Welcome to the Underground Circus
The Ruins
Paul ran, pumping his arms and willing his lucky shoes to fly. As he rounded a corner into the next open room, he skidded to a halt and fell on his rear at the feet of Pepperwell, the impossibly large clown. Paul squeezed his eyes shut, waiting to feel those tiger’s claws to pierce him and drag him back to their lair. But he sat there and nothing happened. He whirled around on his hands and knees to find the tigers sitting at the threshold. They were growling and they were angry but they had stopped.
“Oh, thank God I found you!” Paul turned back to the clown and threw his arms around him, clinging as hard as he could. If he let go, he might crumble to pieces. As it was, tears began to form in the corners of his eyes.
“They – ” he started but he couldn’t find the words.
“You’re not supposed to be down here,” said Pepperwell with slow, deliberate speech. Talking was obviously difficult for him. “Did they bring you here?” he asked, patting Paul’s back.
He smelled sweet, Paul noticed. Like spun sugar. But underneath that sweetness was an off-putting odor. Like rotting meat. Whatever the smell, Paul was grateful for the creepy, smelly clown.
Behind him, the tigers paced and yipped, wanting Paul’s bones to gnaw on. Pepperwell yelled something in a foreign language, something the tigers didn’t like as they yelled back and bared their teeth. He said it again, harsher this time. Forever passed before he told Paul, “They’ve gone.”
Then Paul heard him mutter under his foul breath, “She’s not going to like this.”
Paul dared to peek over his shoulder, speaking to the spot where the cats had been circling, “They killed someone.”
His voice betrayed how tired and scared he truly was.
“You need to go upstairs,” said Pepperwell in his thick monotone voice.
Paul dropped his arms and stepped away from the clown, shaking his head hard. “But we need to tell everyone. The people that run the circus need to know that their tigers just ate someone!”
Pepperwell, whose eyes turned black and his imposing stance went rigid, repeated, “You go upstairs.” He pointed to a small ladder that would take Paul up to another stage. “There will be someone waiting for you.”
“What? Why would someone be waiting for me?”
Pepperwell’s painted mouth rose up at each corner in an eerie smile that made Paul’s bladder feel weak. Pepperwell looked feral; a wolf on the edge of sanity. Any other question that was churning in Paul’s brain died. If Pepperwell hadn’t been standing in his way, Paul would have leapt at the opportunity to shinny up the nearest ladder. Instead, he readied his lucky shoes, putting all of his weight on the balls of his feet, because Pepperwell looked ready to pounce.
His voice turned menacing as he said, “If you don’t want to go – ”
“No, no,” Paul said quickly, cutting Pepperwell off. He cracked his knuckles and threaded his fingers he was so nervous.
Paul stuffed his hands in his holey pockets and shuffled his feet. “I was thinking that you would go with me.”
“I need to get back to the show.” He glanced upwards and a slight tremor crossed his features.
“So, I go up there?” Paul asked, pointing upwards and trying hard to ignore the slimy smile Pepperwell kept giving him. “I’ll tell them what I saw?” Paul painted on a hopeful smile.
Pepperwell bought the act, relaxing his hulking mass the tiniest bit and stepping to the side enough for Paul to reach the ladder. His whole being shook as he slid past the clown whose rancid breath poured over him. He gripped the black bars and climbed. Paul would never have thought that there could be something worse than being chased by literal man-eating tigers until this clown had blocked his way.
That’s stupid, though, Paul told himself. This dude saved me from the tigers. If he wanted me hurt he would’ve just let them have me.
Paul looked down to see Pepperwell staring up at him. His smile was gone and his dark eyes had lost their shine. Once again, he looked like the dim clown that had carefully led a small child out of a scary circus. A shudder ran through Paul. A painted face could hide more than he ever thought possible.
His hands found the black, hinged door and he pushed his way through. “Once I find the guys, we are leaving. Screw this place.”
The scent of musty swamp water hit Paul hard as he climbed out of the hole. He grimaced as both hands flew to cover his mouth. It did nothing to block the stink or stop his stomach roiling. “Oh, jeez, what is that? It’s awful,” he cried out loud. “This place gets worse the longer I’m here.”
It was incredibly warm. The stage lights were on but dimmed and Paul had to squint to see what was around him. “Stones? What is this?”
There was a low wall next to him and a vague outline of columns rising up into the darkness around him. Paul ran his fingertips over the pockmarked rocks and pulled them away wet. He closed his eyes and waited for his pulse to calm. There was running water nearby. Paul could hear it as it trickled somewhere across the stage and it was joined by a splash. His eyes shot open.
“Who’s there?”
Paul wished the set wasn’t so dark. He wanted to call out again, maybe find someone who actually cared that the tigers had gone full wild, but something told him that he wasn’t going to find a helping hand here.
“I need to find a door out,” he said, ignoring another splash. His mind wanted to fill in the blank for him with all sorts of creatures. Alligators, crocodiles, piranha; anything could be in these tanks, and Paul wanted to get away as quickly as possible.
When he smacked his knee hard against another low stone wall, Paul gave up and started to crawl across the stage, feeling his way with his hands. Water and debris peppered the floor as he pushed against every surface, desperate to find another trap door. He came across something round and smooth as he reached out with his grimy hand. It was lukewarm and slick from water droplets.
“What in the world?” he asked as he rubbed his fingertips over it.
There were lines crossing it and it was bumpier than he had first thought. His fingers felt around the sides and there were two gaping holes accompanied by a smaller third hole just below. Paul snatched his hand away. “Please, let that be a bowling ball,” he whimpered.
All of a sudden the stage lights bloomed to life and Paul could see clearly the skull he had been touching. He screamed and backed away. It was a pile of bones. And not just one person but multiple persons. Paul’s head craned looking in every direction and there were bones lying everywhere. He was in the middle of an Egyptian temple set surrounded by corpses.
“Oh, I hope these are fake. You’re from a Halloween store, right?” he asked the skull in front of him. He gave it a pleading look. It sure didn’t look plastic to Paul.
There was a great splash in the pool downstage and a quiet, almost childish voice asked, “You don’t like my decorations?”

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