July 30, 2025 • 21 mins
A mysterious ringmaster has knowledge about a man's father's past. He offers the man a choice that promises truth but may alter the man's life forever.
Daniel Culver lives in Houston, Texas with his wife and four kids. He has work published in places such as The Garfield Lake Review, Paragon Press, and Indolent Books, among others.
You can read "The Last Ticket" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
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Daniel Culver lives in Houston, Texas with his wife and four kids. He has work published in places such as The Garfield Lake Review, Paragon Press, and Indolent Books, among others.
You can read "The Last Ticket" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Bluesky
Substack
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:10):
Welcome to the Kaidan Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host, Linda Gould,
and tonight I'm reading The Last Ticket by David Culver.
Tonight's story takes us to a remote corner of East Texas,
where a man stumbles upon a decade's old ticket on
(00:32):
his way to his father's funeral, and he's pulled into
a situation where he must make a choice. Some choices
promise clarity, others promise comfort, but do they have the
same cost. Daniel Culver lives in Houston, Texas with his
wife and four kids. He has work published in places
such as The Garfield Lake Review, Paragon Press, and Indolent Books,
(00:56):
among others. Now dim the lights, settle in, and prepare
yourself for The Last Ticket by David Culver and Joy.
In the lonely town of Jasper nestled among the pine
thickets of East Texas, the sun sets as I pull
(01:19):
in for gas, three hundred miles down, four hundred to
go before I reach Dad's funeral. A north wind barely
tempers the summer heat even as night approaches. The courthouse
across the street seems frozen in the nineteen sixties. On
its front porch, convicts and striped uniforms sweep under a
(01:41):
police officer's watchful eye. A ticket lies at my feet.
Its paper is crisp and white, despite the date printed
across its face June fifteenth, nineteen sixty six. It looks
fresh off the printing press advertising a carnival. Aus sixteen,
twenty nine, County Road two six six. Huh. Dad used
(02:05):
to talk about a carnival from when he was a kid.
Said it changed him forever, and that it took more
than it gave. I'd always thought it was another of
his drunken stories, like the ones he'd tell on those
nights i'd have to pick him up from Amalley's bar.
But now standing here, I remember how his hands would
shake when he talked about it, even when he was sober.
(02:28):
How he'd look at me like he was trying to
warn me about something he couldn't put into words. The
gas pump suddenly clunks, sliding back into the car, the
ticket feels cool against my palm, against my better judgment,
I punched the address into my navigation system and pull
away from the gas station. The warm glow of my
(02:51):
screen begins to eclipse the falling sun. I might be
the only person in this town, well except for the
officer and inmates back at the court house. Shop. Lights
flicker within the general store at the corner. What a
strange little town. The county road dead ends north of town,
with train tracks running parallel. A few hundred yards to
(03:11):
the east, there, in a grassy clearing, stands a looming
yellow circus tent, surrounded by carnival rides and attractions. The
flattened grass barely cushions the crunching gravel under my tires.
I park alone. The sun has completely set now, leaving
only a single light above the circus tempt to illuminate
(03:33):
the carnival grounds. Carnivals always felt like sensory assault, wrapped
in cotton candy. Dad never understood why I'd grip his
hand till I cut off circulation in his finger tips.
Why the caliote music made me want to curl into myself.
He'd just buy me another ticket and dragged me to
another ride, insisting I'd learned to love it like he did.
(03:56):
But this one feels different. The towering yellow tent draws
me in like a beacon, familiar as a childhood memory.
Through the entrance gate, passed dusty popcorn and cotton candy
stands that breathe out memories of burnt sugar and rust.
Behind a tent, a carousel's painted horses stand frozen mid gallop,
(04:19):
while a silent calliope and motionless ferris wheel loom in
the gathering dark. Everything looks abandoned by just minutes, not decades.
The muffled voice gets louder and louder as I approach
the tent flaps and see him, the ring keeper. He
towered over the empty tent in seats, his blood red tailcoat,
(04:42):
catching what little light remained. The top hat on his
head cast a shadow that stretched toward me like a
pointing finger. Below His elongated feet should have seemed comical,
like a clown's, but the black swayed loafers, each fastened
with a leather strap and tiny ceramic skull atop suggested
(05:04):
something more deliberate, more ancient. Welcome to the circus, my boy,
you hold the last ticket. What an auspicious and valuable
circumstance for you? Choose any seat the show awaits his voice,
(05:24):
filled the tent like smoke, seeming to come from everywhere
and nowhere at once. But there's no one else here,
I said, Oh, but there is for those of you
who have eyes to truly see. Tell me, do your
eyes perceive value or do they perceive meaning? Watch how
(05:45):
lady Value prostitutes herself to self righteous meaning, who pays
only in promises and empty words. But here in my tent,
they dance as equals. They breed something new. You're here
to day because you're missing something or someone in your life,
something familial apparent. Maybe don't get flustered now. The fortune
(06:11):
teller gave me the scoop. Well, my dad died a
few days ago. He oh, yes, your father. What a
great man Roger Harrison was. That's impossible. How could you
possibly know his name? Oh? I know all kinds of things,
Jake Harrison. His smile stretched wider than any normal human
(06:36):
mouth should allow. The ringmaster knows my name, knows Dad's name.
Part of me wants to run. It's the same part
that used to hide in my closet during Dad's rages.
But another part of me, the part that still has
a ten year old stuffed tiger, burned into its memory,
(06:57):
needs to know what changed him here, what made him
trade the dad who won carnival prizes for the one
who couldn't stay sober through Christmas dinner. Tell me Jake
was worth more a lifetime of memories or a lifetime
of meaning. Your father chose meaning that day in nineteen
(07:18):
sixty six left this very tent a changed man. But
perhaps he chose wrong. Perhaps his son could make a
better bargain. My throat dried out, Such as the deal
is simple, the ringmaster said, reaching into his coat, I
(07:40):
can give you back every memory of your father before
he came here, every moment of the man he was
meant to be, the bedtime stories, the proud smiles, the
sober Christmases. You'll remember a lifetime with the father you deserved.
His hand emerged holding what looked like a small brass
(08:01):
ticket punch. Or you can know what he knew, understand
what changed him that day. But understanding comes at a price,
just as it did for him. You'll remember him whole,
the ring Master continued, twirling the brass punch between his
(08:22):
skeletal fingers. Not just the good parts. You'll have memories
of him teaching you to drive crying at your graduation,
walking you down the aisle. Someday the father who got
sober and lived to meet his grandchildren, all the moments
the bottle stole. He stepped closer, and I caught a
(08:43):
whiff of something like burnt sugar and formaldehyde. Or you
can know his truth. But truth, Jake, the truth is
a dangerous thing. My hands were trembling, just like Dad's
use to. And what exactly would this truth cost me?
(09:08):
The ring Master's smile widened impossibly further. Only what is
worth to you? Your father traded his joy for understanding.
Some trade their love, their fear, their rage. The price
matches the patron you see. Tell me, Jake, what burns
(09:30):
brightest in you? I thought of all those nights picking
that up from bars, of the Christmas presents that sat
unopened because he was passed out on the couch, of
Mom crying in the kitchen when she thought I couldn't hear.
But I also thought of how he'd looked at me
sometimes in his sober moments, like he was carrying something
(09:51):
too heavy to put down. If I choose the memories,
I said, my voice steadier than I felt. What happens
to the truth, he carried. Ah, clever boy, you see,
that's why you're here, isn't it Not just for him
but for you. You're afraid you inherited more than his resemblance,
(10:15):
Uncanny as it may be. You're afraid that whatever broke
him is lurking in your blood, waiting to break you too.
The tent seemed to pulse around us, like a living thing,
breathing in the shadows between the seats. I could have
sworn I saw movement, other figures watching, waiting, maybe even
(10:42):
Dad himself, frozen in that moment of choice. Forever. Let
me sweeten the deal, the Ringmaster said, pulling a small
silver flask from his coat. It caught the light like
a mirror, reflecting faces. I almost recognized a taste of
what your father chose. Just a sip to help you decide.
(11:05):
The flask felt warm in my hands, like it had
been sitting in the summer sun, rather than the ring
Master's cold coat. Inside, something shifted and moved that wasn't
quite liquid, Dad always said. The bottle took everything I said,
finding that you're offering me one. The ring Master laughed,
(11:27):
and the sound rippled through the tent like a stone.
Dropped in still water. Ha ha. The bottle didn't take
anything from Roger Harrison that he hadn't already given away
right here. He tried to drown the knowledge. But truth floats,
my boy, Truth always floats. I unscrewed the cap. The
(11:51):
smell hit me first, not alcohol, but something old, like
earth after rain or blood on rusty metal. Behind me,
the shadows had grown longer and darker, gaining substance. They
crept between the seats like smoke, and I could hear whispers, now,
a thousand voices speaking words. I almost understood. Your father
(12:17):
chose truth, the ring Master said softly. He saw behind
the curtain of reality, saw how thin the membrane is
between what is and what could be. Saw the price
of every choice, the weight of every path not taken.
(12:39):
Some minds aren't built to carry that kind of knowledge.
But you, he reached out and tapped my chest with
one gloved finger. You've spent your whole life trying to
understand him. Maybe you're built stronger. I looked into the flask.
(13:00):
Something appeared to look back, a brief reflection of a face,
or maybe he continued, you'd rather remember him as the
father he could have been the man who conquered his
demons instead of drowning in them. Which would heal you more, Jake,
the truth or the dream of what might have been?
(13:24):
The tent was full, now, full of shadows, full of whispers,
and full of all the choices that had led me here.
I thought about Dad's funeral waiting for me hundreds of
miles down the road. Thought about the eulogy I'd written,
full of careful omissions and gentle lies. Thought about the
(13:48):
way he'd looked at me at that last time in
the hospital, trying to tell me something through the fog
of morphine, something about this place. The whispers grew louder,
and I could almost make out Dad's voice among them,
but not the slurred, angry voice I knew best. This
(14:09):
was his early morning voice, the one that used to
wake me for fishing trips before the drinking started. Oh
there's one last thing you should know, the ring Master said,
his smile now more wound than expression. Whatever you choose,
you choose for both of you. Pick truth, and every
(14:32):
sweet memory I offered vanishes. For ever choose the memories,
and whatever truth your father carried dies with him, gone
like morning dew. Under a hot, burning sun. He extended
both hands, the flask in one, the ticket punch in
the other, time to choose Jake. The show must go on.
(14:58):
I lifted the flask higher and watched the something inside
twist and turn. And then I looked at the ticket punch,
brass worn smooth by decades of bargains. Two paths. Understand
my father or forgive him? He warned me about you,
(15:18):
I said, not with words, but every time he looked
at me with those haunted eyes, every time he reached
for the bottle instead of reaching for me, he was
trying to protect me from this choice. Protection born of
cowardice is still cowardice. The ringmaster sneered. He couldn't bear
(15:40):
what he learned, so he tried to keep you from
learning anything at all. Is that the kind of protection
you want to honor? The shadow was pressed closer, and
now I could see faces in them, carnival goers from
across decades, each holding their own flask or ticket punch,
(16:01):
all of them watching, waiting. I thought of Dad's hands
shaking as he poured his drinks, thought of how he'd
sometimes start to tell me something important, then stop himself,
fear crossing his face like a shadow. He'd chosen truth
over love once in this very tent. The truth had
(16:23):
eaten him alive, one bottle at a time. I made
my choice. The Ringmaster's laugh shook the tent as I moved,
but the sound cut off abruptly. As I poured the
flask's contents on to the ground. Something dark and writhing
soaked into the earth, and the whispers rose to screams.
(16:47):
Neither I said. I choose to remember him exactly as
he was, broken, haunted, but still trying to protect me
in the only way he knew. How keep your truth,
keep your perfect memories. I'll take reality. The shadows surged
toward me like a wave. The ring Master's face contorted,
(17:10):
stretching beyond any pretense of humanity. But as the darkness
reached for me, I felt Dad's presence beside me, stronger
than any memory or truth could be. I ran behind me.
The carnival erupted into chaos. The carousel horses screamed with
real voices. The ferris wheels spun like a mad clock,
(17:33):
rewinding time. But I didn't look back. Dad had run
from this place, too, but he'd run straight into a
bottle I aimed my car toward the highway and pressed
the gas until the carnival vanished in my rear view mirror.
Four hundred miles to Dad's funeral. I had a different
(17:53):
eulogy to write now, one with all the messy truths
of love and failure, but without the weight of whatever
knowledge had broken him. Some choices, I realized are best
left unmade at all. The ticket on my passenger seat
had turned yellow with age, the date had faded to nothing.
(18:16):
I crumpled it and threw it out the window, watching
it disappear into the Texas night. The carnival would find
someone else and perhaps offer another choice, but it's hunger
for my family and our suffering had ended. Dad could
rest now, and maybe finally, so could I. I love
(18:45):
how this story accepts reality. It is so tempting to
erase the pain or trauma or live in false memories,
but real closure means accepting what is a way to
live with that. The ring Master isn't just a sinister
(19:05):
figure here. He's the embodiment of that seductive voice that
we hear, the one that attempts us with like what
could have been? Instead of accepting what is or was
I love how Jake has a choice to be made
at a particular time, because we all in a way
have to make that choice every single day of our lives.
(19:29):
But this story, you know, encapsulates it in just a
few minutes of his encounter with the Ring Master. Jake
makes his choice, but it doesn't bring closure in the
traditional sense. It brings a kind of peace. He chooses
to face the complexity of his father, to carry both
the pain and the love without trying to rewrite the past.
(19:53):
Every single person has that complexity, and so it's such
a powerful reminder that healing doesn't always come from understanding something.
Sometimes it comes from letting go and just acceptance. The
Last Ticket is a beautifully haunting story about grief and
(20:17):
forgiveness and the kurds that it takes to live in reality,
even when fantasy would feel so much easier. The Kai
Don Kai has so many interesting stories like this one
from every genre. Please subscribe to the podcast and try
to check out our substack to see comments by authors
about their inspiration, my thoughts about these stories and some
(20:41):
of the themes that can be found in them. I
also post art that I like any kind of art
on the various social media so pick your poison and
follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or Substack. All
of the links are in the episode description, but for now,
thank you for listening today. I'll see you next week.
Welcome to the Kaidan Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you one step deeper into the world of the strange,
the eerie, and the unknown. I'm your host, Linda Gould,
and tonight I'm reading The Last Ticket by David Culver.
Tonight's story takes us to a remote corner of East Texas,
where a man stumbles upon a decade's old ticket on
(00:32):
his way to his father's funeral, and he's pulled into
a situation where he must make a choice. Some choices
promise clarity, others promise comfort, but do they have the
same cost. Daniel Culver lives in Houston, Texas with his
wife and four kids. He has work published in places
such as The Garfield Lake Review, Paragon Press, and Indolent Books,
(00:56):
among others. Now dim the lights, settle in, and prepare
yourself for The Last Ticket by David Culver and Joy.
In the lonely town of Jasper nestled among the pine
thickets of East Texas, the sun sets as I pull
(01:19):
in for gas, three hundred miles down, four hundred to
go before I reach Dad's funeral. A north wind barely
tempers the summer heat even as night approaches. The courthouse
across the street seems frozen in the nineteen sixties. On
its front porch, convicts and striped uniforms sweep under a
(01:41):
police officer's watchful eye. A ticket lies at my feet.
Its paper is crisp and white, despite the date printed
across its face June fifteenth, nineteen sixty six. It looks
fresh off the printing press advertising a carnival. Aus sixteen,
twenty nine, County Road two six six. Huh. Dad used
(02:05):
to talk about a carnival from when he was a kid.
Said it changed him forever, and that it took more
than it gave. I'd always thought it was another of
his drunken stories, like the ones he'd tell on those
nights i'd have to pick him up from Amalley's bar.
But now standing here, I remember how his hands would
shake when he talked about it, even when he was sober.
(02:28):
How he'd look at me like he was trying to
warn me about something he couldn't put into words. The
gas pump suddenly clunks, sliding back into the car, the
ticket feels cool against my palm, against my better judgment,
I punched the address into my navigation system and pull
away from the gas station. The warm glow of my
(02:51):
screen begins to eclipse the falling sun. I might be
the only person in this town, well except for the
officer and inmates back at the court house. Shop. Lights
flicker within the general store at the corner. What a
strange little town. The county road dead ends north of town,
with train tracks running parallel. A few hundred yards to
(03:11):
the east, there, in a grassy clearing, stands a looming
yellow circus tent, surrounded by carnival rides and attractions. The
flattened grass barely cushions the crunching gravel under my tires.
I park alone. The sun has completely set now, leaving
only a single light above the circus tempt to illuminate
(03:33):
the carnival grounds. Carnivals always felt like sensory assault, wrapped
in cotton candy. Dad never understood why I'd grip his
hand till I cut off circulation in his finger tips.
Why the caliote music made me want to curl into myself.
He'd just buy me another ticket and dragged me to
another ride, insisting I'd learned to love it like he did.
(03:56):
But this one feels different. The towering yellow tent draws
me in like a beacon, familiar as a childhood memory.
Through the entrance gate, passed dusty popcorn and cotton candy
stands that breathe out memories of burnt sugar and rust.
Behind a tent, a carousel's painted horses stand frozen mid gallop,
(04:19):
while a silent calliope and motionless ferris wheel loom in
the gathering dark. Everything looks abandoned by just minutes, not decades.
The muffled voice gets louder and louder as I approach
the tent flaps and see him, the ring keeper. He
towered over the empty tent in seats, his blood red tailcoat,
(04:42):
catching what little light remained. The top hat on his
head cast a shadow that stretched toward me like a
pointing finger. Below His elongated feet should have seemed comical,
like a clown's, but the black swayed loafers, each fastened
with a leather strap and tiny ceramic skull atop suggested
(05:04):
something more deliberate, more ancient. Welcome to the circus, my boy,
you hold the last ticket. What an auspicious and valuable
circumstance for you? Choose any seat the show awaits his voice,
(05:24):
filled the tent like smoke, seeming to come from everywhere
and nowhere at once. But there's no one else here,
I said, Oh, but there is for those of you
who have eyes to truly see. Tell me, do your
eyes perceive value or do they perceive meaning? Watch how
(05:45):
lady Value prostitutes herself to self righteous meaning, who pays
only in promises and empty words. But here in my tent,
they dance as equals. They breed something new. You're here
to day because you're missing something or someone in your life,
something familial apparent. Maybe don't get flustered now. The fortune
(06:11):
teller gave me the scoop. Well, my dad died a
few days ago. He oh, yes, your father. What a
great man Roger Harrison was. That's impossible. How could you
possibly know his name? Oh? I know all kinds of things,
Jake Harrison. His smile stretched wider than any normal human
(06:36):
mouth should allow. The ringmaster knows my name, knows Dad's name.
Part of me wants to run. It's the same part
that used to hide in my closet during Dad's rages.
But another part of me, the part that still has
a ten year old stuffed tiger, burned into its memory,
(06:57):
needs to know what changed him here, what made him
trade the dad who won carnival prizes for the one
who couldn't stay sober through Christmas dinner. Tell me Jake
was worth more a lifetime of memories or a lifetime
of meaning. Your father chose meaning that day in nineteen
(07:18):
sixty six left this very tent a changed man. But
perhaps he chose wrong. Perhaps his son could make a
better bargain. My throat dried out, Such as the deal
is simple, the ringmaster said, reaching into his coat, I
(07:40):
can give you back every memory of your father before
he came here, every moment of the man he was
meant to be, the bedtime stories, the proud smiles, the
sober Christmases. You'll remember a lifetime with the father you deserved.
His hand emerged holding what looked like a small brass
(08:01):
ticket punch. Or you can know what he knew, understand
what changed him that day. But understanding comes at a price,
just as it did for him. You'll remember him whole,
the ring Master continued, twirling the brass punch between his
(08:22):
skeletal fingers. Not just the good parts. You'll have memories
of him teaching you to drive crying at your graduation,
walking you down the aisle. Someday the father who got
sober and lived to meet his grandchildren, all the moments
the bottle stole. He stepped closer, and I caught a
(08:43):
whiff of something like burnt sugar and formaldehyde. Or you
can know his truth. But truth, Jake, the truth is
a dangerous thing. My hands were trembling, just like Dad's
use to. And what exactly would this truth cost me?
(09:08):
The ring Master's smile widened impossibly further. Only what is
worth to you? Your father traded his joy for understanding.
Some trade their love, their fear, their rage. The price
matches the patron you see. Tell me, Jake, what burns
(09:30):
brightest in you? I thought of all those nights picking
that up from bars, of the Christmas presents that sat
unopened because he was passed out on the couch, of
Mom crying in the kitchen when she thought I couldn't hear.
But I also thought of how he'd looked at me
sometimes in his sober moments, like he was carrying something
(09:51):
too heavy to put down. If I choose the memories,
I said, my voice steadier than I felt. What happens
to the truth, he carried. Ah, clever boy, you see,
that's why you're here, isn't it Not just for him
but for you. You're afraid you inherited more than his resemblance,
(10:15):
Uncanny as it may be. You're afraid that whatever broke
him is lurking in your blood, waiting to break you too.
The tent seemed to pulse around us, like a living thing,
breathing in the shadows between the seats. I could have
sworn I saw movement, other figures watching, waiting, maybe even
(10:42):
Dad himself, frozen in that moment of choice. Forever. Let
me sweeten the deal, the Ringmaster said, pulling a small
silver flask from his coat. It caught the light like
a mirror, reflecting faces. I almost recognized a taste of
what your father chose. Just a sip to help you decide.
(11:05):
The flask felt warm in my hands, like it had
been sitting in the summer sun, rather than the ring
Master's cold coat. Inside, something shifted and moved that wasn't
quite liquid, Dad always said. The bottle took everything I said,
finding that you're offering me one. The ring Master laughed,
(11:27):
and the sound rippled through the tent like a stone.
Dropped in still water. Ha ha. The bottle didn't take
anything from Roger Harrison that he hadn't already given away
right here. He tried to drown the knowledge. But truth floats,
my boy, Truth always floats. I unscrewed the cap. The
(11:51):
smell hit me first, not alcohol, but something old, like
earth after rain or blood on rusty metal. Behind me,
the shadows had grown longer and darker, gaining substance. They
crept between the seats like smoke, and I could hear whispers, now,
a thousand voices speaking words. I almost understood. Your father
(12:17):
chose truth, the ring Master said softly. He saw behind
the curtain of reality, saw how thin the membrane is
between what is and what could be. Saw the price
of every choice, the weight of every path not taken.
(12:39):
Some minds aren't built to carry that kind of knowledge.
But you, he reached out and tapped my chest with
one gloved finger. You've spent your whole life trying to
understand him. Maybe you're built stronger. I looked into the flask.
(13:00):
Something appeared to look back, a brief reflection of a face,
or maybe he continued, you'd rather remember him as the
father he could have been the man who conquered his
demons instead of drowning in them. Which would heal you more, Jake,
the truth or the dream of what might have been?
(13:24):
The tent was full, now, full of shadows, full of whispers,
and full of all the choices that had led me here.
I thought about Dad's funeral waiting for me hundreds of
miles down the road. Thought about the eulogy I'd written,
full of careful omissions and gentle lies. Thought about the
(13:48):
way he'd looked at me at that last time in
the hospital, trying to tell me something through the fog
of morphine, something about this place. The whispers grew louder,
and I could almost make out Dad's voice among them,
but not the slurred, angry voice I knew best. This
(14:09):
was his early morning voice, the one that used to
wake me for fishing trips before the drinking started. Oh
there's one last thing you should know, the ring Master said,
his smile now more wound than expression. Whatever you choose,
you choose for both of you. Pick truth, and every
(14:32):
sweet memory I offered vanishes. For ever choose the memories,
and whatever truth your father carried dies with him, gone
like morning dew. Under a hot, burning sun. He extended
both hands, the flask in one, the ticket punch in
the other, time to choose Jake. The show must go on.
(14:58):
I lifted the flask higher and watched the something inside
twist and turn. And then I looked at the ticket punch,
brass worn smooth by decades of bargains. Two paths. Understand
my father or forgive him? He warned me about you,
(15:18):
I said, not with words, but every time he looked
at me with those haunted eyes, every time he reached
for the bottle instead of reaching for me, he was
trying to protect me from this choice. Protection born of
cowardice is still cowardice. The ringmaster sneered. He couldn't bear
(15:40):
what he learned, so he tried to keep you from
learning anything at all. Is that the kind of protection
you want to honor? The shadow was pressed closer, and
now I could see faces in them, carnival goers from
across decades, each holding their own flask or ticket punch,
(16:01):
all of them watching, waiting. I thought of Dad's hands
shaking as he poured his drinks, thought of how he'd
sometimes start to tell me something important, then stop himself,
fear crossing his face like a shadow. He'd chosen truth
over love once in this very tent. The truth had
(16:23):
eaten him alive, one bottle at a time. I made
my choice. The Ringmaster's laugh shook the tent as I moved,
but the sound cut off abruptly. As I poured the
flask's contents on to the ground. Something dark and writhing
soaked into the earth, and the whispers rose to screams.
(16:47):
Neither I said. I choose to remember him exactly as
he was, broken, haunted, but still trying to protect me
in the only way he knew. How keep your truth,
keep your perfect memories. I'll take reality. The shadows surged
toward me like a wave. The ring Master's face contorted,
(17:10):
stretching beyond any pretense of humanity. But as the darkness
reached for me, I felt Dad's presence beside me, stronger
than any memory or truth could be. I ran behind me.
The carnival erupted into chaos. The carousel horses screamed with
real voices. The ferris wheels spun like a mad clock,
(17:33):
rewinding time. But I didn't look back. Dad had run
from this place, too, but he'd run straight into a
bottle I aimed my car toward the highway and pressed
the gas until the carnival vanished in my rear view mirror.
Four hundred miles to Dad's funeral. I had a different
(17:53):
eulogy to write now, one with all the messy truths
of love and failure, but without the weight of whatever
knowledge had broken him. Some choices, I realized are best
left unmade at all. The ticket on my passenger seat
had turned yellow with age, the date had faded to nothing.
(18:16):
I crumpled it and threw it out the window, watching
it disappear into the Texas night. The carnival would find
someone else and perhaps offer another choice, but it's hunger
for my family and our suffering had ended. Dad could
rest now, and maybe finally, so could I. I love
(18:45):
how this story accepts reality. It is so tempting to
erase the pain or trauma or live in false memories,
but real closure means accepting what is a way to
live with that. The ring Master isn't just a sinister
(19:05):
figure here. He's the embodiment of that seductive voice that
we hear, the one that attempts us with like what
could have been? Instead of accepting what is or was
I love how Jake has a choice to be made
at a particular time, because we all in a way
have to make that choice every single day of our lives.
(19:29):
But this story, you know, encapsulates it in just a
few minutes of his encounter with the Ring Master. Jake
makes his choice, but it doesn't bring closure in the
traditional sense. It brings a kind of peace. He chooses
to face the complexity of his father, to carry both
the pain and the love without trying to rewrite the past.
(19:53):
Every single person has that complexity, and so it's such
a powerful reminder that healing doesn't always come from understanding something.
Sometimes it comes from letting go and just acceptance. The
Last Ticket is a beautifully haunting story about grief and
(20:17):
forgiveness and the kurds that it takes to live in reality,
even when fantasy would feel so much easier. The Kai
Don Kai has so many interesting stories like this one
from every genre. Please subscribe to the podcast and try
to check out our substack to see comments by authors
about their inspiration, my thoughts about these stories and some
(20:41):
of the themes that can be found in them. I
also post art that I like any kind of art
on the various social media so pick your poison and
follow me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or Substack. All
of the links are in the episode description, but for now,
thank you for listening today. I'll see you next week.
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