Dearest,
Wadsworth
“What the fuck is that about?”
“I have no idea,” Crystal said, a quiver in her voice.
“What’s that address again?” Harry asked.
“What?”
“The address for the house, for fuck sake, girl!”
“Oh, erm, I’m not…Oh, no, wait, here it is: 379 Eagle Moss Av, Porthcawl.”
“Eagle Moss? Sounds like something out of a goddamn Hammer Horror. Who’s our host, Peter Cushing? Vincent Price?! Throw it all away, Crystal. It’s got to be some sort of wind up.”
“But what about this news article? It’s got yesterday’s date on it.”
“And?” Harry said, anger rising in his voice. “It’s got ‘NOT PRINTED’ written on it. That suggests it’s unofficial. Someone’s having a wind-up, that’s all!”
“If it isn’t, it means that Sam has been on the run for the past twenty-four hours. She could be in town by now.”
“And what’s she going to do?”
Crystal stared at the letter and clipping as goose pimples prickled her flesh, making her skin crawl. She raised her eyes and looked into the darkness where Harry sat. “Do you think we should attend? It says there will be another guest there that I would want to meet.”
“Yeah, I think we should check it out. Go and play a stupid fucking game of Come Dine with Me, or worse still, Cluedo!”
A smile crept across Crystal’s face, but only momentarily, as fear came sneaking back. What if the letter and clipping was for real, she wondered?
LATER THAT EVENING…
After taking Harry and all their gear back to the Sea Bank Hotel, and fixing Harry and herself a Scotch, they sat and drank whilst chewing the fat over the letter and clipping. After four or five whiskeys, Harry fell into a deep sleep, leaving Crystal to tread the boards of their room with a frantic nature.
I need to clear my head, she thought, before I smash this room apart. Looking out the huge bay windows of the room, which overlooked the beach, she could hear rolling waves crash against the waiting rocks.
The lights to the circus to her left then caught her attention. She’d seen the carnival dubbed The Circus of Fear roll into town a few days ago – as a child, she’d loved the fair, and had even thought about running away to join up.
Looking at the clock on the nightstand next to her bed, she didn’t think eleven-thirty was too late for a stroll along the promenade, and to take in the childish attraction. Maybe it would help clear her mind.
“Where are you, Sam?” she asked under her breath. “Are you in town? You’re bound to be coming for me. You’re hoping I’ll take the bait of that letter. Was it you that really sent it? You promised you’d kill me that day back at the asylum…”
She grabbed her leather jacket off the back of the chair, slipped it on, then made sure Harry was sleeping before heading out the door. By the sound of his heavy snoring, he’d be out until morning, she decided.
Walking from her hotel down to the promenade, Crystal only encountered the odd few people. Some were chatting couples that shared a bag of chips, while other couples came spewing out of pubs, laughing and joking.
She was in no mood for pleasantries. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts– she feverishly scanned the faces of people she saw on the streets and alleys that she ventured down. Sam, I know you’re here, and if not, you soon will be, she thought.
A shiver clawed its way up her spine.
Looking behind her, the dark street was empty. Nobody lurked.
Would Sam plunge steel into her sister’s turned back? The callous bitch probably would, after what I’ve done to her. Why is this happening now? Just as Harry and I settle somewhere away from all the death and trouble, this has to happen. Maybe going to see her that day had been a bad move. It had riled Sam. But Crystal had no idea this would happen, that Sam would break out of Castell Hirwaun.
Sighing, she stopped walking and stood in front of a coin-operated telescope. For twenty pence, you could look through and out over the sea to spy on the little vessels, yachts, tankers, cargo boats and people playing on the beach by day.
She drank in the air, looked about her, and spotted the fair off in the near distance. The place jumped with life. The brightly coloured neon lights and lively dance music was a beacon for thrill-seekers and kids alike. And for some reason, it was calling her, too.
So, onward she went, attempting to walk in well-lighted areas.
On the beach, she saw a barrel spitting flames. Teenagers sat around it playing loud rock music whilst drinking beer.
She had a pang of envy as she passed them by. Oh, how things could have been so different, she thought. Looking about her, memories came flooding back from the days she used to work in Porthcawl as a dancer. Bunnies, the club she had once worked at, had been pulled down years ago.
Those were simpler times, she thought.
The seaside town had become a ghost town of sorts – many buildings were now boarded up. Pubs had closed down. The fair seemed to be the only thriving business left. It hadn’t been like that when Crystal had first worked the place.
As she neared the amusement park, the more the smells stuffed her nostrils: the stench of candyfloss, seafood, hotdogs and burgers. Sounds of meat and onions sizzling collided with whoops of joy, thudding disco music and lots of screaming and laughter as various rides tossed and threw their riders about in their seats.
As Crystal got closer still, flocks of people seemed to come from nowhere. The Cabin/Dolly Bar, situated just outside the fairground entrance, was full. Drunkards lined the outside of the shoddy, wipe-your-feet-on-the-way-out watering hole, and whistled and eyed Crystal as she passed by. The butcher knife she had on the inside of her coat felt snug and heavy.
“Fuck off,” she snarled in their direction. Some looked away; others answered with an “oooh.” “Fucking lowlifes,” she muttered, entering through the huge iron gates to the fair.
The voice of an MC blazed out of his megaphone as he hammered on about “Nobody walks away a loser. We have a winner every time!” It was difficult to pinpoint where it was coming from, such was the din about her. Above Crystal’s head, the Beach Party ride flew into the air, its passengers screaming as the ride went full circle.
Piles of teens graced the inside of the fair – some were trying their luck at the stalls, which promised “A winner every time!” Crystal watched grown men throwing balls at cans as they tried in vain to topple an aluminium pyramid for a prize.
After passing the stalls, Crystal sauntered by Madam Carla’s tent. She was a fortune-teller who looked older than Porthcawl itself. “Come in, child!” a decrepit voice beckoned from beyond the gloom. “Let Madam Carla tell you what you need!” she whispered.
Laughing, Crystal moved on.
She didn’t know where she was heading as she pushed through the crowds and kept her eyes peeled for an attack she felt was coming. I think that’s why I came out, she thought. To confront the bitch. This will be her chance, if indeed that letter isn’t bullshit. Well, let’s be having you.
Crystal turned a hundred-and-eighty degrees slowly, spotting nothing unusual in the crowds. She faced front and walked on, the big top at the far end of the ground now grabbing her full attention. As she drew closer, she could hear the ringmaster address the crowd and crack his whip. The massive, dull-coloured tent of blacks and whites felt foreboding. She peeled one giant flap back and poked her head inside. She cast her eyes on the stilted ringmaster, who bore a top hat and macabre make-up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, prepare to be shocked and disturbed by the Circus of Fear…Dear parents, please do mind your children, as some of our acts do tend to bite, eat and devour our smaller members of the crowd – especially Mr. Tickles and his freakish assistants, Miss Sideshow Necrotic and Miss Sideshow Nightshade…”
The inside of the tent plunged into darkness, much to the squeals and shrieks of delight and terror from the audience m
embers. Crystal’s insides felt cold as she transfixed her eyes on the opening curtains at the opposite end of the tent.
She felt like a little girl again, standing there watching with her mouth agape as plumes of smoke burped out of the opening, followed by the whine and growl of a car engine. This was followed by a deafening, sinister laugh, which filled the entirety of the tent and surrounding area.
Close by, she heard a child cry over the raucous sounds, “I want to go home, Mammy. Now!”
Then, thundering heavy metal music engulfed the tent, replacing the sound of the car and horrid laughter.
I sense the sweat burst on my temple
Is it me or is it shadows fox-trotting on my walls
Is this a vision or is it now
Is this a delusion or normal what I see before my sight
She knew the song, but the words were wrong. Disjointed somehow, like the man-clown who drove his car out of the parting curtains. A woman clad in purple was tied to the bonnet. This was no ordinary clown’s car, she thought, where a million clowns get out of a tiny vehicle, which then falls to pieces after the door is closed with too much enthusiasm.
There was something much more sinister and evil about this clown who drove the roofless car. The bodywork was painted black, with a huge skull and crossbones on the bonnet. Crystal took a step backward, feeling the clown’s soulless-looking eyes on her. Drinking her in. Roaming her body. Did he know her? Did she know him?
No, she didn’t think so.
His teeth appeared to be needle sharp. The blacks and whites around his eyes made his sockets seem empty. Bottomless pits. She gulped, slowly letting the flap go. “Just walk away,” she said aloud. “Go back to Harry. It’s getting…”
A flyer stuck to the canvas tent flap caught her attention. “What’s this…” she started, plucking the mini poster free. She held it out in front of her and read.
SEE THE AMAZING MISS NIGHTSHADE – THE WORLD’S ONLY KNOWN VAMPIRE…THE EBONY WONDER IS AS STUNNING AS SHE IS DEADLY…SEE HER SINK HER FANGS INTO MEMBERS OF THE AUDIENCE, AND PRAY IT’S NOT YOU, AS SHE RECRUITS FOR HER ARMY OF THE NIGHT…
Miss Sideshow Nightshade xx
“You! The one by the entrance. Get in here!” barked the clown over the speakers, his voice replacing the music.
Crystal let the flyer flutter to the floor.
The clown had now parked in the centre of the big top. His sidekick, the female jester, was now standing on the bonnet – she lashed at the dusty ground with her chains. She licked her lips and gyrated her body to the metal music, which had kicked back in.
Crystal felt a thousand eyes on her as her cheeks flushed. She walked in and took a seat.
His act was lurid. Much worse than mine and Harry’s, she thought. This clown, this Mr. Tickles, along with his partner, Miss Sideshow Necrotic, is sick. She loved it. They kept her amused and entertained. Crystal squealed with delight as lone youngsters from the crowd took to centre stage as volunteers for different stunts and performances, never to return to their seats. Where had they gone? Was it real blood on the floor?
Crystal didn’t care. The sadistic horror she saw unfold before her was giving her ideas for her own act with Harry. She needed to meet this clown after the show. She needed to talk with him, but she didn’t know why. Crystal wasn’t looking for any creative ideas. She had plenty. There was just something about this guy.
Most of the audience members had walked out by the grand finale, giving Crystal her opportunity to get to the clown before he left the tent.
Fighting her way through the remainder of the audience, Crystal got within earshot of a fan asking Mr. Tickles for his autograph, which was met by a low, growling, “Piss off, kid.” It was spat into the teen’s general direction. “Before I bite your face off, and feed the rest of you to Custard!” Mr. Tickles added, looking up from the floor.
Mr. Tickles, who was well over six feet tall, turned his back to pick up his bag of tricks – a Hessian sack with Tricks marked across the side of it in black – and Miss Sideshow Necrotic’s chain. He then proceeded to move towards the part of the tent he’d emerged from earlier that evening, with Sideshow crawling on her hands and knees behind him. This amused Crystal, along with the fact that they were now the only three left inside the big top.
“The Last Freak Show on Earth….” Crystal whispered.
The massive clown stopped dead in his tracks, but Sideshow kept on moving, until her master forcefully pulled her backward by her constraint. A mass choking fit ensued, which almost drowned out Mr. Tickles’ low belly growls.
“I thought you seemed familiar,” Crystal continued, almost whimpering. This was the first person to ever truly scare the living shit out of her. This guy even made Harry look like a choirboy.
Crystal could hear Sideshow snicker in the shadows. The sly laughter made her think of a snake’s hiss as it slithered towards its prey. She went numb in the shadow cast by Mr. Tickles as he fully faced her. His needle-like teeth, which were stained red, shone in the half-light.
“Huh?!” he uttered. Saliva glistened on his chin. “Come again?” he said flatly.
Nothing but the cold rattle of Sideshow’s chain broke the silence as Crystal thought of what to say next. She discreetly backed away whilst sliding a hand inside her leather jacket. She closed her fingers around the haft of the butcher knife.
“I…I…”
“Spit it out, child!” he grumbled. There was a stale smell of whiskey on his breath.
“I…I…”
“Maybe she wants a balloon?” Sideshow chirped in, snickering some more.
“Maybe,” Mr. Tickles said. “Is that it, pumpkin? You want a balloon or a lollypop?”
“I said,” Crystal finally asserted herself, “’The Last Freak Show on Earth.’ You used to be Mr. Sugar Giggles.”
His brow furrowed and his eyes seemed to narrow. “I think you’re getting your Chuckles and your Kokos mixed up, lady! Now why don’t you walk out of here. Or would you prefer to leave on a stretcher? And that’s if you’re lucky!”
They were almost nose to nose, with him bent over.
She had him rattled. She knew this was the same clown. The furrows in his forehead were a giveaway. He was dumbstruck, trying to figure out how in the hell he’d been noticed. This guy had disappeared, just like that, after years of performing. She’d loved seeing him at her local fair as a teenager. It was said he’d been put in an asylum long ago…
He’d been a slight inspiration to her.
“I’m right, aren’t I? I used to love watching you perform in those days.”
“Who the fuck are you? Nobody’s called me by that name in years!”
“I could possibly be your worst nightmare then,” Crystal said, grinning…
PREVIOUSLY…
She was cold. Cold and hungry. Her energy levels were near zero. It had been a struggle to keep going. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a good meal, like fish or steak.
The letter she had found in the car had told her to come to Hob’s Café. The letter prior to that, which had been slipped into her cell, had told her what was going to happen and what she needed to do.
Dear Samantha,
My lovely Sam.
There’s not much time to explain things here in this letter, but I promise to answer all your questions when I see you in a few days’ time. At exactly midnight tonight, the power will go down in the asylum and your door will be unlocked. The key in this envelope is a skeleton key, and will aid you in your escape. Within the grounds will be a car. A limo. A driver has been provided. He is forbidden to explain anything to you, so don’t bother trying to grill him. Also, there will be another letter awaiting you.
All my love,
Wadsworth
At first, Samantha had been scared. She thought the letter had been a figment of her imagination, that she really was losing her mind. Or was it a dream? The paper and envelope had felt real enough. But then again, her medication played
tricks on her, like it had done before.
Regardless, she had waited with held breath inside her box room to see if anything would happen, hoping and praying the letter was authentic. She needed out. Craved freedom.
Time had seemed to stand still, even though she had no concept of it anymore. Day was night, night was day. They had kept her in solitary confinement mostly, usually strapped to a bed. But she had started to behave, played ball, in the hope that they would transfer her to a minimum security wing in time to come.
As these thoughts had danced in her head, her room was plunged into darkness. At first, Sam didn’t panic, thinking it was time for ‘lights out’. But then she’d heard the panic and upheaval start outside her room.
My God, it’s really happening!
She had sprung from her bed, not feeling any terror towards who or what was helping her escape. She just seized the opportunity. And, as the letter had promised, the door was unlocked. In her excitement, Sam had almost forgotten to take the skeleton key with her, which, as stated, opened every barred door from her room to the outside.
Her escape went unnoticed, due to nurses and guards being kept busy by every other patient on her ward. Plus, she had thought, if the power was completely down, all the cameras would be off too.
The corridors and rooms were dimly lit by lights that the backup generator provided for. All main lights were down.
It had taken Sam less than twenty minutes to work her way out of the hospital, and ten more to find the waiting limo. All its windows were blacked out. The exhaust pipe emitted smoke, suggesting the engine was idling.
The driver’s window had slid down, and a whisper of a voice came at her. “Get in the back – the doors are unlocked. Thank you.”
A shiver glided down her back due to the situation and the coldness of the night. The gentle breeze plastered her prison fatigues, which had the hospital’s name stencilled on it, to her body. Behind her, she’d heard the commotion going on inside the hospital walls of Castell Hirwaun.
Escapees and Fevered Minds Page 2
