by Darren Shan
"Who's there?" he asked.
"Wraaarghhhh," Evra grunted on the other side of him.
The boy's head spun around in the other direction.
"Who's there?" he shouted.
"Ohh-ohh-ohh," I snorted, like a gorilla.
"I'm not afraid," the boy said, edging backward. "You're just somebody playing a mean trick."
"Eee-ee-ee-ee-ee," Evra screeched.
I shook a branch, Evra rattled a bush, then I tossed a stone into the area just ahead of the boy. His head was spinning around like a puppet's, darting all over the place. He didn't know whether it would be safer to run or stay.
"Look, I don't know who you are," he began, "but I'm —"
Evra snuck up behind him and now, as the boy spoke, stuck out his extra-long tongue and ran it over the boy's neck, making a hissing snake noise.
That was enough for the boy. He screamed and ran for his life.
Evra and me ran after him, laughing our heads off, making all these noises. The boy fled through thorn bushes as though they weren't there, screaming for help.
We got tired after a few minutes and would have let him get away, but then he tripped and went sprawling into a patch of really high grass.
We stood, trying to spot him in the grass, but there was no sign of him.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"I can't see him," Evra said.
"Do you think he's all right?"
"I don't know." Evra looked worried. "He might have fallen down a big hole or something."
"Kid?" I shouted. "Are you okay?" No answer. "You don't need to be afraid. We won't hurt you. We were only kidding. We didn't —"
There was a rustling noise behind us, then I felt a hand on my back, shoving me forward into the grass. Evra fell with me. When we sat up, spluttering with shock, we heard somebody laughing behind us.
We turned around slowly, and there was the kid, doubled over with laughter.
"I got you! I got you!" he sang. "I saw you coming from the beginning. I was only pretending to be frightened. I ambushed you. Ha-ha!"
He was making fun of us, and, though we felt pretty stupid, when we stood and looked at each other we burst out laughing. He'd led us into a patch of grass filled with sticky green seeds and we were covered in them from head to foot.
"You look like a walking plant," I joked.
" You look like the Jolly Green Giant," Evra replied.
"Both of you look stupid," the boy said. We stared at him, and his smile faded a little. "Well, you do ," he grumbled.
"I suppose you think this is funny," I snarled. He nodded silently. "Well, I've got news for you," I said, stepping closer, putting on the meanest face I could. I paused menacingly, then burst into a smile. "It is!"
He laughed happily, relieved that we could see the funny side of things, then stuck out his hands, one to each of us. "Hey," he said as we shook. "My name's Sam Grest. Nice to meetcha."
"Hey, Sam," I said, and as I shook his hand I thought to myself, "Looks like this is friend number two. Cool."
And Sam did become my friend. But by the time the Cirque Du Freak moved on, I was wishing with all my heart that I'd never even heard his name.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sam lived about a mile away, with his mom and dad, two younger brothers and a baby sister, three dogs, five cats, a turtle, and a tank full of tropical fish.
"It's like living in Noah's ark," he said. "I try to stay out of the house as much as possible. Mom and Dad don't mind. They think children should be free to express their individuality. As long as I come home for bed at night, they're happy. They don't even care if I miss school every once in a while. They think school's a despotic system of indoctrination, designed to crush the spirit and stamp out creativity."
Sam talked like that all the time. He was younger than me, but you wouldn't have known it by listening to him speak.
"So, you two guys are with the show?" he asked, rolling a piece of pickled onion around his mouth — he loved pickled onions and carried a small plastic jar of them with him. We'd returned to the spot at the edge of the clearing. Evra was lying in the grass, I was sitting on a low-hanging branch, and Sam was climbing the tree above me.
"What sort of a show is it?" he asked, before we could answer his first question. "There are no signs on your vans. At first I thought you were tourists. Then, after observing for a while, I decided you must be performers of some kind."
"We're masters of the macabre," Evra said. "Agents of mutations. Lords of the surreal." He was speaking like that to show he could match Sam's big vocabulary. I wish I could have spouted a few smarty-pants sentences, but I'd never been good with words.
"It's a magic show?" Sam asked excitedly.
"It's a freak show," I said.
"A freak show?" His jaw dropped open and a piece of pickled onion fell out. I had to move quickly to dodge it. "Two-headed men and weirdos like that?"
"Sort of," I said, "but our performers are magical, wonderful artists, not just people who look different."
"Cool!" He glanced at Evra. "Of course, I could see from the start that you were dermatologically challenged," — he was talking about Evra's skin (I looked the word up in a dictionary later) — "but I had no idea there might be other members like you among your company."
He looked over toward the camp, eyes bright with curiosity. "This is most fascinating." He sighed. "What other bizarre examples of the human form do your numbers include?"
"If you mean, 'What other sort of performers are there? the answer is tons," I told him. "We have a bearded lady, of course."
"A wolf-man," Evra said.
"A man with two bellies," I added.
We went through the entire list, Evra mentioning some I'd never seen. The lineup of the Cirque Du Freak often changed. Performers came and went, depending on where the show was playing.
Sam was very impressed and, for the first time since we'd met, had nothing to say. He listened silently, eyes wide, sucking on one of his pickled onions, shaking his head once in a while as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"It's so cool," he said when we finished. "You must be the luckiest guys on the planet. Living with real circus freaks, traveling the world, privy to solemn and magnificent secrets. I'd do anything to trade places with you…"
I smiled to myself. I don't think he would have liked to trade places with me , not if he knew the full story.
"Hey!" he said. "Could you help me join? I'm a hard worker and I'm really smart. I'd be an asset. Could I join? As an assistant? Please?"
Evra and me smiled at each other.
"I don't think so, Sam," Evra said. "We don't take on many guys our age. If you were older, or if your parents wanted to join, that would be different."
"But they wouldn't mind," Sam insisted. "They'd be delighted for me. They're always saying travel broadens the mind. They'd love the idea of me going around the world, having adventures, seeing marvelous, mystical sights."
Evra shook his head. "Sorry. Maybe when you're older."
Sam pouted and kicked some leaves off a nearby branch. They floated down over me and a few stuck in my hair.
"It's not fair," he grumbled. "People always say 'when you're older. Where would the world be if Alexander the Great had waited until he was older? And how about Joan of Arc? If she'd waited until she was older, the English might have conquered and colonized France. Who decides when someone's old enough to make decisions for himself? It should come down to the individual."
He ranted on for a while longer, complaining about adults and the "corrupt frigging system" and about the time being ripe for a young people's revolution. It was like listening to a crazy politician on TV.
"If a kid wants to open a candy factory, let him open one," Sam stormed. "If he wants to become a football star, fine. If he wants to be an explorer and set off for strange, cannibal-populated islands, okay! We're the slaves of the modern generation. We're —"
"Sam," Evra interrupt
ed. "Do you want to come see my snake?"
Sam broke out into a smile. "Do I?" he yelled. "I thought you'd never ask. C'mon, let's go." Leaping down out of the tree, he ran for the campsite as fast as he could, speeches forgotten. We followed slowly, laughing, feeling a whole lot older and wiser than we were.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sam thought the snake was the coolest thing he'd ever seen. He wasn't at all scared and didn't hesitate to wrap her around his neck like a scarf. He asked a bunch of questions: How long was she, what did she eat, how often did she shed her skin, where was she from, how fast could she move?
Evra answered all of Sam's questions. He was a snake expert. There wasn't a thing he didn't know about the serpent kingdom. He was even able to tell Sam roughly how many scales the snake had!
We gave Sam a guided tour of the campsite after that. We took him to see the wolf-man (Sam was pretty quiet outside of the hairy wolf-man's van, totally frightened by the snarling creature inside). We introduced him to Hans Hands. Then we ran into Rhamus Twobellies practicing his act. Evra asked if we could watch, and Rhamus let us. Sam's eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw Rhamus chew a glass into tiny pieces, swallow it, piece it back together inside his belly, and bring it up his throat and out his mouth.
I was going to grab Madam Octa and show Sam some of the tricks I could do with her, but I didn't feel too great. The lack of human blood in my diet was getting to me; my stomach grumbled a lot, no matter how much food I ate, and I sometimes got sick or had to sit down suddenly. I didn't want to faint or get sick with the tarantula out of her cage; I knew from experience how deadly she could be if you lost control of her for even a couple of seconds.
Sam would have stayed forever, but it was getting dark and I knew Mr. Crepsley would be waking soon. Evra and me had jobs to do, so we told him it was time he went home.
"Can't I stay a little longer?" he pleaded.
"Your mother's probably looking for you for dinner," Evra said.
"I can eat with you guys," Sam said.
"There isn't enough food," I lied.
"Well, I'm not very hungry, anyway," Sam said. "I already ate most of my pickled onions."
"Maybe he could stay," Evra said. I stared at him, surprised, but he winked to show he was only pretending.
"Could I?" Sam asked, psyched.
"Sure," Evra said. "But you'll have to help us with our jobs."
"I'll do anything," Sam said. "I don't mind. What is it?"
"The wolf-man needs to be fed, washed, and brushed," Evra said.
Sam's smile went away.
"The wuh-wolf-muh-man?" he asked nervously.
"It's no problem," Evra told him. "He's pretty quiet once he's been fed. He hardly ever bites his helpers. If he does attack, keep your head away from his mouth and stick an arm down his throat. It's better to lose an arm than your —"
"You know," Sam said quickly, "I think I do have to go home. My mother said something about friends coming over tonight."
"Oh. That's a pity." Evra grinned.
Sam backed away, gazing in the direction of the wolf-man's cage. He looked sad to be going, so I told him to stop.
"What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said.
"Do you want to come over in the afternoon and hang out with us?"
"Yeah!" Sam said right back, then paused. "I won't have to help feed and clean the…?" He gulped loudly.
"No," Evra said, still smiling.
"Then I'll be here. See you tomorrow, guys."
"See you, Sam," we said together.
He waved, turned, and left.
"Sam's cool, isn't he?" I said to Evra.
"He's a good guy," Evra agreed. "He could lose the whole sounding smart thing, and he's kind of a scaredy-cat, but otherwise he's cool."
"Do you think he'd fit in if he did join the show?" I asked.
Evra snorted sarcastically. "Like a mouse in a house full of cats!"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"This life isn't for everyone. A few weeks away from his family, having to clean toilets and cook for thirty or forty people… He'd be running for the hills."
"We do all right," I said.
"We're different," Evra said. "We're not like other people. This is what we're cut out for. Everybody has a place where they belong. This is ours. We're meant to…"
He stopped and began to frown. He was looking over my head at something in the distance. I turned to see what was bothering him. For a few seconds I couldn't make out anything, but then, somewhere far off, coming through the trees to the east, I saw the flickering light of a burning torch.
"What is that?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," Evra said.
We watched for a few minutes as the torch came closer. I saw figures moving beneath the branches of the trees. I couldn't tell how many there were, but it had to be at least six or seven. Then, as they came out from under the trees, I saw who they were, and goose-bumps sprang to life all over my neck and arms.
They were the small, blue-hooded people that Steve and I had seen the night of the show, the ones who helped sell sweets and toys to the crowd and assisted with the acts. I'd forgotten about those strange blue-hooded helpers. It had been a few months since that night, and I'd had so many other things on my mind.
They came out of the woods in pairs, one set after the other. I counted twelve in all, though there was a thirteenth member, a taller person walking behind the rest. He was the one carrying the torch.
"Where did they come from?" I asked Evra quietly.
"I don't know," he answered. "They left the show a few weeks ago. I have no idea where they went. They kept to themselves mostly."
"Who are they?" I asked.
"They're —," he began to answer, but stopped all of a sudden. His eyes widened with fear.
It was the man bringing up the rear, the thirteenth, taller member of the group — visible now that he was closer — who scared Evra.
The blue-hooded people passed by silently. As the mysterious thirteenth person approached, I noticed he was dressed differently from the others. He wasn't very tall; he just looked big in comparison to the blue-hoods. He had short white hair, a thick pair of glasses, a sharp yellow suit, and long green rubber boots. He was pretty fat and walked with a weird waddle.
He smiled pleasantly at us as he passed. I smiled back, but Evra looked paralyzed, unable to move the muscles in his mouth.
The blue-hoods and the man with the torch walked farther into the campsite, all the way to the back, where they found a large clear spot. Then the blue-hoods began putting up a tent — they must have been carrying the equipment underneath their capes — while the larger man headed for Mr. Tall's van.
I studied Evra. He was shaking all over, and even though his face could never turn white — because of its natural color — it was paler than it had ever been before.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He shook his head silently, unable to reply.
"What is it? Why are you so scared? Who was that man?"
"He… It…" Evra cleared his throat and took a deep breath. When he spoke, it was in a low, trembling voice, filled with sheer terror.
"That was Mr. Tiny ," he said, and I couldn't get any more out of him for a long time after that.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Evra's fear went away as the evening wore on, but he was slow to return to normal and was really edgy the whole night. I had to take his knife from him and do his share when he was peeling potatoes for dinner; I was afraid he might slice one of his fingers off.
After we'd eaten and helped clean the dishes, I asked Evra about the mysterious Mr. Tiny. We were in the tent, and Evra was playing with his snake.
He didn't answer immediately, and for a while I thought he wasn't going to, but in the end he sighed and began to speak.
"Mr. Tiny is the leader of the Little People," he said.
"The small guys in the blue-hooded capes?" I ask
ed.
"Yup. He calls them Little People. He's their boss.
He doesn't come here a lot — it's been two years since I last saw him — but he gives me the creeps when he does. He's the spookiest man I've ever met."
"He looked all right to me," I said.
"That's what I thought the first time I saw him," Evra agreed. "But wait till you've spoken to him. It's hard to explain, but every time he looks at me, I feel like he's planning to slaughter, skin, and roast me."
"He eats people?" I asked, freaked out.
"I don't know," Evra said. "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. But you get the feeling he wants to eat you. And it's not just me being stupid; I've talked about it with other members of the Cirque and they feel the same way. Nobody likes him. Even Mr. Tall gets fidgety when Mr. Tiny's around."
"Well, the Little People must like him, don't they?" I asked. "They follow and obey him, right?"
"Maybe they're scared of him," Evra said. "Maybe he forces them to obey him. Maybe they're his slaves."
"Have you ever asked them?"
"They don't talk," Evra said. "I don't know if it's because they can't or if they don't want to, but nobody in the circus has ever been able to get a word out of them. They're really helpful and they'll do whatever you ask but they're as silent as walking dummies."
"Have you ever seen their faces?" I asked.
"Once," Evra said. "Usually they don't let their hoods slip, but one day I was helping a couple of them move a heavy machine. It fell on one of the Little People and crushed him. He didn't make a sound, even though he must have been in a huge amount of pain. His hood fell to the side and I caught a glimpse of his face.
"It was disgusting," Evra said quietly, stroking the snake. "Full of scars and stitches all crumpled together, like some giant had squeezed it with his claws. He didn't have ears or a nose, and there was some kind of mask over his mouth. The skin was gray and dead-looking, and his eyes were like two green bowls near the top of his face. He didn't have hair, either."
Evra shivered at the memory. I felt cold myself, thinking about his description.