Read Online The Pilo Family Circus by Will Elliott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Will Elliott
Tags: Fiction.Horror
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To answer his own question, where they were was obvious: a circus. Which circus, why and how he didn’t know. But suddenly none of that seemed very important; he sniffed the buttered popcorn scent, and felt a light- headedness creep into him, as though he’d inhaled some kind of narcotic perfume. No, it’s not important where you are, said a friendly voice inside. Just relax! No questions. It’s the carnival. You know, the CARNIVAL!
Indeed it was. A sudden burst of good cheer stole through him, and now he felt like he’d used to feel on a Friday night in the city, around about the second or third bourbon of the night, when the jukebox played a song by Talking Heads and the bar was packed with women. He paused to gaze about himself in wonder, and Steve snapped: ‘Jamie! Are you coming to this magic show or am I going to kick the shit out of you?’
Jamie looked at him and grinned the grin of a happy idiot. ‘Sure!’ he said, and followed.
A chalkboard outside a medium-sized tent read: MUGABO THE MIGHTY MYSTIC . Steve yanked Jamie inside, where they saw a small stage loaded with magician’s props. There was an upside down top hat, out of which a rabbit was to be pulled, no doubt; a black wand with white tips which probably drooped when picked up; bundles of coloured ribbon; and interlocking silver rings. Steve and Jamie sat in the front row of plastic seats while the audience settled in around them, and soon the tent filled with drowsy conversation. At the back of the stage was a curtain primed to be parted for a grand entrance. The audience hushed as harsh whisperingcould suddenly be heard behind it. ‘ Bunny treek ?’ a strangely accented voice yelled. ‘I’ll do your bunny treek, peeg!’
‘Mugabo, we’ve been through this,’ said another voice. ‘Sticks and stones, for Christ’s sake. You’re not going to let Rufshod —’
‘That clown peeg! You friend, huh? Bunny treek! I can light ze fucking sky, does he know zat? I can — GET YOU HAND OFF —’
There were sounds of a scuffle; a slap, a grunt, a body falling to the ground. The audience watched with interest as the curtain tugged on its frame. The apparent brawl went on for a full minute before the curtains parted, and far from a grand entrance, the magician stumbled and sprawled onto the stage as though he’d been picked up and thrown. An uncertain round of applause greeted him.
A puff of white smoke rose belatedly from the floor. When it cleared, a surly-looking black man in a turban was trying to straighten his robe with shaking hands. Mugabo the magician cut a tall gangling figure, taller still with the white turban he wore wrapped around his head like a giant egg. A jewel sat in its middle. He peeled his lips back and snarled at the audience with teeth that seemed to glow white against the blackness of his skin. He flung his arms at the rows of seats and spat on the floor. ‘Stop your clapping!’ the magician screamed. The applause ceased. ‘Okay, you fucks. You want ze bunny treek ?’
The audience was clapping again, egging him on with jovial catcalls. Mugabo nodded his head, the turban flopping back and forth. His deep voice was scathing. ‘All right. I geev you your bunny treek .’ He stalked over to the table, gave one glance back over his shoulder at the curtain, then grinned as he rolled back his sleeves. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I am Mugabo zemighty mystic … or sometheeng. I will dedicate zis treek to zat fuckpig of a clown. Zis all for him.’
He reached into the hat and, as Jamie expected, out came a pair of long soft white ears. The rabbit kicked its legs at the air. There was a brief round of polite applause. ‘Yes, you like ze bunny?’ Mugabo crooned. ‘How nice! They like ze bunny. So … how do you like … ZIS !’ Mugabo’s face ruptured into a scowl. He jerked his fist and the rabbit towards the audience. The rabbit flopped around for a moment or two, little legs pumping the air, before it exploded in a
To answer his own question, where they were was obvious: a circus. Which circus, why and how he didn’t know. But suddenly none of that seemed very important; he sniffed the buttered popcorn scent, and felt a light- headedness creep into him, as though he’d inhaled some kind of narcotic perfume. No, it’s not important where you are, said a friendly voice inside. Just relax! No questions. It’s the carnival. You know, the CARNIVAL!
Indeed it was. A sudden burst of good cheer stole through him, and now he felt like he’d used to feel on a Friday night in the city, around about the second or third bourbon of the night, when the jukebox played a song by Talking Heads and the bar was packed with women. He paused to gaze about himself in wonder, and Steve snapped: ‘Jamie! Are you coming to this magic show or am I going to kick the shit out of you?’
Jamie looked at him and grinned the grin of a happy idiot. ‘Sure!’ he said, and followed.
A chalkboard outside a medium-sized tent read: MUGABO THE MIGHTY MYSTIC . Steve yanked Jamie inside, where they saw a small stage loaded with magician’s props. There was an upside down top hat, out of which a rabbit was to be pulled, no doubt; a black wand with white tips which probably drooped when picked up; bundles of coloured ribbon; and interlocking silver rings. Steve and Jamie sat in the front row of plastic seats while the audience settled in around them, and soon the tent filled with drowsy conversation. At the back of the stage was a curtain primed to be parted for a grand entrance. The audience hushed as harsh whisperingcould suddenly be heard behind it. ‘ Bunny treek ?’ a strangely accented voice yelled. ‘I’ll do your bunny treek, peeg!’
‘Mugabo, we’ve been through this,’ said another voice. ‘Sticks and stones, for Christ’s sake. You’re not going to let Rufshod —’
‘That clown peeg! You friend, huh? Bunny treek! I can light ze fucking sky, does he know zat? I can — GET YOU HAND OFF —’
There were sounds of a scuffle; a slap, a grunt, a body falling to the ground. The audience watched with interest as the curtain tugged on its frame. The apparent brawl went on for a full minute before the curtains parted, and far from a grand entrance, the magician stumbled and sprawled onto the stage as though he’d been picked up and thrown. An uncertain round of applause greeted him.
A puff of white smoke rose belatedly from the floor. When it cleared, a surly-looking black man in a turban was trying to straighten his robe with shaking hands. Mugabo the magician cut a tall gangling figure, taller still with the white turban he wore wrapped around his head like a giant egg. A jewel sat in its middle. He peeled his lips back and snarled at the audience with teeth that seemed to glow white against the blackness of his skin. He flung his arms at the rows of seats and spat on the floor. ‘Stop your clapping!’ the magician screamed. The applause ceased. ‘Okay, you fucks. You want ze bunny treek ?’
The audience was clapping again, egging him on with jovial catcalls. Mugabo nodded his head, the turban flopping back and forth. His deep voice was scathing. ‘All right. I geev you your bunny treek .’ He stalked over to the table, gave one glance back over his shoulder at the curtain, then grinned as he rolled back his sleeves. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘I am Mugabo zemighty mystic … or sometheeng. I will dedicate zis treek to zat fuckpig of a clown. Zis all for him.’
He reached into the hat and, as Jamie expected, out came a pair of long soft white ears. The rabbit kicked its legs at the air. There was a brief round of polite applause. ‘Yes, you like ze bunny?’ Mugabo crooned. ‘How nice! They like ze bunny. So … how do you like … ZIS !’ Mugabo’s face ruptured into a scowl. He jerked his fist and the rabbit towards the audience. The rabbit flopped around for a moment or two, little legs pumping the air, before it exploded in a
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