The Lost Circus, Part 2

Finding the three rings.

P.S. - This is a continuation of last week’s story. (Thus, the “Part 2” thing.) If you’d like to start at the beginning, you can find it here!

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It's an enormous open space. Three giant circles merge on the floor, forming the traditional performance area for a circus. Swaths of shredded canvas hang down, forming patches of sunlight in the shadows. There's a spot on the ground that's clearly seen some rain, as it's the only area where grass still grows. Other than that, it's dark, dusty, and seems to be completely void of anything.

In other words, it's empty. Just like every single other abandoned place I've seen.

For a second, I'm infuriated. Following a trail of bloody handprints should've led me to a gruesome murder scene. Half-decomposed bodies strewn around, with a huge pile balanced in one of the three rings. After all of that hype, this is what I got? These pictures won't sell. Nothing about this place - except the outside of the tents, I suppose - will bring me money. Bills don't pay themselves, and I took a huge risk in coming here. The stories of that fated night when the circus gave its last performance are legendary. Too bad that's all they are: legends. There's nothing scary here. Not any more.

I turn on my heel to leave. If I won't get paid that much anyway, I might as well throw in some photos of the fake bloody handprint trail. Maybe it'll get me enough for a fancy coffee on the way home.

On my way out, I look down. I see a trampled dandelion and some grass. Nothing else.

A frustrated groan escapes me. I've already wasted too much time. They were right here, I want my picture, and I want it now. Glancing over my shoulder, I confirm what I already suspected: I walked straight out of the big top, exactly the same way I went in. If there were bloody handprints, I ought to be standing over them right now.

Except I'm not.

My brow furrows. They should be here. I did everything right. I know I saw a trail of them coming in, dusted with white paint, as if someone wanted to make them so obvious they couldn't be missed.

And yet...

I drop to my hands and knees, fingers combing through the grass. There's nothing. No five-finger spread, no random drops of dried red liquid, no outlines in white paint. It's like they vanished into thin air, every bit of dried everything that's been here for fifty years just... poof.

This can't be happening. Things don't just move in an abandoned zone. That's part of the beauty of it. I get paid to catalogue how it looks when people leave shit alone and nature moves back in. Things don't just up and leave.

The sinister feeling from earlier comes rushing back. Goosebumps flood down my arms. I remember it from the other two tents, but I brushed it off then. Laughed about it. Told myself to stop being stupid, raised my camera and took another picture instead of running when I had the chance.

The edge of my vision blurs. My hands shake so hard, my camera's lens cap bounces around like a kid in a blow-up bouncy house. Something's going on here. I need to get out. Now, before I don't get another chance.

I lift my head, ready to stand to my feet. Then my throat runs dry and my legs slowly lock up as movement catches my eye.

There, standing at the entrance to the smaller acts tent, is a clown. Frizzy red hair sticks out in perfect triangles on either side of his head, appearing to defy gravity. White makeup cakes his face, red circles drawn haphazardly on his cheeks. Giant blue lines stretch up to his eyebrows, exaggerating his eyes, and his giant red rubber nose hangs askew. Half his smile drips towards the ground, like someone tried to wash it off and gave up halfway through.

My heart stops beating. This isn't real. That tent was empty a few minutes ago. And why is there an enormous bloodstain on his chest?

The clown takes a step forward and tilts his painted face one way, then the other. For a moment, I think he hasn't seen me. Then he raises a hand and motions for me to come closer.

My stomach twists. No. I don't want to go. I don't want anything to do with this insane place. This was supposed to be a normal job. Go in, take some photos, get paid, go home. Now I'm following disappearing bloody handprints and seeing creepy clowns. And I do not want to play.

The clown watches for a few seconds, giving me time to think. Then he takes another step forward, hopping on one foot a few more feet like he's playing hopscotch. Then he tilts his head again, his ear almost brushing his shoulder. His blue-lined eyes stare me down. They're bloodshot, like he's been up all night. He probably has. Do dead people even need sleep?

This thought jostles me out of my reverie. There's a creepy clown, he wants my soul, and he's coming towards me.

It's time to go.

I push to my feet, ready to throw myself in the opposite direction and start running. Screw the camera - I grip it so tightly, my knuckles are white, but if it falls, I'm not coming back for it - this isn't worth my life. None of this is.

Except I can't move. My feet stick to the ground, my shaking arms dangling uselessly by my sides. I'm frozen on a field, staring at a clown that shouldn't exist, a few miles away from civilization. In a haunted circus. Following bloody handprints that disappeared. All for a couple bucks to pay my bills.

Inside my head, I'm screaming. Fighting the urge to stay still, tightening my muscles so hard that pain rips through my legs. It's like I'm glued here, to the grass and the trampled dandelion, and I can't leave. For some reason, all I can think about are the normal, boring things I have to do at home: water my plant, pay my rent, go grocery shopping, call my mom. There are so many little things on my to-do list, and I won't do any of them again. It's all I can fixate on as the clown draws nearer, his one finger bent and beckoning.

One thought echoes through my head, over and over again. Between memories of my plant and the last conversation I had with another human being, I hear it again and again.

This is how I die.

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Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at a horror story, and so far, I’m pretty happy with the results. Thoughts?