𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙽𝚂. You either love ’em, hate ’em, or find ’em absolutely terrifying. There is no in between.
I’m the second option, have been ever since I found out Pennywise could change shape and John Gacy was a real person. I just don’t understand how so many people, including children, can find them funny one way or the other. They plod around slapping lids on garbage cans and squeak their little red clown noses like dogs gnawing on chew toys.
It drives me mad!
When I was ten, my father brought me to a circus just outside of town. The dances were great, the magic so-so, the food sweet, but the clowns… oh my, the clowns. For fifteen minutes straight they ran about the place and, instead of performing an act, gathered people from the audience (including my dad) to create this weird, human-outlined elephant thing. They still managed to get laughs from the crowd. Not because they squeaked their red noses or slapped a couple lids together, but because everyone in the elephant-shape eventually came crashing down.
I’ll be honest: that was funny. But still, the clowns didn’t do much.
The next day I told my friends about it at school and we decided to try it at lunchtime. Try what exactly? Why, try to create that human-outlined elephant thing of course. How hard could it be? If a bunch of fat adults could do it, surely us kids could.
Needless to say, things didn’t go as planned. All five of us climbed on top of each other and I, who was at the very top, slipped and hit my head off the tarmac. I cried a lot, and for the first time I saw what blood looked like when it came out in a fat stream. Not a nick, not a small scrape to the knee. Oh no. The blood poured out of my temple and I was dragged by the shoulders up to the school nurse, even though I could walk just fine. I was so scared and thought I was gonna die.
“Do you want to die?” asked the nurse. I knew she was joking, but c’mon, I was in bits crying!
“No!” I shouted, wiping snot from my upper lip.
“Then stop squirming.”
She cleared the blood away with a piece of tissue paper and put a plaster over the wound.
When my parents found out, I wasn’t allowed play video games for the rest of the day. They said I wasn’t a clown, and from that day on they never let me see a circus again.
Why is any of this important? Well, because I want you to understand that I don’t just hate clowns; I absolutely despise them. Not only that, but I also hate circuses.
Remember when I said my parents never let me see a circus again? Yeah, well there weren’t any circuses after that anyway; too many kids broke in after hours and stole expensive clothes, food, anything they could get their hands on. No circus dared come back to my little town… that was… until seven years later.
The sun was bright, school was closed for the summer, and we were cycling along Punches’ Road. I was wearing a vest and a back-facing baseball cap. Harley was wearing a mink-hooded blue coat. She used to say that fifteen degrees Celsius was cold compared to her time in Lithuania, but I chalked that remark up to her just wanting to wear heavy clothing all the time. She would get too sweaty for it to be true, after all.
We’d been friends ever since high school. She was a tomboy. Her black hair was short and her pale face was pretty much always without makeup, not that she needed it. She was good-looking.
We approached the gate. Over it and across a luxuriant sprawl of grass sat the old, tumbledown factory, except it wasn’t so tumbledown anymore; the walls were painted with blue, red, yellow, and all sorts of spectacular pinks. Beyond it was the railway track, and across it lay the equally colourful circus train.
“It’s a circus,” she said. “But it’s not the tent kind. It’s a whole building.”
“You’re kidding?” I said. “How does that work?”
“They’ve been at this for a while now. You’re only just noticing?”
“I don’t come here often,” I said. Normally we took the route up by the river because we’d get to watch the swans. “How long are they staying for? I haven’t seen any signs or posters.”
She shrugged. “I only know as much as my mom, and she only knows as much as my grandma. She’s like the big know-it-all in the family.”
“Your mom or your grandma?”
“Grandma. She thinks she can tell the future sometimes.”
“I can do that,” I said.
“Really?”
I nodded. “Sure. I predict I’m never goin’ near this place.”
She hit the breaks and her bike skidded to a stop. “Why?” she asked, as if I did something wrong.
“No circuses for me,” I told her.
“Oh,” she said. “Why?”
“They all have the same old boring shit,” I said. “Acrobats, crappy magicians, the occasional elephant…”
She snickered. “You afraid a clown’s gonna ask you up on stage? Make an elephant, hmmmmm?”
I forgot that she knew about that. “No,” I said. “But you know how much I hate clowns.”
“Not my fault you’re a pansy,” she said. “C’mon, when it opens, we should go.”
I laughed. “Not happening.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a package of menthol cigarettes along with a lighter.
She held out her hand and I gave her one. “Thank you, Mileeeees.” She leaned in with the cigarette in her mouth. I lit it up and then lit mine. She chuffed out smoke. “But I won’t forgive you if you don’t come.”
I sighed. “When’s it?”
“Dunno,” she said, lifting her hand and splaying the fingers.
“What do you know?”
“Again,” she said, “only as much as my mom tells me. It’s supposed to be one of those fancy circuses.”
“Fancy?” I said. “What do you mean?”
“Like they have more than just acrobats and clowns and the occasional elephant,” she said. “They have their own style: magic, the real kind, talking animals—”
“Talking animals?” I said.
She nodded nimbly. “Uh-huh. If seals can speak, I’d imagine other animals can too.”
She once told me about Hoover, a harbour seal from the ’80s that could speak like an Englishman. I didn’t believe it at first, so I asked my history teacher Mr Gaffney and he knew all about it. I guess people have an obsession with talking seals.
“Oh, yeah, that,” I said.
“So whaddya say? You in?”
“Fine. But only if we bring Shane and Cassy.”
Shane Smith and Cassy Valentine were the other two friends in our group. They lived farther away so it was more difficult to meet up with them in person. Plus, during the summer, they worked a nine-to-five at the Break Vinyl record store in the city. Shane’s uncle owned the place.
“Sure, I don’t care,” she said. Then, “You wanna check it out now?”
“What?”
“Ya knoooow,” she said, jerking her head towards the building, “sneak around the back, check out the carts. The line-up. I’m super curious.”
“No,” I said with disbelief. “That’s illegal. I think!”
She rolled her eyes. “You think they’re gonna call the cops on us? Really? Two kids?”
“We’re not kids,” I said.
“We’re not adults either,” she said.
“We’re teenagers.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“So… I dunno, we can’t sneak in. The last time people did that the circus never came back.”
She groaned. “Just for a couple minutes. We can go the whole way around, don’t even have to get close to it. I just wanna see the faces. Pleaseeeeee.” She locked her fingers together, shooting me those puppy eyes with their glistening green undertint. “I wanna see what’s on the carts.”
“What if we get caught?” I asked.
She laughed again. “Are you always this paranoid?”
“I guess I am,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, pursing her lips. “I thought…” She knitted her brows.
“Thought what?”
“Nothing,” she said with a sad tone which I could tell she was faking. “C’mon.” She kicked the ground and slowly peddled around me. “We can head back now.”
I sighed again, louder. This was stupid. Stupider than the time me and my friends made that elephant when I was ten. Yes, Shane and Cassy were involved in that too.
“Fine,” I said, flicking my cigarette on the ground and quenching it with my runner. “But be… what’s the word… inconspicuous? That’s what my dad always says.”
“Inconspicuous?” she said.
“Like quiet, sneaky. Like ninjas,” I said.
“Okay!” She stepped off her bike and stashed it in the green undergrowth on the side of the road. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Time for you to get a phone,” I said, and pulled out my own to check. 4:47 P.M., it read. 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙰𝚈, 𝙼𝙰𝚈 𝟸𝟼, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟻. “Almost five,” I said.
“Way we go!” she shouted, and started climbing over the gate.
I struggled over the gate and followed her up the path, brushing dirt from my trousers and already regretting my decision. My dad often told me, If you’re gonna do something stupid, don’t let the cops catch you. But I wasn’t the sort of kid to do anything stupid, not since grade-school. Harley, now she was adventurous!
We passed through a spread of trees and – amazingly – made it around the railway without anyone spotting us. Well, without us spotting anyone. This place seemed lifeless and abandoned. No clowns, no freaks or magicians anywhere in sight.
I felt even more uncomfortable because of this, funnily enough. There was something about the perception of being alone that was more unsettling than knowing you were alone. I expected to hear voices, squeaks and… whatever, but no. Nothing.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Probably inside,” she said. “Which might give us a chance to get a closer look.”
We were less than a stone’s throw from the circus train. The cowcatcher was a large, beady-eyed clown with a wild cloud of blue hair and, of course, a shiny red nose. Over the valve gears and across the boiler was a colourful spray of graffiti: long-necked jesters holding marrottes, a chimp rolling across a tightrope on a comically small microcycle, and the same clown as seen on the cowcatcher: tall and lanky, with arms that reached to his shins, dressed in a blue-and-white waistcoat, suspenders, and a bowtie. Next to him stood a slightly shorter female clown dressed in the same clothes, except the colours were inverted.
“Creepy,” I said in a low voice.
She rolled her eyes again. “Look at the carts!” And she pointed to the network of interconnected rectangles which displayed various other faces and animals. The first was the chimpanzee. 𝚂𝙿𝙸𝙺𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙼𝙿! the words on the golden plaque read. 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝙰𝙿𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳!
What caught my eye most was a door-sized flyer held in the chimp’s paw. A zombie was at the top, while a witch was at the bottom. This has to be some sort of Halloween-themed circus, I thought.
The words on the flyer read, in bold fancy letters:
YOYO THE CLOWN’S MAGICAL SPOOK!
And beneath it:
LINE UP:
Alexis the Jester - Resurrection
Spiky the Chimp - Mind-reading.
Yoyo’s Clownettes - Telekinesis
Acromantics - Body Contortion/Shape-shifting
Yoyo - [[[]]] [SECRET] [[[]]]
MONDAY, 29 MAY!
TICKETS SOLD AT $19.99!
ADULTS ONLY!
“This is on Monday,” I said.
“Better get to calling Shane and Cassy soon then,” Harley said.
I shook my head and pointed to the flyer. “Adults only—”
“I know,” she said. “We pretend we’re eighteen and we’ll be allowed in. Simple.”
“With a mind-reading chimp?” I joked.
“You really believe in that?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t believe in any of these acts.”
“I’m wondering what the ‘secret’ is,” she said. For a moment she walked along the side of the train, looking at all the different faces – the acrobats and clownettes and everything that popped up on the roster, along with some others as well – until stopping at a cart marked with a bright-red question mark. Underneath it, in lazily painted red letters, was the word SECRET.
“Bingo! Found it,” she said, but there was nothing to suggest what it could have possibly been. No pictures, no nothing. Just the question mark. “Hmm. That sucks.”
“What’s your obsession with this crap anyway?” I said.
“I love circuses,” she said, giving me a smile. “’Specially good ones.”
“What makes you think this is good?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Just get that vibe.” Then, with a pout, she said, “Well, guess there’s nothin’ around here. We’ll head back when it’s open. Can you let Shane and Cassy know?”
“I’ll text ’em when we head back and see what they say,” I said.
“And if they say no?”
I spread my hands. “Tough. Then I’m stayin’ home and you can watch this trash for what it’s worth.”
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s get outta here.”
“Scared all of a sudden?” I said.
“Scared of what?” she said.
“Scared of getting caught?”
She smirked. “So you want to stay?”
I snorted. “No, I’m just wondering why you wanted to do this in the first place.”
“Because I wanna know what sort of stuff the circus has before I waste money on it,” she said.
“That’s what flyers are for. Did your mom not give you one?”
“A flyer for an adult-only circus? You realise she doesn’t want me going, right?”
“How are you gonna pay for this anyway? Like your mom’s not gonna notice that you want twenty bucks on the night the circus starts,” I said.
“Simple.” She smiled. “I, you know, borrow it.”
“Borrow? Really? You’re gonna steal from your mom?” I said. “She’s gonna find out if you do.”
She nodded and lifted her eyebrows. “True,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “But that’s the difference between you and me. You like being a goody two-shoes, I just wanna have fun.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” I said.
“Sure it is,” she said. “You won’t go to this show if Shane and Cassy don’t.”
“So?”
“So you’re like, what, seventeen now? Still afraid of clowns? Need people to hold your hand?”
“I’m not afraid of clowns,” I told her. “I just don’t like them.”
She nodded. “Okay, if you’re not afraid of clowns, I dare you to go knock on Yoyo’s cart over there.” She pointed to the cart which proudly displayed 𝚈𝙾𝚈𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙽 along with the same figure as seen on and near the cowcatcher.
“Are you stupid?” I said. “I’m not doing that.”
“And you call me scared?” She chuckled.
“Harley,” I said, “you wouldn’t do it either.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I wouldn’t, would I?”
“Yeah,” I said flatly. “You wouldn’t.”
She smirked.
My eyes widened. “Harley, don’t.”
She shushed me. “Relax, Miles. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m leaving now,” I said. “If you get caught, it’s your own fault.”
She snorted. “Leave then.” And she folded her arms. “Hell, I’ll even wait for you to go before doing it.”
“You’re just gonna—” —wait until I leave and then not do it, I wanted to say. “You know what, forget it.” I checked my watch: 5:31 P.M. “It’s gonna be dark soon, do what you want, but I’m outta here.”
“Fine,” she said, and with that she began creeping towards the train.
I made my way back to the gate, snapping a couple glances back to see if she had indeed waited for me to leave, and I saw her poke her head around the cowcatcher and give me a thumbs-up. I climbed over the gate and hopped on my bike.
I waited for a couple minutes. She still hadn’t come back, and the sky was getting dark. Was she okay? Did something happen without me noticing? I felt nervous, so I climbed the gate and, as loudly as I could, shouted: “HAAAAAAAAARLEEEEEY!”
No response.
“STOP MESSING AROUND!”
Again, nothing.
I tucked my feet in the lattice and squeezed the rungs until my hands ached. A part of me wanted to check if she was alright… check if something bad had happened, but…
I couldn’t. I figured, if she was in there, then she was probably waiting to jumpscare me, some elaborate prank that I wouldn’t see coming. But five minutes had passed, and that was too long for a joke, even for her. Enough jokin’ around. You can come out now.
Eventually, after 𝟼 𝙿.𝙼. rolled by, I screamed, “ALRIGHT. I’M HEADIN’ HOME NOW!”, thinking that would do it. Now she’ll come out. Surely.
But, once again, nothing.
I didn’t know what to do. Was she hurt? Did she get caught by one of the workers? I didn’t hear anything if she did, and it wasn’t like her to not, you know, scream bloody murder and come running my way if something like that did happen. But that was just me going over other scenarios, scenarios that actually made sense to me.
Seeing no other option, I bit my fear in place and decided to hop into the grassland once again. I followed the same path she and I had taken earlier, passed the same trees, and stopped at the same cowcatcher. By that point the sun had almost completely bled into the horizon, and my arms and shoulders were shivering.
I crossed the corner of the train, expecting to find her there, waiting near Yoyo’s cart… but she wasn’t. She was gone.
“Harley?” I yelled. “Harley stop playin’ around.”
But I already had my suspicion that she hadn’t been playing at all. Something bad happened to her. I was sure of it. I trod as lightly as I could up to Yoyo’s cart.
“Hello?” I said. “Is anyone in there?”
Wind whistled in response, and for a second I thought it was a person speaking.
“Harley?”
Nothing.
“Where are you? C’mon, it’s gettin’ cold out.”
Silence.
I stood there shivering like a dog left out in the cold, crossing my arms. Goosebumps pimpled my skin and my heart pumped thickly against my chest. No matter how long I waited, no one came; all I wanted to hear was Harley saying something like “Gotcha!” or “Don’t be such a pansy!” but no… that never happened.
I was worried, sick, but also scared. Staying in this general area made me intensely uncomfortable. I backed away and began making my way along the side of the train to leave. I didn’t know what I would say once I got home, but I knew I had to say something, and so I started practising lines:
‘Harley uh… she uh… she got lost in the new circus up by Punches’.’
‘We broke into the new circus.’
No, that won’t do.
‘Harley—’
“You shouldn’t be around here,” a voice said from behind, deep and gravelly.
I paused and looked back.
No one.
“Huh?” I said.
“Yoooou,” the same voice said. “With the hat and vest. You shouldn’t be around here. Show’s not till Monday, dontcha know.”
It sounded like… like it was coming from inside Yoyo’s cart. I approached it.
“That’s it,” the voice said, “don’t worry. I don’t bite.”
“Who’s speaking?” I said, feigning confidence.
“Why, Yoyo the Clown of course,” the voice said. “And you must be Miles, correct?”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Your friend told me,” Yoyo the Clown said.
“Harley? Where is she?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Yoyo the Clown replied, “she’s just fine. She’s having tea with the rest of the performers.”
“Rest of?”
“Oh yes,” Yoyo the Clown said. “You see, she knocked on my door and I answered. She said, ‘Yoyo, are you accepting performers at the moment?’
“I told her, ‘No,’ and she said, ‘But I’d like to be part of the gymnastic crew.’”
“What?” I said. “That doesn’t make any sense. She’s not a gymnast.”
“That’s what I said at first,” Yoyo the Clown said. “But she has a great physique for gymnastics, limber muscles and flexible joints. She said that she’d always wanted to be a gymnast.”
“Bullshit!” I shouted. “Enough, where is she? It’s late and her mom will be—”
“Oh yes, her mother, Louise, isn’t it?” Yoyo the Clown said. “That’s right. I had a phone call with her before accepting Harley.”
My eyes bulged. “What?”
“Oh yes. Her mother was all for it.”
“… It’s just this is all a little hard to believe,” I said with a deprecatory smile.
“Well, it’s not every day that such a young, athletic woman decides to up and join the circus. The show is only in a few days, and she’ll need all the preparation she can get in order for everything to go smoothly. Do you understand, Miles?” Yoyo the Clown sounded pleased.
“So you just accept anyone?” I said.
“Would you like to join, too?” Yoyo the Clown said with shock. “I’m sure I can handle more…”
“No,” I said, “I mean, no practice, no try-out, no anything, and you accept ’em. Just like that?”
“As I said, time… being the precious commodity it is… is quite… limited, wouldn’t you say so?”
“Yeah?”
“To answer your question, Miles, yes, we accept those who seek it. Matter of fact… are you interested in being a circus strongman?”
I didn’t know what to say. The question took me back more paces than I could count. “What are… what?”
Yoyo the Clown chuckled poshly. “Your broad shoulders are built to hold mountains, and your back is wide, like that of Hercules or of our greatest warriors. Has anyone ever told you that, Miles? That you look like a warrior? I mean, the black hair, we can cut that, but you too can be great. You can be the best strongman who ever lived, Miles.”
“What are you on about?” I said. “You can’t turn someone into a circus strongman overnight.”
“I can do many things. I’m Yoyo the Clown. If you can dream big enough, anything is possible.”
“Great speech and all, but where’s Harley? I don’t buy all this tea shit and if you don’t tell me I’m calling the cops.”
“Oh, right, the cops,” Yoyo the Clown said. “I’m afraid that what I told you is the truth. She really did want to join, and I had a phone call with her mother.”
“That fast? Not even half an hour? Puh-lease.”
Yoyo the Clown chuckled again. “Do you care a lot about your friend?”
I shrugged. “What kind of question is that? I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Well I met many people along the way,” Yoyo the Clown said. “Most of whom don’t quite come looking for their friends in a circus.”
“That word… most,” I said suspiciously. “I’ll give you one last chance, and I swear if you don’t tell me, I’ll turn around and call the cops and they’ll come bursting the place down. Where. Is. Harley?”
A moment of silence, and then a voice spoke:
“Miles?”
“Harley? Is that you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Everything’s fine. I just… I just wanted to join the circus.”
“Where the fuck is this coming from?” I said. “Not once did you ever mention this.”
“I was embarrassed about what you might think,” she said. “And, besides, my mom would never let something like this happen.”
“Why not?”
“She just wouldn’t, okay?”
“Well, why didn’t you say anything earlier? I was stuck talking to Yoyo. Hell why is the door still fucking closed?”
“Yoyo says we’re not allowed to reveal the acts until Monday,” she said. “Sorry.”
Something didn’t sit right with me, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “Well, okay. You could have at least said something.”
“I know, I should have, I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
My brow creased, my heart sank, and for a moment I wondered, just wondered… “Harley?” I said.
“Yes?”
“Where were you born again? Sorry, my memory’s a bit iffy. Tired from cycling all day, y’know?”
But she didn’t answer.
“Harley?” I said. “You okay?”
Again, nothing.
I felt extremely unsettled. Did Yoyo mimic her voice? How? He must have.
“I know that’s you, Yoyo,” I said. “And I’m callin’ the cops. Gotta say, you’re really talented. But I knew your story didn’t add up.”
A deep sigh emanated. “You’re right, Miles. You’re just too smart for a little clown like me…”
A click, like a padlock being slid, resonated from the other side. The cart door opened slightly.
“I knew—” But the words were caught in my throat.
I shrank back, keeping my eyes on the door. Through the gap something long, black, and blue spiralled out, like a Chinese dragon, but it was dressed in a sleeve and bore a white, long-fingered glove. An arm.
It paused midair, and the palm turned to face me.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had to be dreaming. I considered everything I’d ever known about monsters and ghosts and aliens and all of that supernatural shit, and in that split second, realised that it had all been true. At least… at least… the supernatural part…
The arm snapped forward with the nightmarish speed of an elastic band released from the tip of one’s thumb, and soon it was within spitting distance. I screamed and stumble-staggered to the side, careful not to trip. The hand snatched my calf and squeezed.
Pain bolted through my leg and climbed up my stomach. I screamed again and beat my left foot on the arm’s wrist, hoping to break free.
“Carpe eum,” something said, and it sounded like a thousand disconnected deep voices speaking at once.
“LET GO OF ME! LET GO LET GO LET GO LET GO – !”
I stamped on the wrist and the bone disappeared until an iridescent, jelly-like substance formed through the sleeve and wrapped around my runner.
“Fuck fuck fuck!”
I reached down and pulled my shoe off before the goo could fully seize my foot.
I was free! I leapt away from the arm and hurried around the cowcatcher. Despite having only one shoe I managed to run faster than I ever did in my life. I panted towards the gate – it was just there in the distance, just there, I could see my bike on the other side – and dared to glance back. From around the corner where Harley once peeked, the arm floated with my shoe clutched firmly in hand. It swerved back and, with a great whiplike snap, hurled my shoe through the air.
I watched it soar through the sky and land a couple paces on the other side of the gate. I grabbed the lattice and spidered over, slicing my foot on a sharp jut. I fell into an underbrush of nettles and rolled off onto the road.
Tears slipped down my cheeks. I pulled myself to my feet, got on my bike, and . . . and looked back.
The arm was gone, and in its place stood a clown dressed in black-and-blue, one hand behind its back, the other waving with the same white glove. Its face was as white as a vampire’s, not quite painted – it had been far too… real for that – not quite human.
I only looked for a moment. Then I cycled to my shoe, grabbed it without leaving the bike, checked to make sure none of that purple goo had slipped inside, found that it had been clean, popped it on, and took off.
I cycled the whole back to the original route Harley and I had taken, into town, listening to a single line playing over in my mind:
What the fuck just happened?