The Teddy Bear’s Prize (A Date with a Demon #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

Mia

“C’mon, Mia, let’s go.”

I look over my shoulder to where Jeff is standing at the entrance to the games pavilion, gesturing for me to follow. I pinch off another piece of funnel cake, gravel crunching under my boots.

Seriously? I’m not a dog. No, wait. . . I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

The carnival’s just crowded—okay, maybe it isn’t. We are two of maybe a dozen people who thought it was a good idea to visit a creepy carnival on Halloween, but that still doesn’t mean he’s issuing a command.

Don’t get me wrong, Jeff’s nice, but something’s missing. This is date number three, and I thought I’d be more invested at this point. It’s hard not to buy into the whole idea that “butterflies are just anxiety” and “you should date the man who makes you calm”.

What if you feel nothing ?

On paper, he’s amazing. A little taller than me, with shoulder-length dirty blond hair, a well-kept beard laced with red, and eyes that resemble sea glass. The man didn’t even scoff when I wore platform Doc Marten Mary Janes on our first date, which made me a few inches taller than him. He even has a great job as a Cloud Engineer at the same company where I work, but he's mostly detached from my department. I’m just not that interested.

Jeff walks over, reaching for my funnel cake. I hold it out, offering him a piece. He takes the plate and grabs my hand, leading me further into the carnival. Then, with one swift motion, he tosses the half-eaten funnel cake into the nearest trash can. I’m not sure what the dessert did to offend him, but that felt personal.

The real problem is, Jeff also does things like that. There seems to always be a subtle judgment in his tone that he plays off as some kind of inside joke between us. If I laugh too much, he gives me a look of concern that makes me want to hide.

God forbid, Jeff finds out that I giggle when I’m flustered. One particularly naughty phrase during a heated moment can and will send me into a fit of nervous laughter. I can only imagine the look on his face if that were to happen.

Tonight is different, though. It’s like he is extending an olive branch and actually taking an interest in the things I enjoy.

It started when he sent me a local news article about the Galloway Carnival stopping in Riverside during the Halloween weekend. The carnival is the stuff of legend, one of the few traveling still operating in the US with most of their original rides from the 1970s.

The carnival has been featured in at least six indie horror movies in the last decade and they pride themselves on perpetuating the vibe. Take tonight, for example, they set up on the oldest and overgrown fairgrounds at the edge of the city.

All around us, the towering blue spruce trees are encroaching upon the pavilion, the carnival an unwelcome visitor. Most of the rides are worn and well beyond the help of regular maintenance, their metal structures dulled with chipped paint and visible rust. The traditional carnival music filters through old speakers, the tracks distorted and noticeably out of tune. Just add a full moon looming over us and you would have the perfect backdrop for a slasher flick.

It’s almost surreal. All around me, the night seems like it is full of strange and intoxicating magic.

“No,” I laugh, realizing where Jeff is leading me. I lean closer to him, lowering my voice, “These things are notoriously rigged. Please don’t waste your money.”

“I promised I’d win you something,” he says, releasing my hand and looking over the stalls.

That is true, he said in the text he would ‘win me the biggest prize they had’.

The carnival doesn’t have much to offer in the way of games. Four full size stalls, two on each side of the gravel path leading from the food area, close enough that I can still smell the sickly mix of cinnamon and hot dogs. There’s a row of basketball hoops, a spray he smells like the forest after a storm with a hint of spice.

“What are you doing?” Jeff laughs.

When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me again, his brow lifted and his lips slightly pulled back into a smile. But it’s not just him, the attendant is equally interested in my bear sniffing activities. At least from what I can tell, they’re viewing it as more of a quirk than a defect. I squeeze the bear close to my chest and laugh like I’m in on the joke.

“He smells like cinnamon,” I say with a smile.