Ahaan."
But Ahaan saw it clearly.
And it was calling him.
At lunch break, Ahaan slipped out the back gate and walked toward the fair.
The grass was too green.
The wind was too still.
It didn't feel right.
The entrance gate stood tall, made of old wood, with peeling red paint. A big faded sign swung above it:
"Midnight Carnival of Lost Things"
"Only the forgotten may enter."
The moment he stepped through the gate, the music stopped.
The air turned cold.
And the sky above turned from blue to deep purple.
He turned to leave, but the entrance was gone.
Just darkness behind him.
The fair had swallowed him whole.
He walked through rows of strange booths.
Games with no prizes.
Clowns with no faces.
Food stands selling popcorn made of teeth.
He saw shadows walking around, laughing without mouths, eating things that moved, and whispering in dead languages.
Then he noticed something terrifying.
One of the booths had his father's old watch hanging inside, spinning slowly.
It was the same watch his father wore the night he disappeared.
Ahaan stepped closer.
The booth was empty. No one inside.
The sign read:
"Things You Lost But Can Never Take Back"
Suddenly, the music started again — but slower now. Sadder.
And a voice spoke behind him.
"Do you want it back?"
Ahaan spun around.
A man stood there in a tall black coat, face hidden behind a cracked porcelain mask. Only his smile was showing — carved into the mask like it was stuck that way.
"Who are you?" Ahaan asked.
"I'm the Ringmaster. I keep the fair running."
The masked man leaned close.
"You lost many things, didn't you? Your mother. Your father. Even your memories."
"I want to know what happened to them," Ahaan said. His voice shook.
The Ringmaster's smile didn't change.
"Then you must play. All players must. But the rules are cruel here."
Ahaan felt the book in his backpack shift.
It opened on its own.
CASE THIRTEEN:
The Fair That Wasn't There
A traveling carnival of souls and secrets.
No one enters unless something is already missing.
And no one leaves without losing more.
At the bottom of the page, three words appeared:
"Pick a tent."
Before him stood three tents:
Red — glowing with flickering lights
White — silent and still
Black — pulsing with shadows
Something inside told him the black one had answers.
He chose it.
Inside the black tent, it was freezing.
He couldn't see anything — until a single spotlight turned on.
And there, tied to a wooden chair in the middle, sat…
Ahaan himself.
His face.
His clothes.
His voice.
But crying. Scared.
"Help me!" the other Ahaan said. "He tricked me!"
The real Ahaan stepped back.
"What is this?"
The tent walls whispered:
"The part of you that remembers.
The part he locked away.
The memory you buried."
Then it hit him.
A flash of a memory:
The day his father went missing…
He saw something.
He followed his father into the forest.
He heard voices.
He saw a man in a mask.
The Ringmaster.
But instead of helping, Ahaan had run away.
He had locked the memory inside himself.
That's what this fair fed on.
Guilt.
The Ringmaster appeared inside the tent now.
"You weren't supposed to remember that," he said, voice low and cold.
Ahaan's legs trembled.
"You took my father," he whispered.
"No," the Ringmaster said, stepping closer. "You gave him to me. All I did was take what was offered."
Ahaan felt the ground shake.
The tent walls started closing in.
The other version of him screamed.
"I don't want this!" Ahaan yelled.
But the Ringmaster smiled wider.
"Then give me something else. A trade."
Ahaan opened his bag and pulled out the book.
"Take the book. Let him go."
The Ringmaster touched it.
The book hissed.
Its pages turned black.
The case disappeared.
And so did the tent.
And the second Ahaan.
Everything faded into white light—
—and Ahaan woke up.
Lying on the grass behind his school.
It was evening again.
The fair?
Gone.
No tents. No music.
But in his hand… he still held the book.
One new line was written:
"You can lie to yourself.
But the Carnival remembers everything."
Then...