Creepypasta #1226: The Vintage Carousel

Length: Short

I grew up in a pretty crummy town - Nowheresville, a real one-horse piece of crap, with a small municipal park which had housed a vintage carousel since time immemorial. The same elderly guy was always sat in his little booth in the centre, whatever the weather, whilst ornately painted wooden horses paraded by for the billionth time.

Me and my friend Billy used to invent names for him when he was out of earshot, immature stuff like “Horse’s Ass” and “Prick-Draw McGraw”. There wasn’t much else to do around there. Since the park was essentially the only place for teenagers to hang out, we seemed to spend every weekend hearing an endless loop of gaudy organ music, which must have driven old Prick-Draw insane long ago.

Late one spring afternoon we were in the park as usual, thinking up new monikers for P.D. when he surprised us by emerging from his booth and cheerfully waving us toward him.

“This carousel sure is a beauty, ain’t it? Say, did you cowboys ever hear the legend about why each horse is so darn pretty?”

“Naah,” sneered Billy. “Enlighten us.”

P.D. leaned back against one of his trusty steeds and began to stare wistfully through us. “Well sir, the story goes that each of these beasts is secretly alive, but you only see their true form if you switch on the power after sunset. Why else do you think I never operate the old girl at night?”

“That’s a real big pile of horse-shit,” chuckled Billy, which made me blush a little. I was a punk but I minded my manners.

P.D. gave us both his usual bland grin. “You fellas best mosey on home, it’s getting late and I’d best call it a day.”

But we stuck around as Billy had decided to call the weird geezer’s bluff, especially since we’d noticed that he sometimes absentmindedly left the key in the ignition of the ancient machinery. That night was such an occasion.

We waited a couple of hours until it was good and dark, crept into the booth and began randomly hitting buttons and fiddling with a rusty dial. Eventually, things spluttered into life, quite literally.

We didn’t notice the screams at first, as the organ ditty was almost deafening from where we stood in the middle. But we could see clearly enough. 

On every post where a wooden horse had once stood, gently rising and falling as they spun rapidly around us, was a human being, impaled. Some through the chest, some through other parts of their anatomy. Some wore old clothing, some had faces I recognised, people who’d vanished over the years. 

Their cacophony was unbearable, and we hugged each other, trapped in the middle. 

But over that dreadful noise we somehow heard Prick-Draw’s cackling voice.

“Reckon there’s room for a couple more?”

Credits to: Hack_Shuck (story)


favorite characters → cordelia

“followed by her lover, who’s a lesbian from next door, too!”