With most of the people still in the big top, the midway was relatively clear. The young evening sky had a slight pink hue, promising another beautiful sunset. Some of the booths were already closed in preparation for tomorrow's tear down and move on routine, a routine many of the circus workers had known all their lives. The cotton candy booth was still open, drawing a short line of people vying for their last bit of the puffy treat for who knew how long. The lady with the pink hair looked up and waved at Randy and Binks as they walked past.
“Are we going to try to sneak a look at the freaks?” Binks asked, looking at the line of tents now partially hidden in shadows. That was the last thing Randy wanted to do and was happy to see the look of relief on Binks' face when he told him it was getting too late.
“You know I'd like to,” Randy said, “but it's starting to get dark and our parents would kill us if they found out what we've been doing.” Randy looked back at the freak tents. The platform along their entrances stood empty. The tent's openings hung open and dark like the gaping mouths of huge canvas corpses. He felt his heart jump when he saw something moving, slithering, just beyond the loose flap of the tent housing Snake Boy. He was just about to challenge Binks to a race to the exit when Binks yelled out.
“No way! Check it out.” Binks pointed about ten feet in front of them where among the sawdust and crumpled candy wrappers, a fifty dollar bill lay on the ground shuddering restlessly against the wind. Randy looked at Binks with wide eyes then they both looked around, sure the owner of this spectacular find would be right behind them ready to tell them 'Excuse me boys, but I seemed to have dropped something' but no one was even looking their way. The closest person was man, dressed so much like Baldo it was scary, rummaging through a trashcan. If he had had the red face, Randy would have sworn it was actually him.
They started toward the fifty, wanting to run, but afraid that would draw attention. When they were within reaching distance, Randy bent down to pick it up. As he did, a gust of wind rolled down the midway, picking up the fifty and sending it fluttering ahead of them. Now, not caring if they drew attention or not, both boys took off in a full run after the escaping prize.
The wind shifted, blowing across the midway instead of down it. The fifty lifted a foot off the ground and seemed to fly like a magic carpet as it dipped and looped its way between the tents. Completely forgetting about the fact it was getting late and that this distraction might very well get them caught, Randy and Binks found themselves laughing hysterically as they gave chase to what could bring them both happiness... at least for a while.
***
The wind abruptly stopped and the fifty settled to the ground in a seesawing motion. It landed at the corner of a camel colored tent under the angle of a tie down rope stretching out to a steel stake. Their laughing died along with the wind, and Randy found an unexplainable uneasiness creeping into his stomach. They stepped toward the fifty. It lay there unmoving as if it had finally given up the chase and decided to allow its own capture. This time Binks reached down to pick it up. Just before his fingers touched the thin green paper, it jumped away and skittered around the corner of the tent. Binks jerked his hand back and Randy felt his heart leap to his throat.
They looked at each other. “I say if we go around this tent and it isn't just lying right there, we forget it,” Randy said. At the sound of his own voice, Randy became intensely aware of the contrasting quiet surrounding them since the wind had stopped. It was quiet, but not silent. He could still hear canvas rippling and tent flaps snapping, which made no sense if the wind wasn't blowing.
“I'm with you,” Binks whispered back, his voice quavering. Randy didn't know if Binks felt the same sense of unease, but guessed he did.
They stepped cautiously around the tent in almost animated synchronization, subconsciously being careful to make as little noise as possible. Randy found himself wanting to reach out and take Binks' hand, but told himself he was just being stupid. Stupid and scared. He wasn't a baby, he was almost eleven. He took in a deep breath and let it escape his mouth in a slow hiss as they stepped around the steel stake and looked on the other side of the tent.
The fifty lay motionless on top of the ankle deep grass, beckoning them to come and pick it up. They took a step forward, and the bill slid across the grass making a dry scraping sound. Randy's brow creased and he squinted. It couldn't be possible they missed this before, but he could see a thin fishing line tied to the bill, pulling it along the grass. Their eyes followed its progress until it stopped ten yards in front of them. Randy felt his head start to spin and the thudding of his heart threatened to burst his eardrums. The fifty stopped just under the front bumper of the same miniature clown car they had seen roaring around the hippodrome. The car's huge bug eyes stared gleefully back at them, and as Randy watched in utter horror, a white gloved hand attached to a billowing white sleeve with a ruffled cuff, reached from under the car, plucked the fifty from the grass, then slid back out of view.
“Oh shit Randy. Oh shit, shit, shit, shit.”
“Come on Binks, let's go. Let's just turn around and get back to the midway,” Randy said putting a hand on Binks' arm. Randy's dad wasn't one of the most loving dad's on earth and babying Randy was never part of the program. There had been many times Randy had gone to his room with tears in his eyes because his dad never seemed to have time to play with him. His dad would tell him boys didn't have time to play when they should be growing into a man. Sometimes Randy even felt himself having to fight back the urge to resent or maybe even hate him. Today however, all of the toughness his father had forced into him suddenly didn't seem so bad.
***
They slowly turned around, but instead of running, they froze. Randy knew what he was seeing was impossible. It had to be. They had chased the fifty a good bit off the midway, but not this far. He could just make out the lights of the circus twinkling on the horizon against what had turned out to be a blood red sunset. The flags fluttering on the big top were barely visible at what seemed like a mile away. And the tents... there looked to be hundreds, maybe thousands of them between where they stood and midway.
“This can't be real,” Binks breathed.
Randy couldn't answer. His mind fought with his eyes as they sent impossible images to his brain. Suddenly, a figure carrying something that shined in the last rays of the sun darted between two tents twenty yards in front of them. This time, Randy did grab Binks' hand.
Something that sounded like a rubber ball bouncing off the clown car made them both spin around. Nothing was there but the white car with its grotesque red ears. The grass moved and the canvas of the tents rippled against a silent, unfelt wind adding to the surreal atmosphere closing in around them. Randy felt the skeletal hand of terror tickle his spine, wanting to wrap its probing fingers around it and paralyze him with fear. He squeezed his eyes shut. No, please don't let me get scared- don't let me be a baby. Using all his will, he pried at the bony fingers of fear. He felt its grip first loosen, then fall away, but knew it lurked in the inner recess of his mind, waiting... waiting for him to let his guard down, even if only for a second.
“Come on,” Randy said. They turned and ran toward the distant lights. Binks, being the slower of the two, started to drop back and Randy pulled him forward. “You have to stay with me Binks.”
“I'm trying,” Binks said in a shaky voice.
Tents flashed by on both sides of them. Randy caught movement in the corner of his eye and looked to his left. A row over, and easily keeping pace with them, the Baker ran through the grass, ratcheting his rolling pin at them in a hammering motion, his oversized shoes making thumping sounds with each step.
“Randy.” Binks squeezed Randy's hand and nodded to the right where the Butcher jogged along, grinning and slashing his cleaver through the air in sharp arches. The unnatural acoustics allowed Randy to hear the slicing sounds the cleaver made cutting through the air.
“I know, just keep running.” Looking in front of them, Randy suddenly felt hope surge through him. Five tents up, the dim glow of a light spilled from an open flap. “That tent up there with the light.” Binks looked and nodded. “There may be someone in there that can help us.”
“But what if there isn't? What if-”
“We don't have any choice.” Randy let loose of Binks' hand and cut to the right. He prayed he was right as he ran into the tent, but knew instantly this was at least one prayer unanswered. On the far side of the tent, lounging in something like an oversized couch, the goat woman lay stretched out, stroking Baldo's red shiny head. Baldo's head was resting below her flabby arm, and Randy felt his stomach roll when he realized he was suckling on one of her four sagging teats. The Candlestick Maker stood at her other side, grinning at Randy while tickling the underside of her double chin with the wick of his candlestick. She giggled, an 'ah ah ah ah ah' sound like what you would expect from a goat, which caused her chins and the scraggly beard to jiggle. Her rectangular pupils glinted in the flicker of the kerosene lanterns hanging from the wooden poles supporting the tent's canvas top.
Randy reached a hand back to Binks, but felt nothing. “Binks?” Randy turned around. Binks was gone. “Binks!”
