Every year in February, the fairgrounds are crowded with people excitedly shuffling through the long lines to get inside and experience the festivities of the carnival. Joyous anticipation grips at each and every man, woman and child's heart and drags them through the gates to be welcomed by the familiar bright lights and exotic sounds. The towering rides spin and flip and whir while everyone on the ride laughs and screams with excitement. Those awaiting to ride the rides wait in line, but are entertained by clowns and dancers and parades marching up and down the paths performing amazing spectacles, moving to the music and getting those around involved, or just making fools of themselves and making everyone laugh. Others not in line follow their noses to the familiar smells of kettle corn, cotton candy, and deep-friend Snickers bars. Some attempt to win large plush prizes at the various carnival games. Although they are extremely challenging, people still attempt to ring the bell of the strong man challenge or knock down all five milk bottles with one bean bag. Children run from place to place, anxiously waiting their parents to arrive at the next ride to let them go on, the sounds of their laughter mix in with the sounds of the carnival and add to the joys of the place. Their parents, completely content in seeing their child so happy, move without purpose and lacking of any cares of any sort outside of the carnival. It is a time of celebration when there is nothing to celebrate.

This year, however, is different. It is February, and the carnival has arrived once again. But something is different. Something evil awaits behind the entrance gates. The fairgrounds, once again, are crowded with people. But they do no excitedly shuffle through the lines, it is more of a sad march as if they were heading to their execution. Some believe that this very may well be the case. Some just stand and stare, too scared to enter and too scared to leave. Others turn and walk away, having no desire to inquire as to what danger awaits. They are the lucky ones. Fear is what grips every man, woman, and child and forces them to enter. Once they are in, there are no welcoming bright lights and exotic sounds. The paths through the carnival are dark and grim, the lights just bright enough to find the ticket booths. The exotic sounds are gone, replaced by creepy moans and sinister laughter as people enter. The rides are not inviting at all. They appear to be twisted and warped by something dark and malicious. As if you ride them, you might not be alive to talk about it later. Those who do dare the rides are not laughing and their screams are not of joy. They are ear shattering, blood boiling shrieks of terror. Some scream and plead to let them off the rides as they are spun and flipped within inches of their lives. Few are waiting to ride the rides, but those who are watch as dangerous looking clowns pull disgusting pranks on bystanders, spraying them with mace from a wilted flower or popping balloons filled with ink. No parades march up and down the paths, no dancers perform. The once familiar smells are gone, and in their place is a foul indescribable stench. One so foul it burns your nostrils and overpowers your sense of scent and moves on to taste, and once you taste it, you gag. Some actually run for a bush and vomit. The games are intense tests of willpower and strength, most of which are impossible. Men who dared to attempt the games scream in agony and pain, the cracks of their bones as their bodies are crushed under the game's wicked tests echo throughout the carnival. Their girlfriends or wives flee in terror, crying for someone to help. Children do not run from place to place. The children don't even laugh. Their parents frantically run around the carnival yelling their child's name in search for their lost loved one. Soon after, there are no more parents. There is no celebration here. Only pain. Only fear. Only misery.

The Triple-Six Carnival is no laughing matter. It is heard of in campfire stories and urban legends, but it is very real and you are now very much a part of it. Once you enter through the decrepit gates, there is no leaving. The black-souled clowns that wander the carnival ensure of this. You've paid for your ticket in blood, the prizes at the games is your life. Should you somehow manage to survive your time within the carnival, you may be spared. Or you very well may never see the outside world again. It is entirely up to you how you spend your remaining hours here. Spend them wisely. They are, indeed, your last.