The Smiling Man — Episode 2: "I Tried to Forget the Smiling Man. He Didn't Forget Me.
THE SMILING MAN — EPISODE 2
"I Tried to Forget the Smiling Man. He Didn't Forget Me."
Part 2 of 4 — A GhastlyPages.com Original Horror Series
It's been five days since I saw him at the carnival. I've been trying to convince myself it was all in my head. That he wasn't real. That the balloons, the smile, the nightmares — all just products of an overactive imagination.
But I know the truth.
He's real. He's watching me. And he's not going anywhere.
I thought if I stayed busy, I could forget. I threw myself into my job applications, went to the gym, called old friends. I even went on a date — a blind setup Marcus arranged. Her name was Emma. She was nice. Normal. The kind of person who laughs at jokes and doesn't see monsters in the shadows.
I almost convinced myself I was normal too.
Until the restaurant.
TWO DAYS AGO — THE RESTAURANT
Emma and I were having dinner at a quiet Italian place downtown. Candles on the table, soft music playing, the whole thing. I was actually starting to relax. For a few hours, I forgot about the carnival, the ferris wheel, the smile.
Then I saw the balloons.
There was a small table near the entrance, set up for a birthday party. Pink and blue balloons, a cake, party hats. Normal. Fine.
But in the corner of the room, near the restrooms, there was a single red balloon. Floating by itself, tied to a chair. No one was sitting there. No one had ordered it.
I stared at it. My heart started racing. My palms got sweaty.
"Are you okay?" Emma asked.
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... tired."
The rest of the dinner was a blur. I couldn't stop glancing at the balloon. It didn't move. It just floated there, bobbing slightly, like it was waiting for something.
When we left, I looked back. The balloon was gone.
I told myself it was a coincidence. Just a random balloon, part of someone's party. Nothing to worry about.
But I knew better.
ONE WEEK LATER — HOME
The nightmares came back. Every night, the same dream — the carnival, the ferris wheel, his smile. I'd wake up gasping, convinced I was suffocating. I started sleeping with the lights on. It didn't help.
Then I started seeing him in the reflections.
It happened slowly. At first, just glimpses. A flash of red and gold in a store window. A pale face in my rearview mirror. A smile in the darkness of a turned-off TV.
But each time, when I turned to look, he was gone.
I thought I was going crazy. Maybe I was. Maybe he was just a figment of my imagination, a manifestation of my anxiety. But the evidence kept mounting.
THE BALLOONS
The balloons started appearing everywhere.
On the sidewalk outside my apartment.
Floating in the parking lot of my grocery store.
Tied to a lamppost near my gym.
Always red. Always single. Always floating in places where they shouldn't be.
I started avoiding going out. I stayed home, curtains drawn, doors locked. I barely ate. I barely slept. I just sat in my room, staring at the walls, waiting for him to appear.
He didn't.
But the balloons kept coming.
One morning, I found one tied to my doorknob. It had a note attached in that same jagged handwriting.
"YOU CAN'T RUN."
I started crying. I couldn't help it. I was exhausted, terrified, and completely alone. I called Marcus.
"Something's wrong," I said, my voice shaking.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know how to explain it. But I'm scared. Really scared."
He came over that night. He sat with me, listened to me ramble about the carnival, the man, the balloons. He didn't laugh. He didn't tell me I was crazy. He just listened.
"Maybe you should see someone," he said finally. "A therapist, I mean. Just to talk."
I nodded. Maybe he was right. Maybe I needed help.
But deep down, I knew a therapist wouldn't help. Because he wasn't a figment of my imagination. He was real. And he was watching.
THREE DAYS LATER — THE PARK
I decided to go for a walk. Fresh air, I told myself. Clear my head. I went to a park near my apartment, a quiet place with trees and benches and a small pond. It was peaceful.
Or at least, it was supposed to be.
I was walking along the path when I saw him standing by the pond.
My blood turned to ice.
He was wearing the same red and gold ringmaster suit, his pale face illuminated by the afternoon sun. He stood perfectly still, his hands at his sides, his black eyes fixed on me.
And he was smiling.
I froze. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just stood there, staring at him, waiting for him to move.
He didn't.
I don't know how long we stood there. Seconds? Minutes? It felt like hours. Finally, I forced myself to blink.
He was gone.
I looked around frantically. The path was empty. The pond was still. The only sign he'd ever been there was a single red balloon, floating on the surface of the water, slowly drifting toward the center.
I ran.
THE INVESTIGATION
I couldn't take it anymore. I needed answers. I needed to know who he was, what he wanted, and how to make him stop.
I started researching. Again.
I spent hours online, searching for anything about a smiling man, a ringmaster, a carnival. I found nothing. It was like he didn't exist in any database, any record, any mention of the Fairview Carnival.
But then I found something.
A small article from a local newspaper, dated 1987. It was buried in the archives, barely legible, but the headline caught my eye:
"MISSING PERFORMER — CARNIVAL WORKER VANISHES WITHOUT A TRACE."
My heart raced as I read the article.
"The Fairview Carnival is mourning the disappearance of one of its performers, a popular ringmaster known only by his stage name, 'The Smiling Man.' According to witnesses, the performer was seen at the carnival's grand finale show on Saturday night. He was reportedly in good spirits and gave a stunning performance. But when the show ended, he was nowhere to be found.
Authorities have launched an investigation, but no leads have been discovered. The carnival has been temporarily shut down pending further investigation. Anyone with information is asked to contact the local police department."
I read it three times. My hands were shaking.
He wasn't just a figure from my imagination. He was real. He was a real person who had vanished from the carnival decades ago.
But what happened to him? And why was he following me?
I scrolled further down the page. There was a photo. It was grainy, faded, but unmistakable.
The Smiling Man.
He looked different in the photo — younger, more human, less terrifying. But his smile was the same. Wide. Unnatural. Impossible.
And standing beside him, his hand on the ringmaster's shoulder, was a man in a dark suit. The caption read:
"Carnival owner Marvin Caldwell stands with the missing performer known as 'The Smiling Man.' Caldwell, who owned the Fairview Carnival for over 30 years, passed away in 1995. He never revealed what happened to his star performer."
Marvin Caldwell.
I searched his name. More articles appeared. Most of them were about the carnival, its success, its eventual decline. But there was one article that made my blood run cold.
It was dated 1987, the same year the Smiling Man vanished.
"CARNIVAL OWNER ACCUSED OF UNFAIR PRACTICES — WORKERS CLAIM 'SOMETHING WRONG' AT THE FAIRVIEW CARNIVAL."
I scrolled through the article. It described allegations from former carnival workers who claimed Caldwell was involved in something dark. Something they wouldn't talk about on the record.
One worker, who spoke anonymously, said:
"There was something wrong with that place. Something wrong with Caldwell. He made deals with people. Deals that didn't end well. And the Smiling Man — he was the best performer we ever had. But something happened to him. Something Caldwell did. I don't know what, but I know it wasn't good."
I felt sick.
The Smiling Man wasn't just a monster. He was a victim. He had been something else, something human, before Caldwell got his hands on him.
And now, somehow, he was still here. Still existing. Still... performing.
But for whom?
THE CONFRONTATION
I needed to see him again. I needed to understand.
That night, I went back to the carnival. I didn't run this time. I walked.
The grounds were empty, just as I remembered. The rides were silent, the booths dark. But the ferris wheel was still there, towering over the debris.
And so was he.
He stood at the base of the ferris wheel, his red and gold suit glowing in the moonlight. His smile was as wide as ever. His black eyes stared at me from across the empty grounds.
I walked toward him. My legs were shaking. My heart was pounding. But I kept walking.
"I know who you are," I said. "I know what happened to you."
He tilted his head slightly. The first movement I'd ever seen him make.
"I know about Caldwell. I know he did something to you. Something that made you this... this thing."
He didn't respond. He just smiled.
"What do you want from me?" I asked. "Why me? Why are you following me?"
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and pointed at me.
And for the first time, I heard his voice.
It was faint, barely a whisper, like wind through dead leaves. And it came from everywhere at once.
"Because you can see me."
I stumbled backward. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just stood there, staring at him, waiting for him to disappear again.
But he didn't. He just stood there, smiling, waiting.
"What do you mean?" I whispered.
"Most people can't see me. They look right through me. But you saw me. You always could."
"But how? Why?"
"You were supposed to be next. But you ran. And now... I'm free."
"What does that mean? Free? What are you talking about?"
He didn't answer. But I felt it. A cold breeze, wrapping around me, making my blood turn to ice.
"You know what you need to do. You've seen the truth. Now you have to finish it."
"Finish what? I don't understand."
But he was gone. And in his place, there was a single red balloon, floating where he'd been standing.
And written on the balloon, in that same jagged handwriting:
"FREE HIM."
THE REALIZATION
I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think. I just sat in my room, staring at the wall, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
He was a victim. He was trapped. And somehow, I was the only one who could free him.
But how? And what would it cost?
I thought about Marcus. I thought about Emma. I thought about my family, my friends, my entire life. Was I willing to risk everything for a monster who had been haunting me for weeks?
I didn't know.
But as I sat there, staring at the darkness, I realized something.
I didn't have a choice.
Because wherever I went, he would find me. And sooner or later, I would have to face him.
I picked up my phone. I opened the notes app. And I started writing.
THE BALLOON
When I finally looked up, it was dawn. The sun was rising, casting pale orange light through my window.
And on my desk, there was a single red balloon.
I didn't hear it arrive. I didn't see anyone bring it. But it was there, floating just above the surface, its string trailing across the wood.
I reached out and touched it. It felt cold. Too cold. Like it had been frozen.
And on the balloon, written in the same jagged handwriting, there was a message.
"ONE WEEK."
My blood ran cold.
One week. That's all I had. One week to figure out how to free him.
Or he would never stop.
NEXT WEEK — PART 3:
"I Discovered the Truth About the Smiling Man"
📌 Read Part 3 next Thursday, 8 PM EST. 🔔 Subscribe to be notified when Part 3 drops.