The Lost Circus, Part 9

Serial | Horror

In our last chapter, our hero and the clown bravely faced down the blood-spattered Menagerie tent and finally started the long-awaited trek to the Big Top - only to be stopped by a tattooed giant carrying a monkey…

We stand there and wait as he strolls closer. Every step makes him larger-than-life, right up until he stands an arm's length away and towers a solid foot and a half above my head. Tattoos wrap up and down his arms and legs, kissing his torso and leaving little smooches on his head. Leather boots wrap around his feet and up his calves, giving way to striped shorts that almost match the Big Top tent. The last time we met, I seemed invisible, but judging from the way his feet are planted in the ground and the grin on his face, he definitely sees me now. 

The Tattooed Man doesn't say anything at first. He smirks. I take the opportunity to glance down at his hand, and my suspicions are confirmed: it's the monkey. The live one that followed us from one tent to the other. I wonder if this monster was what it tried to warn me about. Buy me some time to run away, flee before this man-mountain started hunting me. The giant doesn't exactly seem like he's been working hard, though. And it's not like we did any running away.

The monkey looks up at me, and for a second, I see myself reflected in its eyes. There's fear, too. Wrapping around its irises, turning the edges of its eyelids red. It's not just hanging around, waiting for us to have a conversation. There's terror in there, behind the whites of its eyes. Not just shy-creature terror. More like scarred-for-life terror.

I think of the Gypsy, the only scarred performer (other than the clown) I've met. For a second, I wonder if she's sent this giant after us. They did seem to know each other back at the party, after all.

The giant's smirk breaks into a wide grin. For some reason, it raises the hackles on the back of my neck like a dog on edge. Or a wolf, preparing to taste some meat. I decide I like the second choice better. I'd rather be a wolf - a predator, a killer, a hunter - than just a dog. He's clearly terrorizing the monkey for some reason, and I'd like to know what it is.

I raise the camera again and push the button. The flash goes off directly in his eyes, illuminating the shadows that surround us.

He yells. The back of his hand scrubs his eyes, and he stumbles back a few steps. The monkey flails, screeching, scratching with sharp little claws and biting with tiny teeth. The Tattooed Man lets out a growl that sounds savage. Bigger than a wolf. Bigger than a dog. More like a monster. And he slams the monkey down on the ground.

After everything we've seen so far, this should not shock me. I should've been more repulsed by the fat lady's buffet, the attack cards in the Gypsy's tent, the slaughtered menagerie. Even the handprints to the Big Top - however long ago that was - were enough to make my blood turn to ice. But the way the monkey's head bounces off the dirt and its entire body shudders make the other acts look like vaudeville. For one second, it feels like everything else here is pretend. They were just playing. This guy is for real.

My vision goes red. There was no call to hurt that animal. No reason for him to bounce its skull off the ground like a basketball. And no indication that it was ever going to do anything that would give him enough reason to do anything like that.

I'd like to wring his neck. But I don't.

He's a lot more capable of doing damage than I am. Flashing him probably wasn't the smartest move, but I did need his photograph for the film. At least, that's what I'm going to say if he asks before punching me. And now I know what he'll do when pressed. This guy has a jumpy trigger finger, and he'll pound me into the earth without a second thought. If I'm going to deal with him, I need to do it carefully.

I take a deep breath, trying to wipe the ruby tint out of my field of vision. I don't look at the monkey again.

The Tattooed Man stoops over, one hand on his knees, the other gripping the primate's neck, muttering something I can't hear as he wipes his eyes. Every now and then a boot stomps heavily on the ground like he's trying to break my skull underneath it, and when he straightens, he gives me a glare that can only be called an Evil Eye. It makes my bones shiver, and I wonder for a brief second if the Gypsy was right, and somebody will have to tell my mother I'm dead.

The clown steps up beside me. His fingers snap, and the Tattooed Man drags his attention away from me and focuses on him. My bloody host tilts his head to one side and snaps his hand up, palm towards the sky. The meaning is clear: What the hell do you want?

The giant's gaze turns back to me. Then he holds up the monkey.

My stomach twists. Its eyes are starting to glaze over, and it's breathing fast. Shadows replaced the fear in its eyes. The jaw slackened - or broke - during the scuffle. It's obviously in pain, but it's not dead yet. It's coming, though. It can feel it closing in.

I look up at the Tattooed Man. His lips peel back, revealing rotted-out, yellow little teeth. Black spaces fill the areas where his canines used to be. Shadows and wicked little cavities, filled up with emptiness and death. I wonder what his role is - was - in the circus. Did he work in the small acts tent? Or was he out on a raised podium, his ink naked from the waist-up for all the world to see?

He gives the monkey a small shake, and his smile widens. It's not a friendly smirk this time, or even an intimidating one. It's pure evil. I can feel it in my bones.

"What are you gonna do to it?" I ask.

He glances at the clown at my shoulder. The painted eyes roll under the clown's fading makeup, but his hair bobs in a subtle nod. The Tattooed Man turns back to me.

"I'm gonna punish it."

Then he squats, slamming the animal's body directly into the ground. There's a cracking sound which I can only assume is bone, and my stomach clenches. The tiny fingers go limp. The eyes don't close, but the spark behind them fades. I can only hope it's already gone so it doesn't have to see what happens next.

Then the giant does it again. And again. And again.

Anger paints the edges of my vision. Bits of bone and blood leap into the air, splattering on the ground beside us. More cracking, more splinters, more of everything until the only sound I hear is squish. The ground underneath is stained scarlet and unidentifiable pieces of things scatter around the murder zone. Only the blur of ink on the Tattooed Man's arm and a smear of fur are left, but he keeps pummeling it into the ground like he has a reason.

It's dead, I want to say. Stop it. That's enough.

By the time he presents the monkey to me again, its skull is a mass of bone and brains and blood, its fur matted and stained. One eye is half-shut, the other still wide and staring. Its jaw hangs half-separated from its skull, and the tail sways bonelessly from side to side.

It's unrecognizable. And that was absolutely, completely unnecessary.

I can barely keep the fury out of my voice when I speak again. "Why?"

This time, the Tattooed Man doesn't glance at the clown. "It was looking for you." He gestures with a massive arm, indicating the murder scene behind him. "They all were."

"You killed all of them?" My smoldering anger sparks. "Just like that?"

His eyes turn dark. "No. Some of them suffered. Your monkey here got off easy." He tosses it to me, and out of reflex, I catch it. A few of my fingers squish into the cavity where its brain should be, and I flinch. My hand opens, and the primate's body hits the ground. It doesn't move again.

"Why were they looking-" I begin, but suddenly there's a vice on my elbow and the clown is there, staring daggers at the Tattooed Man. He gestures and points and silently has an argument while the giant stares coolly at him, interrupting his pantomime every now and then to shake his head. It looks like they're bickering about something, but since the Tattooed Man isn't responding, and there's no shame in his eyes, I don't think my clown is going to win.

Eventually, I grow tired of their act and gather my courage to look down again.

There's something angelic about the way the monkey landed. Its guts splayed out behind its head like a halo, its one good eye staring up at the ceiling almost hopefully. Like it's in a better place now, and it's at honest-to-God peace. I wonder if I'll be that peaceful, when I die. Maybe the dead really don't have anything to worry about. Maybe it's just this place that's cursed. Maybe we don't all turn into scary bleeding ghosts. Maybe it's just this place, this hallowed ground, this tainted soil. Maybe it was the circus' demise that made it that way.

I try again to remember what, exactly, happened that night. I hadn't heard too many stories before arriving in town, and the neighbors weren't exactly open and chatty. Lots of them mentioned a fire, and one of them shook her head and made the sign of the cross. Almost like she’d said too much, and the circus was going to hold her accountable for that one day. I'd passed it off as superstition at the time, but standing here, I realize I should've taken her more seriously. Should've taken all of it a bit more seriously, actually. Maybe that's something the documentary can convey. Heed all warnings. You never know when they'll be the last ones.

The clown's arm wraps around my shoulders, and he turns me away from the monkey and its sadistic killer. This time he walks beside me as we march towards the Big Top, and I recognize his steady gait. No more delays. I'm not getting out of it this time. It's the big reveal, the moment when I finally discover what's hiding in the three rings. Hopefully I'll even make it out alive.

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Hello, you!

We made it to November. While those of us in the States have begun the yearly debate about when it’s appropriate to start holiday music (I’m in favor of year-round, my husband prefers after Thanksgiving) the rest of the world has begun their winter celebrations.

We’re not that far away, though. Only two weeks until Thanksgiving, and guys, I cannot wait to start celebrating the holiday season.

What winter moments are you looking forward to most?

I’m so excited to sit inside on a snowy evening, all warm and cosy, with a mug of hot chocolate or coffee or something and watch big, fat snowflakes tumble down to earth.

Doesn’t that sound nice?

<3 Olivia