The Lost Circus, Part 14
Serial | Horror
New to the circus? Why not start here?
In our last chapter, our hero finally realized his link to this terrible place. Haunted by his grandfather’s memories - and the nightmares around him - he fails a daring escape and finds himself cast into darkness by the Gypsy’s magic…
I dream of the circus. Of nightmares and shadows, surgical saws and half-drained pigeons and monkeys with broken jaws. Of tattoos and fortune-telling cards and gold fabric, and blood-soaked handprints walking from here to there and everywhere.
I see my grandfather, ducking out of doorways and into small rooms where cigarette-smoking women smile at him. I watch as he creeps along, stealing nightcap kisses from his whiskey flask and trying not to look suspicious. I flinch when he finds someone else sneaking around, and either hugs them or slaps them, depending on his mood.
He is not the man I believed he was. He is everything that these people say he should be.
At one point, I see a little girl, blonde, like my mother. She holds the Gypsy’s hand and watches as she drills through her performance, practicing endlessly, just like the magicians. As I watch, my grandfather approaches her, offers her a lollipop, disarms her with a smile. He makes the timid little girl laugh, and with the practiced air of a performer, convinces her to follow him. He takes her hand, and without a backward glance, leads her out of the tent.
I hear the roar of a car motor. A few minutes later, the Gypsy screams.
So it did happen. My grandfather, the man who spoiled me rotten and taught me how to use his tools, was a monster. He destroyed my grandmother’s heart. He played with other peoples’ lives, and then ruined them. He sold their souls for money, and didn’t see why he should pay them back.
A monster. A nightmare. A real-life tyrant, hidden under the stripes and lights of a circus.
I wonder if my mother knew. Did she understand who he really was? An awful human who abused others for his own financial gain? Probably not. He was likely on his best behavior when she was around, a charade he seemed to have perfected over the years. Nobody would know his true self. Not if he could help it. It’s easier to take advantage of others that way.
Faintly, I hear the crowd’s white noise. It comes back slowly, amplifying a little bit more every second. For the first time, I wonder why they’re really here. To witness the show? Or to watch the final performance of a bloody, horrific revenge story?
Are they dead? Alive? Real or a dream-like aspect of this bizarre insane asylum?
As their cheers grow louder, I realize that they may be as trapped as I am. Poor souls who came to enjoy the circus or visit its gravesite, and found themselves stuck in a recurring nightmare without an escape. Destined to rise and fall with the lights, sing with the calliope, and gallop alongside the man-horses all night long.
I wonder if they have family. Or friends, or coworkers, or plants, or anyone who misses them at home. I wonder if anyone noticed they’re gone, and how long they’ve been stuck here, in horror limbo, this place between hell and earth.
Gradually, my senses return. My eyes feel gritty, like somebody rubbed a fistfull of sand between my eyelids. My mouth is dry, and tastes metallic and warm, which seem to be the flavors of the circus. The only thing I’m missing is the gold, and as I slowly come back to myself, I realize she’s probably standing next to me.
The liar. The cheat. The show-woman herself, the queen of the damned dead. The one who tried to murder my grandfather and slaughter his name.
The Gypsy.
I finally manage to crack my eyes open. Immediately, I’m blinded by the glaring performance lights, and the crowd roars as I wince. My head aches, pulsing as I raise it to squint into the brightness. From my seat, I can see everything - the three rings, the audience, the performers - but nobody’s doing much of anything. They seem to be standing around, waiting for something. Waiting for the show to begin.
I move to stand, and there’s a clinking noise, like a chain being rattled. I try again, and realize that my feet won’t move.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” crows a familiar voice, announcing her pleasure to the canvas ceiling. It echoes around my ears, making my head feel a thousand times worse. “Our guest has awakened!”
Guest. Ha. More like a hostage in a very unstable situation.
As the audience thunders their approval of whatever the Gypsy just announced, I gingerly test my legs again. They still won’t move, and the rattling sound explodes underneath my chair. It would seem they’ve attached me to something so I can’t run away again. Whatever they’re planning, they want me here. To observe, or to take notes, I have no clue. Whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it.
Slowly, my memory returns. The Gypsy’s story. The truth about my grandfather, if you could call it that. The horrors that awaited me in the other tents. The mysterious voice, the debonair coat, and wildly angry Michael, the Tattooed Man.
And Arthur.
I look around again, trying to ignore the way my heart beats faster. I’m getting nervous. This is so much more intense than sitting in the fortune-telling chair, or passing on dinner in the smaller acts tent. For the first time in this whole experience, I seem to be in some actual danger. I need somebody to tell me it’s okay, even if they’re silent and bleeding all over the ground. He doesn’t even have to be friendly, since apparently my family ruined his life. It would just really help to see a familiar face.
But I don’t see him anywhere.
“We’ve waited a long time for this moment. Some of you have, too. Fifty-six years is a lot of patience, and we commend you for staying with us. For everyone else, the circus welcomes you.”
The performers around the three rings applaud the crowd, their red and blue costumes glittering in the light. Bloody centaurs stoop into a three-legged bow, midgets flop over sideways and kick their feet, acrobats twirl on their hands and salute with their toes. An elephant bellows its approval, and a couple of lions roar while the horses - the whole ones - toss their heads appreciatively.
I glance over at the queen herself, and am surprised to find her at my elbow. I’d imagined she would be off, elsewhere, standing in the heart of the show. Yet here she is, right beside me. Like she has nowhere better to be.
A cold sweat breaks out between my shoulders. Given her story about my grandfather - which makes her my grandmother, by the way, a purely horrifying detail that I’ve managed to avoid up until this point - it would make sense that she doesn’t want me going far. Her last words echo in my head: He escaped his punishment. Now he is dead, but we have you.
She’s planning something. She organized his death, and he managed to walk away breathing while everyone else burned. Now she has me, her grandson, and it sounds like she has a good idea of how to celebrate the occasion.
“You may think that after all this time, we’ve forgotten how to put on a show. But this is not the case! You came for a good time, did you not?”
The crowd claps softly, murmuring their approval.
“You came to be entertained, did you not?”
The applause grows louder. Some of the performers nod their heads, adding their own applause to the score.
The Gypsy takes a step forward, twirling those bony, ring-studded fingers towards the sky. “I’d say we’ve waited long enough for a good show, wouldn’t you?”
This time the whole place erupts in thunderous applause. The Gypsy stands, her arms at attention, welcoming their praise. For the first time, it seems like she’s really in charge. Dressed in her gold and sparkling jewels, anyone would mistake her for the leader. For someone who seemed to stand in the shadows most of the time, she’s certainly making the most of her spotlight.
She turns, and I flinch away from her half-skeletal visage. That’s when I realize that not only are my feet glued to the floor, my wrists are also locked to the chair.
My grandmother leans down to my height, her eyes mocking and her smile slippery as an eel. “Well, ringmaster? Are you ready to enjoy the show?”
I’d like to spit in her face, but I don’t want to die just yet. Besides, the cold, clammy fear of being rendered immobile is closing in. I knew I was in trouble before, but I could still move my arms then. Now that option’s out, and I’m definitely starting to feel the walls closing in. I’m trapped in hell, a prisoner of my grandfather’s sins.
All my worst fears are true. My grandmother is insane, and she’s going to take it out on me.
The Gypsy smiles. All traces of sweetness are gone, leaving only the steel and iron stare I’d seen earlier. Now that I’ve heard her story, it makes sense why she’d want me to come share the throne. We did have history. Not in person, but tied together by blood. Family in the worst sense of the word.
Wait. The podium. Wasn’t there a giant creepy chair sitting on it?
The Gypsy’s smile grows, another unnerving testament to her ability to read minds. “You’re figuring it out, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice quiet despite the fire in her eyes. “Your chances of escape are slim. I lost you once, Christophe. I won’t let it happen again.”
“I’m not him!” I yell, my fear making the words explode like fireworks. “I didn’t do this to you! I’m sorry but-”
The Gypsy doesn’t wait for me to continue. Her bracelets jangle as she waves a hand, dismissing me halfway through my tirade. “Apologies won’t release you. We’re past the time for words. Only blood will repay this debt.”
The metal chain binding my wrists cuts deeply as I struggle frantically. “Wait, wait! It doesn’t have to be this way! We can do something else, we can make a deal! Just give me a minute to-”
“No deals.” She wags a finger at me and winks. “And aren’t you a fast learner? I thought you didn’t know anything about running a circus, yet here you are, tied to your fate, and still trying to get out of it.”
“Please. I want to go home. To my mom. Remember her? She’s not dead yet. I can save her. I promise I’ll leave. I’ll never come back, if that’s what you want. You can have peace. I’ll leave you alone. Just please, please don’t kill me!”
“Your mother is already dead.” Her lips curve upwards as she says this, like she’s sharing the best secret in the world. “She has been told of your fate. And she, in turn, has followed her own.”
I stop thrashing. “What?”
The Gypsy kneels down to my level, keeping her eyes locked on mine. Every word from her lips drops like a stone into my heart. “Your mother is already dead.”
It sinks in slowly, dripping like ice down my back and freezing in my veins. The noise of the crowd fades, and all I hear is my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. That can’t be right. My mother can’t be dead. That’s not how this works. I was supposed to be threatened, and then make my dramatic escape. At the last second, they’d let me go, and I’d live my life to its fullest potential, having learned my lessons - whatever they were - at last.
She’s not dead. She can’t be dead. That’s not how the story goes.
“She’s dead,” repeats the Gypsy, her one eye twinkling. “By her own hand, just as I foretold it.”
No. I’ve only been gone a day. Surely she wouldn’t believe that. Not enough time has passed to make her worried. I’ve been gone a lot longer than that before. She wouldn’t give up on me already. Would she?
Unless it hasn’t been a day. Unless rules really don’t apply here, and the circus has been screwing with me for longer than that.
On cue, the Gypsy claps her hands. “You’ve got it!” she crows with delight. Spinning around, she waves her bejeweled hands at the audience. “He knows! The ringmaster finally knows!”
On cue, the crowd bursts into wild applause. Every single person claps their hardest, laughing at my implied idiocy. Anger flames under my skin, melting the ice in my bloodstream. I can feel its jaws snapping just out of reach, barely under control as she turns back to me again.
“How long?”
“Three days,” she says softly. “But don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe here. There’s nothing for you to go back to, anyway.”
“I have a job,” I protest hollowly. “I have plants. I have friends. People will notice I’m gone.”
The little coins on her headdress tinkle as she shakes her head. “Not any more. This is your calling. This job, this place, this show. This, here, is your fate.” She stands, brushing her hands together as if wiping off dirt from our conversation. “And now, ringmaster, if you’re ready. It’s time to begin the show.”
I summon every single memory I have of my mother. My poor mother, the abandoned circus girl, who lost her mother and was manipulated by her father into opening her home. Who lost my father, her husband, at an early age, and still managed to raise me by herself. Who lost her soul to the wood shop, to the blast of a nail gun, and broken glass bottles of wine.
With all of this in mind, I glare at the Gypsy, putting as much force as I can behind it. Let her read those thoughts, and I hope she chokes on them.
“Go to hell.”
Her smile flickers, as if uncertain. Then she shrugs, brushing my mental tantrum aside. “So you wish.” She turns to the crowd, a dazzling smile on her face. “Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention, please!”
I seethe. The world turns red before my eyes, staining the Gypsy’s gold skirts like blood. I should be afraid. I should fear for my life right now, but all I can think about is how they did all of this. They brought me here. They called to me. They wanted me to take pictures. They trotted out the fat lady, and the monkeys, and the pigeons and the bears and the lions and the Tattooed Man and even Arthur, and they put on a hell of a show.
But I don’t want to play any more. I’m not ready to die. And finally, for the first time, I’m about ready to do something about it.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” calls the Gypsy’s voice, her ring-studded fingers waving at the canvas sky. “Let the show begin!”
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We’re almost there, dear readers. The circus is falling apart, and with it, our intrepid hero.
Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with it so far. It’s a bit twisty and turny, and I’ll try to edit most of that in post, but you all are my very first alpha readers. It’s a pleasure and an honor to have you.
Have a marvelous week, everyone. Stay warm, wherever you are!
<3 Olivia