The Woods Past the Carnival

You keep your face down, averting his eyes. When he stops the car and opens the door, you look up. You aren't even near the carnival. You see merrily blinking lights far off into the distance, like a bird high in the skies. The driver quickly opens your side of the door and pushes you to the other side as he locks the door. He grabs your hands, tying it tightly with a piece of rope, as tough as a bar of steel, easily. He does your feet next.