Cirque Du Freak - Book 1 Read online

I folded the diary open to the back page, then wrote down all that I knew about Madam Octa: what Mr. Crepsley had said about her in the show, the tricks she knew, the food she liked. I put one checkmark beside food she liked a lot, and two checkmarks beside food she loved (so far, only the worm). This way I'd be able to figure out the best way to feed her, and what to give her as a treat when I wanted her to do a trick.

  I brought up some grub from the fridge next: cheese, ham, lettuce, and roast beef. She ate just about everything I gave her. It looked like I was going to be kept busy trying to feed this ugly lady!

  Tuesday night was horrible. I wondered what Mr. Crepsley would think when he woke and found his spider missing and a note in its place. Would he leave like I told him, or would he come looking for his pet? Maybe, since the two of them could speak with each other telepathically, he would be able to trace her here!

  I spent hours sitting up in bed, holding a cross to my chest. I wasn't sure if the cross would work or not. I know they work in the movies but I remembered talking to Steve once and he said a cross was no good by itself. He said they only worked if the person using them was good.

  I finally fell asleep about two in the morning. If Mr. Crepsley had come, I would have been completely defenseless, but luckily, when I woke in the morning there was no sign of his having come, and Madam Octa was still resting in the closet.

  I felt a lot better that Wednesday, especially when I popped by the old theater after school and saw the Cirque Du Freak had left. The cars and vans were gone. No trace of the freak show remained.

  I'd done it! Madam Octa was mine!

  I celebrated by buying a pizza. Ham and pepperoni. Mom and Dad wanted to know what the special occasion was. I said I just felt like something different and offered them and Annie a slice, and they left it at that.

  I fed the scraps to Madam Octa and she loved them. She ran around the cage licking up every last crumb. I made a note in my diary: "For a special treat, a piece of pizza!"

  I spent the next couple of days getting her used to her new home. I didn't let her out of the cage, but I carried it around the room so she could see every cor-ner and get to know the place. I didn't want her to be nervous when I finally freed her.

  I talked to her all the time, telling her about my life and family and home. I told her how much I admired her and the kind of food I was going to get her and the type of tricks we were going to do. She might not have understood everything I said, but she seemed to.

  I went to the library after school on Thursday and Friday and read as much about spiders as I could find. There was all sorts of stuff I hadn't known. Like they can have up to eight eyes, and the threads of their webs are gluey fluids that harden when they're let out into the air. But none of the books mentioned performing spiders, or ones with telepathic powers. And I couldn't find any pictures of spiders like Madam Octa. It looked like none of the people who wrote these books had seen a spider like her. She was unique!

  When Saturday came, I decided it was time to let her out of her cage and try a few tricks. I had practiced with the flute and could play a few very simple tunes quite well. The hard part was sending thoughts to Madam Octa while playing. It was going to be tricky, but I felt I was up to it.

  I closed my door and shut my windows. It was Saturday afternoon. Dad was working and Mom had gone to the mall with Annie. I was all alone, so if anything went wrong it would be entirely my fault, and I would be the only one to suffer.

  I placed the cage in the middle of the floor. I hadn't fed Madam Octa since the night before. I figured she might not want to perform if she was full of food. Animals can be lazy, just like humans.

  I removed the cloth, put the flute in my mouth, turned the key, and opened the tiny door to the cage. I stepped back and squatted down low, so she could see me.

  Madam Octa did nothing for a while. Then she crept to the door, paused, and sniffed the air. She looked too fat to squeeze through the gap, and I began to think I must have overfed her. But somehow she managed to suck her sides in and ease out.

  She sat on the carpet in front of the cage, her big round belly throbbing. I thought she might walk around the cage to check the room out, but she didn't show the faintest sign of having any interest in the room.

  Her eyes were glued to me!

  I gulped loudly and tried not to let her sense my fear. It was difficult but I managed not to shake or cry. The flute had slipped about an inch from my lips while

  I was watching her but I was still holding it. It was time to start playing, so I pressed it back between my lips and prepared to blow.

  That was when she made her move. In one giant leap, she sprang across the room. She flew forward, up into the air, jaws open, fangs ready, hairy legs twitching straight at my unprotected face!

  IF SHE HAD CONNECTED, she would have sunk her fangs into me and I would have died. But luck was on my side, and instead of landing on flesh, she slammed against the end of the flute and went flying off to the side.

  She landed in a ball and was dazed for a couple of seconds. Reacting rapidly, aware that my life depended on speed, I stuck the flute between my lips and played like a madman. My mouth was dry but I blew regardless, not daring to lick my lips.

  Madam Octa cocked her head when she heard the music. She struggled to her legs and swayed from side to side, as though drunk. I sneaked a quick breath, then started playing a slower tune, which wouldn't tire my fingers or lungs.

  "Hello, Madam Octa," I said inside my head, shutting my eyes and concentrating. "My name's Darren Shan. I've told you that before but I don't know if you heard. I'm not even sure if you can hear it now.

  "I'm your new owner. I'm going to treat you real good and feed you loads of insects and meat. But only if you are good and do everything I tell you and don't attack me again."

  She had stopped swaying and was staring at me. I wasn't sure if she was listening to my thoughts or planning her next leap.

  "I want you to stand on your back legs now," I told her. "I want you to stand on your two back legs and take a little bow."

  For a few seconds she didn't respond. I went on playing and thinking, asking her to stand, then commanding her, then begging her. Finally, when I was almost out of breath, she raised herself and stood on two legs, the way I wanted. Then she took a little bow and relaxed, awaiting my next order.

  She was obeying me!

  The next order I gave was for her to crawl back into her cage. She did as I told, and this time I only had to think it once. As soon as she was inside, I closed the door and fell back on my butt, letting the flute fall from my mouth.

  The shock I'd gotten when she jumped at me! My heart was beating so fast, I was afraid it was going to run up my neck and leap out of my mouth! I lay on the floor for a long time, staring at the spider, thinking about how close to death I had come.

  That should have been warning enough. Any sensible person would have left the door shut and forgot about playing with such a deadly pet. It was too dangerous. What if she hadn't hit the flute? What if Mom had come home and found me dead on the floor? What if the spider then attacked her or Dad or Annie? Only the world's dumbest person would run a risk like that again.

  Step forward Darren Shan!

  It was crazy, but I couldn't stop myself. Besides, the way I saw it, there was no point having stolen her if I was going to keep her locked up in a silly old cage.

  I was a little smarter this time. I unlocked the door but didn't open it. Instead I played the flute and told her to push it open. She did, and when she came out she seemed as harmless as a kitten and did everything I'd communicated.

  I made her do lots of tricks. Made her hop around the room like a kangaroo. Then had her hang from the ceiling and draw pictures with her webs. Next I got her lifting weights (a pen, a box of matches, a marble). After that I told her to sit in one of my remote control cars. I turned it on and it looked like she was driving! I crashed it into a pile of books, but made her jump off at the last moment, s
o she wasn't hurt.

  I played with her for about an hour and would have happily continued all afternoon, but I heard Mom arriving home and knew she would think it was strange if I stayed up in my room all day. The last thing I wanted was her or Dad prying into my private affairs.

  So I stuck Madam Octa back in the closet and ran downstairs, trying to look as natural as possible.

  "Were you playing a CD up there?" Mom asked. She had four bags full of clothes and hats, which she and Annie were unpacking on the kitchen table.

  "No," I said.

  "I thought I heard music," she said.

  "I was playing a flute," I told her, trying to sound casual.

  She stopped unpacking. "Yow.f" she asked. "Playing a flute?"

  "I do know how to play one," I said. "You taught me when I was five years old, remember?"

  "I remember." She laughed. "I also remember when you were six and told me flutes were for girls. You swore you were never going to look at one again!"

  I shrugged as though it was no big thing. "I changed my mind," I said. "I found a flute on the way home from school yesterday and got to wondering if I could still play."

  "Where did you find it?" she asked.

  "On the road."

  "I hope you washed it out before you put it in your mouth. There's no telling where it might have been."

  "I washed it," I lied.

  "This is a wonderful surprise." She smiled, then ruffled my hair and gave my cheek a big wet kiss.

  "Hey! Quit it! "I yelled.

  "We'll make a Mozart out of you yet," she said. "I can see it now: you playing a piano in a huge concert hall, dressed in a beautiful white suit, your father and I in the front row…"

  "Get real, Mom." I chuckled. "It's only a flute."

  "From small acorns, oak trees grow," she said.

  "He's as thick as an oak tree," Annie said, and giggled.

  I stuck my tongue out at her in response.

  The next few days were great. I played with Madam Octa whenever I could, feeding her every afternoon (she only needed one meal a day, as long as it was a large one). And I didn't have to worry about locking my bedroom door because Mom and Dad agreed not to enter when they heard me practicing the flute.

  I considered telling Annie about Madam Octa but decided to wait a while longer. I was getting along well with the spider but could tell she was still uneasy around me. I wouldn't bring Annie in until I was sure it was completely safe.

  My schoolwork improved during the next week, and so did my goal-scoring. I scored twenty-eight goals between Monday and Friday. Even Mr. Dalton was impressed.

  "With your good grades in class and your prowess on the field," he said, "you could turn into the world's first professional soccer player-cum-university professor! A cross between Pele and Einstein!"

  I knew he was only pulling my leg, but it was nice of him to say it all the same.

  It took a long time to work up the nerve to let Madam Octa climb up my body and over my face, but I finally tried it on Friday afternoon. I played my best song and didn't let her start until I'd told her several times what I wanted her to do. When I thought we were ready, I gave her the nod and she began creeping up the leg of my pants.

  It was fine until she reached my neck. The feel of those long thin hairy legs almost caused me to drop the flute. I would have been a dead duck if I had, because she was in the perfect place to sink her fangs. Luckily, my nerve held and I went on playing.

  She crawled over my left ear and up to the top of my head, where she lay down for a rest. My scalp itched beneath her but I had enough sense not to try scratching it. I studied myself in the mirror and grinned. She looked like one of those French hats, a beret.

  I made her slide down my face and dangle from my nose on one of her web-strings. I didn't let her into my mouth, but I got her to swing from side to side like she'd done with Mr. Crepsley, and had her tickle my chin with her legs.

  I didn't let her tickle me too much, in case I started laughing and dropped the flute!

  When I put her back in her cage that Friday night, I felt like a king, like nothing could ever go wrong, that my whole life was going to be perfect. I was doing well in school and at soccer, and had the kind of pet any boy would trade all his worldly goods for. I couldn't have been happier if I'd won the lottery or a chocolate factory.

  That, of course, was when everything went wrong and the whole world crashed down around my ears.

  STEVE POPPED OVER FOR A VISIT late Saturday afternoon. We hadn't said much to each other all week and he was the last person I was expecting. Mom let him in and called me downstairs. I saw him when I was halfway down, paused, then shouted for him to come up.

  He gazed around my room as though he hadn't been there for months. "I'd almost forgotten what this place looks like," he said.

  "Don't be silly," I said. "You were here a couple of weeks ago."

  "It seems longer." He sat on the bed and turned his eyes on me. His face was serious and lonely. "Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked softly.

  "What do you mean?" I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about.

  "You've been steering clear of me these past two weeks," he said. "It wasn't obvious at first, but each day you've been spending less time with me. You didn't even pick me when we were playing basketball in gym last Thursday."

  "You're not very good at basketball," I said. It was a lame excuse, but I couldn't think of a better one.

  "I was confused at first," Steve said, "but then I figured it out. You didn't get lost the night of the freak show, did you? You stuck around, up in the balcony probably, and saw what happened between me and Vur Horston."

  "No, I didn't! "I snapped.

  "No?" he asked.

  "No," I lied.

  "You didn't see anything?"

  "No."

  "You didn't see me talking to Vur Horston?"

  "No!"

  "You didn't "

  "Look, Steve," I interrupted, "whatever happened between you and Mr. Crepsley is your business. I wasn't there, didn't see it, don't know what you're talking about. Now if "

  "Don't lie to me, Darren," he said.

  "I'm not lying!" I lied.

  "Then how did you know I was talking about Mr. Crepsley?" he asked.

  "Because…" I bit my tongue.

  "I said I was talking to Vur Horston." Steve smiled. "Unless you were there, how would you know that Vur Horston and Larten Crepsley are one and the same?"

  My shoulders sagged. I sat on the bed beside Steve. "Okay," I said, "I admit it. I was in the balcony."

  "How much did you see and hear?" Steve asked.

  "Everything. I couldn't see what he was doing when he was sucking out your blood, or hear what he was saying. But apart from that…"

  "Everything," Steve finished with a sigh. "That's why you've been avoiding me: because he said I was evil."

  "Partly," I said. "But mostly because of what you said. Steve, you asked him to turn you into a vampire! What if he had turned you into one and you'd come after me? Most vampires go after people they know first, don't they?"

  "In books and movies, yes," Steve said. "This is different. This is real life. I wouldn't have hurt you, Darren."

  "Maybe," I said. "Maybe not. The point is, I don't want to find out. I don't want to be friends with you anymore. You could be dangerous. What if you met another vampire and this one granted your wish? Or what if Mr. Crepsley was right and you're really evil and "

  "I'm not evil!" Steve shouted, and shoved me back on the bed. He leaped on my chest and stuck his fingers in my face. "Take that back!" he roared. "Take that back, or so help me, I'll jerk your head off and "

  "I take it back! I take it back!" I shrieked. Steve was heavy on my chest, his face flushed and furious. I would have said anything to get him off.

  He sat perched on my chest a few seconds longer, then grunted and rolled off. I sat up, gasping, rubbing my face where he had poked it.

  "S
orry," Steve mumbled. "That was over the top. But I'm upset. It hurt, what Mr. Crepsley said, and you ignoring me at school. You're my best friend, Darren, the only person I can really talk to. If you break up our friendship, I don't know what I'll do."

  He started to cry. I watched him for a few seconds, torn between fear and sympathy. Then my nobler self got the better of me and I put an arm around his shoulder. "It's okay," I said. "I'll still be your friend. C'mon, Steve, quit crying, okay?"

  He tried but it took a while for the tears to stop. "I must look like a total fool," he finally sniffed.

  "No," I said. "I'm the fool. I should have stood by you. I was a coward. I never stopped to imagine what you must be going through. I was only thinking of myself and Madam " I made a face and stopped talking.

  Steve stared at me curiously. "What were you going to say?" he asked.

  "Nothing," I said. "It was a slip of the tongue."

  He grunted. "You're a bad liar, Shan. Always were. Tell me what it was you were about to let slip."

  I studied his face, wondering if I should tell him. I knew I shouldn't, that it could only mean trouble, but I felt sorry for him. Besides, I needed to tell someone. I wanted to show off my wonderful pet and the great tricks we could do.

  "Can you keep a secret?" I asked.

  "Of course," he snorted.

  "This is a big one. You can't tell anyone, okay? If I tell you, it has to stay between the two of us. If you ever talk…"

  "You'll talk about me and Mr. Crepsley," Steve said, grinning. "You have me over a barrel. No matter what you tell me, you know I can't blab, even if I wanted to. What's the big secret?"

  "Wait a minute," I said. I got off the bed and opened the door to the room. "Mom?" I shouted.

  "Yes?" came her muffled reply.

  "I'm showing Steve my flute," I yelled. "I'm going to teach him how to play it, but only if we're not disturbed, okay?"

  "Okay," she called back.

  I closed the door and smiled at Steve. He looked puzzled. "A flute?" he asked. "Your big secret is a flute?"

  "That's part of it," I said. "Listen, do you remember Madam Octa? Mr. Crepsley's spider?"