Pied Piper’s Infernal Circus

Miranda couldn’t recall the last time a circus came through town.

The flier listed the city basketball court as its venue. Miranda squinted through the bright sun at the banner hanging in the stadium window. It looked vintage, like an advert for Barnum and Bailey’s on display in a museum exhibit. Miranda cast her eyes up and down its length, noting the muted colors, the same, cartoony typeface from the flier. 

Children’s silhouettes crowded the banner’s bottom. At first glance, it appeared their backs were to the viewer as they faced the lion tamer in the center. Miranda frowned at one of the smaller silhouettes tucked into the corner, its hair in pigtails. It had a thin, white slit for a smiling mouth. 

That child faced the wrong way.

She shuddered and leaned closer. The banner’s weave was loose around its perimeter, a faded, creamy color like yellowed lace. A signature hidden in the mass of children’s silhouettes read, P.P. 1923.

A loud clang from a construction site down the road cut Miranda’s concentration and she jumped, a hand flying to her ear.

“Did you bring your headphones?” Ariana asked from beside her. 

Miranda shrugged. “I’ll be alright.”

“Really?” 

Miranda chewed the inside of her bottom lip, cursing her forgetfulness, and led the way through the wide, double doors into the stadium.

Inside was quiet. No squeals from excited children. No rumble of popcorn bouncing in a glass-walled machine. Other than a pop-up display at the box-office, the place was deserted.

“Lots of people here today?” Ariana asked the ticket attendant as she withdrew her credit card from her crossbody. “The place seems empty.”

The attendant shrugged and ran the card.

Miranda leaned against the counter, staring at the display. It was a cardboard cutout of a man clad in bi-colored circus regalia. The Ringmaster. A signature was scrawled over the base: Patrick Pipper. 

“Who’s that?” Ariana nodded to the cutout as she handed Miranda her ticket. 

“Patrick Pipper. The original ringmaster, I guess.” 

The pair crossed the shiny floor to the court entrance and stepped into the vomitorium.

Around them, the stadium shifted. The air swelled with calliope music. The buttery scent of popcorn hung heavy in the air and the sound of children’s laughter floated atop it while balloons drifted among the stands. 

Miranda and Ariana shared a bemused glance. They emerged from the vomitorium onto the court floor and gawked at the colorful display. Banners and pennants hung from the rafters. A trapeze stretched from one end of the court to the next. The floor was latticed with tarps, safety nets and mats divided into three rings. 

Ariana tugged at Miranda’s elbow and led her up the steep set of stairs to their seats. They slid in and sat down. 

“I had a friend who ran away and joined the circus,” Miranda said. 

Ariana glanced at her sideways. “You did not.”

“I did.” Miranda stared at Ariana. “Her name was Lucy. She disappeared when we were eight. Police never found her, but she left me a note — not that anyone believed it.” 

Ariana gaped at her for a long moment before replying, “I’m so sorry.”

Miranda shrugged and turned forward in her seat, closing her eyes to allow memories of Lucy to flood her.

A bouncy girl, Lucy always kept her dark hair pulled back in pigtails. Miranda found it strange that she never hid the thin surgery scar on the back of her neck. Then again, Lucy oozed self-confidence.

Miranda smiled at the memories. They had been buried for too long, along with the note scrawled in a child’s mismatched handwriting:

Dear Mir,

I’m joining the circus! 

I’ll do trapeez or akrobactics. The ring master sed I’ll be a star. So don’t worry about me.

Come see me preform when we’re older!

Love,

Lucy

A shudder ran down Miranda’s spine and her eyes snapped open. The mystery of Lucy’s disappearance came rushing back, drowning the good memories as it did. 

Miranda scowled. 

Ariana noticed. Reaching a hand over to lay atop Miranda’s clenched fist, she leaned close to say something, but the lights clicked off with a sudden chink and Miranda loosened her hands in surprise.

When the spotlight came on, it focused on a man in the center ring. He wore the same, pied outfit the cardboard cutout boasted. Miranda ignored his introduction, already distracted by a pair of elephants led by two tiny boys no more than six years old. They actually have animal acts? Then to her utter shock emerged a large, tawny liger. 

Miranda edged forward.

Perched atop the big cat was a young girl. As the liger moved closer to the center ring, the girl placed her hands between its shoulders and pushed herself into a controlled handstand. The stadium gasped as she flipped forward atop the cat’s broad head and flung out her arms in a gymnast’s salute. Her dark hair was pulled back into pigtails. The liger circled the center ring, bringing the girl into better light. Miranda blinked at her familiar face. 

The girl noticed her and after a hesitation forced a grin, even as her eyes dropped. When the liger turned the other side of the ring, Miranda saw a pale line extending from the base of the girl’s skull down her spine.

Jumping to her feet, Miranda winced as the metal seat clattered shut behind her. Ariana grabbed her wrist, pulled her backward.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s her!” Miranda didn’t try to lower her voice; unaware she was shouting. Ariana tugged her back into her seat.

“What are you talking about?” she hissed. Miranda kept her eyes on the girl and the liger. Ariana grabbed her face, forced her to break her line of sight by turning her. “Mir?”

“It’s Lucy.” Laughter roiled up in Miranda’s gut and she struggled to stifle it as her rational mind insisted that the girl wasn’t Lucy. She turned back to the ring, hoping to catch another sight of Lucy’s doppelgänger, but she was gone. 

Only the ringmaster remained. Half-shrouded in shadow, he smiled, the expression a thin, white gash across his face. Miranda shrunk back into her chair as her chest tightened. She took a shallow breath, held it, and closed her eyes. 

This isn’t real…

The circus passed in a blur. Although Miranda watched, her mind never focused. It raced in circles surrounding the girl on the cat. Pitched forward with elbows on her knees and barely breathing, Miranda waited for the liger act. 

As intermission loomed, Miranda’s eyes glazed over. I’ll have to wait all day to see that girl again. She leaned back and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Over the sound of her slow exhale, the ringmaster’s voice reverberated through the stadium:

“And now, esteemed guests — our very own Liger and Lucy!”

Miranda dropped her hands into her lap and dug her fingernails into her thighs until they left crescent indents. 

The liger emerged first, followed by the young girl. She wore a shimmery white leotard with a gossamer skirt. Miranda let out a sharp gasp in recognition. Despite not seeing it for twenty years, there was no mistaking that costume; Lucy wore it at their childhood dance recital.

 As the girl moved, she bounced with a childlike innocence that was both caricature and endearing; her hands clasped behind the small of her back, her bare toes pointed with every gliding step. 

Miranda stared down the rows of seating. Down in the ring, the liger rocked back onto its haunches, its tail slicking back and forth over the floor. Lucy, a scant fourth of the cat’s height, executed a graceful backflip and landed on the top of its knee. Continuing upward, she climbed to the liger’s shoulder. He reared back taller when she reached them, eliciting a collective gasp from the audience. Then, Lucy flung herself forward, catching herself on the cat’s large muzzle and raising herself into a handstand. 

The crowd erupted in applause, a cacophony of metal clanging as seats closed beneath a sudden standing ovation. Miranda doubled over into her lap, pressing her knees to either side of her head and muffling the noise. When she felt the crowd settle, she raised her head, hair falling limply over her face. She pushed it out of her eyes and blinked down at the rings. They were empty, save for the ringmaster announcing intermission. The stadium lights clicked on, and Miranda shielded her eyes with one hand while she pushed the other to the side of her head, bracing for the sound of seats clanging as audience members stood.

She glanced over at Ariana.

To her surprise, Ariana still sat leaning forward, her eyes glazed but transfixed on the ring, her head cocked to the side. Like she’s listening for something.

Miranda touched her arm. Ariana didn’t respond. Miranda gave her a shove and as if a switch were flipped, Ariana came back in focus.

“Want a snack?” she asked, oblivious to her previous trance. Miranda frowned.

“No…I’m going to try and find that girl.”