Free The Pilo Family Circus by Will Elliott Page A

… picked it up,’ Jamie murmured. Talking was so hard each word almost hurt him. His head was slumped down onto his chest and he only wanted the voice not to be angry.
    Was it one of the clowns? it demanded.
    ‘Yes.’
    Which clown? Where? When?
    ‘Goshy. Think his name’s Goshy. ’Bout a week ago. Fell out … his pocket.’
    A wave of anger like warm air brushed over him and he cowered, whimpering. There was a pause and the sound of fingernails drumming the tabletop before the voice said, Okay. Wake up now, Jamie. Come back to me. Wake up.
    He filtered back into consciousness, lured by a wave of perfume and two sparkling eyes. At first he thought he was staring at a pair of diamonds glinting in candlelight; the fortune-teller’s face appeared as a fuzzy outline around the jewels, and it seemed to take hours to resume its clarity and shape. ‘Pleasant trip?’ said Shalice the fortune-teller.
    Jamie tried to remember the last few minutes, but it felt like he was thinking through fog. ‘What happened? Was there something about a blonde woman?’
    ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Shalice said. She started packing things away with rapid movements, preoccupied and clearly annoyed about something. ‘Well, Jamie, thank you for stopping by. If you’ll excuse me I have something to take care of.’
    ‘Yeah, sure,’ Jamie said and stood to go. Shalice brushed past him in a hurry, stepping through the beads and outside. Soon she was lost from sight. Jamie stared at the crystal ball for a moment, now hidden beneath a cloth cover, then left the hut.
    Outside the dark fragrant little place, the world’s colours and sounds seemed an assault. It took a moment to get his bearings; he could remember almost nothing since the magic show, and even that was hazy. Behind him, the glass beads at the hut’s entrance rattled in the breeze. What precisely had gone on in there?
    Again that soft, insistent voice: Nothing it’s your place to worry about. Enjoy the show.
    He was powerless to argue. The light-headed euphoria returned on a gust of breeze smelling of popcorn, and within a few deep breaths he felt giddy. He wandered slowly back to the more crowded pathways, browsing gypsy stalls as the afternoon grew dark.
     
    Evening fell and the sky over Sideshow Alley was alight with multicoloured streaks. Jamie veered instinctively away from the colours and came to a wooden building with a crimson glow around it and orange tongues of flame bursting from its open door like dragon’s breath: The funhouse.
    There were few patrons around — most seemed to be heading towards the giant marquees in the middle of the showgrounds, where the gypsy stallholders informed passers-by, the acrobats and clowns were soon to perform. Only two people waited by the funhouse steps: a young couple who stood completely still, staring directly ahead. Beside them was a robed figure holding a staff with a skull at its tip. A black hood concealed his face. From within the funhouse came the expected noises: bestial howls, women’s screams, a sound like giant teeth grinding together. Expected sounds, but by God they sounded real.
    A cart suddenly burst through the door, sparks flashing around its wheels as it scraped along the metal rail. It squealed to a halt. The robed figure waved his staff. Without a word the young couple climbed into the cart. Jamie glanced from them to the guardian, then headed for the steps. But the guardian barred the way with his staff. ‘What’s up?’ Jamie asked him.
    No answer. There was a horrible squealing that made himjump as the cart plunged ahead on its rail. The couple’s heads wobbled like rag dolls. A flash of orange flame burst out from the doors as they went in, then they were gone from view.
    Disappointed, Jamie waited for the next cart to wheel its way out. He glanced sidelong at the guardian, trying to make out the face beneath the hood. From inside the funhouse the sound of howling and screams kicked into a crescendo,