Read Online The Pilo Family Circus by Will Elliott - Free Book Online
Authors: Will Elliott
Tags: Fiction.Horror
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eyes, and the last thing he expected to see was right above him: Steve. ‘Jamie?’
‘Huh?’ was all Jamie could manage.
‘You’re here too?’ said Steve. ‘I thought I saw something move in there. Man, you gotta come see this. It’s a carnival or something. Get up. Come on!’
Jamie sat up and stared uncomprehendingly at the body bag he’d slept in. The black canvas lay open like a split cocoon. He blinked; it simply didn’t compute. He wiped sleep from the corner of his eyes and tried to remember what had happened before he slept. Lying down in a body bag was not on the list.
‘What the hell were you doing in there?’ Steve asked, as though he could possibly answer. ‘Ah, here it is.’ Steve picked up his jumper from the ground. ‘You’re lucky I found you, I only came back to get this. Come on. You gotta see this.’
Too much input too soon. Last night … he thought. Went to bed on the floor. Before that …? Cops. Watch house. Yeah … Caught streaking … And what next?
He peered around. They were inside what seemed to be a big lofty marquee. The floor was of trampled grass, battered with large misshapen shoe prints. There was a table in the corner with playing cards and empty bottles scattered over it. On the floor were dozens of boxes stuffed with trinkets and colourful rags. A suit of armour lay on its side, covered in obscene crayon graffiti of phalluses and misspelled swearwords. Tinted sunlight filtered through the high canvas walls, lending everything a slightly sick tinge of red.
Then it hit him: Steve was alive. He was right there, standing by the marquee entrance, sunlight pouring in around him. ‘Steve …?’ Jamie croaked.
Steve looked back at Jamie with a glint in his eye — his boyish face looked more boyish than normal, as though the pair of them were in their eighth or ninth Christmas morning.
‘Weren’t you …?’ said Jamie, shaking his head. ‘The clowns … I mean, I looked in your room and there was blood …’
Steve ignored him. ‘Will you hurry up , man? Take a look out here.’ He bounded through the tent flaps.
Jamie noticed for the first time the sound of a marching band playing carnival music, and the babble of voices from a crowd. He went to the tent flaps, poked his head through, and the colours outside hit him like a splash of cold water in the face. It was all so bright he had to shut his eyes. When he opened them again he saw a crowd marching past, families, old people, parents, kids dressed in bright colours, babies in prams or in their mothers’ arms, balloons tied to wrists, floating in the air like leashed pets. There were tents and stalls set up like a miniature city, manned by olive-skinned gypsies hawking baubles. The crowd wandered in a procession through them, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Jamie gazed around for the source of the carnival music, but he could see no band; the sounds seemed to drift like the breeze, a natural extension of the colours and the smell of buttered popcorn in the air.
He stepped out of the marquee. From the look of things, he was the only one with no idea what the hell was going on. Steve beckoned impatiently.
Jamie rubbed his eyes. ‘Steve?’
‘Fuck ya, what ?’
‘Are we …’ He’d been about to ask if they were dead. ‘ Where are we?’
Steve grabbed his arm. ‘Will you come on ? I heard something about a magic show over at that tent. Let’s go.’
Jamie let Steve drag him down the pathway. Over in the distance he saw a painted sign: FUNHOUSE . Beyond that, a banner he could barely make out was stretched across the top of a tall tent. It said: FREAK SHOW . They passed another giant marquee, on the side of which was painted MAIN STAGE . Back over his shoulder there was a wooden archway, and behind itmany flashing lights and carnival sounds: bells ringing, mechanical rides starting up, screams and cries. He could see no sign, but guessed somewhere over there was one that said SIDESHOW ALLEY
‘Huh?’ was all Jamie could manage.
‘You’re here too?’ said Steve. ‘I thought I saw something move in there. Man, you gotta come see this. It’s a carnival or something. Get up. Come on!’
Jamie sat up and stared uncomprehendingly at the body bag he’d slept in. The black canvas lay open like a split cocoon. He blinked; it simply didn’t compute. He wiped sleep from the corner of his eyes and tried to remember what had happened before he slept. Lying down in a body bag was not on the list.
‘What the hell were you doing in there?’ Steve asked, as though he could possibly answer. ‘Ah, here it is.’ Steve picked up his jumper from the ground. ‘You’re lucky I found you, I only came back to get this. Come on. You gotta see this.’
Too much input too soon. Last night … he thought. Went to bed on the floor. Before that …? Cops. Watch house. Yeah … Caught streaking … And what next?
He peered around. They were inside what seemed to be a big lofty marquee. The floor was of trampled grass, battered with large misshapen shoe prints. There was a table in the corner with playing cards and empty bottles scattered over it. On the floor were dozens of boxes stuffed with trinkets and colourful rags. A suit of armour lay on its side, covered in obscene crayon graffiti of phalluses and misspelled swearwords. Tinted sunlight filtered through the high canvas walls, lending everything a slightly sick tinge of red.
Then it hit him: Steve was alive. He was right there, standing by the marquee entrance, sunlight pouring in around him. ‘Steve …?’ Jamie croaked.
Steve looked back at Jamie with a glint in his eye — his boyish face looked more boyish than normal, as though the pair of them were in their eighth or ninth Christmas morning.
‘Weren’t you …?’ said Jamie, shaking his head. ‘The clowns … I mean, I looked in your room and there was blood …’
Steve ignored him. ‘Will you hurry up , man? Take a look out here.’ He bounded through the tent flaps.
Jamie noticed for the first time the sound of a marching band playing carnival music, and the babble of voices from a crowd. He went to the tent flaps, poked his head through, and the colours outside hit him like a splash of cold water in the face. It was all so bright he had to shut his eyes. When he opened them again he saw a crowd marching past, families, old people, parents, kids dressed in bright colours, babies in prams or in their mothers’ arms, balloons tied to wrists, floating in the air like leashed pets. There were tents and stalls set up like a miniature city, manned by olive-skinned gypsies hawking baubles. The crowd wandered in a procession through them, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Jamie gazed around for the source of the carnival music, but he could see no band; the sounds seemed to drift like the breeze, a natural extension of the colours and the smell of buttered popcorn in the air.
He stepped out of the marquee. From the look of things, he was the only one with no idea what the hell was going on. Steve beckoned impatiently.
Jamie rubbed his eyes. ‘Steve?’
‘Fuck ya, what ?’
‘Are we …’ He’d been about to ask if they were dead. ‘ Where are we?’
Steve grabbed his arm. ‘Will you come on ? I heard something about a magic show over at that tent. Let’s go.’
Jamie let Steve drag him down the pathway. Over in the distance he saw a painted sign: FUNHOUSE . Beyond that, a banner he could barely make out was stretched across the top of a tall tent. It said: FREAK SHOW . They passed another giant marquee, on the side of which was painted MAIN STAGE . Back over his shoulder there was a wooden archway, and behind itmany flashing lights and carnival sounds: bells ringing, mechanical rides starting up, screams and cries. He could see no sign, but guessed somewhere over there was one that said SIDESHOW ALLEY
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