Everyone in my village warned me never to visit the old night fair held once every year near the abandoned forest. They said the fair
appeared only after midnight and disappeared before sunrise. Curious, I ignored every warning.
As I entered, everything looked strangely beautiful.
Children laughed on broken rides, music echoed through the air, and vendors smiled without blinking. I bought a wooden whistle from an old woman, but when I handed her money, her icy fingers sent chills through my body.
A little boy suddenly
whispered, "Don't stay after the last bell."
Moments later, the lights flickered. The laughter stopped. Every face slowly turned toward me. Their smiles vanished, revealing hollow black eyes. The Ferris wheel began spinning by itself, and
ghostly figures floated through the crowd.
I ran toward the exit, but every path led back to the center of the fair. The old woman appeared again and
whispered, "You're one of us now."
Just then, the whistle in my pocket blew on its own. A loud temple bell echoed from far away. The ghosts screamed and
disappeared into the darkness.
At sunrise, I found myself alone in an empty field. The fair was gone.
But the wooden whistle still hangs in my room.
Some nights... it whistles by itself.
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