The Chapel Beneath the Carnival

Sit closer, children, and watch the fire.

If you see golden lights in a dark field, do not follow them. If you hear a bell after midnight, cover your ears and pray.

Long ago, beyond the village, a black tent appeared. No carts, no horses, no tracks in the snow. It simply stood in the field as if it had always been there. One child saw the candles and heard someone calling his name. His mother and father were sleeping, and he left the house.

At the gate stood a man with a smile.

"Only a ticket," he said.

"I have no money," the child answered.

"Then give us something lighter."

The child did not understand, but he took the golden ticket and entered the tent.

Inside, it was bright and beautiful. A wheel turned. Music played. People danced without faces. And in the very center stood a woman in crimson, gentle as a mother.

"Poor child," she said. "Set down your sorrow."

And he did.

First he forgot the cold.
Then the road.
Then his mother's voice.
Then his father's face.
Then his own name.

By morning the field was empty. The mother set three bowls on the table, frowned, and put one away. The father found a small coat by the door but could not remember whose it was.

By sunset they no longer remembered the child at all.

So remember: the tent steals not only children. It steals the memory of them.

If golden candles burn, do not approach.
If the night bell rings, do not answer.
If the crimson queen calls you beloved child, run home.

Whoever enters the black tent does not return.

And soon, no one remembers they ever disappeared.