“Here you go. Take as long as you need. I’ve hung your clothes up on the hook behind the door, and your money and bus ticket are on the laundry basket. You can put your hospital clothes in there, ready for me to burn, along with your ID bracelet and anything else you want gone,” he said, smiling.
“Thanks,” she said, stepping into the bathroom. The bolt was engaged.
She eyed herself in the mirror. She’d looked better, she thought. Much, much better, but at a time she couldn’t remember. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks shrivelled. Samantha could see her young, pretty self hidden behind the temporary hideousness.
Stripping, she stepped into the shower and let the hot rays pummel her for the next ten minutes. It was the first hot shower she’d taken in an age. After enjoying the heat of the water, she used the shampoo provided on the shower rack. She vigorously scrubbed her hair, giving it three washes. She was shocked at how much filth came out of her hair, which now shone black.
Grime slid down her gaunt body as she washed and rubbed at herself with a bar of soap. The drain clogged at one point, due to her dead hair catching in the plughole. Before she knew it, Sam was standing ankle deep in black, dirty water.
It almost brought tears to her eyes.
Oh, how she had let herself go, and it was all that fucking bitch’s fault.
Samantha beat her fist against the shower wall, screaming, “You’re fucking dead! Dead, dead, dead!” Water found its way into her mouth and was spat back out. When she’d finished hammering her fist, the bar of soap in her hand was reduced to nothing more than a lump of mush.
Switching off the water, and feeling a thousand times better, she dried, dressed, and picked up the rest of her things. Before leaving the bathroom, Samantha looked herself over in the mirror. She was pleased to see some colour back in her face. She was also happy with the clothes that had been selected for her.
Leaving the room, she was eager to be on the move again. She wanted to meet this Wadsworth fella, who would lead her to her sister. Sam couldn’t wait to do Crystal in. If in fact the letter was no hoax, and so far, she had no reason to believe it was. Not after everything that had happened up to this point.
Hob was back behind his counter. He had a holdall of sorts in front of him.
“Here, I got you this,” he said, brushing the dust off it. “I didn’t want to see you putting that pretty dress of yours in a plastic bag, along with your money.”
“And you definitely don’t know who is doing all this?”
He had a sad expression on his face. “I swear to you, I don’t. You look lovely, by the way.”
She caught him looking at her perky tits – her nipples were pushing at the skin-tight fabric. “That’s sweet of you,” she said, walking up to the counter and putting her things into the bag Hob was holding open for her. “How far to the nearest bus stop?”
“It’s about half a mile down the road. I’d be happy to—”
“No, it’s fine. I need the fresh air, plus the walk will do me good,” she interjected.
“Oh, okay,” he said, sounding hurt.
Ten minutes later, he watched the way her arse moved beneath her equally tight jeans as she headed out the door.
“I bet the other two won’t be as pretty as her,” he muttered as he stood and waited for his second guest of the morning.
MEANWHILE, ALLIANCES ARE BEING MADE…
Crystal hadn’t planned on staying. She’d just wanted to say hello to Mr. Tickles and tell him how awesome she thought his show had been. But then she’d recognised him as one of her inspirational figures from her childhood.
She also remembered his appearance in that book Harry found: White Walls and Straitjackets. A coincidence? Somehow, she didn’t think so, what with the letter too. The weirdness was starting again, but she wasn’t going to let on. Not yet.
Firstly, she was going to try and get as much information from Mr. Tickles as possible, without him getting angry.
Mr. Sugar Giggles had been a notoriously bad clown who travelled with The Last Freak Show on Earth, until he’d suddenly disappeared, never to be heard of or seen again.
Until now.
Crystal could hardly believe she’d run into him after so many years. She hadn’t thought about him and his act in a long time. She’d always presumed him dead. He still looked as old as he did back then. It was eerie, she thought.
After their initial standoff in the big top, and her announcing that she was possibly his worst nightmare, Mr. Tickles had buckled. He’d smiled and offered her back to his tent, which was situated at the rear of the fairground. He shared his abode with Miss Sideshow Necrotic.
It wasn’t much of a living space at that: It was dark, dank and stank of piss, shit and staleness. They shared their accommodation with a few of the circus ponies and Mr. Tickles’ crow, Custard, who had been taught to speak a handful of vile words. On seeing Crystal, the bird had remarked how great her “bangers” were. She smiled, and thought of Harry and his foul mouth.
They’d get on like a house on fire! she thought.
Bales of hay also graced their home, which made for seating, along with a single bunk bed that was Mr. Tickles’. A bed made of loose hay served as Miss Sideshow Necrotic’s place of rest. There was a bowl of water on the floor for her to lap at. Crystal also noted that there were a few bones skinned of their meat close to the bowl.
These are the real deal, Crystal thought. They’re horrors on and off stage. But it didn’t faze her. Nothing like keeping in character, I suppose. She then tittered to herself.
“Something amusing?” Mr. Tickles asked. Miss Sideshow Necrotic had crawled off into the darkness. Possibly onto her bed, Crystal thought. The chain leading from around her throat to Mr. Tickles’ hand was almost taut.
“No, I was just thinking.”
He bent over and wrapped the chain around a peg jutting out of the hay-scattered floor. He then sat before his mirror, which stood on top of an old broken-down desk. His ‘chair’ was an old milk crate. “Good. Sit down,” he demanded, and with that, pulled out a full bottle of whiskey from one of the drawers, along with two glasses. Mr. Tickles ripped the cork from the bottle by using his sharp teeth, and spat it across the tent.
“Won’t you need that?” Crystal asked.
“Don’t get fucking smart with me! Besides, you ain’t leaving here until this bottle’s empty.”
“But…”
“Once the cork’s out, the bottle gets fucking drained, ya hear me?!” he asked. His lips pulled back over his teeth. His eyes were nothing more than dark sockets in the poor lighting.
He was fucking scary, she thought, but ultra cool at the same time. “Fine by me, I’m not some little girl.”
“Oh, I can see that,” he said.
Crystal smiled. “Why—” she was about to retort, but a sound caught her attention. Then a voice broke the near silence.
“A new plaything for me, Master Tickles?!” The tone was silky-smooth.
Mr. Tickles snorted a laugh. “Would you like that, Nightshade?” he asked.
Crystal turned this way and that on her seat. She couldn’t tell where the third voice was coming from. “Who’s that?” she asked the clown.
“Why, that’s Miss Sideshow Nightshade,” he said.
Necrotic giggled and clapped her hands together.
“Where is she?” Crystal asked.
“Why, behind you, dear!” Mr. Tickles said, pointing a finger over her shoulder. The nail was sharp, pointed and black, much like his others. “Go and see her, if you dare…” he said before bellowing a laugh.
Rising off her seat, Crystal turned around and headed to the back of the tent.
“Watch your fingers…” Necrotic said before giggling.
“Yes, keep your hands away from the cage,” Mr. Tickles warned.
Crystal stifled a laugh – they were good, fair play. She was a little rattled by it all as she pushed though the gloom. Nightshade’s cage came into view, with the
woman standing close to the bars. She was a lot smaller than Crystal had thought she would be.
“I’m the last vampire in the world,” she said, smiling. She then extended her hand through the bars for Crystal to shake.
“I’d rather not,” Crystal said, not getting too close.
“Suit yourself.”
“You’re such a dark-skinned beauty,” Crystal remarked.
“My Harry would like you!”
“Who is Harry?” the vampirette asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Crystal said, eyeing the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Parris. I am American descendant.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve roamed the earth for many, many years. Hundreds of years.”
“Huh,” Crystal huffed, “you don’t look much older than twenty!”
“Ah, that’s because a vampire never ages, my dear.”
Crystal eyed the girl. In the half-light cast by a single lantern, she could see the girl sported dreadlocks. Not long ones, but short ones. She was wearing a tight, waist-high leather jacket, which had band patches scattered about it – Crystal caught sight of a Slipknot one, among many others. Her skin and teeth looked immaculate. They gleamed, considering her living conditions, Crystal marvelled. A few bones were scattered amidst rags on the floor about her.
“Cool footwear,” Crystal commented, seeing that the girl was wearing odd-matching Converse.
“Thanks,” Parris said, smiling anew.
And that’s when Crystal saw the girl’s sharp, pointed teeth. Crystal didn’t know if it was the lighting or not, but Parris’ eyes seemed to turn from a natural brown to an emerald green. She found it hypnotic.
“That’s enough!” Mr. Tickles barked.
Parris broke her stare with Crystal. She whispered, “Maybe I’ll get to play with you soon?!” Turning her back, she walked to the rear of her cage again.
“Come here, Crystal,” he said as he poured the whiskey into the glasses in a slapdash way. He handed a tumbler to her. “Drink,” he insisted.
She took a swallow.
Miss Sideshow Necrotic sniggered in the darkness as she uttered inaudibly to herself.
“Who is she?” she asked.
“Why, my faithful assistant. Just another freak in our wonderful circus,” he said.
“I know that,” Crystal said, taking another swallow. “But who is she?”
“She’s been with me for a year now. I picked her up on the side of the road when the circus was heading into France.”
“And her?” Crystal asked, pointing in Necrotic’s direction.
“She was a mere child, sixteen, maybe seventeen, when I picked her up in Barry. She was cold, hungry and homeless.”
“You took her in? Gave her a job?”
“I guess you could say that,” he said, his teeth exposed once again. “She was walking around stark naked – she’d been beaten black and blue. Her cunt was running red. I assumed she’d had the shit raped out of her.” He paused and licked his lips as though savouring the memory. “All she was wearing was a single shoe, which was a heel. Her sparkly dress and fancy underwear were strewn across the road – her bra was found in a bush close by.” Again, he licked his lips. “After ten months, she finally spoke to me. Confided in me. She told me all that had happened to her. That four of them had followed her home from the pub and attacked her.”
“Jesus,” Crystal murmured. “She doesn’t mind being chained like this?”
Mr. Tickles leaned forward, his breath reeking as he exhaled heavily in Crystal’s direction. “Let’s just say it’s kind of strange how she loves it so much. She gets off on it.” He smiled. “Another?” he asked, indicating Crystal’s empty glass.
“Yes, please.”
“Enough about me. How about you? What’s your story?”
“Oh, I—” she started, but stopped herself. Do I mention White Walls and Straitjackets? she thought. Not yet.
“Everyone has a story,” he said, pouring them fresh ones.
She sighed. “I’m a performer myself. I moved to Porthcawl about a month back.” After taking a big swallow from her glass, Crystal could now feel the effects from the first drink, along with what she’d consumed with Harry earlier.
“Why here?” he asked.
“Why not? Here is as good as anywhere else.”
“Hmm,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Go on.”
“We wanted to get away from the Valleys. Actually, we needed to get away, to make a fresh start with a new audience. The plan is to build up some cash, then maybe move on to London.”
“I see. And who’s we?”
“Oh, me and Harry – my partner. It’s our show,” she said, her smile faltering.
“What is it you do? What’s your show about?” He took a big gulp from his untouched drink, almost draining it in one.
She too took a swig. “It’s a ventriloquist act.”
He smiled.
Miss Necrotic giggled in the darkness. “‘It’s a ventriloquist act.,” she mocked.
Crystal shot a look in the woman’s direction but couldn’t see her target due to the gloom.
“Don’t mind her,” he said, stamping on the half-taut chain that belonged to his sidekick.
Crystal heard the woman choke and splutter, which brought a smile to her face. She’d love to strangle the bitch for real. Feel her pulse go weak under her grip as her tongue and head flopped.
Her knickers dampened with the thought as she took another slug of whiskey.
“Then Harry is your…doll?” he asked. The question had no cynicism or mocking to it.
She nodded, finished the whiskey, and asked for a third.
“My, my, you do like a tipple,” he said, smacking his knee and stamping one big shoe on the ground. “Beep-beep,” he then yelled at the top of his voice, sending Custard into a flapping, squawking frenzy.
“Hoot-hoot,” Miss Sideshow Necrotic joined in.
“Maybe we should add her to our ever-growing freak show!” Parris said.
Crystal laughed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so good, so serene about things, even though thoughts of the letter, her sister and the weird book were still at the back of her mind – was it all connected?
Her mind raced, which she put down to the whiskey kicking in.
Mr. Tickles freshened both glasses, giving hearty measures. His singles were quads, Crystal thought, eyeing the golden fluid. The big clown looked at the near empty bottle.
“Yes, Harry’s my doll,” she said.
“I’d like to meet him. To see your show,” he said.
“You could come to the Pavilion one night? I’d like that. I’ve seen you so many times in the past.”
“I very rarely leave the circus, my dear. I don’t have the clothes or the personality to be among your society.”
“What happens to the children from your show?” she blurted.
His smile faded. Miss Sideshow Necrotic fell silent. So did Custard.
“Tell her!” Parris said. “Tell her about my feasts!”
She gulped as Mr. Tickles arose from his seat and towered over her.
“Sorry,” she back-pedalled, “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“If I told you,” he said, his face darkened by the shadows of the dim light, drab clown make-up barely visible, “then I would have to kill you!” His eyes were completely hidden. His voice was low and growl-like. It reminded Crystal of a cornered animal – the type of noise it would make when confronted by an enemy of the wild.
The only things that broke the sudden silence were the low rattles of Miss Sideshow Necrotic’s chain and the overhead lantern, which squeaked on its hook as it swung in the gentle breeze.
Crystal refused to shrink away from him this time.
He howled out a laugh then finished the last of his whiskey before hurling the tumbler out the tent. He got right into her face and breathed out a “HAHAHA!” She couldn’t help but smil
e at his crazed ways.
“I’m just teasing you,” he said. “I wouldn’t kill a butterfly such as yourself,” he said, stroking her face. His hand was dead cold. “The children fall through a trapdoor in the middle of the tent and are fed to my pet alligator. If they survive the pit, Parris gets to eat.”
From her distance, Crystal could see the bloodstains on his pine, needle-like teeth. He was truly the most frightening person she had ever come across. But she was determined to keep her fears under wraps.
“Don’t tell me your fucking lies!” she said, laughing.
Mr. Tickles unbent and looked up at Custard. “She doesn’t believe us, Custard! Just as well,” he said, joining in with Crystal as she laughed.
She wiped the rolling tears from her cheeks and spoke. “But seriously, I’d love for you to come and see Harry and me. I think you’d get on with him.”
His smile died as his features took on a more sombre look. “I told you. I hardly leave the circus.”
“But why?”
“For fear that the authorities will catch up with me.”
Her insides went cold. “What did you do?”
“It was a long time ago. Before I became Mr. Tickles. Mr. Tickles was evil, and he lived inside my head. He wanted out, and so he did. I became him.”
She said nothing, just waited for him to continue his story as she sipped at her drink.
“When he first started trying to get out of me, I was with The Last Freak Show on Earth, as you recall. I’d run away from home to join up when I was a child no more than twelve. I found my calling as the infamous clown Mr. Sugar Giggles. Some say the act was getting to me. Warping me. But no, Mr. Tickles had always been there, lying dormant. Biding his time. Mr. Sugar Giggles was a pussy – a pussy who needed phasing out.
“When my old ringmaster started seeing little changes in me, he got worried. Started keeping his eye on me. He got too close, and so I ended his life. This was before Mr. Tickles had fully come to the surface.
“They sent me down for it. Put me in this fancy asylum in—”
“Castell Hirwaun,” Crystal said, finishing Mr. Tickles’ sentence for him.
“How—”
Escapees and Fevered Minds Page 4