The Twilight Circus

by Di Toft

  Over the next few days, despite their odd welcome, the Twilighters relaxed after being on the road for so long. Evan and Jude Carver were busy planning a special holiday hog roast for everyone. Nat slipped easily into life in the camp with his family and Woody, and continued to make new friends. One of the most unlikely friendships Nat and Woody had formed since joining the circus was with the vampire, Maccabee Hammer. Nat had got over the worry of Mac trying to drain his blood dry, a thing that would never happen, Mac assured him, because he was allergic to human blood (Nat didn’t like to ask him how he had found out) and only ever drank that of animals. Under the vampire magician’s tuition, Nat learned new and wonderful sleight-of-hand techniques, thieving personal items from friends and family as skillfully as the Artful Dodger.

  But with the town out of bounds and the weather showing no signs of improvement, people began to make noises about moving farther south. JC didn’t blame them, but for now it was out of the question. The snow had worsened and a weird fog shrouded the plain most days, making visibility difficult and traveling dangerous. JC had offered to send search parties out for the missing children, but only Crescent and her Howlers and Woody were qualified to go. With their extraordinary senses of smell and supernatural eyesight, they scoured the plain and woods, but could find no trace of the missing.

  Nat felt left out. Unless he came clean to his parents about his Wolven traits, he had no choice but to stay at camp. Woody was in a strange mood, too. He had hoped to start the search for his clan, and was sure when each day dawned it would be THE day he would find them. He spent time with Nat and his family planning the strategy, but continued to be disappointed that he still couldn’t feel their presence, despite trying for hours to “tune in.”

  “They’re probably just out of range,” Nat kept reassuring him as Woody polished his shifting skills. It didn’t matter to Nat which form Woody took—he was so familiar with his friend’s body language as a Wolven that it was almost as good as talking, and they practiced the two-way thing whenever they could.

  When Fish wasn’t tutoring (she was surprisingly good) she was swotting up on the case. All her research pointed to vampire activity. She hunched over her files making notes in her scrawly handwriting, cursing frequently about the lack of Internet access.

  1. Exsanguinated animals—drained completely of blood, chewed, partially eaten throats

  2. No tracks in snow (possible airborne attack???)

  3. Missing people—no traces of violent scuffles

  4. Mystery wasting disease

  5. History of vampire activity (reanimated ancient hive?)

  6. NC and Woody —premonitions?

  7. Conclusion: vampires—definitely

  Fish put down her pen thoughtfully. If it wasn’t vampires to blame for what had been going on, she would eat her snow goggles. It was time to do something positive, and she was itching to find proper evidence of vampire activity so they could fight.

  She wouldn’t have long to wait.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE CARDBOARD BOX CLUB

  Only yesterday, the wild boar now roasting on the spit had been running with hardly a care in the world through the forest—that was, before Crescent Moon got her teeth into it. On one of the Howlers’ luckless trips to track down the missing children, Crescent had managed to hunt down a big fat wild boar, bringing it back to camp already gutted and only a bit chewed around the edges. After at least ten hours roasting on the spit and driving anyone who wasn’t a vegetarian mad with the delicious sweet smell of roasting pork, it was finally ready to eat. The Twilighters enjoyed the tender, hot meat served in fresh, crusty baguettes. Heaps of baked potatoes were consumed along with the special gardian cowboy stew with plenty of beans. Despite the worry of the last few days, the atmosphere was lighthearted and there was no shortage of laughter and high-spirited chatter among the gathering at the enormous fire. Curiously, Nat noticed that the younger Twilighters were leaving the warmth of the fire and was puzzled to see Scarlet and Natalie return to the fireside, jabbering away to each other in Russian, each carrying a box under one arm and a cushion under the other. Then he spotted a few others also carrying cardboard boxes, all painted in bright colors and cut to form a crude bucket shape.

  “What’s all that about?” he asked Woody.

  Woody smiled. “Cardboard Box Club.”

  Nat looked puzzled.

  “Now we’ve all stuffed our faces, it’s time for the real fun to begin.” Woody grinned wolfishly. “But what is it?”

  “Ghosts.” Woody shuddered. “It’s a sort of ghost story club. Everyone takes a turn to tell one.”

  Nat brightened. “Have you told one yet?”

  Woody’s eyes flashed. “Noooo. Ghosts scare me to death.”

  “So, you don’t go to this club, then?” asked Nat. “’Course,” said Woody, “I always go.” “Why d’you go if it scares you?” asked Nat. Woody grinned sheepishly. “It’s soooo fun being scared.”

  “Anyway, even if ghosts were real,” said Nat, “they can’t hurt you; they’re, like … well, kind of insubstantial. They can’t touch you.”

  Woody ignored him. “Anyway, everyone takes a turn to tell a story.”

  Nat frowned. “So you make one up, obviously.”

  Woody shook his head in surprise. “No, all the stories have been true!”

  “Oh yeah, right,” said Nat. “You are so naive.”

  Woody looked hurt. “Well, don’t come, then.”

  “No, no,” said Nat, “it’ll be a good laugh. But what are the cardboard boxes for?”

  “To sit in, of course. Keeps the cold off your back,” said Woody, surprised at the question. “You are so naive.”

  The very young children were safely tucked in their bunks, the older ones anticipating staying up as late as possible. The night was dark already, and thanks to the low cloud and canopy of trees, it was just about warm enough to sit in front of the fire. Nat and Woody joined Scarlet and Natalie, who were sitting in their boxes, hugging their knees and drinking hot chocolate from flasks. It wasn’t long before Nat could see the point of the boxes. Although the fire was keeping everyone warm on their fronts, being wrapped around your back with cardboard and a cushion did a good job of keeping out the chills. The cardboard kept the heat of your body in, and any cold drafts out. There were maybe ten or twelve other kids around the far end of the fire, including Nat and Woody. Most of them were familiar to Nat: Scarlet and Natalie, Del and his brothers, a couple of kids from Zombie Dawn, and an aye-aye. They were just about to start the story when they heard howls coming from the edge of the camp. It was Crescent and the Howlers.

  “Oooh good, we haven’t missed anything, have we?” panted Crescent, throwing herself down beside Woody. Nat was surprised the Howlers had shown up at all. He would have thought this sort of thing was too juvenile for them, Crescent especially.

  “It’s Del’s turn tonight,” said Salim, rubbing his hands in front of the fire, grinning expectantly. “His stories are always the spookiest!”

  Nat looked around at everyone, their faces glowing in the firelight. All of them had eyes like saucers, and the earlier giggling from the girls was replaced with an air of thrills and excitement. Even Crescent was quiet for a change.

  Del skedaddled forward in his box. None of the satyrs ever wore shirts, only trousers and woolly hats; they didn’t seem to feel the cold at all. Del’s tattoos flickered and shifted in the glow of the flames, and Nat had to remind himself again that the three brothers weren’t a figment of his imagination.

  “Tonight,” said Del, in a scary, wavering voice, “for your delight and delectation, I’ve a story so bloodcurdling, so chilling, it’ll knock yer socks off, so it will.”

  Despite his initial scoffing, Nat felt excited. Salim had been right. Like most satyrs, Del was a natural storyteller. Everyone was quiet, although you could hear the sounds of the adults talking and the occasional plucking of a guitar and the cozy crackle of the flames.
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br />   “It all kicked off two summers ago,” said Del, edging nearer the fire. “We’d left Ireland in a hurry, and y’all know what that’s like.”

  Most people listening nodded gravely. They all knew what it was like to run and hide; it was what drew them together.

  “We lived in a safe house which might o’ been safe, but it was filthy dirty and phew! It stank, specially in summertime. There was a great deal o’ flies …” Del shuddered at the memory. “We hated living there, but we had no choice until we were moved again. Me mam worked long hours during the day and was always tired. In the evening we would open all the windows to try to get rid of the smell, but it was no use, it still stank. I’d lots o’ bad dreams when we first left the auld country, but I began dreaming about dead children. I dreamt they were in me bedroom, just kind of milling around, over by the window. Then I realized one night it wasn’t a dream. Or p’raps a … what do you call a waking dream?”

  “Daydream!” chorused several voices.

  Del nodded. “Aye, one o’ them. I knew I was awake, though, and not asleep. I opened me eyes and saw the first one, like a sorta shadow at first. First of all I thought it was the pattern on the wallpaper. Then it moved—all jerky like, unnatural. Then more shadows appeared, came out, as though they were comin’ through the wall! I closed me eyes tight shut, trying to blot out the memory, but every time I opened ’em they were still there. I got out of me bed and went knocking on me mam’s door. She said it was just a product of my overactive imagination gland. But every night after, as soon as I put the light out, I would see the outlines of small figures, silhouetted like, between the window and the dressing table. They appeared not to notice me, an’ I’d try not to move. Then, one night, they edged just a little bit closer, then the next night, closer still. I kind of knew, I just knew in the bottom of me gut, that if … when … they reached the bed, I’d be a goner.”

  There were horrified gasps from Scarlet and Natalie, who had somehow managed to squeeze into the same box.

  “I tried to tell me mam how scared I was, but she had too much on her mind, so I stopped worrying her. I went to the library to see if I could find anything out about our apartment. What I found told me I was in greater danger than I’d realized.” Del paused to take a swig of his drink.

  “Go on,” shouted Crescent, orange eyes flashing. “What happened next?”

  “I found a newspaper cutting from 1963,” continued Del. “There had been complaints from residents that the apartments smelled bad, specially on the ground floor, where we were. Back then it was thought that the drains were the culprits, but the next year when the smell was worse than ever there was an official investigation. What was found was something so terrible, so frightening, I … Well, I can hardly bring me self to say it out loud.”

  Del paused for dramatic effect and sipped his drink again, thoughtfully and deliberately, as if remembering.

  “Del!” shouted Scarlet. “What was it?”

  “Bones of dead kids,” said Del, his eyes huge in the firelight, “loads of ’em … thousands … millions probably.”

  “Oooooh no.” Nat shivered. “That’s horrible.”

  “The apartments were built on a medieval plague pit,” continued Del in hushed, creepy tones. “On thousands o’ dead bodies.”

  “And you think that the children you saw every night were … plague victims?” Crescent shuddered.

  “I know they were,” said Del grimly. “Because that night, I asked me mam if I could sleep on the sofa. Even then I was scared. I tried to keep awake, knowing they were getting closer. I could hear them behind me bedroom door, scratchin’ … tappin’ … like they were trying to get in … to get me. The next night as I lay on the sofa, the door slowly opened and …”

  Del took another swig.

  “It was them!” cried Woody, his eyes flashing slightly.

  Del nodded gravely. “Aye, they came through,” he said. “They gathered at the bottom of the sofa and I could feel them … smell them, as they moved toward me. Then … I felt a cold finger touch my forehead.”

  “Eeeeuw!” yelled Natalie and Scarlet.

  “What happened then?” asked Salim, wide-eyed.

  Del got out of his box and slowly walked toward him. He whipped off his woolly hat, revealing a livid purple mark in the middle of his forehead.

  “THIS!” he cried.

  Salim scooted back, trying to get out of his way, and promptly toppled over.

  “This is the mark of the plague child,” intoned Del, jabbing his finger at the terrified Salim.

  “Geddoff!” yelled Salim, his eyes flashing, indicating his change was near. “Go ’way!”

  There were peals of mirth from the other Howlers as Salim ran off into the night, moaning. Del, weak with laughter, showed the others the “plague child” mark. It was drawn on with a purple marker.

  With the storytelling over, the talk turned to what might have happened to the missing kids.

  “Well, they’ve not been in the forest, that’s for sure,” said Crescent, licking the pork grease from her fingers. “There’s no fresh smell of humans anywhere.”

  “No sign,” agreed Ramone.

  “They might have run away,” suggested Natalie.

  “What, in their pajamas? Would you look at this weather?” said Del, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, the vampires have had ’em, for sure.”

  Nat froze at the word vampires. “You reckon?”

  “Did you not listen to what your man Teebo Bon said?” asked Del in surprise. “He might think he’s fooled us by telling us there’s a mystery sickness about the place, but I’ve seen this sort o’ thing before. All the evidence points to it.”

  “He’s right,” agreed Crescent, wiping her mouth daintily. “All those animals mutilated? People sick in their beds, kids missing … ugh, I hate ’em. All except Mac, of course.”

  “You don’t know any vampires apart from me,” came a disembodied voice from somewhere out of the darkness.

  “Hey, Mac,” said Nat. The orange brilliance of the bonfire obscured the night around them, but thanks to Nat’s Wolvenish eyes, he could see the thin shape of the vampire as he sauntered elegantly toward the fire.

  “What d’you think?” he asked Maccabee Hammer.

  “Del’s right,” said Mac, his expression grim.

  The others watched as the willowy vampire slid his long body in one fluid movement into a sitting position and joined them.

  “Really?” asked Woody in a small voice.

  Mac nodded, the flames from the fire reflecting in his pale face. “‘Fraid so,” he agreed. “There’s an atmosphere about this place, a bad atmosphere, you know? A pall of sadness hangs about the air, and sometimes … sometimes when the wind is in a certain direction, I can hear the revenants calling.”

  “What are they?” asked Crescent.

  Mac’s red lips stretched into a sad smile.

  “In ancient times, vampires operated in a very different way from how they do now,” he explained. “The old vampire way was violent and bloody. They infected humans with their greed for blood and made more vampires from humans, sometimes creating a hive—a small army of vampires with a king or queen giving the orders to workers and soldier vampires —”

  “How old are you?” interrupted Crescent.

  “A mere baby,” said Mac. “I was three hundred and fourteen last dieday.”

  “Cool,” breathed Nat, “but how come you’re not an ancient? Because … erm … you’re, well … old.”

  “I’ve never been slain,” said Mac simply. “Looks to me like the old vampire hives slain years ago are being reawakened to avenge their deaths.”

  “But who would do that?” asked Salim, his eyes flashing with fright.

  Maccabee glanced at Nat and Woody. “Someone out to cause chaos … and revenge.”

  He knows! Nat realized with panic. He knows about Scale!

  “But what about the revenants?” asked Crescent impatiently. “What are the
y?”

  “I was telling you, before you interrupted,” said Mac mildly, “revenants are tragic creatures—discarded servants of the vampire.”

  “So they’re like ghosts?” Woody shivered. “Eeurgh.”

  “They serve the vampire for about a century,” explained Mac, “and then they begin to age, to break down and crumble, because the vampire never allows them to drink its blood. When they’re no longer useful, the vampire abandons them and finds another companion—usually a healthy young person who will provide them with their life’s blood.”

  “Oh God!” cried Nat. “You mean a child?”

  “Yes,” agreed Mac, “a child would be perfect. But if the head vampire is slain, the revenants find peace—their souls will be released from purgatory.” The gathering grew quiet as everyone digested Mac’s information.

  “Well, soon as the weather gets better, we’re outta here,” said Crescent, shivering.

  “When the going gets tough, the wimps get going,” taunted Del.

  “Bite me,” snarled Crescent, her eyes burning orange.

  “Don’t you want to stay to see if you can help look for the missing?” asked Woody, chewing on a glistening piece of cracknel. “It might not be too late.”

  “Not really,” said Crescent in disdain.

  “We’re riding out again tomorrow, depending on the weather,” said Scarlet. “Uncle Sergei is organizing another search.”