"Le Cirque de Nuit " by Rebecca C.

     The Ringmaster appeared in the middle of the circus ring “Bienvenue et Bonsoir, my name is Damien Roux, ringmaster if this circus of night ” he said, Roux was dressed extravagantly, he wore an all-black suit, with an oxblood red cravat held with a pearl pin, his long coat almost touched the ground, it’s buttons sparkled mesmerizingly from the ring, winking and beckoning any that dare come closer; in his right gloved hand he held a silver walking stick and on his fingers sat large gemmed rings, his silk tophat covered his face, making him a harsh shadow against the candlelight. “We do hope you enjoyed yourselves this evening, you see mesdames et messieurs, we are in need of a new performer and thought it might be fun for the candidates to prove themselves in front of you tonight” while he said this a group of people shuffled out in to the ring, they were wearing wool, tan, tartan hunting outfits; their faces obscured by white porcelain animal masks instead of black, “We do hope you enjoy, begin!” barked Roux, performers in white masks began to fight. Most in the crowd laughed, finding the morbidity of the act humorous, only until the performers begna falling over, their masks shattering or falling off their faces did people in the audience begin to shriek and stand and Damien Roux, laugh.
     The act was most certainly not a staged affair and these performers were no mere strangers, they were friends and acquaintances. I heard Jack let out a sob when he saw his

friend Jasper lie crumpled on the floor, streaks of blood coming from his nose and mouth like red silk. The audience began to stand up and rush the tent opening, only to be stopped by the waiters and circus hands in the masks. They through members of the audience to the ground, stepping harshly on legs and arms until the sounds of cracking and soul trembling wails could be heard. In all the commotion I had lost Jack and was calling out for him in the sea of jumbled, panicked bodies; then I saw him, he was through down hard by someone in a fox mask and the sound of ribs breaking filled my ears. I didn’t know what to do, I knew he wouldn't be able to run, his green eyes had already vanished under his eyelids. I let out a shaky breath and looked around the tent walls and saw an opening, a tiny one but it was there. I raced past the demons in masks and stepped over people either wailing or completely silent and slid under the tent wall. I stood and looked wilding about, making sure there was no one outside waiting for any escapees but to my relief I saw none.
The sounds of shrieks and blood-curdling screams, pleads for mercy, now muffled by the black fabric of the tent. The heat of fear and adrenaline being exchanged for the night air, a cutting autumnal chill that would have ran down me if the screams of my friends and acquaintances weren’t already. I looked up at the moon, an eerie white sneering at me between the skeletal hands of the trees.
      My blood drained from my face when I heard the sound of the canvas flapping and I ran, ran faster than my legs would let me or my calfskin boots would let me, but I ran. The fall air whipped my face like icy daggers and twigs and low branches grabbed at my clothes like the hands of those monsters in the tent; kicking up rocks and dirt at I went, I could feel a twig had caught my cheek and the warm blood contrasted with the cool air. I followed the white candles on the branches that guided me and Jack to the circus, “Oh Jack!” I thought, remembering the state I saw him last in, wind whipping my hair, the forest only illuminated by the candles, like the

lights of souls who died in these forest guiding me, helping me out so I wouldn’t meet a fate like they did.
     I came upon a decimated stone building, now only partly standing walls but it was enough to hide so I could catch my breath, my throat and lungs were on fire, my cheeks and hands ached from the lashes the twigs dolled upon me through my frantic dash. I crouched low behind the stone wall and looked out into the forest, a black, inky sea of horror and despair, and to my horror I realized that the candles were not helping me but leading me further into the forest, they were placed on low and high branches, there wax dripping off the branches like tears, like my tears when I realized that they were not my way out but illuminated walls of a hellish labyrinth. I put a hand to my mouth to muffle the sob of realization, the shock was slipping off me like a blanket and I was left with the horrible truth; I heard whoops and hollers all around me, they were bouncing off the trees and ringing all about, I realized in that moment that I had not escaped the hunt but I had initiated it, the masked porcelain devils were the bloodhounds, Monsieur Roux was the hunter and I... I was the fox; so clever I thought, thought that I could get away from such-such fiends; I only realized my mistake, my fatal flaw when I felt an icy hand grab my neck, colder than ice and harder than stone.
     I looked in silent horror at my shoulder and saw the jeweled hands of Damien Roux, and in that moment I could not stop the sob from escaping my lips. “D-devil” I choked out I gripped at my now shredded velvet evening jacket and silk waist coat for condolence but what I found was a gripping terror of the honey voice of the Ring Master and low in my ear he stated with complete amusement, “Now now Mounsier Wells, I am no devil and neither are my children. No, I am something much worse mousier, I am real, I am vampire and now, my child, you will be too; ah yes you will be an excellent son Oliver Wells, excellent indeed”. The last thing I felt was a searing pain on my shoulder and then, the cold dirt ground; looking up at the barren branches

and night sky; in that moment the branches switched from skeleton hands that I presumed were helping point me to an exit of this hellish dream and morphed into a black, monstrous cage, to hold me for eternity in agony and despair; sealed with the gilded Ouroboros on my invitation, my invitation to die; the symbol of eternity, and in a fit of hysteria I laughed a choker, manic laugh. Yes an Ourobors, of course how fitting, the end of all things and the eternity of everything, forever caught in a trap, forever in a cage of night and onyx, forever.