Darkness in the Tents

Prologue

Rumors had always swirled in the airlike flies in a swarm when the circus came into town. It'd be thereovernight out of the blue. Instead of an empty grass field a red andwhite, tattered and tired tent would be set up hanging together byonly threads. Each year it would come- always at random times. No oneknew how long the circus would stay and no one knew if circuswas truly the right word. Freak show may have been a betterdescription. It never failed to show in over forty years. The circusalways came.

Yellow and pink rain stained flierswould be found stapled to posts and lying on benches in the drearycoastal town. They were the same every year just like the circus.Parents always nudged their kids away from the fliers if they were toever catch their attention. Those red and white tents were a sourceof taboo. The older population of the town whispered of black magicbeing used. The religious side accused the workers of devil worship.And then there were those few daring people, the ones that had aspark of rebellion nested and fed in their hearts, the ones willingto see the much talked about circus. Those people varied thoughalmost always they were teenagers. Teenagers with piercings up anddown their bodies and tattoo clad arms. Teenagers in mini skirtscarrying Gucci purses. Teenagers with ripped jeans and oversizedcollege sweatshirts. It didn't matter what social circle you werefrom, only if you were daring enough to lift the heavy flap of thebig top tent and sit in the rickety bleachers that were a law suitwaiting to happen.

Admission was always free at thecircus. There was no ticket man or greeter. One simply had to walk inand take a seat in the dimly lit area. It was damp inside the tentwith a collection of moisture sticking to everyone's forehead andback. The humidity of the place was almost palpable.

Anxious chatter replaced the tent ofits eerie silence. Friends would nervously talk with each other eachwishing they could go home soon, but still holding a peculiar longingto stay and see the show. No one ever went twice to the circus. Noone held that particular longing more than once. It didn't seem humanif one were able to.

After everyone who was coming arrivedthe show would start. The air would become ten degrees colder, theteenagers holding their arms against themselves to brace their torsosfrom the sudden chill. A sparkler would light itself in the middle ofthe room. The crowd would jump back in fear than laugh and gawk atthe mesmerizing light display. When the lights finally sparkled totheir last ember he'd be standing their like the devil himself. Theringmaster was a short man with a round belly. Not noticeablyintimidating at first. Inky black curls framed his face and hiswatery blue eye held a mad malice. His rosy lips would curl intosomething sinister as a vile snake. His gaze would lock on the crowd,boring into each member of the audience individually and seeing thecrowd as a whole all at once. He was a magician in himself.

Then he'd deliver his famous line. Aline that in itself was a death sentence and the path toenlightenment.

 "Let the show begin."