Chapter 1: Under New Management
The cemetery begins to change. Iron fences rise, taller and crueler than before. Banners appear, their words shifting like shadows: Returning Soon! — Under New Management. Half-built carnival booths jut from the soil like broken teeth. Candles flicker where no one placed them.
But there are no performers yet. The graves remain closed. The witches’ booths stand empty. The stage is being set, but the actors have not yet arrived.
Only the rooftops give the secret away. Dark silhouettes crouch against the moonlight: Nicolae’s Nosferatu lieutenants, statues one moment, slinking shadows the next. They do not move, they do not speak, but their presence is undeniable. They watch, patient, like carrion birds waiting for the feast to begin.
Yet over the nights, their behavior shifts. One evening there are three figures, the next only two. Another night, one tilts its head in perfect unison with a pedestrian on the street below, mocking every movement. Some swear they’ve seen a Nosferatu crouched on the edge of the roofline, as though ready to drop. Others claim to have caught pale eyes glinting in the dark before vanishing.
And still, something hungrier than the Nosferatu makes itself known. Stray dogs balk at the gate, hackles raised, refusing to cross. Visitors who linger too long walk away light-headed, as if the night itself has pulled something vital from their veins. Now and then, a sound drifts across the graves — not quite laughter, not quite applause, but the echo of an unseen audience, clapping slowly, mockingly, before fading back into silence.
They never descend. They never speak. But their silent mimicry, their parasitic presence, feels more menacing than any words could.
From somewhere deeper in the cemetery, a whisper floats: “Step… right… up…” Some say it is only the wind. Others swear it is the doll, her eyes open in the dark.
By late October, the grounds are ready. The Freakshow has not yet returned — but the rooftops are crawling with watchers, the air leaves visitors drained, and the earth itself hums with a single promise: the show is coming.