Pied Piper’s Infernal Circus

Miranda couldn’t recall the last time a circus came through town.

The flier listed the city basketball court as its venue. Miranda squinted through the bright sun at the banner hanging in the stadium window. It looked vintage, like an advert for Barnum and Bailey’s on display in a museum exhibit. Miranda cast her eyes up and down its length, noting the muted colors, the same, cartoony typeface from the flier.

Children’s silhouettes crowded the banner’s bottom. At first glance, it appeared their backs were to the viewer as they faced the lion tamer in the center. Miranda frowned at one of the smaller silhouettes tucked into the corner, its hair in pigtails. It had a thin, white slit for a smiling mouth.

That child faced the wrong way.

She shuddered and leaned closer. The banner’s weave was loose around its perimeter, a faded, creamy color like yellowed lace. A signature hidden in the mass of children’s silhouettes read, P.P. 1923.

A loud clang from a construction site down the road cut Miranda’s concentration and she jumped, a hand flying to her ear.

“Did you bring your headphones?” Ariana asked from beside her.

Miranda shrugged. “I’ll be alright.”

“Really?”

Miranda chewed the inside of her bottom lip, cursing her forgetfulness, and led the way through the wide, double doors into the stadium.

Inside was quiet. No squeals from excited children. No rumble of popcorn bouncing in a glass-walled machine. Other than a pop-up display at the box-office, the place was deserted.

“Lots of people here today?” Ariana asked the ticket attendant as she withdrew her credit card from her crossbody. “The place seems empty.”

The attendant shrugged and ran the card.

Miranda leaned against the counter, staring at the display. It was a cardboard cutout of a man clad in bi-colored circus regalia. The Ringmaster. A signature was scrawled over the base: Patrick Pipper.

“Who’s that?” Ariana nodded to the cutout as she handed Miranda her ticket.

“Patrick Pipper. The original ringmaster, I guess.”

The pair crossed the shiny floor to the court entrance and stepped into the vomitorium.

Around them, the stadium shifted. The air swelled with calliope music. The buttery scent of popcorn hung heavy in the air and the sound of children’s laughter floated atop it while balloons drifted among the stands.

Miranda and Ariana shared a bemused glance. They emerged from the vomitorium onto the court floor and gawked at the colorful display. Banners and pennants hung from the rafters. A trapeze stretched from one end of the court to the next. The floor was latticed with tarps, safety nets and mats divided into three rings.

Ariana tugged at Miranda’s elbow and led her up the steep set of stairs to their seats. They slid in and sat down.

“I had a friend who ran away and joined the circus,” Miranda said.

Ariana glanced at her sideways. “You did not.”

“I did.” Miranda stared at Ariana. “Her name was Lucy. She disappeared when we were eight. Police never found her, but she left me a note — not that anyone believed it.”

Ariana gaped at her for a long moment before replying, “I’m so sorry.”

Miranda shrugged and turned forward in her seat, closing her eyes to allow memories of Lucy to flood her.

A bouncy girl, Lucy always kept her dark hair pulled back in pigtails. Miranda found it strange that she never hid the thin surgery scar on the back of her neck. Then again, Lucy oozed self-confidence.

Miranda smiled at the memories. They had been buried for too long, along with the note scrawled in a child’s mismatched handwriting:

Dear Mir,

I’m joining the circus!

I’ll do trapeez or akrobactics. The ring master sed I’ll be a star. So don’t worry about me.

Come see me preform when we’re older!

Love,

Lucy

A shudder ran down Miranda’s spine and her eyes snapped open. The mystery of Lucy’s disappearance came rushing back, drowning the good memories as it did.

Miranda scowled.

Ariana noticed. Reaching a hand over to lay atop Miranda’s clenched fist, she leaned close to say something, but the lights clicked off with a sudden chink and Miranda loosened her hands in surprise.

When the spotlight came on, it focused on a man in the center ring. He wore the same, pied outfit the cardboard cutout boasted. Miranda ignored his introduction, already distracted by a pair of elephants led by two tiny boys no more than six years old. They actually have animal acts? Then to her utter shock emerged a large, tawny liger.

Miranda edged forward.

Perched atop the big cat was a young girl. As the liger moved closer to the center ring, the girl placed her hands between its shoulders and pushed herself into a controlled handstand. The stadium gasped as she flipped forward atop the cat’s broad head and flung out her arms in a gymnast’s salute. Her dark hair was pulled back into pigtails. The liger circled the center ring, bringing the girl into better light. Miranda blinked at her familiar face.

The girl noticed her and after a hesitation forced a grin, even as her eyes dropped. When the liger turned the other side of the ring, Miranda saw a pale line extending from the base of the girl’s skull down her spine.

Jumping to her feet, Miranda winced as the metal seat clattered shut behind her. Ariana grabbed her wrist, pulled her backward.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s her!” Miranda didn’t try to lower her voice; unaware she was shouting. Ariana tugged her back into her seat.

“What are you talking about?” she hissed. Miranda kept her eyes on the girl and the liger. Ariana grabbed her face, forced her to break her line of sight by turning her. “Mir?”

“It’s Lucy.” Laughter roiled up in Miranda’s gut and she struggled to stifle it as her rational mind insisted that the girl wasn’t Lucy. She turned back to the ring, hoping to catch another sight of Lucy’s doppelgänger, but she was gone.

Only the ringmaster remained. Half-shrouded in shadow, he smiled, the expression a thin, white gash across his face. Miranda shrunk back into her chair as her chest tightened. She took a shallow breath, held it, and closed her eyes.

This isn’t real…

The circus passed in a blur. Although Miranda watched, her mind never focused. It raced in circles surrounding the girl on the cat. Pitched forward with elbows on her knees and barely breathing, Miranda waited for the liger act.

As intermission loomed, Miranda’s eyes glazed over. I’ll have to wait all day to see that girl again. She leaned back and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Over the sound of her slow exhale, the ringmaster’s voice reverberated through the stadium:

“And now, esteemed guests — our very own Liger and Lucy!”

Miranda dropped her hands into her lap and dug her fingernails into her thighs until they left crescent indents.

The liger emerged first, followed by the young girl. She wore a shimmery white leotard with a gossamer skirt. Miranda let out a sharp gasp in recognition. Despite not seeing it for twenty years, there was no mistaking that costume; Lucy wore it at their childhood dance recital.

As the girl moved, she bounced with a childlike innocence that was both caricature and endearing; her hands clasped behind the small of her back, her bare toes pointed with every gliding step.

Miranda stared down the rows of seating. Down in the ring, the liger rocked back onto its haunches, its tail slicking back and forth over the floor. Lucy, a scant fourth of the cat’s height, executed a graceful backflip and landed on the top of its knee. Continuing upward, she climbed to the liger’s shoulder. He reared back taller when she reached them, eliciting a collective gasp from the audience. Then, Lucy flung herself forward, catching herself on the cat’s large muzzle and raising herself into a handstand.

The crowd erupted in applause, a cacophony of metal clanging as seats closed beneath a sudden standing ovation. Miranda doubled over into her lap, pressing her knees to either side of her head and muffling the noise. When she felt the crowd settle, she raised her head, hair falling limply over her face. She pushed it out of her eyes and blinked down at the rings. They were empty, save for the ringmaster announcing intermission. The stadium lights clicked on, and Miranda shielded her eyes with one hand while she pushed the other to the side of her head, bracing for the sound of seats clanging as audience members stood.

She glanced over at Ariana.

To her surprise, Ariana still sat leaning forward, her eyes glazed but transfixed on the ring, her head cocked to the side. Like she’s listening for something.

Miranda touched her arm. Ariana didn’t respond. Miranda gave her a shove and as if a switch were flipped, Ariana came back in focus.

“Want a snack?” she asked, oblivious to her previous trance. Miranda frowned.

“No…I’m going to try and find that girl.”

“What?” Ariana’s voice took on an unprecedented shrill and Miranda narrowed her eyes at her.

“That girl is Lucy. My Lucy.”

Ariana folded her arms. “Look, I get she looks similar, but you know it’s not the same girl. She’d be twenty-eight now.”

Miranda shook her head. “I know that, but I’ve gotta find out for sure.” She pushed to her feet, easing the seat closed behind her. Ariana caught her wrist as she squeezed past her. Her fingers tightened around the bones. Ariana’s expression was wrong, the eyes unfocused, the head once again listed sideways.

“Let go, Ariana.” Miranda’s voice cut the air. Ariana dropped her wrist, gave her head a small shake and blinked as if coming into wakefulness.

“Buy me some of those nachos, if they have them,” she said, her voice casual.

Miranda stalked away, a heaviness pressing down on her. Seeing the spitting image of her long-missing friend was one thing. Ariana’s weird behavior was something else. And that ringmaster?

Miranda surveyed the lobby. Where she expected to see throngs of people, no one was there. She turned a corner and stopped dead.

It was the ringmaster. He stood waiting, his arms crossed over his piebald jacket. When he saw Miranda, that creepy grin spread over his face and made the back of her neck itch. He was the spitting image of the man in the cutout.

“Our guest of honor,” he said with a flourished bow.

Miranda balled her fists, held her arms close to her side.

“Miranda, yes? Although you look so different from how I remember…Little Lucy was so happy to see you in the crowd. We did this specifically for you.” There was an off-putting nonchalance in the way the ringmaster talked that made the pit of Miranda’s stomach clench.

The ringmaster shifted his weight and spread out his arms, displaying his bi-colored costuming. Or daring me to threaten him.

“Why don’t we get to brass tacks. Follow me to see her.” The ringmaster pivoted on his heel, walking with rolling steps toward the back of the stadium. He stopped before a door marked, EVENT STAFF ONLY. “Keep up — I might have all the time in the world, but you don’t.”

Miranda swallowed, pressed her fisted hands to the ache in her stomach, and approached the ringmaster. As she edged closer, she could feel the faint vibration of his breathing in the air, an almost musical cadence to it. She shrugged against it and followed him through the door.

The hallway was long. Anxiety rose up Miranda’s neck, took a chokehold on her trachea so that she could only manage shallow breaths. Any moment she expected the floor to give out, or for passing doors to fling open to reveal the performers she imagined grabbing her to drag her into some nightmare.

After an excruciating minute, the ringmaster stopped at a door and gave it a knock. Then he left Miranda alone in front of it.

Her stomach knotted as his figure disappeared down the seemingly endless hallway.

The door creaked open.

Miranda turned to it and gaped. Little Lucy stood there. Her Lucy. The girl smiled up at her with a wizened expression incongruous with her childlike face. Miranda shook her head.

“Is it really you?” The words all ran together as the pressure around Miranda’s neck subsided.

Lucy nodded. “It’s me.”

“How? And why do you look like…that?” Miranda squatted down to eye-level with the girl. She glanced over the unmistakable leotard. The pigtails. The eyes that were Lucy’s. And yet, they were also the eyes of a woman who had seen terror during the course of a painful life.

“It’s the ringmaster, isn’t it? P.P?” Lucy didn’t respond but turned into the room. Miranda followed her, closing the door behind them. “Lucy?”

The girl spun around. In the low lighting, Miranda could see the shadow of an old woman over Lucy’s face. She shuddered and backed up against the door.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember.” Lucy’s voice sounded like memories, but her words were strange.

“Remember what?”

“P. P. — Patrick Pipper.” Lucy sighed; the sound too heavy for an eight-year old. The disjunct stimuli made Miranda’s head spin, her heart beating louder in her ears. “We met him together, when the circus came to town; when we rode the elephants.”

Miranda blinked. She did remember. The whole reason Lucy had even talked about joining the circus was because the two of them went to one together. The circus had animals, elephants included, that kids could ride for an extra three dollars. Lucy raided her piggy bank and brought all of her savings. She had enough for both girls to ride the elephant.

“He was leading the elephant. He touched our hands to help us up. I heard — no, felt — music. But you —”

“I didn’t. Someone hit the bell on the strong-man game. The noise upset me, so I clasped my hands to my ears and climbed up without his help.”

Lucy nodded. Her tired expression sunk further; her eyes brimmed with tears. “He stole me, Miranda. He took me and bound me to this place.” Lucy cried, the heaving, stilted wail of a child. But the depth of the sorrow was that of an adult.

“I don’t understand, though…” Miranda sunk to her bottom against the door. The concrete floor was cool through her shorts, and she shivered. Her mind swam.” Pipper…” She spoke the name aloud and Lucy sniffled. Raising her eyes, something akin to hope flamed in them. “Pipper…Pipper…Piper.”

“Yes!” Lucy exclaimed. “Yes, that’s it! Name him and it could end this!”

The door swung open.

Miranda fell backward into the hall, looking up at the front of the ringmaster. Lucy shrunk in on herself and cowered like a cornered animal.

“This is why you wanted to see Miranda. The quirky one, too sensitive to sound to fall prey to my magic.” The ringmaster raised an eyebrow. From Miranda’s angle, the gesture lengthened his entire face into a grotesque, waxy mask. How old is this man?

“Miranda, run!” Lucy’s voice was hoarse, and Miranda snapped upward to watch as she twisted into an unnatural shape. Her limbs bent and burst and in a mere, horrifying moment, she fell into a pile of ash.

“You suck them dry!” Miranda exclaimed, the reality of the Pied Piper occurring to her as a bolt of electricity down her spine. “You trap them, lure them here, and feed off the life they would have lived without you!”

The ringmaster let out a flat huff. “Why tell me what I already know?” Then, without ceremony, he proceeded away down the hallway. Miranda scrambled to her feet and took off after him.

Even from behind him she could tell that draining Lucy had given him a new sort of power. Whether it was energy or charisma, Miranda wasn’t clear. But she knew it was infernal.

“The other performers, and the audience. They aren’t free, are they?”

“No. The little rats are all part of my eternal circus.” Miranda shuddered at the grin she heard in his voice.

“Ariana?”

“The girl with you? She’s free to leave.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. Nothing immortal that fed on lives would let easy prey go. “And me?”

The ringmaster stopped. He turned a quarter of the way to Miranda, his face lowered so that only his eyes peered over his shoulder at her. “Not a year’s worth of life to take.” The ringmaster turned forward again and walked out of sight, the click of his heels against the polished floor resounding after him.

I die this year? With heavy feet, Miranda forced herself forward, through the door and into the lobby.

Her heart leapt.

Across the lobby stood Ariana. One hand clutched the strap of her bag, her light hair shimmered in the midday sun shining through the lobby windows.

Miranda lunged for her, picking up speed with every step. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears. Her mouth ran dry as she attempted to call out Ariana’s name. As she deletes nearer, anxiety climbed her neck. Something’s wrong.

Miranda stopped short.

Lucy’s liger prowled before Ariana. The tip of its tail flicked back and forth, and its ears swiveled toward her. Seeing it so close, Miranda marveled how large it was; larger than both a tiger and lion, the cat loomed over them.

Then it occurred to her. Her death was tied to this moment. To the Pied Piper drawing the last of Lucy’s life. To the liger being on the loose.

Miranda wrenched Ariana’s name from her constricted throat and dashed for her. Ariana spun and the cat leapt.

Miranda marveled at how quiet the world got. Even as she tripped forward. Even as Ariana’s mouth opened to scream, as the liger leapt upon them. Even as Miranda’s vision went dark.

Then she heard the Pied Piper’s song: After all, everyone pays the Piper.

About the Author

M.O. Stewart currently resides in the woods of southern New Hampshire with her husband, their three children, and the family cat. If she isn’t writing, she is likely lost in crochet, baking, or one of her many other hobbies. Her poem, Being, has been published on Unleash Lit. Progress and updates on her writing, including the paranormal horror novel she is currently querying entitled, Maryann, can be followed on her site, mostewartauthor.com, or on Instagram @mostewartwrites.