Clarice wrapped the shawl they gave well-behaved patients who asked for them and were good at fluttering their eyelashes closer around her arms, but it did nothing to quench the settling cold. She hated this place more than she hated the ranch as a girl, and that was saying something.

The creepy-as-hell, doesn't-make-any-sense, shouldn't-exist-here factor of the whole carnival, which she hadn't been fond of during the daylight hours either, wasn't helping. She shivered and silently cursed herself for showing weakness.

Clarice was actually grateful to see another person dressed like a patient. Not a sentiment she ever thought she'd have, in her experiences.

"Sir?"

Please don't be someone legitimately ill, she thought.

"Pardon me, I'm not Marilyn, but I'd sure be grateful for the company."

Maybe together, they could get back without something untoward happening to either of them. She had to admit, against better practical judgment, that something was legitimately wrong outside, and that the shifting landmarks and flitting shadows seemed to be creeping closer in entirely unnatural ways.