The Lost Circus, Part 11

Serial | Horror

In our last chapter, our brave hero finally arrived at the Big Top. After being presented with the legendary ringmaster’s coat - and realizing that the bleeding clown may not be as terrifying as he believed - he finally steps into the three rings for the first time…

The noise is deafening. Bright lights flash, blinding me. I smile, and lift my arms over my head in victory as it all washes over me, filling my ears with white noise and smothering me in adoration and love.

Yes. This is what I've been waiting for.

For so long, I've been hunting down abandoned places. Finding beauty in what was lost, seeking what was left behind. Now, instead of coming last, I'm first. I'm the one standing on a stage, being worshipped by thousands of people. I'm the one with the coat that fits so perfectly, even though I've never seen it before. And I'm the one who's in charge of this place, if only for one night.

This is what I've been looking for. This is what I needed. This is what I deserve.

This is home.

The voice whispers quietly, soothingly, in the back of my mind. My brow furrows in confusion, but the moment is gone, replaced by wide smiles, painted lips, and the graceful dance of bareback riders streaming around the ring. They gallop at top speed, kicking up dust and skidding to a daring stop right before our audience's eyes. The normies sit entranced, enchanted, seduced by the chaos around them. Trained bears balancing on giant balls, lions jumping through flaming hoops, elephants trumpeting to the canvas-covered skies. Acrobats tumble into handstands and leap over each other, catching themselves at the very last moment before inevitably tumbling to their deaths. Every eye in the Big Top is on us, and the show has only just begun.

Yes. This is where I belong.

The gold trim on my coat sparkles as I wave, prompting a group of children in the front row to scream louder. I smile, remembering when I was young and watching shows like this one. Wishing I could climb on a horse and ride away. Run from bills, grocery errands, and everyday life, and for the rest of my life, perform on a stage with the other freaks who never quite fit in. We would become our own family. I wouldn't feel so bad about leaving Mom behind. I'd have a place. For the first time in my life, I'd belong somewhere.

Maybe that's why I love abandoned places. They don't belong anywhere, either.

One of the show horses gallops past me, interrupting my train of thought. I wear my smile wider as it trots past, the rider posing for the children in the front row. Her smile dazzles them, and several of them stare back open-mouthed at her beaded blue and red top and tutu, which flounces as she rides along the edge of the ring. A scarlet belt wraps around her waist, drawing my eye as she passes by a second time.

My heart leaps into my throat. No. As horrifying as this circus is, it wouldn't go that far.

Her hoofbeats kick up dust as she canters away. I watch as she circles the edge of the arena. Her hooves stomp in time with the calliope nearby, and she tosses her head recklessly. Freely. Almost like she's become one with the circus, its magic and wild abandon. Around her, fire breathing artists send spikes of flame towards the ceiling, and small midget cars dodge in and around her feet, but she is not distracted. Instead, she laughs, intoxicated by the madness.

Aren't we all?  the voice whispers again, so low I almost miss it.

Another set of thundering hoofbeats pull my ear, and I twirl back to face the crowd in time to see a second rider gallop by. This one is a tall, striking young man, and he smiles brilliantly as he trots by the children's wall. Again, they seem dazzled by his appearance and winning smile. His costume is a mirror image of the woman's - blue and red, red and blue - and again, I notice the smeared line around his waist.

He flexes his arms, causing several young ladies in the audience to swoon. I only see the scarlet ribbon around his torso, and my heart sinks into my shoes.

Every time I think I've seen it all, the circus gets a tiny bit worse.

They're not bareback riders. I can see the stitching where one torso sinks into the next, the matted horsehair where the neck was severed to make it serviceable. Blood smears against their human skin, creating the ring I thought was a belt before. Their four feet pound against the dirt stage, sometimes rearing into the air for dramatic effect, coming down with a thud that seems to thunder around the tent.

They're man-made centaurs. Human bodies cobbled together with a horse, giving them one grinning face on the top and four feet on the bottom.

My stomach clenches. It takes more effort to keep the smile on my face, though I don't want to disappoint the kids in front of me. I have to be strong. For the circus, for the children, for the show.

The show must go on, whispers the voice again.

This time, I know I've heard it. And - more terrifying than the half-man, half-horses trotting around the ring - I know I've heard it before. Earlier, around the circus, certainly. But it's stronger now. Deeper. Richer. There's a memory flitting at the edge of my mind, something else that I've forgotten, but I just can't reach it yet.

The crowd breaks into thunderous applause again, shattering my concentration. I spin around on my heel, suddenly furious. Blood pounding in my ears, fists clenched. I want to know who dared to interrupt my show.

Around me, the acrobats and trained bears and lions sit and roar and pose. This is a break in their normal routine, I can feel it. The centaurs stand at one side, one hoof cocked at attention as they salute the newcomer in the main ring. My blood boils at the idea that something has distracted them from their responsibilities, and when I see who they're welcoming, my eyes narrow.

The Gypsy stands in the main ring, her gold skirts and shirt sparkling under the lights. Stacks of jewelry cascade down her arms and wrap around her neck, making her look more like a fallen star than a half-woman, half-skeleton. With one hand in the air, she beckons to the onlookers, inviting them to watch as she snaps her bony fingers. A team of burly backstage helpers trundles into the tent, carrying an enormous tarp-covered box towards the main ring.

Fury bubbles at the edge of my vision, but I take a deep breath. No. Everything is fine. If she had betrayed me, I would know.

The team of heavy lifters carefully lowers the object to the floor. The tarp shifts slightly in the scuffle, and a handler pulls it back quickly, before anyone can see what lies underneath. Then they all take a giant step back and look at the Gypsy for approval.

She hesitates, then looks directly at me.

The force of her stare nearly knocks me over. I'd expected some sort of deference here - I am the one in charge, after all - but it's not merely submissiveness I see in her eyes. Sadness radiates out of her like sunlight smothered by clouds. It gleams like the moon's weak rays, punctured by starlight on a cloudless eve. It drives into my heart like a stake, and for a second, I can't breathe.

Why?

Why do I feel it radiating off of her, tasting like sorrow and regret and pain? Why does she embody all of the agony that seeps from a broken heart?

And why is she looking at me like I can fix it?

Without an answer, she turns away, her ring-studded fingers wrapping tightly in the tarp. With the other hand, she points to the sky, twirling her hand with a dash of showmanship. Around us, the crowd starts to hum, then cheer, getting louder and louder as anticipation builds. As they reach their deafening crescendo, she spins, whipping the tarp off and casting it to one side.

My jaw drops, and the the crowd goes wild.

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Hello, dear reader!

WHAT’S IN THE BOX???

I won’t tell, but I will say that you’ll probably be surprised. I was a little surprised, and I wrote it.

Anyway, how’s your holiday season so far? Not much snow yet, so my dream of sitting in front of the window with hot chocolate and watching it fall hasn’t come to pass. We still have plenty of time before it gets warm, though. I’m sure there are some snowflakes yet to come.

Hey, here’s a question: do you prefer giving presents, or getting them? I’ve got one foot in both answers, because I suffer from chronic indecision and there are aspects of both that I like. Everybody likes getting presents, and I also like trying to come up with good ideas for friends and family. I’m really bad at waiting for the right time to give it, though. It’s almost always too early because I just want to see them smile.

Sappy enough? Sounds good. Same time next week?

Have a great one!

<3 Olivia