A Circus That hunts pt. 1

This is a very brief and permanently (perhaps) unfinished short story I wrote last year. This journal follows a woman living in the heart of Appalachia, doing everything to protect her niece from the secrets she kept in her youth.

My writing is deeply inspired by the glory days of NoSleep and Creepypasta. I love short, shocking, up-to-interpretation horror. Enjoy!

If the woods are close enough, you might find it. 

If you wake up on just the right evening, at just the right time, you might sense it.

If you see the golden glow of lights in the trees, or smell a sick sweetness in the air, it has found you. 

The circus never rests. The circus watches. It waits. It grows. 

ENTRY 1

It found me as a child.

I was an isolated kid living on an isolated piece of land. Nothing to do with my summer but sit outside, surrounded by the Appalachian mountains. Eating tomato sandwiches and slapping my mosquito bites, getting dizzy on the rope swing and pulling burrs from my hair. I can't say it was bad. I had an arsenal of pretend games to play, imaginary friends to interact with, and even the occasional pet. To this day, I still wish I could spend my summers there, away from the harsh reality of maintaining a life. 

My family's land was tucked between a trailer park and another trailer park. It was a gorgeous property, hidden at the end of a steep and twisting gravel driveway that scared even the bravest solicitors away. The house itself was barely visible behind vast expanses of plants, a few old vehicles, and heaps of you-name-it. 

I know people loved our property though. All of my mom's friends ooh'ed and ahh'ed over the privacy. the huge explosions of wildflowers amongst the trees and twisted vines shielding us. The moss patch never ceased to produce the most stunning shades of emerald. It was so pretty, you almost forgot where you were - Half a mile behind the truck stop and at least an hour away from anywhere that mattered.

The inside was nothing special, but the life outside seemed to leak into the walls. I remember the light shining a little green when it came through the windows, and a smell like summer sun and soil came up from the hardwood floors. 

My room was barely bigger than a closet, with a colorful loft bed and piles of books in every corner. I had a little reading seat right under my bedroom window, I remember sitting there reading book after book, wasting a weekend away. It looked over our patch of the world. I could see the winding driveway just beyond the butterfly bushes and kudzu. I loved knowing who was here before anyone else. Past the driveway, there were woods. Thick, poison ivy filled woods that feel dark and sticky and hot even on a breezy day. If we were up early enough, we could watch deer, rabbits, and the occasional black bear. It was beautiful. 

Food always tasted better at home because mom sang while she cooked. The days seemed brighter when my dad was home because we could garden together. 

I have to tell you all of this because I need it to be clear that I had a good childhood. Sure, I was alone a lot. My parents weren't perfect, and I was well aware that we struggled financially, but I adore my folks. I adore our family's home. I don't think any of this happened because of a hole inside of my soul that needed to be filled. I don't think my heart was crying out for something to come and save me. I think this happened because I was a child who listened. I was out there, near the woods. All I needed to do was pay attention. 

In grade school, I liked to sit without any music or television on, staring out the open windows. I wrote down what birds I would see, and told my teachers about them. I wanted to be part of nature, and be able to watch without interrupting the way of the world. 

I think it was watching the whole time, waiting for me to listen properly. 

My folks called it a lovely imagination. I thought the same until recently. My mom had stories about finding me "impromptu camping" in the woods. A blanket and a half frozen kid dozing behind ivy riddled trees. I thought it was pretty funny. "She's always off in her own little world!". I remember hearing that all the time. I'm sure people still say it behind my back. 

I hadn't thought about what happened in almost 20 years. I have the odd dream of glowing lights and spinning wheels, I feel my stomach drop when I'm around certain foods. Nothing that seemed to point to a tremendous amount of disturbing memories locked away in my head. And why would I dwell on anecdotal stories from the past? I have a life, a career. Real, tangible things to focus on. 

I don't know if it wanted me to forget for all of these years, or if I simply tuned out the beckoning calls. But I do know that I can't tune anything out anymore. My best friend had a kid almost two years ago today. Her name is Lily. She isn't my family by blood, but she's my favorite thing on this earth. She's just like me and her mom were as kids. She listens. She listens to everything. 

Lily is no longer safe. Since the day she was born, it's been clawing its way back into my life- our lives. I've been assaulted by vivid, frantic dreams of canvas flapping in the wind and bright bulb lights. Horrific faces and heaving bodies. I hear music and barking calls when there should be silence. I still haven't pieced together what this thing is, but I know that I cannot be the only one who's been affected. There has to be someone else out there hearing the calls. 

I don't trust the internet, so I'm writing down everything I can remember and printing it after I post. Handing it out to anyone who seems like they might listen. If I disappear, or something happens to Lilly, I need proof of everything I find. If you are reading this, I hope that you pass it along to the next person, find a way to warn as many as possible- watch those quiet children.

ENTRY 2

-(This is a note I was sent home with me as a child, dated 1/29/2000. I was 5 years old)

Mr. and Mrs. A*****, 

Jane is doing well with her reading and writing workbooks. She is still shy around other students, but eager to share food and toys. 

I am slightly concerned with her naptime and free time behavior. She wants to hide under the tables or in the closets instead of playing with friends. She is having fun with her independent play, but I worry that if she keeps talking to herself in hidden areas, the other students will alienate her. Would love to chat with you soon about ways to integrate social play.

Warmly, Mrs. E****

(Another note, 2/8/2000)

- Mr and Mrs. A*****, 

Your child has been making an effort to socialize with her classmates since our discussion last week. However, the food she is being sent to school with is against school policy. Today during lunch, we saw her handing unwrapped candy to students. The candy is extremely dirty and had to be confiscated. In the future, we ask that you do NOT send your child into school with open food items that have dog hair, dirt, or plant matter attached to them. I'm afraid that if this behavior continues, we will have to involve DHS. 

Warmly, Mrs. E****

I talked to mom about the teachers notes when I found them. She was going through the attic, slowly sorting the thousand pieces of sentimental scrap. Coloring book pages I barely finished, receipts I practiced my name on, every single scrap of "me" up there. Mom laughed, running her hands over her little round face.

"You were such a handful sometimes! Always the best intentions, but your pretend games went too far! Mrs. E**** ended up being a good friend after that. We still get together sometimes!"

"Why did you give me loose candy though? I remember having pretty bland, healthy lunches back then" Mom always cared so much about my diet. 

"You know, I always blamed your father. He had such a sweet tooth after he quit smoking, I figured you stole them out of his bag!" She leaned to the side, barely resting her head on my shoulder. "You still tried to share though! You wanted those kids to like you so badly. I bought you the best Valentine's candy to give out that year". 

That conversation was about three years ago. I remember hugging mom and kissing the top of her head. It felt so good to have this moment of reflection. She was raised with very little love in the house, and remains determined to give me what she never had.

I remember thinking about my best friend Morgan, and the child she was about to bring into the world. I hoped she would watch her grow up and have moments like these with her. I even hoped I could be there for some of them. 

A few fleeting months later, I go to meet Morgan's baby girl. She was three days old. She looked like an angry red grub in a tube sock. Her mother laid her on my chest, and I felt every fiber in my being shift just a tiny bit. It had to make room for the love that exploded through me once I met Lilly. There are no siblings in my family. No nephews or nieces, no cousins or aunts or uncles. It was just the three of us. I had never held a baby before. Now, I never want to let her go. 

That first meeting was a strange one. I listened to my best friend describe the unspeakable terrors of birth while I rocked the perfect outcome in my arms. We splayed out in her bed and marveled at every breath, burp, and twitch of Lilly's tiny face. The eight hours I spent in that room with them felt like no time at all, and I think I even cried on the way home. I missed that baby already. I was so excited to watch her grow. 

I walked into my home that evening, an hour or so of winding, mountain roads between me and my new goddaughter. I dropped my bags to the ground as I squatted, letting my dog smell this new aroma clinging to my clothes. He wiggled and pulled toys from his bin, begging to go in the backyard and run out his excitement. I can't imagine I'll ever have kids, but this guy comes pretty close. Having a dog around makes me feel safe, protected. Besides, I like caring for something. I grabbed a beer and cracked the backdoor, letting him sprint out between my legs, eager to find the perfect pee spot.  The yard at this rental isn't anything to write home about, but there's enough trees to keep my dog happy.

There's one spot in the yard that overlooks a sea of kudzu, and I perched in my favorite lawn chair to enjoy the view. Kudzu is a hideous thing, but the way it blankets the earth creates some of the most unique shapes. Like a little village of rounded, green homes. Invasive, and yet a staple of Western North Carolina landscapes. From the corner of my eye, I saw my dog nosing and chewing at something on the ground. 

"Hey! Leave the mole alon-" I stopped when I got over to him. Instead of his usual rodent victims, I saw a perfectly round piece of something shiny. Specks of dirt and a torn chunk of grass stuck haphazardly to the top. I prodded at it with one curious finger, and it stuck to my hand immediately. A wet piece of hard candy, laying in the dead center of my backyard. I didn't even tell anyone about it. Not the first piece. I threw it away, washed my hands, and quietly cursed the neighbors behind us for tossing litter around. 

Two years later. I am watching my dog use the bathroom as I write this. Before he went out, I had him sit on the porch and wait for me. I have to pick them all up before he goes into the grass or they get stuck in his paws. Dozens, hundreds sometimes. all different flavors, shapes, sizes. This morning, I found a dead squirrel in the yard. An opaque purple candy jutted rudely from its swollen mouth. His eyes bulged, his throat and chest covered in little red scratches. I wish I could say I cried, or told someone about that poor dead thing. I buried it along with a shovel-full of candy from the day's pick up. 

I can see my dog sniffing at the top of the gentle slope near the fence line. He growls almost silently, lip curling and jittering. Several small objects catch the light as they fly from the bushes and bounce once on the soft grass. I'm cursing again. My dog has retreated quickly to my side, glancing around, clearly on alert. My hand instinctively goes to his head. He usually attacks anything unusual within the confines of his yard, but he knows to leave this alone. I'll sit here for a while longer, cursing to myself and getting progressively more drunk. The dog will probably go in and hide sooner than later. He knows this routine.

Lately, just before the sun fully sets, something peeks from beneath the kudzu. A delicate display of multicolored lights struggles to be seen under thick vines. Some even seem to spin in labored circles, rattling the leaves around it as it twirls. I can hear a distant buzzing, like old bulbs burning hot. rusty motors humming tiredly accompanied by something like bells tinkling. I can hear the candy clacking on the ground. I don't feel like looking. I want to sit and watch the lights come on, to see if anything changes tonight. I tell myself that I'm out here because keeping an eye on it makes me feel safer, that I know what to expect if I can monitor the enemy. But that isn't the whole reason I spend my evenings staring at those lights. A small, despicably selfish part of me just wants to be close to the multicolored haze. 

When Lilly asks me for candy, I feel sick.

ENTRY 3

- I don't know how to catalog what happened as a kid. New memories surface occasionally, and I am far from a reliable narrator. Sometimes I'll sit and write pages and pages about how the circus is undoubtedly a living being that grows and moves like a mycelium structure, feeding on decay. Other days I sit down and illustrate the moments I remember best, and try to analyze it away into a series of traumatic memories mushed together and misremembered. At this point, I am beyond analysis. I just want to get it out of my head before it truly cracks me apart. If it stops making sense, you'll have to forgive me. 

The first time I can remember it, I was five. 

I was curled up in my loft bed, scared because the moon was full and bright. I liked my bed being up so high, I felt hidden like a bird in a nest. I could see all the outlines of the trees, and the bumpy blackness of the gravel driveway, accented with moonlight and a damp sheen. Tonight however, it looked scary and I wasn't happy. It wasn't like the warm dull orange of my moon shaped nightlight- the symbol of comfort and safety. I wanted to get my nightlight from near the door and plug it in next to me up here, where the real moon couldn't get me. 

I wriggled out of my quilt and carefully inched down the ladder to my shag carpeted floor. I didn't like having to turn my back to the window in order to climb the ladder. Once I saw the last step under my toes, I hopped down to the floor, dashed to my flashlight, and yanked it out of the wall before I could think.

So. Dark. 

I froze, I distinctly remember thinking "Don't cry and get mom and don't pee your pants". The lack of nightlight left my room looking horrible and ghostly. I cowered next to my sky blue dresser, eyes locked on the closed bedroom door, suddenly afraid to look anywhere else. My five year old brain was desperately trying to self soothe, focusing on how bright the door's cream colored paint was. Almost like its own safe light. 

One side looked especially comforting, like the warm toned glow of a Christmas tree. Yes- there was even a little red on that spot of the door. Christmas trees are super safe, everybody knows that. But why does that side look like Christmas and the rest look so scary? Curiosity won over and I slowly turned my head, following the beams of light from the door, past my bookshelves, and straight out of the window. Out to where the bad moon was. 

What level of curiosity outweighs our animal instincts to fear the unknown? How many perplexing things have to happen before your body leads you to the mouth of the beast? For a little girl afraid of a winter night, all it took was a few red bulbs.

I crawled on my hands and knees to my window seat, its familiar corduroy cushion blocking my view from below. I lift my body up slowly and carefully, still not directly looking out at the yard. The colorful, warm lights multiply. They spread on my lap like sprinkles on a cake. Flecks of blue and green start to appear next to the red and gold. I'm not sure, but I think I was smiling at this point. I turned boldly to the window, stubby hands gripping on the sill. I want a better look at this. Maybe Santa is coming back because I was extra nice this year! 

Beyond the butterfly bushes, beyond the thin chain link fence, there were lights in the woods. Scalloped rainbow strings of bulbs. Icy cold glass pressed on my nose as I beheld such an unusual sight. The tall trees obscured a lot of my view, but I thought I saw little red tents. The state fair! Mom had taken me back in September, and I had been completely enamored with it. I even rode some of the bigger rides with her and didn't cry when I inevitably puked in her lap. The state fair being in the woods though? That had to be something special- just for me. 

I come from a bloodline of very nervous people. Even as a toddler, I would tense up and begin to shake, fearing the known and the unknown at all times. My dad is the same way, shoulders always close to his ears, his foot tapping rapidly whenever he sits. Something you learn early on when you have a neurotic mind is that control matters. Rules are seen as a beacon of hope in a world of chaos. Back then, I liked telling my parents over dinner about all of the rules that I obeyed that day. It made me feel like I wasn't going to get in trouble with... with something. The great unknown. God- if you want to call it that. I'm saying this now because one of my precious rules had been floating in my mind since I crawled to the window. 

Don't go outside at night alone. 

Did this sighting justify waking Mom and Dad up? Something told me no. Mom and Dad work hard, and Dad didn't even want to go to the regular State Fair with us. I kept my face to the glass, watching the lights dance behind swaying branches. The bottoms of the tents flapped gently, and I could hear it. Or at least, I remember hearing it. I scrunched up my face, trying to see if there were rides, or food. The canvas tent closest to me began to shift, an opening forming right down the middle of its panels. The glow coming from inside the tent was astronomical. It looked like a bonfire. I swear I felt warmth on my cheeks despite the frosty window. Mom and Dad had to know about this by now, right? I started to hear a gentle pattering- applause. So there were people out there. I wouldn't be alone. I wouldn't really be breaking the rules, would I? The applause was slowly waning, and rattling, playful music began. Shadows were passing rapidly past the opening of the tent, people had to be out there. It really did feel like Christmas all over again- a private fair, just for me! Mom and dad simply have to be okay with this. I needed to get out there. 

I got on my knees and propped myself up, peering at the window locks. One lever on each side, pressed firmly towards the "locked" symbol. My little fingers fiddled with the lever, trying to flip it around. It was stuck fast, and wouldn't budge under the strength I could muster. I learned years later that the child lock was on. All I had to do was flip both levers at the same time to unlock, then it was on to freedom and teenage shenanigans. Being five at the time, that was all beyond me. I was stuck. I knew that the creaky hardwood floors in the hallways would alert not only my parents, but the dogs asleep in the living room. I turned my head slightly to the door, wondering if I could even open it all by myself. 

A new noise surfaced. Something closer than the distant trumpets and cymbals. A wet and sticky noise just outside the window. I turned my eyes away from the door without moving, and locked onto a pale shape clinging to the flower boxes below my window. It sounded like someone with a mouthful of candies, wetly sucking on them and rolling them around. It clicked occasionally without rhyme or reason, and sometimes it squelched, like all the candy suddenly turned to bubblegum. The image I was presented simply did not match what I saw. 

It was a perfectly bright and shiny dollop of hair, the palest of pink hues glowing in the moonlight around it. The curls tangled and matted into a sort of orb, with a dainty indent directly in the middle. Below this, I saw a set of gleaming, damp blue eyes. 

"wow, you are so pretty" 

The voice danced in between the weird noise, like it was trying to harmonize with it. My eyes were locked with hers. I don't know why I didn't scream, or immediately get mom. I knew the rules about strangers. I think I was frozen, presented with too many impossible situations at once. The eyes were so sparkly, almost like they were crying. That pure sky blue is a color that I will never be able to recreate. So clean and deep, and desperately beautiful. Patchy white makeup and little red hearts adorned the stranger's face. To a little girl, it was the ideal bait. A living doll, gushing over my sleep dusted face. 

"You don't have to be scared, sweetheart. I'm here to give you the most exciting, most special news you will ever hear!" The voice was almost quaking. I remember thinking it sounded like a sad lady who was also happy, but I know better now. She sounded like she was in ecstasy, quivering and moaning out each word. It was an amount of wanting that should never have been directed at a child, but when I saw her lift up from behind the flower box, all of the hesitation and fear in my small body washed away. She was perfect. A perfect round face, perfect shiny lips, a perfect beaming smile. Her skin looked almost like plaster, the texture lacquered with a light pink paint. Her face bore a faded white heart, silhouetting her features like a Valentine's card. I can't remember exactly what she looked like in this moment, the years and the constant visits all blur together. But I will never forget that noise. The writhing wet behind the sick, yearning coo of her voice. 

"Did.... did you bring the state fair?" I pointed to the woods, trying to speak as quietly and bravely as I could. I knew I had to be polite to grown ups, and this pretty lady was being very nice. She was perched like a cat on the flower box, cocking her head to the side so she could be closer to my face. I leaned in closer as she giggled. The noise bubbled underneath the flirtatious expression. 

"No, silly bear! That isn't a boring fair, that is the circus!" She twirled and held out her hands towards the illuminated tent, a grand presentation. Her nose caught the moonlight and I noticed it was scarlet red and perfectly round. A clown! Of course! I knew about clowns, my dad and I watched Bozo on the tv sometimes. It was a dated show by then, but I loved clowns. I had never seen a pretty girl clown before. This was very exciting. 

"oh, I'm sorry" I said, fussing with the buttons on my pajama top. 

"Sorry is for suckers! You don't have to be sorry at all! Not once I give you this special news!" She puts her hands next to her ears and wiggles them, puffing out her cheeks. A small, glistening tongue emerged from her candy apple lips. It dripped a smooth circle of drool onto my windowsill. I'm sure I giggled at this, as much as I hate to admit that. 

She makes that face in my dreams now, slithering and mumbling seductive nothings. I sat smiling at her, waiting patiently for her to continue. "You, my sweet little peach, are the cream of the crop! The circus is a really important place. and we need the most important little girl in the whole world to help us." I nodded and looked down, interested and slightly uncomfortable. 'Most important' didn't sound right to me. It felt like something the wrong type of stranger would say. The rules my brain clung to had been silenced by this captivating woman, but now they began to whisper. 

"My mom says everyone is special in their own way", something I learned to recite early on. My hands clamped tightly together in my lap. She blinked a long, slow blink. One eyelid opened slightly after the other, a wet snap clicking it into place. 

"you have no idea what you're being offered, and you're too clueless to understand what awaits you regardless" She quivers. "The circus wants your perfect little body. your tender mind". she presses her hand on the glass, palm flat and steamy against it. I wanted to reach out, even though I had started to cry. "I want you to come play with us so badly" she thumped her forehead against the glass, perfect blue eyes glaring under her painted brow. 

When she did this, something came into view. A line followed the makeup around her face, a deep and dark line- no bigger than a wrinkle. The wet noise, that awful noise, seemed to fill my ears. She cocked her head to the side as I studied her, a little grin curled up into her cheeks. The wrinkle shifted with her head, now it looked deeper. It looked like... a hole. Faster than I could blink, something dashed across her face. Was it a light? I wanted to get a better look, but she was so close already and I knew she wanted an answer from me. I should be more polite. The light passes again, all the way across her forehead. This time, I noticed that it didn't shine on her hair, or her eyes. just that line. As the "light" starts swishing back and forth I put it together. There is something pale moving inside of that big wrinkle. Something that looked just as drippy as her tongue. 

Thankfully, that was the final straw. The mouth of the beast opened its jaws to me and I resisted temptation. Urine trailed down my pajama pants and onto my carpet as I bolted to my door, easily opening it and screeching for my mom. She remembers a pee soaked kid screaming about a "clown filled with slugs". She thought it was pretty funny, but tried not to let on as she gave me a quick bath and tucked me between her and dad in the king sized bed they shared. How quickly your fear dissipates when you think your parents are indestructible. Mom rubbed my back with her long nails and I barely thought about my visitor for the rest of the week. Mom said it was a bad dream, and so it was. That's how I remembered all of this for the longest time. A bad dream. 

That hideous “clown” is real, and it's nothing like the classic slasher movie clown that I wish she was. She is desire, lust, a hideous creature. I remember the words she said to me that night because she repeated them every time she visited. She perched on that flower box and writhed at a child, attempting to peel me away from my family. I think she did her best to keep the mask on, to keep the hunger at bay. She got so much better over time. 

It took almost exactly two years to get me into those woods.