by Michael West
Peter stood by the tent, nodding and smiling at the customers, then at last entered and pulled the flap down, sealing them all within. Kelly sat outside at her table, batting away the gnats and listening as Peter, in a surprisingly strong, commanding voice, explained each of the first three exhibits to the groans and complaints of the customers. Several stormed out, pausing at Kelly’s table to demand their money back. But Kelly gave them the cock-headed drool and they turned and went on. The rest stayed, however, charmed by Peter’s promise of what was in the last section of the trailer, the big Mystery, even though they’d have to fork over another ten dollars each.
At last, Kelly could hear the trailer door scraping open, the customers stepping into the trailer and causing it to rock on its shocks. The door creaked shut. After a long pause and some more thumping around, she heard the customers wail in fear. Their words were muffled but clearly terrified. Peter said something low, ominous. In another few minutes the customers were pressing out through the tent flap, clutching their hats, glancing around furtively, fearfully. Even those with ruddy complexions looked paler, their eyes pinched and their brows drawn. They stalked away, not speaking to one another, climbed into the various vehicles, and took off into the night.
Then, over the sound of late season crickets and owls in the trees by the river, Kelly thought she heard a low growl within the trailer, a heavy, guttural sound that made the hairs on her arms stand up. And she heard Peter say, “Shut up, you!”
A moment later Peter exited the tent, mopping his brow, pushing a loose strand of hair back form his forehead. He stared at Kelly as if he’d forgotten she was there. Then his lip hitched. “You got the money?” She held up the cash box.
He took it, shook it, then held it like it was a baby. She wondered for the briefest moment if he ever held her as a baby. Probably not.
“That’s good,” he said. “Now you go on back to the Suburban, go to sleep. I’ve got business, got to lock up.” He pulled a cluster of keys out from his shirt, keys that hung around his neck on a string. “And you got any peein’ need to be done, you do it before you get to sleep. As I said, no getting up in the middle of the night.”
Kelly nodded, and then before she could stop herself, said, “Those men must be scared of snakes, too. I can’t imagine how awful that snake must be.”
Peter pointed a finger at Kelly. “Yeah, it’s damn awful.”
“And loud. I heard it make noise. A growling sound. Like a dog or bear. Gave me goosebumps.”
“No more about the snake! Don’t never speak of it again, you hear me? Or I’ll leave you on the side of the road.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t.”
“All right, then.”
“I don’t want you angry at me.”
“Then don’t make me angry.”
“Okay.”
Peter blew air threw his teeth and glanced at the sky, where clouds were beginning to break apart, revealing a spattering of stars against the dark. Kelly thought for a moment she saw him sigh and soften just a fraction, but then he straightened, huffed, and strode into the tent with the cash box.
He didn’t trust her. It made her sad. But there was time. Surely, there was time to get him to care for her, to need her, out here on the road. And that was all she wanted. Someone to need her.
-----
When he was certain she was settled in the Suburban, curled up on the front seat in her sleeping bag, he took care of the final business of the evening. As was sometimes the case, the five customers who’d paid extra to see the Darkton Circus Mystery didn’t have enough money to buy food to feed the creature. And so now it was up to Peter to take care of the feeding. He hated it; he preferred keeping the curtain over the cage and not having to look the thing in the eye any more than necessary, but business was business and to make his living with the circus, he had to keep the creature alive.
Peter stepped inside the room at the end of the trailer and pulled the door shut, closing off the night air and the bugs that seemed determined to follow him around. He flicked on the light switch and faced the large, curtain-covered cage. The thing inside the cage began to thump about, and growl.
“Shut up,” said Peter.
“Like I’m going to do anything you tell me to do,” said the creature. The curtain billowed slightly at his voice. “Now give me some nourishment, you ridiculous old redneck. How long do you think I should have to wait? You’re getting slower and slower in your old age. Your father was much more conscientious than you are. Your grandfather, though, another worthless bit of flesh on two feet. Just like you.”
Peter’s neck flushed as it always did. More than thirty years of hauling this thing around and the insults still stuck in his craw. Still, he had to feed the thing. He couldn’t let it die.
He took the towel off the top of the small wire cage, pulled up the lid, and removed two puppies. They struggled in his grasp, kicking at the air, their little taped mouths wriggling and twitching. They stared at him with confusion and fear in their tiny brown eyes. That confusion would be over soon.
“Here you go, you old freak.” Peter flung back the curtain on the cage and crammed the puppies through the bars. The creature, unable to stop himself, snatched them up from the floor and, one at a time, buried his long, needle-like teeth into their necks and drained their blood. Then he tossed the carcasses back out through the bars. His huge, yellow eyes narrowed. “More.”
“No more,” said Peter. “You know that. I give you more, you get stronger. You get stronger, you can pull some of that shape-shifting shit and get out of here. I’ll give you just enough to keep you breathing, living…well, living’s not quite the word now, is it?”
The creature growled and lashed one hand through the bars just as Peter skipped back.
“You know,” said the creature. “I can smell that young girl on you. Who is she, a little tart you’re fucking?”
Peter blinked then curled his lip. “My daughter.” The moment he said it he knew it was a mistake. “Don’t ever speak of her again.”
“Ah, a daughter. I had a daughter once. Lovely thing. Delicious blood. Drank her dry then threw her carcass out for the vultures.”
“No, I mean it. You speak of her again and I’ll down your rations even more. Or…” He tipped his head in the direction of the plastic lunchbox nailed to the wall on which the words, “Safety Kit,” had been written in white paint, “ … I’ll snuff you out as you sleep. I can do that anytime I want, you know. Easy. No sweat.”
“But you won’t, Peter. You need me. Just like your daddy and your worthless granddaddy needed me. Without me, your show is nothing. Without me, you are nothing.”
“Shut your fucking yam hole, freak.” Peter jerked the curtain back down over the big cage. Then he tossed the towel over the small cage as the kidnapped pets bumped around inside and whined.
“Damn, what I put up with.”
Certain the door and latches were locked and the cash box was stowed in the back of the Suburban, Peter situated himself in the middle seat and pulled his ratty wool blanket up to his chin. He never had a pillow but used a balled up sweatshirt he no longer wore because mice had gotten to it somewhere along the line. It was nearly midnight, and he needed his sleep. What a hell of a day, this traveling with company. He hoped he could survive the interruption, at least until Kelly’s money ran low. Then he would let her off – put her out – in some town where she could call her Mama to come get her. He’d give her a few of her dollars back, of course. She was an okay kid, for a kid.
He flopped over, wriggled around to get comfy.
Happily, at least, Kelly didn’t snore.
-----
It was still dark, but she had to pee. Bad. She sat up in the front seat, her eyes sticky from sleep and her back hurting from being pressed against seatbelt latches that refused to remain tucked beneath the cushions.
Crossing her legs hard, she wondered if she could force the need away. She counted, one, two, three, four, f
ive, six, seven… but it did no good. She had to go.
Quietly, slowly, she opened the Suburban door. There was a faint, grinding squeal of metal against metal. She grimaced and looked over the seat to find Peter sound asleep with a sweatshirt wound around his head. His chest rose and fell against the blanket, and his mouth hung open as if inviting a spider. She pushed the door again, slowly, then eased out onto the ground. Leaving the door partway open, she tiptoed across the field to the trees where she relieved herself, found a couple dried leaves to finish off, then sneaked back to the vehicle. The dead grasses and weeds crunched beneath her feet. Overhead, bats stitched patterns against the pre-dawn sky.
It was then she heard the moaning. The agonized groaning. From the rear of the travel trailer.
Pathetic.
Agonized.
She stopped and stared at the trailer, at the garish signs on the side, black and white and shades of gray now, their colors washed away in the night.
The sound came again, and then a thumping inside the trailer.
“What is that?” she whispered. The sound of her voice was louder on the air than she’d expected.
There was a moment of silence and then again moaning.
Weeping.
“That’s no snake…”
She took another step toward the Suburban, but the sounds from the trailer were heartbreaking. She bit her lip, then hurried to the trailer, around the side, and into the tent where she stopped to listen again.
The crying was louder now but no less pitiful. It came from behind the closed door, the final display.
The gigantic, terrible snake.
But she knew snakes. They didn’t cry or moan.
So what was it?
Kelly patted her fist against her teeth. Clearly there was someone in the trailer, someone who, for some reason, had been locked inside without Peter’s knowledge. Was it a child? Had any children come to the show? She didn’t remember any. The voice was difficult to identify. Maybe it was a teen, or even a man, who was horrified to have been left behind without being noticed, locked inside the trailer with the dreadful snake.
Peter would be so pissed if he realized he’d been so careless. She didn’t want him angry. She wanted to make things better for him, not worse. And she couldn’t leave the man trapped in the display. Just the thought of that made her stomach clench and her heart pick up a heavy, painful rhythm.
The keys were around Peter’s neck. She would make quick business of it, not even have to go inside the trailer but just open the door for a moment to let the man out.
Peter was lying face toward the back of the middle seat, snorting in his sleep, one hand twitching, but luckily the string on which the keys hung was visible at his neck. And the fingernail clippers she kept in her purse did the trick. He never moved, never felt a thing.
Back inside the tent now, standing at the door now, Kelly trembled. The keys clicked against each other like tiny teeth. This had to be quick. This had to be quiet. Then she would tie a knot in the string and drop it onto the Suburban floor where Peter would find it in the morning. She would tell him how he tossed and turned all night, possibly scooting out from under the string in the process.
That was possible, wasn’t it?
It was the best she could think of.
The moan was so loud this time it drove her back several feet from the door. Maybe the man was already bitten by the snake? Maybe he was lying there, dying. She hoped not. She knew how to put on a Band-Aid but that was about it. She didn’t know how to stop someone from dying.
Go on now, she thought. Do it. Do it for the man. But most of all, do it for Peter. Do it for your Dad. He needs your help.
God, I hate snakes!
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…”
Key in the lock, lock clicking, door pulling open slowly, as quietly as possible.
The room was very dark, and it had a disgusting smell. Dead things. Piss. Shit. She covered her nose with one hand and squinted, trying to get her eyes adjusted.
“Hello?” she whispered. “Who’s in here? Can I help you? The sound of her voice stirred up other sounds, small sounds of whining and scratching.
No, that’s no snake. Just do this, Kelly!
She took two steps into the trailer, keeping her free hand on the doorsill.
“Hello?”
Things began to take focus. A small bin or cage against one wall, covered in a lumpy cloth. That’s where the whining was coming from. To the right was a huge cage covered in a curtain. The uneven hem of the curtain revealed the bars at the bottom.
And a pair of scuffed black shoes pressed up against the bars.
“Oh, shit,” Kelly whispered.
“Help me,” said a raspy, desperate voice from within the large cage. “Please, help me.”
“I…” began Kelly. Where the hell was the snake? Was it in the cage with the man who was speaking?
I can’t look. I can’t do this…
“Please, help me!”
Kelly licked her dry lips but they remained dry. “Is…is the snake in there with you?”
“There is no snake,” said the voice. “I’m here alone. Locked up. Trapped. Your father did this to me. Please, please let me out!”
Kelly drew back. “What? No. My father’s a good man. He wouldn’t lock someone up.”
“He did. You don’t know your father very well.”
“He said there was a snake in here.”
“There is no snake. That was a ruse so you would stay way and not come help me.”
“No, he wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t lie.”
“You are a loving girl, I can tell from your voice. I’ve been captive a long time. I fear I will die if I have to stay locked up. Please, please set me free. I won’t press charges against your father. I just need to get out.”
Kelly bit her lip, looked at the door, then back at the curtained cage.
“I…”
“Please! Help me!”
The voice cut her with its angst, and she could no longer resist. Stealing herself and taking a breath of the dank, acidic air, she pulled back the curtain.
He stood there, tall, broad shouldered, hair jet black, face skeletally angular and as pale as the moon. But it was his yellowed eyes that drew a gasp from her, his dreadful gaze that locked with hers and caused her heart to stop beating for two, three, four counts before it was able to pick up again. He smiled at her. The smile was horrific.
“You want to know who I am,” he asked, and though she did she was unable to nod. “I am your father’s great mystery, his great money-maker, which is a farce, a ridiculous, centuries’ old joke, for neither he nor his family have made squat displaying me, they have only delayed the punishment that my captivity will bring upon their heads.”
Kelly could not speak, she could not blink, she could not look away from the man with the yellow eyes. He tipped his head and considered her, then raised a brow. “You have come to change all that.”
She could not reply, she could not scream. She could only stare at him, locked face to face, and feel her sense of self fade away.
“Open the cage,” said the man. “You have the keys.”
She felt the keys in her hands, though could not look at them.
“Now!”
One by one, she fumbled with the padlock on the cage door.
“Stupid, slovenly slut,” he hissed. “You’re like your old man. A simpleton.”
Then Kelly pushed the correct key into the lock, and with a snap, it came open. The man chuckled darkly and pushed his way out of the cage.
“Now then,” he said.
She looked at him, stared into the yellow eyes, wanting what was there but not wanting what was there, waiting to see what would happen to her next, because she knew she had no choice in the matter.
He took her by the shoulders and said, “Ah, now.” His breath was rancid, like old butter and bad meat. He opened his mouth and she saw the shining, n
eedle-like fangs there. She did not pull away. “Time to regain my strength. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good, long drink. Hold still, dear.”
She did.
He leaned forward, pushed her hair roughly from her neck, buried his fangs into the flesh, and he drank.
He drank.
She slipped to her knees and still he drank.
She felt her knuckles strike the floor, and then her forehead, and still he drank.
-----
It wasn’t quite daybreak when Peter woke up, and she wasn’t in the Suburban. And she’d left the damn car door open and the bugs were inside, all over the place. He had gnats in his nose, and he sneezed them out onto his sleeve.
“Where the hell is she?”
Probably out to pee, couldn’t wait any longer. He thought young people had stronger bladders than that.
He struggled out of the blanket, climbed from the Suburban, and relieved himself against the front tire.
Then he noticed that the string of keys was no longer around his neck.
“Shit, oh shit.”
He fumbled around inside the vehicle, dug in the cushions, felt along the floor among the balls and bits of trash. But the keys were not there.
“Kelly!” he shouted. “Where are you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Fuck!” She couldn’t have taken his keys. She would have done that. She said she respected him. She was a good girl, a kind girl. She wanted to please him.
“Kelly!”
He stormed around the trailer to the tent. No way would she have disobeyed his rule. No way would she have tried to see what he told her not to see. She was a tender-hearted soul. She wanted to do good. And she was afraid of the snake he’d lied about.
He entered the tent. He saw the last exhibit’s door standing wide open.
“Oh, fuck!”
He didn’t want to look.
And of course, he had no choice.
