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rndmnwierd · 6 years

Text

Gothic Circus

Written on request by anonymous

How did he get here? He couldn't remember anything before this moment; where he was, who he was. The excitement of the crowd around him did nothing to soothe the fear and panic he felt at not knowing.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he decided to focus on what he did know. He was in a crowd, seated on temporary metal bleachers that shook dangerously with every movement the mass of people gave. He was in a circus tent, an acrobatic act flipping through the air and making the crowd awe.

He also knew that something wasn't right.

He tried to look at the faces of the people around him, but his gaze would just slide right off their features. If he tried to force himself to look, his vision would blur and they would become indistinct.

He could make out the faces of the performers, though he wished he couldn't. They were gaunt, pale, and twisted, flesh bubbling or peeling from their cheeks and forehead. Their eyes were either missing from their sockets or white, ruined messes.

It looked like they were gearing up for the end of their act, a haunting tune suddenly booming from everywhere and nowhere. The three performers took their places at the top of a tall pole, took a bow, then, as one, dove headfirst off and towards the ground.

He gasped in terror, a sick feeling filling his gut as the audience laughed and cheered. There was a great, meaty thud as the performers hit the ground to thunderous applause, bodies falling into a mangled mess.

Then, amazingly, they moved, picking themselves up off the ground. Their bones were visibly broken, but they smiled with yellowed teeth and held hands and took bows as the audience cheered and screamed in excitement.

Suddenly, the area went dark, the music lowered to an anticipatory roll, and a hush fell over the crowd. He found the atmosphere contagious, panic quieting to a manageable level.

A spot light shone in the middle of the arena, illuminating a man that appeared both portly and gaunt, his sunken cheeks contrasting his swollen belly. He was dressed in a red jacket with gold buttons and black slacks with matching stripes up the sides, the clothing strikingly immaculate compared to the rest of the circus and even the man himself. He must be the ringleader, he spoke up in a booming voice, in a language that was both familiar and not understood, but somehow, he knew what was being said.

The ringleader introduced the next act, saying something about her teeth being as sharp as her song. The lights went dark for a moment and then came back up before his eyes could adjust, revealing a huge water tank in the middle of the arena.

She was amazing, a spot of pure beauty in an otherwise grotesque show. Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, her hair long and flowing, as light as her skin. She perched on a platform in the middle of the water, dressed in a water worthy outfit that covered her curvy form modestly.

He was as hushed as the audience around him, waiting with a sense of anticipation, not knowing what to expect. There was a pause, the woman looking around at them all; then she opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voice was the best thing he’d ever heard, haunting and clear, ringing around the arena without even the aid of music.

An acapella opera.

He understood her song on a level that transcended language, aware that she was certainly speaking words, but unable to decipher them. The whole audience was transfixed, unable to do more than listen, until someone stood up jerkily. He was able to see the man in his peripheral vision as he stumbled forward on shaky legs, drawing away from the crowd and entering the arena proper.

No one moved to stop him as he dragged himself towards the water tank in a trance, reaching out towards the woman in need. Her song reached its climax, the high notes making him tremble in his seat, eyes locked on what was happening in the arena. The man climbed over the side of the tank and splashed head first into the water, flailing about before he managed to right himself and trudged forward to get to the woman. The song began to slow and end, just as the man reached her, hands grabbing her elbow and trying to pull her close.

It happened in flash, she whipped towards the man, mouth opening to reveal several rows of sharp teeth in an impossibly huge maw. There was a spurt of blood and the man’s head was gone; his body raised his arms and took a bow, disturbing the reddening water with his motions. Behind him, the woman reached into her mouth and removed his head, holding it up high and showing off his still animated expression. The crowd cheered wildly.

The arena went dark.

The ringleader was back in the center of a beam of light, talking in that strange language, and he listened in a kind of daze. It seemed that it was time for the finale and he dreaded the next spectacle to be seen.

Lights came up in the arena all at once, a jaunty tune sounding from all around. At the far side of the area was a massive cannon, bigger than anything he’d ever seen before. On the ground at his end of the arena was a large, red and white target. As soon as the lights turned on, the audience went wild, screaming and applauding at the two people standing next to the cannon.

One was a tiny little girl, outfitted in a frilly black dress and matching top hat and boots.. Her long blonde hair was matted and dirty, visible even from across the tent. Her eyes were a blank white, skin peeling and sloughing off, and the teeth clenched around a massive cigar were yellowed and broken.

Next to her stood what could only be her mother, wearing a dress to match her daughter and seeming much cleaner and well kept than the little girl. From what he could tell, they had a lot of the same features, but the woman’s eyes were a clear, bright blue and her hair was as black as her dress. She paid the audience no mind, leaning down to the zombie girl and lighting a cigarette, perched on a long holder, from the orange cherry on the end of the cigar.

She puffed a few times, the cherry glowing a steadily strong bright red, and grinned, showing off her sharp incisors behind blood red lips. His heart beat faster in instinctual fear, automatically recognizing a predator when he saw one.

After the cheers died to a more manageable level, the girl hopped up onto the cannon and crawled her way to the top, slipping into the end with just her head peeking out. From under her hat, the girl pull out a round bomb with a long fuse, lighting the end with her cigar and swallowing it in a smooth motion. The woman took her place next to a crank at the end, working the mechanism in quick, efficient turns. Instead of pointing the cannon down towards the target, however, she angled it up, higher and higher until it was pointed almost straight up into the air.

There was a dramatic pause, then the woman leaned forward and drew her cigarette against the wick on the end of the cannon.

The audience began to chant, their words fading into an incomprehensible beat.

A massive explosion sounded, ripping through the barrel of the cannon; the end flashed red and orange. The girl was launched straight up and through the material of the tent at a high speed, quickly going out of sight.

The crowd never stopped chanting.

He held his breath, waiting. What goes up, must come down.

Without warning, the girl reentered the arena, bursting through the material, careening headfirst towards the center of the target. Just before she impacted, her body exploded, the bomb inside her having met the end of it’s fuse. The cheering crowd was splashed with her her blood and pieces in a gory display.

He felt sick, but the crowd loved it, a great roar going up in response. He saw figures scurrying around to collect her scattered body parts and place them on a cart to transport them backstage. As they did so, he caught sight of the girl’s head, a grin spread across her lips, moving in silent laughter. His eyes widened; she enjoyed it, she was happy, she was still moving and aware. This was common and she’d be put back together like the other performers from earlier to do the whole show again another time.

How many times would he be here to see it? How many times until it stopped being horrifying and started being something to cheer over? Could he ever leave this place? He felt his breath coming in frantic puffs, looking around and seeing no exit, none of the crowd standing to leave.

The arena went dark.

#my writing #original story #body horror #gore #gothic circus

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