The Vampire's Assistant and Other Tales from the Cirque Du Freak Page 2

  Just beneath the wolf, in big red capital letters, were the words:

  CIRQUE DU FREAK

  Underneath that, in smaller writing:

  FOR ONE WEEK ONLY — CIRQUE DU FREAK!!

  SEE:

  SIVE AND SEERSA — THE TWISTING TWINS!

  THE SNAKE-BOY! THE WOLF-MAN! GERTHA TEETH!

  LARTEN CREPSLEY AND HIS PERFORMING SPIDER — MADAM OCTA!

  ALEXANDER RIBS! THE BEARDED LADY!

  HANS HANDS!

  RHAMUS TWOBELLIES — WORLD’S FATTEST MAN!

  Beneath all that was an address where you could buy tickets and find out where the show was playing. And right at the bottom, just above the pictures of the snake and spider:

  NOT FOR THE FAINTHEARTED!

  SOME RESTRICTIONS APPLY!

  “Cirque Du Freak?” I muttered softly to myself. Cirque was French for circus … Circus of Freaks! Was this a freak show?! It looked like it.

  I began reading the flyer again, immersed in the drawings and descriptions of the performers. In fact, I was so immersed, I forgot about Mr. Dalton. I only remembered him when I realized the room was silent. I looked up and saw Steve standing alone at the head of the class. He stuck out his tongue at me and grinned. Feeling the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, I stared over my shoulder and there was Mr. Dalton, standing behind me, reading the flyer, lips tight.

  “What is this?” he snapped, snatching the paper from my hands.

  “It’s an advertisement, sir,” I answered.

  “Where’d you get it?” he asked. He looked really angry. I’d never seen him this worked up. “Where’d you get it?” he asked again.

  I licked my lips nervously. I didn’t know how to answer. I wasn’t going to tell on Alan — and I knew he wouldn’t own up by himself: even Alan’s best friends know he’s not the bravest in the world — but my mind was stuck in low gear and I couldn’t think of a reasonable lie. Luckily, Steve stepped in.

  “Mr. Dalton, it’s mine,” he said.

  “Yours?” Mr. Dalton blinked slowly.

  “I found it near the bus stop, sir,” Steve said. “Some old guy threw it away. I thought it looked interesting, so I picked it up. I was going to ask you about it later, at the end of class.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Dalton tried not to look flattered but I could tell he was. “That’s different. Nothing wrong with an inquisitive mind. Sit down, Steve.” Steve sat. Mr. Dalton stuck a thumbtack on the flyer and pinned it to the bulletin board.

  “Long ago,” he said, tapping the flyer, “there used to be real freak shows. Greedy con men crammed malformed people in cages and —”

  “Sir, what’s malformed mean?” somebody asked.

  “Someone who doesn’t look ordinary,” Mr. Dalton said. “A person with three arms or two noses; somebody with no legs; somebody very short or very tall. The con men put these poor people — who were no different from you or me, except in looks — on display and called them freaks. They charged the public to stare at them, and invited them to laugh and tease. They treated the so-called freaks like animals. Paid them little, beat them, dressed them in rags, never allowed them to wash.”

  “That’s cruel,” Delaina Price — a girl near the front — said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Freak shows were cruel, monstrous creations. That’s why I got angry when I saw this.” He tore down the flyer. “They were banned years ago, but every so often you’ll hear a rumor that they’re still going strong.”

  “Do you think the Cirque Du Freak is a real freak show?” I asked.

  Mr. Dalton studied the flyer again, then shook his head.

  “I doubt it,” he said. “Probably just a cruel hoax. Still,” he added, “if it was real, I hope nobody here would dream of going.”

  “Oh, no, sir,” we all said quickly.

  “Because freak shows were terrible,” he said. “They pretended to be like proper circuses but they were cesspits of evil. Anybody who went to one would be just as bad as the people running it.”

  “You’d have to be really twisted to want to go to one of those,” Steve agreed. And then he looked at me, winked, and mouthed the words: “We’re going!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  STEVE PERSUADED MR. DALTON to let him keep the flyer. He said he wanted it for his bedroom wall. Mr. Dalton wasn’t going to give it to him but then changed his mind. He cut off the address at the bottom before handing it over.

  After school, the four of us — me, Steve, Alan Morris, and Tommy Jones — met outside and studied the glossy flyer.

  “It’s got to be a fake,” I said.

  “Why?” Alan asked.

  “They don’t allow freak shows anymore,” I told him. “Wolf-men and snake-boys were outlawed years ago. Mr. Dalton said so.”

  “It’s not a fake,” Alan insisted.

  “Where’d you get it?” Tommy asked.

  “I stole it,” Alan said softly. “It belongs to my big brother.” Alan’s big brother was Tony Morris, who used to be the school’s biggest bully until he got thrown out. He’s huge and mean and ugly.

  “You stole from Tony?!? ” I gasped. “Have you got a death wish?”

  “He won’t know it was me,” Alan said. “He had it in a pair of pants that my mother threw in the washing machine. I stuck a blank piece of paper in when I took this out. He’ll think the ink got washed off.”

  “Smart,” Steve said.

  “Where did Tony get it?” I asked.

  “There was a guy passing them out in an alley,” Alan said. “One of the circus performers, a Mr. Crepsley.”

  “The one with the spider?” Tommy asked.

  “Yeah,” Alan answered, “only he didn’t have the spider with him. It was night and Tony was on his way back from a bar.” Tony’s not old enough to get served in bars, but hangs around with older guys who buy drinks for him. “Mr. Crepsley handed the paper to Tony and told him they’re a traveling freak show who put on secret performances in towns and cities across the world. He said you had to have a flyer to buy tickets and they only give them to people they trust. You’re not supposed to tell anyone else about the show. I only found out because Tony was in high spirits — the way he gets when he drinks — and couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

  “How much are the tickets?” Steve asked.

  “Twenty-three dollars each,” Alan said.

  “Twenty-three dollars!” we all shouted.

  “Nobody’s going to pay twenty-three bucks to see a bunch of freaks!” Steve snorted.

  “I would,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Tommy agreed.

  “And me,” Alan added.

  “Sure,” Steve said, “but we don’t have twenty-three bucks to throw away. So it’s academic, isn’t it?”

  “What does academic mean?” Alan asked.

  “It means we can’t afford the tickets, so it doesn’t matter if we would buy them or not,” Steve explained. “It’s easy to say you would buy something if you know you can’t. ”

  “I’d love to go,” Tommy said sadly. “It sounds great.” He studied the picture again.

  “Mr. Dalton didn’t think too much of it,” Alan said.

  “That’s what I mean,” Tommy said. “If Dalton doesn’t like it, it must be super. Anything that adults hate is normally awesome.”

  “Are we sure we don’t have enough?” I asked. “Maybe they have discounts for children.”

  “I don’t think children are allowed in,” Alan said, but he told me how much he had anyway. “Eight-fifty.”

  “I’ve got eighteen dollars exactly,” Steve said.

  “I have ten dollars and forty cents,” Tommy said.

  “And I have twelve dollars and thirty cents,” I told them. “That’s more than forty-nine dollars in all,” I said, adding it up in my head. “We get our allowance tomorrow. If we pool our —”

  “But the tickets are nearly sold out,” Alan interrupted. “The first show was yesterday. It finishes Tuesday. If we go, it’ll have to b
e tomorrow night or Saturday, because our parents won’t let us out any other night. The guy who gave Tony the flyer said the tickets for both those nights were almost gone. We’d have to buy them tonight.”

  “Well, so much for that,” I said, putting on a brave face.

  “Maybe not,” Steve said. “My mom keeps a wad of money in a jar at home. I could borrow some and put it back when we get our allowance —”

  “You mean steal?” I asked.

  “I mean borrow, ” he snapped. “It’s only stealing if you don’t put it back. What do you say?”

  “How would we get the tickets?” Tommy asked. “It’s a school night. We wouldn’t be let out.”

  “I can sneak out,” Steve said. “I’ll buy them.”

  “But Mr. Dalton snipped off the address,” I reminded him. “How will you know where to go?”

  “I memorized it.” He grinned. “Now, are we gonna stand here all night making up excuses, or are we gonna go for it?”

  We looked at each other, then — one by one — nodded silently.

  “Right,” Steve said. “We hurry home, grab our money, and meet back here. Tell your parents you forgot a book or something. We’ll lump the money together and I’ll add the rest from the pot at home.”

  “What if you can’t steal — I mean, ‘borrow,’ the money?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Then the deal’s off. But we won’t know unless we try. Now hurry!”

  With that, he sprinted away. Moments later, making up our minds, Tommy, Alan, and I ran, too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE FREAK SHOW WAS all I could think about that night. I tried forgetting it but couldn’t, not even when I was watching my favorite TV shows. It sounded so weird: a snake-boy, a wolf-man, a performing spider. I was especially excited by the spider.

  Mom and Dad didn’t notice anything was up, but Annie did. Annie is my younger sister. She can be sort of annoying but most of the time she’s cool. She doesn’t run to Mom telling on me if I misbehave, and she knows how to keep a secret.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked after dinner. We were alone in the kitchen, washing the dishes.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

  “Yes there is,” she said. “You’ve been acting weird all night.”

  I knew she’d keep asking until she got the truth, so I told her about the freak show.

  “It sounds great,” she agreed, “but there’s no way you’d get in.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I bet they don’t let children in. It sounds like a grown-up kind of show.”

  “They probably wouldn’t let a brat like you in,” I said nastily, “but me and the others would be okay.” That upset her, so I apologized. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just annoyed because you’re probably right. Annie, I’d give anything to go!”

  “I’ve got a makeup kit I could lend you,” she said. “You can draw on wrinkles and stuff. It’d make you look older.”

  I smiled and gave her a big hug, which is something I don’t do very often. “Thanks, sis,” I said, “but it’s okay. If we get in, we get in. If we don’t, we don’t.”

  We didn’t say much after that. We finished drying and hurried into the TV room. Dad got home a few minutes later. He works on building sites all over the place, so he’s often late. He’s grumpy sometimes but was in a good mood that night and swung Annie around in a circle.

  “Anything exciting happen today?” he asked, after he’d said hello to Mom and given her a kiss.

  “I scored another hat trick at lunch,” I told him.

  “Really?” he said. “That’s great. Well done.”

  We turned the TV down while Dad was eating. He likes peace and quiet when he eats, and often asks us questions or tells us about his day at work.

  Later, Mom went to her room to work on her stamp albums. She’s a serious stamp collector. I used to collect, too, when I was younger and more easily amused.

  I popped up to see if she had any new stamps with exotic animals or spiders on them. She didn’t. While I was there, I asked her about freak shows.

  “Mom,” I said, “have you ever been to a freak show?”

  “A what?” she asked, concentrating on the stamps.

  “A freak show,” I repeated. “With bearded ladies and wolf-men and snake-boys.”

  She looked up at me and blinked. “A snake-boy?” she asked. “What on Earth is a snake-boy?”

  “It’s a …” I stopped when I realized I didn’t know. “Well, that doesn’t matter,” I said. “Have you ever been to one?”

  She shook her head. “No. They’re illegal.”

  “If they weren’t,” I said, “and one came to town, would you go?”

  “No,” she said, shivering. “Those sorts of things frighten me. Besides, I don’t think it would be fair to the people in the show.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “How would you like it,” she said, “if you were stuck in a cage for people to look at?”

  “I’m not a freak!” I said huffily.

  “I know.” She laughed and kissed my forehead. “You’re my little angel.”

  “Mom, don’t!” I grumbled, wiping my forehead with my hand.

  “Silly.” She smiled. “But imagine you had two heads or four arms, and somebody stuck you on display for people to make fun of. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

  “No,” I said, shuffling my feet.

  “Anyway, what’s all this about a freak show?” she asked. “Have you been staying up late, watching horror films?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Because you know your dad doesn’t like you watching —”

  “I wasn’t staying up late, okay?” I shouted. It’s really annoying when parents don’t listen.

  “Okay, Mister Grumpy,” she said. “No need to shout. If you don’t like my company, go downstairs and help your father weed the garden.”

  I didn’t want to go, but Mom was upset that I’d shouted at her, so I left and went down to the kitchen. Dad was coming in from the back and spotted me.

  “So this is where you’ve been hiding.” He chuckled. “Too busy to help the old man tonight?”

  “I was on my way,” I told him.

  “Too late,” he said, taking off his workboots. “I’m finished.”

  I watched him putting on his slippers. He has huge feet. He wears size twelve shoes! When I was younger, he used to stand me on his feet and walk me around. It was like being on two long skateboards.

  “What are you doing now?” I asked.

  “Writing,” he said. My dad has pen pals all over the world, in America, Australia, Russia, and China. He says he likes to keep in touch with his global neighbors, though I think it’s just an excuse to go into his study for a nap!

  Annie was playing with dolls and stuff. I asked if she wanted to come to my room for a game of tennis using a sock for a ball and shoes for rackets, but she was too busy arranging her dolls for a pretend picnic.

  I went to my room and dragged down my comic books. I have a bunch of cool comic books — Superman, Batman, Spiderman, and Spawn. Spawn’s my favorite. He’s a superhero who used to be a demon in hell. Some of the Spawn comics are pretty scary, but that’s why I love them.

  I spent the rest of the night reading comic books and putting them in order. I used to swap with Tommy, who has a huge collection, but he kept spilling drinks on the covers and crumbs between the pages, so I stopped.

  Most nights I go to bed by ten, but Mom and Dad forgot about me, and I stayed up until nearly ten-thirty. Then Dad saw the light in my room and came up. He pretended to be angry but he wasn’t really. Dad doesn’t mind too much if I stay up late. Mom’s the one who nags me about that.

  “Bed,” he said, “or I’ll never be able to wake you in the morning.”

  “Just a minute, Dad,” I told him, “while I put my comics away and brush my teeth.”

  “Okay,” he said, “but
make it quick.”

  I stuck the comics into their box and stuffed it back up on the shelf over my bed.

  I put on my pajamas and went to brush my teeth. I took my time, brushing slowly, and it was almost eleven when I got into bed. I lay back, smiling. I felt very tired and knew I’d fall asleep in a couple of seconds. The last thing I thought about was the Cirque Du Freak. I wondered what a snake-boy looked like, and how long the bearded lady’s beard was, and what Hans Hands and Gertha Teeth did. Most of all, I dreamed about the spider.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE NEXT MORNING, TOMMY, Alan, and me waited outside the gates for Steve, but there was no sign of him by the time the bell rang for class, so we had to go in.

  “I bet he’s hiding,” Tommy said. “He couldn’t get the tickets and now he doesn’t want to face us.”

  “Steve’s not like that,” I said.

  “I hope he brings the flyer back,” Alan said. “Even if we can’t go, I’d like to have the flyer. I’d stick it up over my bed and —”

  “You couldn’t stick it up, stupid!” Tommy laughed.

  “Why not?” Alan asked.

  “Because Tony would see it,” I told him.

  “Oh yeah,” Alan said glumly.

  I was miserable in class. We had geography first, and every time Mrs. Quinn asked me a question, I got it wrong. Normally geography’s my best subject, because I know so much about it from when I used to collect stamps.

  “Had a late night, Darren?” she asked when I got my fifth question wrong.

  “No, Mrs. Quinn,” I lied.

  “I think you did.” She smiled. “There are more bags under your eyes than in the local supermarket!” Everybody laughed at that — Mrs. Quinn didn’t crack jokes very often — and I did, too, even though I was the butt of the joke.

  The morning dragged, the way it does when you feel let down or disappointed. I spent the time imagining the freak show. I made-believe I was one of the freaks, and the owner of the circus was a nasty guy who whipped everybody, even when they got stuff right. All the freaks hated him, but he was so big and mean, nobody said anything. Until one day he whipped me once too often, and I turned into a wolf and bit his head off! Everybody cheered and I was made the new owner.