Dark Folkloric Short Story - Greed (Carnival of Sin #5)

Greed (Carnival of Sin #5) pulls readers into a mythic, atmospheric tale where desire sharpens into danger. When the Carnival arrives, its shimmering promises whisper to those who want more than they should. But every gift has a cost — and every bargain demands payment.

This dark folkloric short story blends psychological tension with supernatural dread, expanding the Carnival of Sin’s haunting mythology. Perfect for readers who love atmospheric horror, morally charged tales, and short reads that linger long after the final line.

 

Gerald whistled as he ate breakfast at the corner deli, the tune bright and cheerful in a way he never was. He watched the morning crowd shuffle past the windows, all those rubes going about their lowly lives. None of them had the faintest idea how much he was worth.

A young woman pushed a baby carriage across the street, and for a moment he froze. She looks just like Justine, he thought, surprised. He hadn’t thought of her in years. He didn’t usually think about past tenants at all. But Justine had been special. He was sure he’d drained her kids’ college fund before she finally got away. He still wished he’d managed to get access to her family money.

His whistling died the moment he pulled up to the office and saw someone had parked in his spot. Not technically assigned to him, Gerald thought of it as his space because no one ever parked there. Today, he had to park in the back lot and walk all the way around. As he passed the offending car, he glanced around, slipped a slim metal tool from his jacket, and crouched beside the tires. Two quick, practiced jabs — hissss, hissss — and the tires sagged. The faint smell of hot rubber drifted up. Gerald straightened, pocketed the tool, and hummed as if he’d merely tied his shoe.

His humming stopped again when he stepped inside and saw the empty desk where his secretary used to sit. It had been vacant for weeks now. He’d let her go after deciding he could manage the office himself. No point paying her salary when he could do the work. But something twisted in his stomach as he looked at the bare surface. Her job had been more than answering phones, and he didn’t like the thought creeping in — that she’d been worth every penny.

Every penny was his whole philosophy.

The phone rang as he walked into his office, and he growled. Could these people not leave him alone for one minute? He snatched up the handset. “What.”

A timid little voice answered. “Mr. Pike, good morning.”

“Who are you and why are you calling?” Gerald spat. “I don’t have time for pleasantries.”

 “Well, this is Amanda Sweet from 14 Montgomery.”

 “Yes, yes, what is it?” He barely listened, rifling through the pile of mail on his desk. Bills, bills, and more bills. People always wanting to take his money.

 “I’m calling to see about an extension,” the woman said, her voice wobbling.

 That snapped him to attention. He tossed the mail aside and glanced at the calendar. “It’s the third of the month. I’ve already given you an extension.”

 “I’m sorry, sir,” she warbled. Her trembling voice grated on him. “My ex still hasn’t sent the child support an—”

 “None of which is my problem,” Gerald said. He gripped the handset until the plastic creaked. “You have until the end of the week.” He slammed the phone down just as a polite knock sounded on the door.

 He looked up to see two police officers standing in the doorway. He pasted on a smile. “What can I do for you, officers?” A petite blonde stepped inside, her large partner following close behind.

 “We’re here to discuss two of your tenants,” the blonde officer said, checking her notepad. “A Lydia Daniels and a Marcy Stevens.”

 Gerald gave a small bow and gestured down the hall. “Come into my office.” He rounded his desk, settled into his chair, and flicked his fingers toward the seats opposite him. “Sit.”

 The blonde officer sat, setting her notebook on her lap. Her partner remained standing, prowling the room, eyes drifting over the framed photos and the paperwork stacked on the cabinet.

 Gerald steepled his hands. “Now then — the girls in 26 Bedford. What about them?”

 “They’re missing,” the blonde said. Her posture was rigid, shoulders tight, her uniform stretched across her small frame.

Gerald kept his gaze on her face, though he felt her partner’s attention like a weight behind him.

“Missing? Well, that’s unfortunate,” Gerald said lightly.

 The woman frowned. “Yes, extremely unfortunate.”

 “Hmmm,” the male officer murmured from across the room, still studying the paperwork. “We’re afraid Marcy may have had something to do with Lydia’s disappearance.”

 “Marcy?” Gerald laughed. “Well, that would be something, wouldn’t it?”

 The blonde tapped her pen against the notepad. “What do you mean by that, Mr. Pike?”

“Oh, well, it’s just that Marcy is the laziest person I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine her having anything to do with anything — certainly not something that would cause a ruckus.” He frowned. “Why would you think Marcy had anything to do with Lydia’s disappearance? And how do you even know they’re gone?”

 “Lydia hasn’t shown up to work for several days,” the blonde said. “We went to speak with Marcy about it, and now Marcy’s nowhere to be found.”

 Gerald leaned back, a plan already forming. “Several days, you say. That’s surprising. Who mentioned her disappearance?”

 “Her office workers,” the male officer said. “They tried contacting her several times. No response.” The officers exchanged a look. “Marcy mentioned the mess in the apartment was Lydia’s fault,” he continued. “But I’m beginning to think Marcy is the one responsible.”

 “Oh, yeah,” Gerald said. “Marcy’s never lifted a finger to do anything in that apartment. Lydia complained about it once when I came by. But she was always complaining about something — the lock on the door, the washing machine not working.”

 “We were looking into a complaint Lydia made about someone following her,” the blonde said. “Did she mention anything about that to you?”

 Gerald grinned. “We weren’t that close.”

 “But you don’t think that Marcy would have had anything to do with her roommates disapearance.”

 Gerald waved the idea away. “As I said, I’d be incredibly surprised if Marcy had anything to do with it. She’s not physically capable of overtaking Lydia in any way. Plus, she just wouldn’t bother.”

 “You mentioned a broken lock,” the male officer said. “Is it possible someone may have done something to the two women?”

 Gerald shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But I can’t imagine why anyone would have anything against Marcy. She was just so lazy. No friends, no family. Lydia, on the other hand — she was a complainer. It’s possible someone took offense to that.”

 The blonde officer closed her notepad. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Pike. You’ve given us quite a bit to think about.”

 “My pleasure,” Gerald said.

 As they left, he heard the man say, “Great, now we have two women missing.”

“More than that,” said the woman, but they were out the door before Gerald could find out what she meant by that curious remark. 

 Once the door shut behind them, he locked it and paced, tapping his chin. With Lydia and Marcy gone, this was the perfect opportunity. He’d let their auto payments keep rolling in as long as they did. But what to do with all their stuff?

 Sitting at his desk, Gerald chewed over the plan. Step one would be to clean up the apartment. He flipped through his rolodex, searching for a reputable cleaner he could trust. His fingers slowed as he neared the letter C. He could come up with a story anyone would believe — cleaners least of all would ask questions — but the thought of parting with that money made his jaw clench.

 He took the cost of the cleaners personally. Every penny counted, and every penny included not just making money, but avoiding spending it. He snapped the rolodex shut. He’d clean the apartment himself. First, he needed to see how bad it was. Every penny counted also included time. Time was money. Everybody knew that.

 When he reached the apartment, the first thing he noticed was the smell — thick, stale, as if no one had been inside for weeks. No sunlight entered through the thick curtains. He yanked them open, revealing piles of clothes and dishes scattered everywhere.

“Looks like Marcy’s her usual self.” Since he’d have to pack everything up anyway, he decided it was easier to throw away the dirty dishes than wash them. So that’s what he did. The clatter of dishes falling into the garbage bags echoed through the apartment, breaking the heavy stillness.

But when he moved into the bedroom, he froze.

 The silence felt wrong. He opened a window to let in fresh air, but even that didn’t fix it. It was as if the outside world didn’t exist. No footsteps in the hall. No distant voices. No cars. Sure, it was the middle of the day, but cities didn’t go quiet. Not like this. You could step outside any day of the week and hear engines, conversations. Life.

 When he finished packing up their things, he realized he’d need to fix the lock on the door and anything else that had been a problem. He couldn’t show the place to anyone without those repairs, and if the police came back, he needed to prove he’d addressed all of Lydia’s complaints.

 With each job he tackled, irritation simmered. Lydia had made this his priority. He crouched in the laundry room beside the dryer, wrestling with the clogged vent. Somewhere deeper in the apartment, he thought he heard a sound.

Once he connected the new vent, Gerald walked through the apartment again, listening. He couldn’t quite remember what the sound had been — a clump? a creak? breaking glass? After a full circuit without hearing anything else, and with all the problems fixed, he pushed the thought aside. If the police returned, they’d see everything was in perfect order.

 And they did return. They asked about the lock, the maintenance requests, the noise complaints — which he hadn’t even known about — and why he hadn’t checked on Lydia. He told them it was the middle of the month. “If she wasn’t complaining, there was no reason to check. All their payments went through, and that was really all I cared about.” He said those words out loud.

 That was all he cared about.

 He nearly clapped a hand over his mouth but stopped himself, hoping they hadn’t noticed.

 Once they left, he decided it was time for phase two: get a new tenant or two. Two would be even better. Four times the rent for the same apartment — perfect. And now he could increase the rent, too. He rubbed his hands together, imagining the extra money. Step three could wait. First, he needed to figure out how to get someone new in there.

 He could put an ad in the paper, but he wanted something quick and fast. On the way home, he stopped at his favorite bar. The bartender, an old friend, slid his usual drink across the counter the moment Gerald walked in. The place was dim and smoke‑filled, Sam being one of the last bartenders who permitted smoking inside. It suited Sam just fine, and Gerald hoped the city officials never bothered to crack down on it.

 There weren’t many people inside, which wasn’t surprising at two o’clock in the afternoon. It left Sam plenty of time to chat, which was exactly what they did. Sam was one of the few people Gerald could stand to spend time with.

 The bar was one of the few places he didn’t mind parting with his money. Part of that was because Sam still sold $2 beers, and Gerald could sit there for most of the afternoon, get pleasantly tipsy, and spend less than forty bucks.

 A couple of hours in, they’d exhausted their usual complaints about work — the same gripes they always shared. Gerald let slip that he was looking for a new tenant. He caught himself before giving Sam the address. He trusted Sam, but not enough to reveal everything.

 Sam perked up. “Funny you mention that. Had a strange gentleman in here earlier — just a few hours before you came in. Said he was from the carnival. They’re coming to town next week. They’ve got a bunch of day workers and need places for them to stay. He said they were looking for accommodations. Might be a good cash job for you, Gerald.” Sam shrugged. “Not sure how long they’ll be in town, but you could make some money off them for a couple days. What do you think?”

 Gerald admitted it sounded too good to be true.

 “Well, the man was a little odd,” Sam continued. “Long hair, long braids, weird clothes. Only ordered a coffee. No idea why he’d come here for that. But that’s what he said.”

 Sam bustled off, grabbed a piece of paper from beside the register, and handed it to Gerald. Gerald looked at the card.

 “Carnival of Sin? What kind of name is that?” Still, it was a carnival — that part checked out. He slid the card into his pocket and paid for his beers.

 “I’ll check it out. We’ll see if these guys are on the up‑and‑up,” he said, oblivious to the irony.

 Gerald returned to the office and called the carnival using the card Sammy had given him. A woman answered — unexpected, but fine. She was probably the secretary. Although, she sounded far too young to have a job, but maybe the carnies let their kids answer phones. You never knew with people like that. She told him the manager was available that afternoon and that if he left now, he’d make it on time. So, he got in his car and drove off, despite the hours he’d spent at the bar. He wasn’t worried about driving a little inebriated. If he was careful and didn’t get a ticket, he’d be fine. Every penny counted, and wasting money on fines was something that infuriated him.

 When he arrived at the address she’d given him, he was surprised to find that the “office” was simply the carnival itself. On a Tuesday afternoon it wasn’t busy, but he sat in his car for a moment, taking in the bright tents and the merry‑go‑round spinning lazily in the background. Dusk was settling, and the lights were just beginning to flicker on. He could see the appeal, though he’d never spend money on something so frivolous.

 At the ticket booth, the attendant was expecting him, so he didn’t have to buy a ticket — a small relief. He wandered through the grounds, mentally calculating the profits. Well worn tents, cheap prizes, bulk-bought, low-quality food. The rides were the kind you purchased once and used forever. Everywhere he looked, he saw dollar signs. These people would make perfect tenants.

 But as he walked deeper into the carnival, strange things began to happen. The sun seemed to drop too quickly, shifting from dusk to full darkness in what felt like minutes. A few of the carnies manning the rides and booths made odd comments, as if they recognized him. He hadn’t been to a carnival in decades — if he’d ever gone as a child, he couldn’t remember.

 The lights brightened, the music swelled, and more people poured in. The crowd became a seething, laughing mass. Something about the whole place felt alive in a way he couldn’t explain. The crowd moved and swelled as though it were breathing.

 At last, he reached a small striped tent where a young, beautiful woman dressed like a fortune‑teller stood waiting — as if she’d known exactly when he would arrive. “Gerald Pike, I assume,” she said, smiling in a way that made his skin prickle. “You’re here to make a deal, I understand.”

 Her voice was the same one he’d heard on the phone, but now he could see she was no child. Her long black hair fell in glossy waves, her skin bronzed and luminous. Tiny flecks of glitter dusted her cheeks, catching the carnival lights so her freckles seemed to glow. Her eyes were a vivid, unnatural green — almost neon. She wore a long black skirt threaded with gold and silver that shimmered when she moved, and a billowy black blouse that made her look like she’d stepped out of another century. She tilted her head and winked at him, as though they shared a private joke he couldn’t remember.

 “This is my office,” she said, gesturing toward the tent. He blinked. Even a carnival, he thought, would have some kind of building to conduct business. A sign read: lease agreements apply within. She held the flap open expectantly, and after a moment’s hesitation — and a surprising flicker of unease — he stepped inside. The logical part of him scoffed at his nerves. Money was worth more than a momentary chill.

 Inside, the tent held only a folding table, a small flickering lamp, and a stack of forms beside a cash box. She handed him a clipboard with a thick contract attached. Gerald flipped through the pages, then looked up at her — Zara, she’d said her name was.

 “Zara, what is this?” he asked.

 “Well, you’re looking for day workers to rent your accommodations, are you not?”

“I am.” He tried to remember whether he’d mentioned that on the phone. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m just surprised you’re already prepared with a contract.”

 “Of course,” she said lightly. “We don’t delay when it comes to our workers’ needs. They must have somewhere to stay.”

 Gerald tries to skim the contract, but the pages blur with strange symbols and impossible clauses. A queasy flutter rises in his stomach, and the tent seems to pulse around him, its walls warping in and out like a living thing. He forces himself to dismiss it — just wind against canvas, he tells himself — and focuses on the promise of profit. If he signs, he’ll get the day workers’ rent and the auto‑debits from Lydia and Marcy. The thought is enough to make him sign with a flourish.

 The paper swallows the ink, the black signature sinking into the page. The edges of the contract curl, blacken, and dissolve into a slick, oozing sludge that spreads across the table. The tent shudders. The folding table stretches into a ticket booth counter. The lamp elongates into a carnival bulb. The striped walls harden into the temporary panels of a booth. The cash box snaps shut like a set of jaws.

 Gerald tries to step back, but his hands stick to the counter. His feet won’t move. His spine locks straight. He can breathe. He can blink. But he cannot move.

 Zara watches him with calm amusement. When he tries to speak, only a rasp escapes. She winks. “A deal’s a deal.”

 She steps to the booth’s front window. A family waits outside, expecting service. Gerald hears his own voice — not under his control — ask, “How can I help you?”

 Before leaving, Zara looks back. “And remember… every penny counts.”

 The door shuts. The lights flicker. Gerald is alone. Immobilized. And then he understands: he isn’t in the carnival anymore.

 He’s part of it.