The Lost Circus, Part 15
Serial | Horror
Pssst… new to the circus? Why not start here?
In our last chapter, the Gypsy finally unveiled the real reason for Christophe’s attendance at this performance. But before he repays his grandfather’s debt in blood, there’s time for one final show…
Immediately, the lights go down. Two spotlights remain: one on the Gypsy, making her sparkle in the darkness. The other stays on me. I’m still part of the show. Not as the ringmaster, or the Man in Charge, but to be made an example of. You don’t screw around with the circus, and everyone’s about to learn why.
The audience hums with anticipation, making the air crackle with energy. For a moment, I wish I could have my camera to capture this moment. It disappeared somewhere around the entrance to the Big Top, when I put on this damn coat, and I haven’t seen it since. I hope I’ll be able to find it later.
The Gypsy steps forward. With a wave of her hand, she directs the light down towards the crowd, where the man-made centaurs are arranging themselves into a suitable formation. The children that I waved to earlier in the evening shriek with excitement to have them so close.
It looks like she’s serious about the show. I have no idea why. Wouldn’t she just want to get it over with? She already made such a big deal about losing me - that is, my grandfather - so why bother with a final performance? Why not just kill me and get it done instead of dragging it out?
Shut up, I tell myself. The more dramatic she makes this, the more time I have to think.
The centaurs trot sideways (instead of moving forward, which is apparently a feat) and I twist my wrist experimentally. Whatever is holding me to the chair doesn’t budge. Neither does the lock around my ankles. I wonder for a second if I have anything on me that will break me out, and then realize how dumb that sounds. Of course I don’t carry any lockpicks. I’ve never needed one before.
The centaurs lope backwards, their arms in the air, posing for their adoring crowd. They came here willingly, I realize. I was drawn in, seduced, but they walked in deliberately and put their names on a dotted line. How awful were their lives to wind up here? What kind of scandal pushes you into employment on the road, leaving your home, your family, and your friends behind? Who looks up, sees three striped tents, and thinks, That’s perfect!
It would have to be big. Astronomical. There’s no other way you’d lay down your life and surrender yourself to this nightmare.
Unless… unless nothing happened. And they felt stuck, the way everyone does sometimes. The circus came through town, with its banners flying and bright colors and barkers promising a good time, and they thought, That’s what freedom looks like.
Those poor saps.
I watch as the audience applauds the centaurs, with their bloody bellies and four feet and painted smiles. They move so gracefully for science experiments, but I wonder if this is really what they wanted. Maybe they were just hunting for adventure, and fell down the wrong rabbit hole. It looked so shiny, so beautiful, and here they are, pretending like they’re special. They’re not special. They’re just lost.
They are. But I don’t have to be.
It comes to me slowly, like pieces of a puzzle slowly snapping into place. Despite my earlier belief that everything was sheer chaos, I realize now that the circus has rules. In the beginning, they didn’t just drag me in and have their way with me. They wanted pictures. Evidence. They could’ve just killed me, but that wasn’t good enough. Fifty-six years of hatred can’t be satisfied with a ten-minute murder.
No, they wanted more. They needed a show.
That’s what the pictures were about. There was no documentary. No way they would let me walk out of here with anything to sell. It wasn’t about getting photos developed and sharing them with the world. No, it was to give them the satisfaction of ruining everything, even my job. The Gypsy already knew my mother’s fate. They already decided what mine would be. It was a cat-and-mouse game, where everything’s already decided and there’s nothing left to do but run.
I can feel the tables turn as the wheels spin in my head. The rules of revenge dictate that they drag this out until somebody can be satisfied. Right now, the Gypsy is the one in charge. The performance can’t end until her say-so. Until she decrees my final moments, I’ll still be here. Locked to the chair. Ready and waiting.
Unless I can convince her otherwise. Unless I can get back into the lights, myself.
The Gypsy glances at me out of the corner of her eye as she applauds the centaurs’ finale. I try to blank my mind, so she can’t guess what I’m thinking. It must have been successful, as she turns back to the audience, she doesn’t seem particularly bothered.
There has to be a way for me to get out. No way they’d let me walk out of here in one piece, but if I can get off the chair, at least I’d have a shot. But what do I do once they let me up? If I run, they’ll drag me back down again. Or they’ll mind-control me and I’ll just walk myself back here. The door’s too far away to run, and besides, I still have this dumb coat whispering in my ear. It’s not like it’ll allow me to get very far anyway.
As if agreeing with me, the coat nuzzles up against my neck.
Yeah, right. Dumb coat. The only thing it’s gotten me into is trouble, with its stupid ringmaster addiction and Grandfather’s memories. The last thing I need is his idiotic influence.
Or is it?
My stomach twists, but the idea doesn’t disappear. It’s the only thing that will allow me to get up and walk around. It sounds like a stupid horror movie solution, like hiding behind a wall of chainsaws. But if it works - and I have an awful feeling that it will - there’s a chance I could be home by morning.
I can’t get up. I can’t walk around.
But someone else could.
Breathing deeply, I try to settle my nerves. They ricochet around my stomach like bouncy balls, each one threatening to make me puke. I glance at the Gypsy out of the corner of my eye, noting the way she gestures for the next act. If this is going to work, I’ll have to convince her beyond a shadow of a doubt. And if she really can read my mind, it’s going to be an enormous pain in the ass.
As if she heard me thinking, the Gypsy glances at me. Her one eye looks curious, like she knows she’s about to be fooled, but it’s almost as if she wants to be.
For a second, I think of my grandfather. I remember the memories I watched, of him throwing his arms around his performers, promising them the world, and turning out his pockets to show how empty they were. I remember how he stumbled from one woman’s room to the next, screwing anything that moved. And I remember how he danced in the Gypsy’s arms, the night everything went up in flames.
The coat hugs me, very briefly. Tightens around my arms and shoulders and chest, then loosens. Almost like it’s saying, I’m with you.
Instead of reminding the coat that it’s a coat, and thus unable to help, I channel all of my nervous energy towards the Gypsy. I smile, a hopeful copy of the one I saw my grandfather wearing so long ago. I let my eyes travel from the hem of her skirt to her skinless jaw, even allowing myself to linger on her chest, which seems appropriate under the circumstances. “Hello, darling.”
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Hello, dear readers!
Thank you, again, for those of you willing to traverse the circus’ haunted grounds until this point. Behind the scenes, I’m on the final chapter, and it looks like things are about to get pretty intense.
Be brave, bold adventurer. You’ll need it where we’re going.
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<3 Olivia