When Bob Rosseel broke ground for The Rockin’ Rosseel Carnival six years ago, he knew all about the legends that the area had been an ancient Cherokee graveyard. However, he didn’t put too much stock in the whispers of a terrible curse. He was able to find a small handful of remarkably brazen men and women willing to ignore the frightening rumors and help him run the ticket booths, game stations, and rides. But things have now gone too far. In the words of spokeswoman Ruth Tanner, “We Rosseel Carnival workers are pretty goddam fed up with this shit. I’m tired of things going missing whenever I turn my back. I’m sick of lying awake at night listening to the battle cries and the sound of horses around my trailer. Sure the pay’s not the worst, but the benefits suck.” The employees have more specifically complained about a sub-par dental plan, the way the wind signs through the trees like the last breath of a dying man, and generally unsavory work conditions.
“This place is dirty and sooner later I’m going to get sick. I can’t afford that,” explained Tanner. “When I’m sick, I can’t work, and if I don’t work, I can’t pay my bills. My family depends on me; we’re on a tight budget. For example,” continued Tanner, “The blood stains that appear each night on our clothes like some unholy crimson dew just really can’t be sanitary.” When asked to comment, founder and manager Bob Rosseel opened his mouth, out of which emanated a buzzing sound like that of thousand angry locusts. He then fell to the ground as his flesh melted from his bones, leaving only a brittle skeleton. “I’ve already found a new job,” confided Tanner. “Working in an old hotel in Transylvania. Used to be the castle of some nobleman or something before they converted it. Should be a nice quiet deal, where me and the missus can leave all this weirdness behind.”