by Conrad Jones
Circus of Nightmares
CONRAD JONES
ISBN;
Copyright@ConradJones2021
Prologue
2015
The queue for the ghost train dwindled. Rain hammered down, intensifying as they neared the boarding platform. Katrina was wet and tired and wanted to go home. Her partner Leo had said they would go home when the circus show had finished but he went back on his word and insisted they ride on the ghost train before they left. It was as famous as the circus and a must for fans of the show. The Circus of Nightmares had been such an adrenalin rush. She hadn’t laughed and screamed so much in her life. It had teetered along between hilarious and horrific, the crowd never knowing what was real and what was illusion and special effects. The entire show was riveting and made her breathless until the very last second. She was both disappointed and relieved when the lights came on at the end. Leaving the big top was such an anti-climax. When the circus finished, they went straight into the beer tent to talk about the show and got caught in conversation about it with some other locals. After an hour, they were drunk and tired and the fairground was winding down, readying to close. That was when he insisted, they ride the ghost train. Leo was munching his third hotdog of the night much to Katrina’s disgust. He was supposed to be watching his weight. They both were but there was only one of them trying. His beer belly was growing. He was in total denial despite her constant cajoling. It was a pattern reflected in everything they did. She put all the effort in, Leo put zero effort into anything.
As they neared the boarding platform, a staff member put the closed chain across the queueing lane behind them. He was dressed in a scary clown costume. Her eyes met his and he winked. She tried to avert her gaze but couldn’t. The clown grinned to reveal crooked teeth. He licked his lips and Katrina looked away. She was frightened. When she looked back, he was gone.
‘We’re the last to ride,’ Leo said with a mouthful of sausage. He stuffed the last of his hotdog into his mouth as the couple in front of them climbed onto an empty car. The muffled screams of the riders who had gone before them could be heard. A car burst through the exit doors and a loud horn blared. A couple in their fifties clung to each other, him laughing but shaken, her almost hysterical. Tears streamed down her face. She looked to be genuinely terrified.
‘Look how frightened she is,’ Leo laughed. ‘I told you this is the best ghost train of all time. The freaks are real just like the circus. They have performers in there to make it real.’
‘I know,’ Katrina said. ‘You’ve been banging on about all day.’ She wasn’t sure she wanted to go on it at all. ‘You go and I’ll wait here for you.’
‘Are you mad?’ Leo asked. ‘This is the last night. They may never come back this way. You will regret it if you don’t go on it now.’
‘It’s not my thing,’ Katrina said. ‘I can’t even watch a zombie film without wetting myself. Watching the circus was bad enough.’
‘You loved it.’
‘It was entertaining but I’ve had enough of being frightened for one night.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not for me. You go.’
‘Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport. The reviews are outstanding. This will be so cool. Don’t make me go in there alone, I’ll be scared. The ghoulies might get me,’ Leo said, turning his hands into claws. An empty car arrived and the attendant released the safety bar. He gestured for them to get in without speaking to them. Katrina felt him staring at her. He undressed her with his eyes and made her feel uncomfortable. ‘Cheers mate,’ Leo said, oblivious to the leering clown. ‘I’m buzzing here. I’ve been dying to go on this for years.’
‘You’ve been dying to get on it, soon, you’ll be dying to get off it,’ the clown said, grinning. There was no mirth in his smile. ‘You won’t enjoy this one bit,’ he added, pressing the button. ‘Have fun. We will.’ Katrina felt cold fear run through her. She tried to undo the belt but it was fixed. The car lurched forward and crashed through the entrance doors. Leo and Katrina screamed in the darkness as the ride began.
Exactly four and a half minutes later, the car burst through the exit doors and the claxon blared. The seat next to Leo was empty. His arm was broken and he cried out for help but no one heard him but the clown. He tried to reach for his phone but his fingers were shaking so much, he dropped it into the footwell. The car didn’t stop. The clown pushed it back onto the track and it latched onto the drive chain and hurtled towards the entrance doors again. Leo screamed as the doors opened and the car entered the ghost train for the second time.
CHAPTER 1
Present Day
Sunday
It wasn’t a memorable day when Edward’s Circus arrived on the Newry Beach at Holyhead. There was nothing extraordinary about a fair being there apart from the fact it shouldn’t have been there. The circus arrived under the cover of darkness and by the next morning it was fully erected, accompanied by a travelling fairground, which filled most of the three grassed areas between the houses and the promenade. It covered the size of two football pitches. There were over forty rides. It was an impressive company of attractions. A ghost train, waltzers, dodgem cars, a roller coaster and a funhouse and house of horrors were supported by the usual rifle ranges, hook-a-duck type stalls and food vendors. The jewels in the crown were the circus big top and the Ferris Wheel. It could be seen from miles away. One of the biggest in Europe. The circus big top was at the centre of the attractions. The huge marquee was black and white striped; its towers topped with triangular black banners, which waved on the sea breeze. The travellers’ living quarters flanked the rides; campervans and caravans formed a ring around the fairground and an articulated lorry dropped its sides and became the ticket office, the entrance and exit. The fairground was encircled with barriers for security, one way in and one way out. Red and gold letters glowed in lights. Edward’s Circus of Nightmares and a tag line. The Circus with a Difference.
The residents who overlooked the Newry Beach hated the fairground coming to town and opposed it every year. This time, there had been no warning of its arrival. There were no posters pasted on telegraph poles, no leaflets put through their letterboxes and no advertising banners fixed to the railings of the busy junctions on the island. There was no prior warning at all and worse still, the addition of the circus. An extremely popular circus at that. One minute the Newry was a wide promenade with sloping grassy areas running down to the sea with ornamental flowerbeds and Victorian shelters where tourists could sit and eat ice cream, the next it was a substantial fairground. Overlooked by the mountain and protected from the stormy sea by the breakwater, which was over a mile long. It was home to the marina where a flotilla of yachts anchored. It was no place for a circus, especially this one.
The Circus of Nightmares was an internet sensation with a cult following. Its performers entertained thousands with the most dangerous stunts and illusions possible. It would attract visitors from all over the island and beyond. Some welcome, most unwelcome. It would be busy and it would be noisy. The sound of banging music and the flashing lights would go on into the night. It was an annoyance of monumental scale at the best of times but arriving unannounced and without permission was totally unacceptable for some of the locals. Most of them moaned and did nothing but some were incensed.
Local resident Malcom Orange was one of those incensed. He was on the town council committee and they assessed requests to trade and granted permission for licences on the island and no application for a circus or travelling fair had been
processed for over a year. The most regular visiting circus was Pender’s and their behaviour had ruined it for other travelling shows. The last time Pender’s circus was given permission to trade in Trearddur Bay, their employees refused to pay for their meals at The Imperial Palace Chinese restaurant. Tables were turned over and a wine fridge emptied, the contents stolen and the police were called. The staff and customers were traumatised but the police made no arrests. It was deemed to be more trouble than it was worth. The travellers would be bailed on minor charges and would never return to appear in court anyway. It was a massive waste of money and resources. Following that incident, the decision was made to boycott such travelling businesses from trading on the island for the foreseeable future. That suited Malcolm down to the ground. His house overlooked the Newry. He could see the sea from his settee and the lighthouse and breakwater from his kitchen and bedrooms. At least, he could before the circus arrived. His view was his pride and joy and they had stolen it from him overnight.
They had erected their fairground in front of his windows. The big top was completely blocking his view of the sea from the ground floor. He could still see the lighthouse from the bedrooms if he stood on tiptoes. It was an outrage and there was already the smell of hot dogs on the breeze. His garden would be full of popcorn cartons, drink holders and hamburger wrappers by teatime and the cheeky buggers didn’t even have permission to be there. Someone was winging it. He’d seen it before. They set up without a license, trade for as long as they can before the local authorities could physically get the bailiffs and police to move them, by which time they were ready to move on anyway. They were fly-by-night operators and pirates who flouted the rules because they could. Malcolm wasn’t having it. They were not going to get away with it here. Not right in front of his living room window. Not on his watch. He dressed and searched for his winter jacket. It made him look bigger. He thought about taking a walking stick and selected a bone handled cane but decided it could be seen as a weapon or a weakness and placed it back in the stand with a clatter.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ his wife Jane asked. She was wrapped in a bathrobe, her silver-grey hair hanging wet on her shoulders. She could see Malcolm was annoyed, which was nothing new. He was always annoyed about something. It was his permanent state. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to tell the circus owners they shouldn’t be there?’
‘Someone needs to stand up to them, Jane,’ Malcolm said. He zipped up his coat and put on his Russian style hat and gloves. His reflection in the mirror showed a portly middle-aged man with thinning hair and a grey beard. ‘They don’t have a licence and I intend to tell them that they cannot trade without one.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘No. I am not sitting here allowing them to break the law when and where they choose, especially not in front of my living room window,’ Malcolm said, nodding. ‘Someone has to take a stand.’
‘And who nominated you?’ Jane asked, irritated. ‘Unless you’re Batman or some other crime-fighting superhero and you’ve done a marvellous job of keeping it a secret from me for all these years, you shouldn’t go there and confront them if you value your health.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘I mean they’re ruffians with no respect of the law let alone what you think of it. What you think is insignificant to people like that. Unless you truly are a caped crusader, you could end up being hurt, Malcolm. Please do not go there and cause a fuss.’
‘They don’t have a licence and I’m not afraid of them,’ Malcolm ignored her jibe.
‘They don’t have a licence, let’s analyse that.’
‘Here we go,’ Malcolm rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s analyse it. We have to analyse everything in this house.’
‘Don’t be facetious. It doesn’t suit you.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘Think about it clearly. Do you think they’ve overlooked applying for a licence by accident?’ Jane asked, sarcastically. She shrugged. ‘Answers on a postcard please. Do you think they’ve overlooked it by accident?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good, because they know they don’t have an effing licence,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘The fact is they don’t care that they don’t have an effing licence. That’s the way they operate.’
‘Not here it’s not,’ Malcolm said. ‘I’ll tell them straight, to pack up and move on and if they don’t, I’ll have the police down here pronto.’
‘And what do you think they will say to the police?’ she said, tutting. ‘The police have no powers to move them on and they know that too.’
‘It’s a disgrace,’ Malcolm said. ‘I will tell them so too.’
‘You will just aggravate them, Malcolm,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Have you lost your marbles?’
‘No. I’m thinking very clearly. Someone needs to protest.’
‘This is one protest that will end in tears.’
‘I’m not letting it happen.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake. Have you taken your blood pressure tablets?’ Jane asked, concerned.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t want you going there alone. You’ll get a punch on the nose if you’re not careful.’
‘I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake. If you must go there and make a bloody fool of yourself, please don’t go down there alone.’ She gestured to the phone. ‘Ask Glen to go with you. He is always banging on about having a brown belt in karate. Ask him to go with you. Don’t go on your own.’
Malcolm nodded and picked up the phone. He didn’t have a mobile. They were responsible for the decline in conversational skills and the root of all evil. He refused to have one, even though Jane had bought him one for Christmas five-years ago. It was still in the box. He dialled Glen’s number.
‘Hello,’ Glen answered.
‘It’s Malcolm.’
‘I know who it is,’ Glen said. ‘You’re the only person who uses the landline. Don’t tell me you’ve seen the circus?’
‘Seen it?’ Malcolm said. ‘The cheeky buggers have put their big top right in front of my living room. All I can see is a chuffing big tent through my window. I can’t sit on the settee and relax with that great stripy monstrosity there every time I look up. It’s making my blood boil.’
‘Close the curtains,’ Glen laughed.
‘It’s not funny, Glen. They’re taking the piss out of us.’
‘That’s just what they do.’ Glen sighed. ‘Have you called the police?’
‘No. Not yet.’ Malcolm paused. ‘I’m going to have a word with the owners myself first and tell them I’m on the planning committee.’
‘What will that achieve?’ Glen asked. ‘I mean seriously, what do you think they will say?’
‘If I reason with them and explain what they’re doing is illegal and that they need to pack up and move on, they might listen to sense.’
‘You’re dreaming.’
‘I have to try but Jane is worried about me going on my own.’
‘Jane is an incredibly wise woman,’ Glen said. ‘You don’t want to be going down there and confronting them alone or otherwise. They’re travelling folk, Malcolm, hearts of gold I’m sure but they don’t take kindly to townies like us telling them what to do.’
‘Maybe not but what’s the worst that can happen?’
‘They could kick you in the goolies, tell you to bugger off and mind your own business and laugh all the way to the bank.’ Malcolm didn’t laugh. Glen sighed again. ‘Listen to me, Malcom. I wouldn’t go there alone. You need to listen to Jane. She’s right as usual.’
‘Jane was wondering if you would come with me,’ Malcolm said. ‘Because you did karate.’
‘I cannot use my karate. No one is in mortal danger, Malcolm.’
‘My view is in mortal danger.’
‘It’s a martial art.’
‘I know it is.’
‘Well, as such, it can’t be used willy-nilly.’ Glen
mumbled. ‘Under normal circumstances, I would be right there with you,’ Glen said, clearing his throat.
‘These are not normal circumstances,’ Malcolm complained. ‘There is a circus tent in front of my window and I want it removed.’ Glen remained silent. ‘Are you coming with me as my bodyguard?’
‘I’ve torn a muscle in my back. I wouldn’t be much use to you at the moment.’ The line went quiet again. ‘You shouldn’t approach them yourself. Call the police if you must but the truth is, there’s nothing we can do about it except hope they do well for a few days and move on.’
‘But the mess they left last time,’ Malcolm moaned. ‘I had litter in my garden for weeks.’
‘Litter can be picked up, Malcolm. Leave well alone.’ Glen warned. He knew Malcolm would be seething. ‘They’ll be gone before you know it.’ There was an awkward silence. ‘Anyway, I need to go. Tea won’t make itself. You take care of yourself and say hello to Jane for me. Tata for now.’ Glen hung up.
‘Bloody coward,’ Malcolm said, muttering when the line went dead. ‘Brown belt in karate my arse. More like a yellow-belly belt. Karate indeed. He probably couldn’t spell it if he tried.’ Jane was drying her hair in the bedroom. ‘Glen is a bloody coward, darling,’ he called upstairs. The hairdryer whirred loudly. ‘I said, Glen is a bloody coward.’ There was no reply. ‘I’m going to have a word with them.’ Jane didn’t hear him. ‘I won’t be long.’
Malcolm left the house and walked down the narrow pavement, which led to an opening in the stone walls that separated the Newry’s grassed areas from the residential estate. It was a grey day but the sea was calm. An Irish ferry was heading into the harbour, passengers lined the rails watching its progress. He could see them taking photographs of the fairground, the mountain and the port. The travellers’ caravans formed a barrier between the path and the fair. He could see the back of the big top and some of the workers milling around. Some were wearing costumes, obviously performers. Others were fairground employees. They were a scruffy bunch with tattoos everywhere; he didn’t like people with tattoos. It was a pet hate. A prejudice he couldn’t explain. He headed for a gap between two vans and a brindle pit bull launched itself at him from behind a large caravan. Only a sturdy chain kept it from reaching him. It reared up on hind legs, snapping his teeth and drooling. The snarling sounded unearthly. Malcolm stepped backwards and tripped over a binbag full of rubbish. He landed heavily on his bottom and felt his right-hand sink into something warm and sloppy. The smell of dog shit hit him like a slap on the nose.
