The Carnival doesn't appear to be much at first glance. The fence that encompasses the perimeter is covered in black tarps and old sideshow advertisements depicting women lying with snakes, and men swallowing swords. Visible against the alluring ads are unmistakable signs stating no trespassing.
The official Carnival sign remains unlit and unimpressive until sundown, when it lights up and draws the eye. Something about it is hard to explain and impossible to walk away from as it lords over the ticket booth manned by two masked figures. Once inside, guests are only be charged extra for food and services such as fortune telling or face painting. All of the night’s shows can be viewed freely.
There are tents and booths, some big, some small, some six stories high so acrobats can easily fly through them. Booths might be selling wares or offering you a sample of their baked goods, while others may offer tarot readings or throw runes. Occasionally there are callers outside shows, advertising those inside, drawing people closer. With a large Ferris wheel lit to illuminate the grounds, the gates stay open from sun down to sunup.
Guests can’t count on the Carnival’s arrangement being the same if they return for a second visit. Things seem to always move. New acts are added and locations change to force guests to see new attractions. Set up in a series of corridors it’s easy to get lost, which is exactly what the Carnival wants: to get you lost, to spend more time, to see more things.
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