Nightmare Circus

“Wake up, Sammy,” he whispered to himself, certain that he was sleeping. “Wake up.”

He ran his fingertips along the windowsill, pulling them back with a gasp as the cold metal turned his skin to ice. It certainly felt real enough, as did the fresh night air that flowed into the room from the darkness outside, broken only by the enormous tent that had been erected in the otherwise empty field across the street.

“This is a dream,” he said, hardly wanting to believe it as he stared with wonder at the circus tent. He held his breath, listening closely as its familiar music echoed on the breeze and shivered with a mixture of excitement and the cold.

“Just a dream,” he muttered, leaning on the windowsill as he stretched his toes down toward the wooden lattice that ran along the wall beneath his window, careful not to squash any of the flowers that grew there. The descent was easy, one he had made many times before.

The music was louder as he reached the ground. Sam smiled as thoughts of fairy floss, death-defying acts and laughter swelled his insides with excitement. He almost ran across the street toward the big top, wanting to shout and squeal with joy, but the peculiar emptiness of the field surprised him. He wondered where everyone was.

“Step right up to see the greatest show on Earth!” a voice cried from inside the tent and a moment later a clown in a huge bowtie and hat ensemble stepped outside. His grin was wide and his teeth and eyes sparkled in the light from the entrance as he held out a white gloved hand which Sammy shook. He was almost surprised it didn’t come off – all the clowns he’d seen on television had joke limbs, bright red noses and colourful makeup, but this one didn’t seem to be dressed quite right. There was something about his face, something behind the flaking white powder that made Sam’s stomach churn.

“Are you sure you’re a real clown?” he asked, taking in the faded clothes and strangely disjointed smile. He searched for a plastic flower that spat water on the front of the clown’s clothes, but there was none.

“There's no one better than me, the great Mister Malignant,” the clown said with another grin, this one showing two rows of pointed yellow teeth. Sam cringed, taking a step away from him, but the clown only grinned wider, passing an arm around Sam’s shoulders as he led him inside the tent.

“You’ll miss the show if you keep asking questions.” He pushed Sam towards the main arena and into an awaiting chair. “Right, here’s a good seat for you: front row, centre. You’ll feel like you’re part of the action sitting here.”

Sam shivered and drew his legs up toward his chest. “But I don’t want to sit here,” he said. “What if the lions get out?” He looked about himself but every other seat appeared to be full. There were people there, he was sure of that much, and yet whenever he looked at their faces it was like he could see right through them.

“Are you sure I can’t sit a few rows higher?” he asked, turning toward the front again. “Mister Malignant?” But the clown was gone.

Sam focused on the arena instead, listening to the circus music which seemed louder than ever as it circulated in the huge tent. The lights shone brightly, illuminating the whole tent as a procession of clowns appeared on stage and moved in a long line around the arena, waving their big white gloved hands about their shoulders, their painted faces watching Sam with what looked suspiciously like hunger in their eyes. Sam started in his chair but before he could take another look the ringmaster appeared at the centre of the ring and the spotlight centred on him instead, casting the clowns into darkness.

“Welcome to Nightmare Circus!” the ringmaster cried, his pale face shining in the light and contrasting severely with his bright red clothes. He directed a grin toward Sam and took a bow, taking his hat from his head to show the dark mass of hair that was slicked back against his skull. “Welcome to the show that never ends where nothing is make-believe and no one ever comes out quite the way they went in. Welcome, my friends, to the circus of your dreams. Now let the show begin!”

Laughter and cheers erupted from the audience as Sam shrunk lower in his seat. He shivered and peered around the shadows for the exit but it was impossible to see as the light dimmed and the clowns raced around the arena to prepare for the first act. They raised poles and ropes and ladders, each with a delirious smile on their face as they ran around the ring, their too-big pants hooked up around their ankles, the striped and spotted colours moving all at once.

“And now for our first act,” the ringmaster said, stepping back into his place at the centre of the ring, “our youngest star will walk the tightrope – that’s fifty metres above our heads, ladies and gentlemen – and all” – he motioned toward the empty space below the tightrope – “with no safety net.”

An expectant hush fell across the crowd and the ringmaster smiled, stroking his fingers along his moustache. “You might even say it’s suicide,” he said, his smile widening as he watched the little clown climb the ladder toward the ceiling. “So let’s all give an extra-enthusiastic applause for this act (because it might be the only one she gets) and give it up for Joanna!”

The applause echoed from the walls but Sam didn’t join in. He was caught between screaming and laughing, unsure whether he was meant to be enjoying the show or whether it really was a circus of nightmares. He glanced toward the ringmaster, searching for a clue, but the man in red only smiled, twirling his curled moustache between his fingers with one devious eyebrow raised.

The drumroll rose, increasing in speed as the girl made it to the top of the stairs. She climbed onto the podium, every eye following her movement, every breath coming as one as she took out a tiny pink umbrella and edged toward the tightrope. The drumroll continued, faster and faster like Sam's breathing as it sped, the air before his face thin and hot. Sam gasped and for one insane moment felt that he would be suffocated, that if he didn’t get out soon he would be trapped inside this place forever.

He wanted to rise from his chair and run as fast as he could back home but he was mesmerised by the little clown’s movement as she stepped out onto the wire, holding the tiny umbrella like her life depended on it as the drum beat faster and faster and louder and louder and the spotlight focused on her face, on the expression of fear that rested there.

“Someone help her!” Sam cried, looking toward the arena for the ringmaster but he had disappeared. The group of clowns who had paraded around the tent were standing there instead, their smiles bright and hungry as they grinned at him, their eyes glowing with silent laughter.

“Help the clown!” he cried, wondering why they weren’t moving, why no one was doing anything. “Help...”

The words died in his throat as the girl wobbled violently on the tightrope and fell. The spotlight followed her descent as she twisted in mid-air.

“The clown!” he shrieked, closing his eyes and pressing his fists against the lids. He couldn’t bear to look at the arena again, but kept his eyes closed and listened to his heavy breathing as it rebounded off his arms. Another's heavy breathing sounded close to his face and he closed his mouth tight, listening hard. As he pulled his hands away from his face his vision was blocked by a huge bowtie.

“Mister Malignant!” Sam cried.

“Hello there, Sammy,” the clown said, leaning in to examine Sam’s expression. “Did you miss me?”

Sam cringed, breathing hard. He leant back in his chair, wondering if he could jump over the back of his seat and run for the exit but just as he leant away the back of his head pressed against something warm and soft and another pair of large white-gloved hands reached down and took his shoulders, holding him in place.

Sam struggled in his seat, trying to pull away from the clown’s grip. “But I don’t want to be part of the action, Mister Malignant,” he said, trying to laugh, to pretend it was all a joke. “Really – I think I’ve had all the fun I can handle for tonight.” He looked up into Mister Malignant’s face but the clown only licked his lips, watching Sammy with huge bright eyes.

As the light died and the drumroll came to a final, bitter end he screamed.

*

The clown opened his eyes, staring around himself at the wide expanse of colour and excitement surrounding him. He sat before the mirror, his face set in an ugly grimace, his eyes bright and wide with terror. The makeup, as they put it on, looked comical. You could hardly see the fear in his face.

“Time to get dressed, Sammy,” a big clown in a frilly shirt said, smiling cruelly as he pushed Sam into a huge pair of pants that were held up by suspenders and a hideous wig that made his hair stand on end. He put the jacket on and frowned at the faded colours, wondering how many times the clothes had been worn before.

The other clowns were already in the ring and he watched the end of their march from backstage. They waved their hands in wide arcs, their faces lit up with excitement as they stared at the small girl in the audience, her face alight with an awful mix of wonder and fear.

“It’s time,” the big clown said, placing a hand on Sammy's shoulder as the drumroll echoed around the tent. He pushed Sam toward the arena, narrowing his eyes in warning. “Don’t even try to escape, little clown," he snarled. "We’ll find you and we’ll get you in the end. There’s no escape from Nightmare Circus.”

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. His heart was in his throat as he moved toward the arena, barely registering the applause from the crowd. As he stepped into the ring the spotlight flooded him with light and he turned away, blinking fiercely as he moved toward the rope ladder that was waiting for his arrival. It trembled in his grip as he climbed, the rungs digging into the arches of his feet as he climbed toward to the tightrope and toward his death. He knew what his purpose was now: he was the distraction, the act that kept the newcomers in their seats as the clowns moved in to take their next victim. It didn’t matter if he fell or not – it would all just be part of the fun.

The drumroll echoed loudly in his ears, the ferocious pounding of it in his head as he reached the top of the podium and the spotlight focused on his trembling body, blinding him. He swayed on the spot, trying to breathe slowly as he glanced toward the other podium. It looked miles away and he knew he would never make it to the other side, though perhaps if he moved quickly and fell before the clowns reached the girl in the audience she might still have a chance to escape.

He felt tears in his eyes as he pressed his right foot onto the tightrope, testing its buoyancy, and took a deep breath. He inched his toes further on the rope, which swayed slightly under his weight.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” he whispered to himself as tears slid down his cheeks. “It’s just a dream, after all.”

He took a long, deep breath, stretching his arms wide, and closed his eyes.

“Just a dream,” he whispered and stepped off the tightrope into the void below.