Swinging your head to the left, you see the cute couple, paralyzed with fear. To the right is the big family. Their daughter, Miley has gone entirely pale and appears to be shaking. Roger, the cranky man, sits beside them.
“Come on, The Circus is over, let’s leave.” Roger suggests, a smirk replaces the forever disappointing frown that makes his face.
Miley and her parents rise from their seats and walk toward Roger and his wife, Amelia. Followers, you can’t help but think. The cute old couple; Jack and Isabelle, look between you and Roger but stay seated.
Looking around in desperation, not wanting to leave what you feel is safe, you decide to speak up. “Why don’t we walk around for a bit,” You suggest, a spotlight splashing over you for a moment before heading towards the open arena floor. “Why not check out the floor?"
Taking a quick look in the dim light to watch their reactions, you see not even the American tourists want to follow you down. Trying to drag them to your idea, you add something more, “Imagine how amazing it would feel to look up and see what the performers feel. Imagining the crowd full and screaming for you to do your best…” Letting the illusion hang, you turn and walk towards the steps leading down.
Without glancing back, you know they have decided to follow you. Amelia takes Roger’s hand and pulls him after her as she comes to follow you with the others. Miley holds onto her mother’s plump hand with the grip of someone holding on to an edge for dear life. Harold wearily follows behind them, mumbling something under his breath.
Taking quick strides down the steps, you reach the elevated floor just above the sandy ground of the arena. With a quick look back at the straggling group, you see your friend; Sam is the only one remotely near you.
He calls out, “How do we get down there?” Sam gestures to the arena floor and then looks back at the old couple who appear to be already out of breath. “We could jump it but… I don’t think all of us would make it over.”
Looking around for a solution, you see a set off concrete stairs not far from you leading down to your goal. By now, Sam is next to you and smiles when you point to the stairs.
Waiting for the others to catch up, you hear a soft cry that turns into a distant wail. You and Sam make eye contact and you can tell he hears it too. “What is that?” He asks, looking first towards the group that are now very close and then to the open floor in front of him.
“Sounds like a baby crying.”
Jack and Isabelle arrive first to meet you and Sam. Harold’s family comes behind them with Roger and Amelia taking last.
They all look at you for the next step in their adventure but you say nothing and point to the stairs. Sam leads the way with a hand draped on the rusty, blue rail that separates us from the screaming child.
You all search for the source of the sound but can find nothing in the dim lighting. You hope for a spotlight to hit the arena floor but still, no light has yet to touch the light-colored sand.
Four steps with peeling yellow paint lead down to a clear space in the circus. You lead the way after seeing the wary glance Sam points to the dark area. Everyone watches as you climb down the concrete stairs, so you hold your head high in an attempt to omit confidence to those nearest to you.
The screeching cry continues in the darkness and you assume the worst; a child left behind in the center of the dark floor. With haste, you step down and skip the last step only to hit the hard sand with a grimace. Replacing the expression with a supporting smile, you turn to the worried group behind you and flash your pearly whites.
Then, as if just waiting for the first footprint left in the sand, spotlights dart to cover the sand floor. In an instant, you see a rustling pile of blankets bathed in the blinding light before the spot light continues on its aimless journey. More than one sharp inhale behind you gives the impression that you are not the only one who saw; the source of the screaming.
Your focus tunnels toward where you last saw the bundle of cloth, now dark in the shadows. This is now a mystery to you; you’re concerned yet also can feel the fear set deep inside you. "Excuse me?" A tiny voice interrupts the deep focus. Jumping a little in your step at the sudden voice behind you; you whip around to find Miley taking small, quick strides toward you. With only slight hesitation, she slips her small hand into yours.
"What is that?" Her soft voice and pure innocence calms your racing heart. But of course, you don't know what the high wail is, or what it means. Not wanting to frighten her, you place the hand she isn't holding on top of her long blond hair and change the subject.
"Have you ever been to the circus?" Her bright green eyes flash up to meet yours, noticing how you ignored her previous question. She shrugs and looks back at the dirt, mumbling a quiet no.
Your heart opens to hear after the screaming intensifies and her grip tightens around your sweaty palm. "It's magnificent really; I'm sure, but I've never been to a circus either."
A heavy silence lies between you both so the sounds of heavy footsteps of the group behind you and the constant cry fill your ears.
Suddenly your shoulder jolts forward as Harold, Miley's father shoves past you. "I'm ready to shut that thing up." He grumbles, "Miley, you don't do that, do you?"
Beside you, Miley quickly shakes her head, afraid of her father’s anger. But Harold doesn't even acknowledge his daughters response and takes long strides ahead. Within seconds he is lost to you in the darkness. Looking back you see Felicia's thick hands clasped tightly together, her eyes trained to the ground. Swinging around to meet the darkness ahead of you, you support the group. "Harold!" You call out, cupping a hand over your mouth. "Harold! Come on, wait for us!" A mumble of a response sounds from the darkness ahead. Then louder, "Come here, I found it!" His voice echoes in the large area so there's no telling where or how far he is from you.
The circling spotlights suddenly freeze in their place. Beside you, Miley gasps and behind you Sam curses. You find yourself frozen in place.
The beams of the yellow lights speed in one direction; all to Harold. Stopping again to hang over him, the light makes him appear deathly pale. Then again, maybe he is. Harold's mouth hangs open in a deep 'O', his eyes staring at something a few feet from him. Following his gaze, you find a child around Miley's size with a blanket pulled over it. The screaming has stopped.
For now.
YOU ARE READING
Faces On a Clock
Horror“Come; take a seat next to the fireplace where it may warm your little toes! I’ll tell you a story, I’m sure it won’t scare you too bad,” A low chuckle escapes the lips of the tiny old man. His hair was thinning on the back of his head and you see...
