Blood Moon Big Top

by Toneye Eyenot

  “They’re killing me!” Marbles thought, and tore the needle from his arm. He was right. As soon as the needle was disengaged, the fire inside began to slowly die down. He quickly realised, there was nothing they could do for him here. He would be more likely to die at their hands than by his own. He cast his gaze about the room, wondering where his clothes might be kept. He couldn’t see them anywhere, until he looked under the bed. There they were, folded neatly on a rack beneath the foot. Marbles got up and tip-toed over to the door. The night staff were on so it was quiet, but still near impossible to slip out undetected. They all seemed preoccupied though, and Marbles wasted no time in retrieving his clothes and getting dressed. He went over to the window and pulled it up. There was a security screen outside, but Marbles pushed it out with ease, letting it fall to the shrubbery below. He looked out and sighed. He was going to have to climb down from the second floor.

  “Oh well, Marbles. If we fall, at least there’s a softish landing waiting below,” he said quietly to himself, and exited the window.

  The climb down made Marbles realise just how weakened he had become. When he made it to the bottom, he hid behind the shrubbery, and lay on his back for a while, completely exhausted. The Moon had begun its waning journey, and shone brightly in the clear night sky. Marbles eyed the Moon with an unexplainable trepidation. The longer he stared, the more drained he felt. Marbles was struck with the certainty that as long as he remained prone beneath the eye of this celestial body, he would continue to deteriorate, and surely die. The fire inside was all but quenched, but it had left his muscles lax. Marbles had to find shelter from the Moon though, so he struggled shakily to his feet and staggered out of the hospital grounds.

  It was a long walk back to the circus. A good three miles, which Marbles feared he wouldn’t have the strength to accomplish. He felt himself growing weaker by the moment, and started looking around desperately for something, anything to shield him from this merciless lunar assault. He felt he was going mad, but at the same time, it seemed to him as though his fears were entirely valid. He spotted a dumped, burned out van across the street and about a block down. No windows in the back, except for the very rear, which was conveniently facing a brick wall. Marbles had found his shelter, and he made his way slowly across the quiet street. He climbed inside the wreck and promptly fell asleep.

  He woke early in the afternoon, famished. It was going on three days since he’d eaten a bite, which compounded his weakened state. Marbles slowly pushed himself up to sit, slumped against the wall of the van. A bolt pressed hard into his back, just below the left ribs, but Marbles didn’t shift his position. He relaxed his awareness into the pain, which slowly radiated through his ribs and back. He kind of enjoyed it, the gradual advance… meditative. Eventually, after several minutes, the sensation began turning to discomfort. Marbles yielded to leaving the van, and journeying out into daylight, to return to the circus. He had missed last night’s show, and to be honest, Marbles didn’t think he’d be up to the task tonight either. He wanted to stop along the way and get some food into his stomach, but he had left his wallet back in the trailer. Thankfully, he had been wearing his sunglasses when he collapsed, and found them on top of his clothes beneath the hospital bed. The intensity of the sun’s rays felt like it was melting his eyes, turning them to tears that streamed down his face, despite the glasses. He would not have made it ten feet from the van without them. Nevertheless, it was dusk by the time Marbles made it back to his trailer. Crowds milled around the grounds, and all personnel were busy with their tasks of preparing for tonight’s show; the final one before they move on to the next town. Marbles didn’t want to know about it. He just wanted to eat and lie down.

  4.

  “Fuck.” The moment he entered his trailer, the first thing Marbles remembered was, he was out of coffee. After last night’s lunar assault, he didn’t dare a trip back to town at this hour. Instead, he went to the cupboard and took out some ramen noodles. He was starving, but he could tell his stomach had shrunk over the past few days. Noodles will do at first. He could always make more. The smell filled the trailer, as they boiled away on the stovetop. It was overpowering, and Marbles started to gag, pushing open the window above the stove. After some minutes he removed the pot, poured his noodles into a bowl, and sat down to eat. He twirled a hefty forkful and brought it to his mouth. Hungry as he was, a strange apprehension rushed through him, just a moment before the food reached his tongue.

  He bit down on the noodles and dragged the fork out of his mouth. An extreme stinging burn assaulted his tongue, and the soft, fleshy inside of his lips. The noodles themselves had the same consistency and absence of taste as the strong man’s coffee. It didn’t even make it to his throat this time. Marbles instantly leaned forward, opened his mouth wide, and let the lifeless food tumble back into the bowl, spitting out the remaining dregs.

  Marbles went to the fridge. He had to eat something. His attempt had only inflamed his hunger, and as soon as he pulled open the door, the smell of meat wafted out. He had bought a fresh sirloin on Saturday, and planned to eat it Sunday. It was now Tuesday night, and Marbles hoped it was still fresh enough to eat. He was salivating heavily, as he brought it to his nose to sniff it. It was meat alright. He was relieved that something smelled as it was meant to. Without warning, and not of his own volition, he took a bite of the raw steak. It tasted very bland, but Marbles was at least able to chew and swallow it without heaving it all back out. Once he realised this, Marbles devoured the steak in under a minute, but he was still hungry, as if the meat had fallen from his throat into an abyss. He did feel some relief though. A glimmer of energy, but nothing so significant as to leave him sated.

  Marbles sat for hours after his meagre feed, staring blankly into space and lost in the labyrinth of his confused mind. He was beginning to change, but into what? Marbles hadn’t the faintest clue. His mouth stung terribly, but he ignored the pain. Thin strips of blisters had formed on his tongue and lips, where the fork had been in contact with his mouth. In his mind’s eye, the clown saw the frightened face of the child in the woods. The animalistic expression unnerved him greatly. If the boy did have family, chances were, none of them would recognise him now. He was so young though. Marbles wondered how he could possibly have survived so long in the wild, evidently with no, or extremely little human contact.

  A knock at his door shook Marbles from his trance-like state.

  “Marbles? You alive in there, buddy?” It was Tarlo.

  “I am,” he replied, in an effort to raise his voice loud enough to be heard outside.

  “What happened at the hospital? Is everything alright?”

  Rather than have a shouting match through the closed door, and announce his business to whoever else might be nearby, Marbles stood up with an impatient huff. He still felt weak, but not quite as depleted as when at the hospital. He grudgingly went to the door and let the lion tamer in.

  “Holy shit, Marbles! You look terrible! What did they say? Shouldn’t you still be there? You don’t look well, and I’m being polite in saying that.”

  “The damn place was killin’ me,” Marbles said. “Never did much like hospitals. If I’m dying, then so be it. There would be no point staying there. I would much rather leave this world in the presence of naught but my own company.”

  “Don’t talk like that, my friend. You’re not dying. Don’t be silly,” Tarlo replied with concern.

  “How do you know, Tarlo? The doctors there have no idea what’s going on with me. They wanted to keep me there for more tests. They said what they found in preliminary tests had them all baffled. Said it ‘wasn’t human’, whatever that means. I’m not a fucking lab rat, so I split.”

  “Well, I hope you’re wrong. Jinx and Bubbles did alright without you last night, but you make the trio, and it’s not the same without you. Just rest well, buddy. Get better, get back on your feet and back in the ring. Is there anything you want me to get for you? Anything you need me
to do here, before I leave you in peace?”

  “No, Tarlo. Thank you. Oh wait! Coffee. Could you please bring me some coffee?”

  “You bet.” Tarlo winked at the agitated drifter, before departing.

  Marbles wasn’t ready to give up his favourite beverage just yet. Deep down, he knew it was hopeless even to try, but he wanted to be sure. The nightmare that followed Giuseppe’s rocket fuel blend was not something he wished to repeat, but keeping that sirloin down had given him some false hope. He purposely disregarded the incident with the noodles, and refused to believe he was no longer able to eat or drink whatever he liked. Marbles sat back in his chair and returned to his previous exercise of staring into space for a couple of minutes, then was overcome with an incredible thirst. He was so dehydrated, from days without any liquid sustenance. Whatever the hell those doctors had been pumping into him had done nothing for him, and he hadn’t had a drop to drink since the night before his encounter with the boy. That is discounting of course, the coffee which Gus had given him, but that obviously didn’t count.

  He took a glass from the shelf and walked to his little kitchenette sink. Filling the glass, Marbles brought it tentatively to his lips and took a tiny sip. To his astonishment and delight, not only did it have the correct consistency and feel of water, but that tiny sip came alive in his mouth as it slid effortlessly down his throat. He had never felt a sensation quite like it, so he greedily downed the rest of the glass, then stuck his mouth under the tap and turned it on. He drank deeply of this heavenly fluid, and his mind danced for joy. Maybe the effects from the feral bite were beginning to wear off? Satisfied after a full minute of guzzling, Marbles returned once again to his chair and sat impatiently.

  “C’mon Tarlo, C’mon. I need a coffee!” he said impatiently, like a junkie waiting for his dealer to arrive. An hour passed before the lion tamer returned with a jar of instant coffee. Not ideal, but it was better than nothing, and Marbles did appreciate his efforts. Straight away, he prepared a cup, and shifted from foot to foot in anticipation while the kettle boiled. After what seemed like an eternity, the kettle slowly began to whistle. Without delay, he snatched it up and poured.

  His excitement turned now to apprehension as he took a cautious sip. The boiling liquid played havoc on his blisters, and his mouth began to feel that familiar intrusion he had felt with Gus’s coffee, and more recently, the noodles. He quickly spat it into the sink, and poured the rest out along with it. His hands bunched into fists on the bench, Marbles stared, teary eyed into the sink.

  “What the fuck is happening to me?” He tried again to drink from the tap. Nothing untoward happened, and he was able to drink and swallow it without a problem. Marbles crawled into his bed and pulled the covers over his head, shutting out the light completely as he agonised over his dilemma. So far, he was able to ascertain that the only food or fluids he could consume were, it seemed, unprocessed and as close as could be to their natural state. The simple pleasure of tasting an ice cream, or his beloved coffee, was now to be a thing of the past.

  5.

  The following week and a half saw Marbles deteriorate gravely. He only left his trailer a handful of times, to get meat from the locker in the storage trailer; and only under cover of night, while everyone else slept. He received a few brief visits, from various circus folk who were concerned with his failing health. In the beginning of the second week, he was visited by the Ringleader, Johann. He expressed great concern over Marbles’ refusal to return to the hospital, and told him from that moment, if he refused to seek help, he would be forced to withhold his pay for the duration of his illness. Johann was losing money each day they postponed leaving, due to Marbles’ illness and inability to travel. He was a fair man though, and assured Marbles he wouldn’t go without the basic necessities, and wouldn’t be turned out on the street. The clown gave the Ringmaster his gratitude, and let him know he understood his stance perfectly. It was all inconsequential really. Marbles was fading, right along with the Moon as it waned. Most days, he didn’t leave his bed, but to relieve himself, or quench the spells of ravenous thirst by the tap. Marbles was dying.

  On the last night, as the Moon turned to dark, Marbles slipped into a coma. The following morning, he was found by Gus, who had snapped the lock of his door when there had been no response from inside. They all knew he wasn’t going to last the week out, and weren’t surprised to find him in this state. He was returned to the hospital without delay. His vitals were so faint, as to barely be detected, but at the hospital, hooked up to the monitor, it showed there was still life in him. As he had no family to speak of, nor any real discernible history for that matter, the decision to keep him alive fell on the shoulders of Johann.

  “Is it likely he will recover?” he asked.

  “That, we can’t positively say, sir. When he was brought here two weeks ago, we found some unexplainable anomalies in the blood work. Although we wished to keep him in for more tests, he apparently had other plans, but we have sent samples to different labs around the country. Not one person is able to explain what they’re seeing.”

  “Then,” said the Ringmaster, lowering his eyes to the floor. “It is with deep sadness and regret that I must now leave him in your hands. He was a good employee, and a fantastic clown, but he is not my family. I have a business to run, and this past year has been a lot slower than years past. I am barely staying afloat as it is. It seems nobody loves coming to the circus anymore.” He sighed and looked up at the doctor with watery eyes. “Turn it off,” he said in a hoarse whisper, and walked out of the room; the sound of flatline ringing in his ears as he turned down the corridor.

  6.

  Marbles awoke blearily, to a freezing cold sensation down his entire back side. Something inhibited his breath and obscured his vision, and as he became more aware, he realised he was naked and covered with a sheet. The freezing sensation was the cold steel of a table upon which he lay. The chill running through him was intense. His tactile sense was heightened to a maddening degree, as became the rest of his senses, once he began to rouse fully. The smells in the room he found himself in; of bleaches, formaldehyde and other chemicals he couldn’t identify, were overpowering. He could hear voices and activity far away, in another part of the building. As he listened, he also became aware of sounds much closer. The rustling of paper; even the measured, purposeful inhalation and exhalation of somebody deep in concentration, caught his attention. He slowly sat himself up, letting the sheet slide off him to the floor. A man in a white coat was hunched over a desk, writing something. He was fully immersed in his activity and didn’t hear Marbles stir.

  “Is there any food here? I am fucking starving.”

  “AAAAHH!” was the man’s response, as he spun ‘round to see a corpse talking to him, followed by “Ohhh shiiiit!” as he hightailed it out of the room.

  It was true. Marbles was absolutely ravenous. He had never experienced an all-consuming hunger quite like it. He looked around the room from where he sat. It became plain that he was in the morgue. Well, that would explain the mortician’s extreme response to his simple question.

  “So, I’m dead, hey?” he mused aloud. “I don’t feel dead. Man, this shit just keeps getting stranger. I need some clothes.” He awkwardly swung his legs over the side of the table, and slid off onto the floor. As soon as his feet touched ground, Marbles crumbled. His muscles had atrophied severely, and he lay there momentarily on the cold floor, trying to gather the strength to stand. He had to get out of there, before the entire hospital staff came bursting through the door. It’s not every day the dead ask for a sandwich. No doubt, this was going to get out of hand very quickly. The very last thing Marbles wanted was to be surrounded and hounded by scores of people. He just had to find the strength.

  While he lay there, cold on the floor, the strength he was searching for was ushered in by the sounds of approaching voices. His overwhelming desire to be left alone forced him to sit up, and frantically scan the room for some kin
d of clothing. The voices got louder, and Marbles became more desperate. He would be damned if he was going to be found naked, if they were to find him here at all. His resolve strengthened, along with his tired muscles, and Marbles reached up to the table, pulling himself to his feet. There was a door at the opposite end of the room to where the voices came. The weakened clown half staggered, half pulled himself along, using whatever was within his grasp for support, as he slowly made his way to the door.

  No sooner had he entered the small room and closed the door behind him, the main doors burst open and in came several people. Marbles held his breath and listened, while the voices inside the morgue chattered amongst themselves.

  “So, where is this talking corpse?” one voice said sarcastically.

  “I swear he was here!” replied the mortician. “He can’t have gone far. I know how crazy this sounds, but I swear to you, the damn corpse sat up and asked for food!”

  “Maybe we should search the cafeteria,” another voice laughed.

  “What about that room?”

  Marbles froze at this last voice. They were going to find him, and there was nowhere to run. It was then, that he noticed there was an abundance of clothing where he hid. The not yet discarded garb of the dead who had been through here. There was no time to search for his own clothes, let alone dress himself before being discovered. Instead, Marbles pulled armfuls of clothing off the shelves and onto the floor, dropped, and then anxiously buried himself beneath the pile. It was all he could do to avoid detection. The door opened, and Marbles saw a head poke in.

  “It looks like he has already been here,” the mortician stated, eyeing the mess of clothing. “How could we have missed him?”