Dark Perceptions (Mystic's Carnival Collective)

by Kristi, Debra

  There was nothing. No way out.

  Looking back at him, at his egg yolk, messy hair, a croak escaped my throat. My heart skittered over beats, broken in its rhythm. A moment passed. Time was up. I moved fast, twisting beneath his arm, slipping from his cotton-gloved grip, and scampered down the remainder of the stairs with him calling my name at my back.

  I didn’t stop.

  I didn’t look back.

  I shoved giant bouquets of shiny balloons out of my way and ran. Ran from the tent. Ran from the clowns. Ran for my life.

  My heart pounded like my kid brother going wild on his drums, my breath heaved and throbbed, my feet stung with the pricks of the zillion invisible needles I envisioned crossing to make my escape.

  I couldn’t explain what was making me feel this way, but something slithered over my soul, caused my core to howl, to scream, Wrong!

  And my gut didn’t lie.

  Everything about the circus tent, the acts within, the clowns, was all wrong. Seriously, terribly, horribly wrong. Starting with me and my sudden awareness in the middle of it all. Where were the people I knew, where was my sense of familiarity?

  “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” I repeated in my head, willing myself out of the nightmare. But nothing changed and my bedroom walls failed to appear.

  I escaped out the tent flap. Clinched it closed behind me, knuckles clutched so tight they drained white. “Holy clown crazy,” I mumbled to the empty air, and finally let a drop of relief soothe my freaked soul, if only a tad.

  Surely I was having some kind of mental breakdown. Or maybe this was all a side effect of the stupid joint I had smoked. I shook my head, wanted to drop to the ground and cry, but didn’t. I still had no idea where I was or how I’d gotten there, I needed to figure it out. I clutched my arms around myself and looked for anything recognizable―a spark of memory. Surely I hadn’t come alone. There has to be someone I know around here somewhere.

  “Matt?” I whimpered.

  The crisp night air bit at my skin, extracting a horde of goosebumps. Wind thrashed my hair with the sharp, snap skill of a whip. Quivering cold, I hugged myself tighter and let my location sink in. Now outside the Big Top, the tent at my back, I realized this was far more than a circus. An entire carnival unfolded before me.

  Game booths, food stations, and rides piled high and tight. The air was perfumed thick with fatty foods and body odor. Carnie voices, a full regiment, singing and dealing, moving with the skilled tongues of auctioneers, bounced around and bombarded me.

  Overhead, an intricate weave of grey, clouded gloom loomed, a sky lay burdened with weather waiting to drop. The announcing thrums of a roller derby quaked from its feathery flexes and folds, and for the briefest moment the night brightened. Its light show reflected in the small spattering of Mylar balloons flittering among the crowd. At least, I thought it did. Hard to discern when a trillion lights blazed and twirled around me. I felt jumpy, itchy.

  “Hey.” A familiar, calming voice came from behind. Followed by a firm, yet gentle clasp on my arm, just above the wrist, pulling at me. My distress already breaking into dust, blowing away at his touch, I turned to face Matt.

  I looked up into his beautifully tender, concerned face and my heart swelled at the sight of him. Then I remembered―love was fiction. My emotions warred and I tried to remember coming here with him. Even planning to come. Remember or not, in love or not, a notch of unease slipped away with his presence beside me and I wanted to throw myself into his arms.

  “You alright?” His face pinched, and darkened lines dug into his forehead, casting his eyes in shadow. “You didn’t wait for me. I’d walked half the distance back from the restrooms when I saw you running out. You were so fast I couldn’t catch up.” He glanced over his shoulder, then turned his melting pots of chocolate on me. Damn those eyes, they made me want to do so many unspeakable things. Not that I felt like doing any of them now, after the frightening clown encounter. Instead, I let Matt fight off the cold, rubbing his hands up and down my arms and staring into my eyes for infinity. If infinity was merely seconds.

  I would have been perfectly pleased to stay that way forever, barring the scary clown tent. I loved Matt. Okay, maybe love was a wee premature. We’d only been dating a month. But I had crushed on him from the first moment I’d seen him. All California tan, sandy blond surfer hair, and ethereal brown eyes capable of instantly turning my heart to goo when he looked at me like he did now. He was the perfect made-for-Sara package, with his gentle manners and witty humor. And like my father was doing to my mom, Matt would break my heart someday. Someday—but not today.

  Right now I didn’t want to think about what may come. But I couldn’t help thinking about what he’d just said. Did I remember Matt had gone to the restroom? I think maybe I did, vaguely. For some reason that made me feel safer, more secure. It gave me a tangible memory here. I pushed up on my tiptoes, hopeful Matt would chase away all the insecurities this place created within me with one of his kisses.

  I couldn’t deny the truth. I was head-over-tippy-toes smitten.

  “It’s brisk.” Matt stepped back, shrugged off his thick, leather jacket, and wrapped it around me, proving chivalry wasn’t eaten by scary things lurking in ratty old circus tents.

  I dropped flat on my feet, a tiny frown worming its way across my heart. I knew feeling sad was the wrong reaction. He was a prince, wrapping his cloak around me was magical. Still―I had wanted the kiss.

  Matt tugged the jacket closed across the front of me, then stepped closer. So close his breath thawed the tip of my nose. “Maybe this will help fight the chill attacking you,” he said, a seductive lure dancing in the tone of his words. It set a battalion of goosebumps into red alert. They stood at full attention across my arms.

  Matt’s tone made me hope. Hope for warmth, and so much more. Turning my face to the sky, I made a wish upon a hurtling star. Any sane person would pray for a quick exit out of this lunatic operation, and I did. But I also tacked on a small request, keeping something more interesting than a warm jacket in mind. Running the cusp of my tongue along the round of my lips, I envisioned his mouth pressed against mine.

  “Saraaaa.”

  And just like that, my little dream imploded, attention snapped from Matt with a cold shiver slinking down my spine.

  “Mmmaaatttt.”

  Our names hissed from the Big Top. My muscles tightened, I flinched, spun around, and faced the exit from which I’d found freedom mere moments before. The safety of Matt’s arms shattered, fear charged in at a full frontal attack.

  Why had we stayed? Why hadn’t we kept moving?

  Shock rocked me backwards. Three hideous, heavily painted, overdone comedians pushed through the doorway. The clowns. The terrible, horrible clowns were coming…after me!

  No. After us!

  The painted horrors pushed their way out through the jaws of a gruesome two-story clown face plastered across the front of the tent. A humongous three-dimensional frame I’d failed to notice upon my leave. So ironic, and symbolic. Anyone walking in was swallowed by a monster clown. When I’d walked out, I’d been spit out.

  Matt’s arm tightened around my waist, pulling me against him. Together we stepped back, away from the horror accosting us. I envisioned the clown tunnel retreating, growing ever smaller and smaller and smaller. We took one step, two steps, then froze.

  Colorful arms and legs of terror spewed from the clown’s mouth, looking like the tentacles of a demon-spawned sea creature. Laughing, lyrical voices sang around my head. “Why did you go? Don’t you know? Don’t they all know?” Their ludicrous made-up faces danced up and down, swung round and round the curves of my mind, making permanent marks in my memory. Fear clutched my heart just like I clutched at Matt’s arm, attempting to drag him away, to flee.

  But his feet were rooted, he wouldn’t budge. What did he see that I did not? What held him captivated? I maneuvered, found his face open and inquisitive like a child’s, almost glowing. U
nder different circumstance it would be beautiful. But this wasn’t the time or the place for beauty, and his action―or reaction―made no sense.

  “Know?” he whispered, the word nothing more than a breath lingering on his lips. He took a tentative step forward.

  Panic stirred to a frenzy. A witch’s brew in the pit of my stomach. Thank God the clowns weren’t advancing. Why were they so still?

  I moved behind Matt, gripped his shirt, and tugged, all the while my blood raced through my body, urged me to be quick and run. The arch of my forehead found refuge in the bow of his back, where I leaned into him, pressed my eyes tight, and whispered a prayer. A prayer for deliverance and escape from this hell. Escape to the safety of Matt’s car.

  “Get! Get back. Stop scaring them!” A voice thick with power entered our standoff. With it came a sense of order. A feeling that everything would be all right. “All of you now, get movin’!” There was hesitation in the clowns’ movements, a wince, a flinch, but it was clear who pulled their puppeteer strings. My shoulders eased, my fingers unfurling, guiding my arms around Matt’s waist, pulling him to me, my shield against foe. I had to look around his shoulder to see the short, husky man taking command. The glow of the marks etched on the back of Matt’s neck shown bright before me. A brilliant aquamarine.

  “Go!” the man boomed.

  At his word, of the three zombified, would-be-funny-men attackers, two turned back into the tent and disappeared. No questions. No fight. No hesitation. The third stayed. His eyes fixed, glaring past the mandating man to us, to me. “But, Higgins,” he complained. “They belo―”

  The short, stout man straightened his back, firmed his shoulders, and punched the air with his index finger. It waved between them like a metronome. “Nah, ah, ah.” No other words left his lips. Only three small vowels. The clown’s face dropped, darkened like a storm cloud, then he vanished, leaving the front of the tent barren.

  I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes and rubbed. Cleared my vision, the fog from my mind, and swung my head around absorbing everything. Everything about where I was and the kind of stuff located around me―again. Not only was it unusual, it was damn strange. Yes, there were games and rides like the average carnival. Lots of lights, color, laughter, and yummy flavors to set your tummy to rumble. But things lurked in the shadows. Or at the corner of your eye. Unspeakable things.

  No. They didn’t even bother to lurk. They moved freely amongst the crowd, reflected in exterior Fun House mirrors, or bobbing balloons.

  “Come on.” I pulled at Matt’s shirt, the belt loop on his jeans, urging, willing him to move with me. “Let’s get to the parking lot, find the car, and get out of here.” My nerves cranked up, pushed a tear over the threshold of my eye. I held it at bay, refusing to cry, no matter how scared I felt. And I felt pretty buried in fear.

  Matt turned into me, his arms linking with mine. Such a simple move, but a bold move, an encouraging move, and it fed me the strength I needed to hold all the pieces of myself together. “Let’s,” he said, a tad breathless.

  “Always the strong one, Sara,” the man behind Matt said.

  My body stiffened and my hand slipped down, found Matt’s. Tightening around his, intertwining our fingers.

  “Don’t,” Matt whispered at my ear.

  I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t take his warning. I turned to the small man standing before the Big Top. I believed the clowns had called him Higgins. He was short in stature, but made up for it in power of presence. He didn’t scare me, not exactly. Everything about this place made my skin itch. Everything except for him, and I couldn’t explain why. I looked him over, studied him.

  From his side pocket he produced a handkerchief, dabbed at his balding head. His overcoat was wrinkled and collar damp with sweat. “I apologize for my boys’ behavior. They sometimes lack finesse. It doesn’t mean their hearts aren’t in the right place.”

  Matt pulled me deeper into his side. “Who are you and why are you talking to us?” His voice rumbled through his ribcage, causing my senses to tingle with its protectiveness.

  The little man stuffed his hands into his pockets. “The name is Higgins. Let’s just say I’m a friend. Here to help you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Of course. Sent away those fellows bothering you, didn’t I?”

  “That you did. But it doesn’t explain any of this. Why were they following us? Where are we? And what are we doing here?” Matt leaned forward, putting weight into his questions. “Better yet, how did we get here?”

  “My, you’re full of questions, aren’t you? Don’t you remember?”

  “No. No, I…” Matt shook his head. “It’s all a bit fuzzy. I only want to get us to the car and out of here.”

  Matt’s memory was a bad as mine. I should have questioned him immediately, instead of basking in his presence. I didn’t think we’d smoked that much. I pushed my thoughts away and pressed forward, into the conversation. “We want to go home.”

  The strange man calling himself Higgins chuckled and small cracks formed at the edges of his eyes. His cheeks rose and turned soft pink, brightening his grey peepers. “I expected that coming from you, my dear.”

  “You did?” I squeezed behind Matt, seeking his body as a shield. But why? I was strong. I could be tough and stand up for myself. “Then could you direct us toward the parking lot?”

  “Parking lot?” Higgins said the words like they were a question to be pondered more than a request. “I don’t know if you’ll find a parking lot. Unless, of course, she wants you to find one.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Matt straightened, stood tall. “She who?”

  “The carnival, of course.”

  “Dude. You’re crazy.” Matt spun around, grabbed my hand firm in his, and started moving us down the dark aisle, away from him and the Big Top. Matt’s unusual neck marking bounced like a firefly showing me the way. Games and sideshow tents pushed in at our sides. Like space was compressing, getting smaller by the minute. Trying to trap us in Freak Man’s Alley. Wolfman, human pincushion, woman with two faces, all images jumping off posters and swimming around me mockingly, scratching and nipping at me. Maybe it was my imagination; my overwhelming desire to rid us of this place churned every horror movie scenario around in my mind, like a vacillating jar of maggots.

  “If you won’t let me help you, please listen to Sebastian. He’ll get you to Big Eli.” Higgins’s voice shrank behind us as we made our way past canvas tents shrouded in purple and white. Black pennants hung across the tent fronts, flapping in the night breeze. A breeze that brought the stink of midway sawdust and animal manure.

  “Sebastian. Eli,” Matt grumbled. “More people we don’t need to deal with.”

  “We’re going to be okay.” The words stumbled out loud and clear, with me needing to hear them to believe them. I looked to Matt, wanting him to believe in them, too. I saw him, really saw him, all of him, for the first time since the crazy ordeal had begun, and my mind clouded. “What happened?” My voice pitched, rose an octave, before I lurched over and pulled at his shirt to get a closer look. Suspicious red stains littered what should have been crisp white cotton. I stretched the fabric for a better inspection.

  He didn’t react. Didn’t glance down. Instead, he kept his gaze steady on me. “Don’t worry about it, Sara. Probably just a spilled drink. That’s why I went to the restroom, to clean up.” With a gentleman’s touch he removed my grip and eased my hands into his own, turning us back on our mission, moving down the path, urgency fueling our pace. “I want to get out, before something else gives us trouble. Like that guy the little dude mentioned.”

  My feet raced to keep up and I stretched my neck, hoping he’d hear when I spoke. “Do you think that’s what the old guy meant when he told us to look for Big Eli, or…or, um…” I searched my memory for the other name. “Sebastian?”

  Matt pushed his way past a large group gawking at the two-headed, four-breasted woman in the tent
to our left. “Hell if I know.” His words forced their way between clenched teeth.

  “Eli isn’t a person, honey.”

  The voice wrapped around us, sweeter than sugar and smooth as lotion sliding over freshly shaved skin. Slick and slippery.

  Matt stopped so fast I thought he might trip over his own feet. I practically stumbled into him. Looking at the woman standing next to him, I could understand why. She was a mantrap, for sure. Exotic and sensual, sex oozed from every fiber of her being. Even the way she flicked her finger across her shoulder made me want to succumb to her every desire. Heat stirred an unsatisfied hunger below my belt and I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t right. She wasn’t right. Like the rest of this place.

  I took a step back and held Matt’s arm tight. The woman’s eyes shone bright on mine. Yellow eyes, cold and calculating like a serpent’s. As much as she made me want her, I also hated her. Hated her with every ounce of moral fiber flowing within me. Hated her for making me desire her and fear her all at once. But mostly for making me want her.

  A snake, dark as the darkest night, slithered around her midsection. Its long body wound around her torso and up to her shoulders, wrapping until its beady red eyes rested in the nape of her neck, the flicker of its tongue in constant motion. Had to be some kind of crazy trick of the eye—the snake appeared to be slipping straight out of her belly button. I shook my head. A gargantuan serpent, built to crush large dogs or small horses, and the ease in which the woman caressed the reptile was a show of power.

  Matt moved closer, his eyes fixed on her. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  Her lips widened, curving up to the starry night, showing a fine set of pearly, sharp choppers. “Eli, honey. You were talking about Big Eli.”