Circus: Fantasy Under the Big Top (32 page)

“Together, we will bury your son,” Señora Bruja said. Together, they knelt. All the people of the circus knelt with them. All took up handfuls of dirt and worked to bury the boy who had wanted to be a circus.

When the grave had been filled, Señora Bruja said, “For three days, we will stay here. I hope you will stay with us.”

“My burro?” Manolo’s mother asked.

The circus whispered to Señora Bruja. Señora Bruja nodded.

“Yes,” Señora Bruja said. “Your burro will stay with the performing horses.”

“It’s true, then,” the mother said. “Manolo told me you could speak to the spirit of the circus.”

“The spirit of the circus can hear me and speak to me if it chooses, and it has asked me to do one more thing before we rest.” She crossed the mound of the grave, and she knelt, and she placed three coins, Manolo’s centavos, in a row on the mound of the grave. Then she drew a circle around the coins.

Each morning, Señora Bruja and the mother of Manolo returned to the grave in the big top. On the third morning, the mother gasped. There, where the coins had been was a tiny big top tent. The fabric was new and striped in gay, red and white. Pennants of red, and white, and green fluttered at the points of the small poles. Flaps hissed and snapped in a tiny breeze.

The tiny circus laughed, and the laugh was the laugh of Manolo.

Señora Bruja handed Manolo’s mother a book of arcana, a fortune teller’s book. “Now,” Señora Bruja said, “We strike and move on. For a time, you will go with us. In a few years, you will go North—you and your circus.”

“My son,” she said.

“No. He is a circus now. He will grow. He will spread smiles and laughter, and you will be his fortune teller.

Manolo’s mother nodded solemnly.

The circus sighed, and all the people in it smiled and nodded and went about the work of creating the smiles and laughter that saves souls.

Phantasy Moste Grotesk

Felicity Dowker

The Black Eyed Kid was present at the beginning and the end. He saw everything—always had, probably always would—but it didn’t do him or anyone else much good.

Josh Tarnell assumed the knock at his front door at 8:30 pm was the pizza guy delivering his pepperoni deep pan: extra cheese, easy on the sauce. He threw a robe on over his boxer briefs and pulled the door open with one hand, rummaging with the other in the bowl he kept full of change on the hall table.

“Just a sec. I know I’ve got enough here, won’t be—”

It was not the pizza guy.

A small boy stood on the stoop, head cocked to one side, hands shoved in the pockets of his ragged denim shorts. The wan glow of the flickering streetlights revealed a network of scratches criss-crossing their way up the boy’s pale legs, and a large brown stain on his lettered t-shirt (
I CHOW DOWN AT BLIMEY’S DINER!)
. The boy’s eyes were completely black. They gleamed with a wet, fishy coldness as Josh took an involuntary step back, heart slamming against his ribcage.

“Can I come in?” The boy’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a grin, revealing a delicate train-track of braces. Josh wanted to scream and slam the door in the kid’s face, but even as adrenaline spurted like battery acid in his veins, his mind insisted there was a logical explanation.

Contacts. He’s wearing contacts, and one of his buddies dared him to knock on the door and spook whoever opened it. Well, mission accomplished. But don’t let on. You know how boys are; you were one not so long ago.

“Nice one, kiddo. You really had me going for a moment there. I’m expecting company, though, so . . . ”

“The pimply redhead on the bike with a pizza in his basket? He won’t be coming along any time soon. He ran into some trouble.”

What the . . .

“Hmmmn. Let me guess. You and your buddies drank his blood, right? Sucked him dry. Ooga booga!” Josh wiggled his fingers at the kid, and had the unnerving feeling that if he kept it up for a moment longer, the kid would lean forward and bite them off.
Crunch
. He recoiled, clasping his hands protectively over his heart.

“No. Can I come in?”

“No? But isn’t that your deal? You’re being a vampire, right? The creepy eyes, the need to be invited in. I got it, I’m down with it.”

“Oh, I’m not a vampire. Can I come in?”

Josh frowned. The little brat was starting to freak him out. He was almost robotic in his persistence, and those eyes were something else.

“Look, I appreciate the effort you’ve gone to and all—nice job with the eyes—but I just want a quiet night in with a book and some pizza. How about you go try your trick on someone else now, huh?”

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up and let me in, Josh?” The boy’s shoulders were drawn up around his ears, and he’d started moving his hands around in his pockets. They were rippling, as if he had tentacles hidden inside them.

Josh tightened his grip on the door handle.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” He wanted to clobber the little shit. How dare he turn up on his doorstep uninvited and scare the bejesus out of him?

And just how did he know my name?

“I never had a mother. Seriously, you’ve got to let me in. If you don’t—”

Josh shut the door. As soon as the latch clicked into place, a volley of violent blows rained down on the other side of the wood. Josh stumbled away from the door, hand flying to his mouth, robe falling open.

“Go away,” he whispered, and then, as the onslaught reached a crescendo, “Fuck off! Leave me alone! I won’t let you in!”

Silence fell like a guillotine blade.

Call someone. Anyone. That kid could still be out there, and even if he’s gone, he could come back. You don’t want to be alone if that happens. No, not at all.

Josh was punching Erin’s number into his phone before he even realized what he was doing. He thought about hanging up before she answered, but as he dangled in indecision, her concise voice spoke into his ear.

“What do you want.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of inevitability. She’d known he’d call, eventually. And, as always, she’d been right—though the night’s events should surely be noted as extenuating circumstances.

“Something just happened. I . . . can you come over?” The handset was suddenly slippery, sliding in his sweaty palm. He kept one eye fixed on the door, and wondered if the kid’s flat black orbs were looking back at him on the other side. Fear snaked up his spine, cold and fast.

“What happened?” Erin was worried despite her better judgment; Josh heard the concern in her voice. He felt like shit for bothering her, but he was glad his welfare still mattered to her.

“Nothing. I mean . . . something . . . but it’s hard to explain. Can you come over? Please.”

“If this is some sort of game, I’ll kick your ass, Josh. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Be careful,” he blurted, but she’d already hung up.

“A kid,” Erin said flatly, staring down into the steaming cup of tea she held in her hands. He’d always enjoyed her hands. Small, white, and delicate, like fine bone china.

“Not just any kid,” Josh said, hearing the whine creep into his voice and hating himself for it.

“A kid with black eyes, then. But they must have been—”

“Contacts. Yeah, I know. The thing is, I’m not so sure they were. He was weird. He made me feel . . . horrified.”
God. I’m wasting her time. She’ll storm out in disgust any minute. And who would blame her? I’m talking crap.
“He wanted to come in. He almost smashed through the door,” he added, desperate to justify his panic. It was already receding, fading into nothingness, and it left only embarrassment in its wake.

“Yeah. There’s blood on it, actually,” she said, still looking at her tea.

He blinked.

“On the door? Are you serious?”

“ ’Fraid so. I saw it on the way in. Thought it must be yours. I assumed . . . ” Erin let the words hang in the air. Across from her, Josh shifted on the couch, hugging an overstuffed cushion to his chest like a shield.

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s good, Josh. That’s really good. I’m glad.”

She looked at him then, and he felt like crying. So much history trembled in her gray eyes. So much love, but hate, too. Had it always been that way? Worst of all, he could see she didn’t believe him. Not a single word.

“I’m better now,” he murmured.

She smiled in response, but her eyes retained their glassiness. He knew the wall she’d built against him could never again be breached. Their time had been and gone. He’d fucked it up for good.

“You’re seeing someone else.”

“Oh, Christ, Josh. Just when I think we might be able to have a civil conversation.”

“You are, aren’t you? I can tell. I can smell him on you.”

“Maybe all you smell is your own
bullshit
,” she said, slamming her cup down on the coffee table, milky brown tea slopping over her rigid fingers. She stood up, rifling in her bag for her keys, and shoved one arm into the sleeve of her jacket.

Josh lurched to his feet, trying to ignore the buzzing that had begun in his ears. The Big Feelings were welling up, and it would feel so much better if he could just let a little trickle of them out, ease the pressure . . . but no. He’d been serious when he said he was better. He hadn’t felt that hideous, wonderful release in months. He dealt with the Big Feelings in other ways now. Saner ways. Journals. Therapy. Pizza. Ways that didn’t involve Seth and bubbling red blood welling up from clean, straight cuts . . .

Stop thinking about it. La la la don’t think about it la la la block it out la la la.

(let me in . . . oh not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!)

Shuddering and rubbing his forehead with shaking hands, he gave Erin a sickly smile.

“Ez, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. I don’t . . . I’ve had a shock tonight. I was stupid a minute ago, and I apologize. Can we pretend I never said anything?”

She stopped her angry preparation for departure and stood staring at him, mouth ajar, coat hanging half on, half off.

“You’ve never apologized to me before,” she said, just as he thought the silence might stretch forever. “Not once.”

“I must have. Maybe not much, but I must have at least a few times in the three years you were stuck with me.” He tried for a rueful chuckle, but it ended up sounding like a death rattle, and he shut up fast.

“No. Never. Not once.”

“Well. I’m sorry now. Will you stay?”

“Yes,” she said, letting her coat slide to the floor. A moment later, her bag followed it, landing with a soft
whump
.

“Let’s go to the Long Chat Place,” she said suddenly, and the Big Feelings were gone without a trace.

The memory of the kid’s dark eyes sank back into his subconscious, and he felt a new sensation rush up from his feet, a sensation that swirled in his belly before shooting through his heart and reaching his brain in a starburst of brilliant intensity. What was that? Was it . . . joy?

“Ok. I’ll get my keys,” he smiled.

“It doesn’t mean . . . ”

“Don’t say it, Ez. I know. You don’t need to say it.”

She lowered her eyes, and he hurried to get his shit together before she changed her mind.

The Long Chat Place was one of their spots; one of the random sites they’d courted, embraced, kissed, talked, and exchanged little pieces of each other’s souls. It was a sporting ground, a grassy oval dotted with goalposts and white markings, sprawled at the end of Josh’s street behind a barrier of willow trees. At this time on a Sunday night, it was deserted and still. The moon was a pale, bloated corpse, drifting above them in the fetid waters of the starless sky. A heavy breeze soughed through the twisted branches of the guardian trees and gusted about the open field, bringing with it the stench of something spoiled and oozing.

Josh ignored it.

Nothing could be ugly tonight. Not with Erin by his side, here in this sacred and mundane place. The Big Feelings nibbled on the insides of his mind, whispering to be let out, but he repressed them, too.

“Let’s sit here. We used to sit on this exact spot, do you remember? Once, we even—”

“Josh, what’s that?” Erin interrupted him, pointed into the gloom, squinting.

He found himself noting the straight length of her arm, the tilt of her hips, the way her brown curls intertwined and spun in the wind like double helixes. He wondered idly if he could overpower her, tackle her from behind and push her down on the moist grass, pin her under his weight and have her one last time. If she screamed, he could tangle his fingers in those curls and grind her face into the soil, muffling her voice as he slid in and out of her, the ghoulish moon watching.

He felt heat begin to throb in his groin, and shifted, trying to ease the pressure as he strained against his jeans.

She might even like it. She always was into the weird stuff. She pretends to be so straight, but she’s got a kink in her a mile wide. What’s she playing at anyway, leading you out here in the middle of the night, to this place of all places? Fucking tease.

The Big Feelings weren’t nibbling anymore; they were biting and clawing, tearing their way free. He had to do something. It was her or him. Him or her. God, just a bit of relief, that’s all he needed. One way or another . . .

“Josh.” She was at his elbow, squeezing his arm, her lips close to his ear.

He jumped. What had he been thinking? What had he almost done?

(let me in)

“I . . . what did you say?”

She pulled back, studying him, her fingers tight on his forearm. She was anchoring him. He’d slipped away for a moment, gone surfing on the Big Feelings, and they both knew it.

“I said: what’s that?”

‘That’ was a large circus tent, rising up out of the ground like a tumour. It was swathed in darkness, and its canvas flaps waved in the breeze like beckoning hands, inviting Erin and Josh into its gaping maw.

Squinting as Erin had a moment ago, Josh made out the figure of a man standing near the tent’s opening. He was motionless.