Rumor has it the boy can't feel pain.

His name's Clemens and there's a sideshow bounty on his head. Rumor has it, the clowns are already headed in his direction. Rumor has it, he's bound for the stage. He'll be a star for sure! See his name there on the painted sign: the Whipping Boy! They'll even sell you a ticket to try and make him scream. Though, no one seems to care what the rest of the carnies think.

They always thought of the carnival as a refuge from America. A place where they could be themselves. A place where they didn't have to scream. The Whipping Boy's performance drives home an ugly truth: the carnival isn't a refuge at all. They can't escape the lynch mobs or the religious zealots. The bootleggers at war, the corrupt governor. The orphan with a pocketful of marbles. The sex workers covered in blood. The bullets and the arrowheads. The hatchets and the rifles. The Ku Klux Klan, there, looking to plant a burning cross in the very heart of it all.

Carnival Country is selling tickets to America's past, present and-worst of all-future.