Commins' Case: Bloody Burlesque ✅

Chapter 9

A lengthy carriage ride takes us to the outskirts of town, along a dusty road to the front gates of a forgotten circus. The wrought-iron fence that hems the grounds is overgrown with vine. The tents, their red and yellow stripes bleached by the merciless sun look as though they have been standing there long before Roford came along. There, they will continue to stand long after the town has died. A breeze lifts the top of the nearest tent, and it snaps back down. A large Ferris wheel rears up at one corner of the park, like an ancient monolith to a forgotten god, and there is a rusted tea-cup ride and gilded carousel. The sign over the front gate reads Cirque Mystique.

The gravel of the front-drive crunch beneath the weight of the carriage wheels. Marcus pulls on the reigns, plucks the stub of his cigar from his mouth and gives a low whistle. "Sure this is where you want to be, mate?"

Gabriel stares out the window, looking first at the circus, then back to Marie and I. "The circus?" he asks. "Why are we at a circus?"

"What's the matter?" I open the door and step out. "Don't like clowns?"

Marcus leans over the side of the carriage. "Want me to wait?"

"Thank you." I toss him another coin to keep him waiting, then head towards the front gate. Marie steps out of the carriage, and her high-heels sink into the loose gravel. She does an awkward wriggle and shake but remains on her feet. A nervous Gabriel reluctantly climbs out and closes the door behind him.

A large, bulky padlock secures the gate.

Marie sees it and asks, "Over or under this time?"

I start to say, "Either would be fine." She levels a look at me, and I reconsider saying it aloud.

I motion to the gate. "Give it a push."

"It's locked."

"Trust me."

Marie, rolling her eyes, places a hand up to push. Before her fingers can make contact, the padlock opens with a clank and the gate swings inwards.

"Ah fuck," Gabriel mutters.

-

"The Mystical Circus. Things can go very wrong in here, so watch your step and do not get lost."

The three of us head inside. Marie and Gabriel do their very best to watch everywhere at once. "I didn't know there even was a circus in town," Marie tells me.

"I suppose there isn't," I say. "At least not in any normal sense. The Cirque Mystique has always been here, for as long as I can remember, as long as anyone can. I've only had cause to be here twice before, and both were very surreal experiences."

"Does it open?" she asks. "You know, like at night. All the lights come on, and clowns come out—" Gabriel shudders. "Children? Music? Rides?" she continues.

Marie is holding onto my arm now.

"I've never heard of it being open," I say, shaking my head.

"I don't like it here, Claude. Can't we go back?"

"Not yet," I tell her. "We need to be rid of the hex first."

"But the place is deserted."

I point between a pair of tents to a wooden man in a box.

"You can't be serious," Gabriel exclaims.

-

Ignoring him, I proceed up to the tall box that reads Llewellyn McArthy, with the well-kempt, wooden puppet in a suit with a red bow tie. He has eyes like coal that cause goosebumps to march up my arms. I put a coin in his slot and twist the knob, saying, "I need to see JoJo," as I do so.