Ned’s Circus of Marvels

It was a clown, though nothing like the ones he’d seen in books or on the telly. He had the same shrunken hat, oversized boots and orange curly hair one would expect, but he was caked in dirt. His make-up had cracked, like white clay left too long in the sun, and the few teeth he still had were gnarled black stumps.

The horrible scraping sound began again as the clown dragged a claw-like nail across the glass. Then Ned realised – scratched into the glass of the patio doors were four letters.

Y C U L

Ned ducked down out of sight behind the sofa, heart pounding, speechless with fear.

Suddenly from behind him Ned heard the sound of the front door being thrown open and a rather different Terry Waddlesworth than Ned was used to burst into the house.

“Dad!” Ned managed to croak over his shoulder.

“Ned? Ned!”

“Dad, there’s something …” But he was suddenly unable to speak, only point with a shaking finger.

“Thank goodness you’re all r …” His father’s voice trailed off as his eyes followed Ned’s hand. The only sound now was the continued scraping from the clown’s fingernails, who seemed not to have heard them through the thick, double-glazed patio doors.

When Ned’s dad at last spoke again, he did so in a slow, deliberate whisper. “Ned, it’s time to go,” he hissed, beckoning him back towards him on all fours then grabbing him by the arm and leading him into the hallway.

Ned was in a daze.

“It’s OK, Dad, no need to panic. I’ve figured it out, I’m still dreaming. I’ll probably wake up in a minute and you’ll tell me we’re staying in Grittlesby for good, because I like it here, and I’ve got actual friends and they’ve bought me presents and we’re going to start behaving like a normal family and everything’s going to be great and …”

Ned’s dad ignored his babbling and picked up two black bags from under the stairs, before pausing by the front door. The scratching stopped.

“Give me a minute, son, and don’t go back in there. Whatever happens, he mustn’t see you.”

And in a second he’d pounded up the stairs to Ned’s bedroom. On his way back down, Ned’s dad was stowing something into one of the black bags. Just as he was dragging Ned out the front door, they heard behind them the sound of shattering glass from the sitting room.

“GET IN!” shouted his dad as he threw open the door of their Morris Minor and revved the engine, and before Ned knew what was happening they were tearing out of the driveway in a cloud of dust.

Slowly Ned started to surface from his stupor. A bank of grey fog had rolled into Grittlesby, just like the one from his dream, and as they sped through their little suburb, Ned wondered whether his dad was using his eyes or his memory to navigate.

“I’m not dreaming, am I? Dad, what’s going on? What was that thing?”

“A clown, and a particularly nasty one at that. I just hope he didn’t see you.”

“See me? I don’t understand. Why would that be bad?”

“Because I haven’t had enough time!”

“Time? Time for what?!”

“To get you to safety, to explain, you see … not everything we see is as we see it. The world is a complicated place. It has layers, Ned, lots of layers. What might be the norm for one person, is not really the same for …”

CRUNCH!

Just then something crashed into the right side of their car, hitting it hard. Through the fog, lit up by the streetlights, Ned saw a bright purple ice-cream van with a sign on it reading, MO’S CHILDREN’S PARTIES. Its driver was hideously fat, with the same monstrous grin and cracked make-up as the clown from Ned’s home.

“GET DOWN!” ordered his dad, before shoving Ned further into his seat and out of the clown’s line of sight.

“Please don’t tell me you hired these clowns for my birthday?!”

“Ned, the tickets and present I gave you, do you have them?”

“What?” said Ned, peeking between the seats at the grinning clown tearing after them.

“THE PRESENT! THE TICKETS! DO YOU HAVE THEM?”

Ned had never seen his father quite so crazed. Fumbling through his pockets he found both envelope and package, and pulled them out.

“OPEN IT! QUICKLY!” shouted his dad.

Ned tore at the present’s paper to reveal a smooth metal box. Just then there was another loud crash at their rear and the box flew from Ned’s hands.

“I’ve dropped it!” he shouted, scrabbling around by his feet. “It’s on the floor here somewhere …”

Terry cursed loudly and flicked on the car’s reading light, before making a sharp turn.

“Find it, Ned, that box is the key!”

“The key to what?”

“Just do it!”

Something in Ned’s dad’s voice made Ned do as he was told, and he soon found himself upside down in the passenger seat, scrambling around under the car seat to find his mysterious gift. Their old car wasn’t used to being pushed so hard and the engine groaned loudly as Terry hammered on the accelerator. Under his chair, Ned could just make out the glimmer of an edge.

“I think I can see it!” he shouted.

“Hold on, son, it’s going to get rough.”

“Hold on to what? I’m upside down!”

The car hit something hard, launched into the air and just as Ned’s fingers closed around it the box was gone again.

“Ow! What was that?”

“Speed bump … and another coming.”

Their car flew over another of the hard, tarmacked lumps, and Ned smacked his head again on the vehicle’s dashboard.

“One last bump, have you got it?”

“No I have not, and I won’t have a neck if we carry on like—”

The final bump hurt the most, but as they landed, Ned saw the glimmering metal box leap off the ground just before it hit him square in the eye.

“Ow!” he said, grabbing at it before it fell again. “OK. Got it …”

Ned felt his dad’s hand reaching for his neck and, in a single hard pull, he’d yanked him up and back into his seat.

“Don’t lose sight of it again, Ned. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”

“Is this … is this what they’re after?”

“Only two people in the world know about that box. Those clowns are after me.”

“YOU! What could they possibly want with—”

Crash!

A horrible crunching sound rang through the car as Mo’s van smashed into the back of them again.

Through the fog, Ned could barely make out the ‘NO ENTRY’ sign to Grittlesby’s pedestrianised shopping arcade and the two metal bollards at its sides.

“Dad, we’re not going to make it!”

“Oh yes we are, my boy, oh yes we are!”

Their beloved old car hurtled through the barrier and there was a loud tearing noise as both of the Morris Minor’s wing mirrors were ripped off. Ned looked out the rear window to see Mo’s van screech to a sudden halt as it crashed into the bollards. At the other end of the arcade, their path was blocked by an even larger barrier, that Ned was sure not even his newly crazed father would try and break through. Terry went quiet, looking left and right, then left again.

“Hold on to your seat, son.”

Ned’s dad slammed the gearstick into reverse and spun the wheel. The old Morris Minor flew backwards, turning wildly up a narrow one-way street. Faster and faster the car sped, crossing one then two intersections, and then another. Ned now had no doubt that his father had gone mad when the car hit a high kerb and flew into the air.

In that moment of free fall, Ned saw his life flash before him. He saw his school surrounded by a flock of C’s, his dad staring at the inner workings of a toaster, Whiskers asleep on his pillow. And Ned did the only thing he could think of.

“Arggggggghhhhhh!”

The car landed with a loud crunch. Its boot popped open sending their bags flying as smoke poured out of the engine.

It took a good thirty seconds of his dad shaking him before Ned felt ready to stop yelling.

“It’s all right, Ned, we made it!”

But Ned’s thoughts were somewhere else. “Whiskers … what about Whiskers? Dad! We left him behind!”

“Don’t worry about him; he’s tougher than he looks. You need to move,” said his dad, thrusting one of the black bags into Ned’s arms. “Quickly, Ned, they’ll be on us in a second.”

The thought of the clowns brought him back to the moment with a thump.

“Where am I going? Why?”

“I was going to explain everything before the show, I wanted to prepare you, but my plans they … just get to the Circus of Marvels, Ned, they’ll keep you safe.”

Ned couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“We’re being chased by homicidal clowns and you want me to hide in a circus?”

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be this way, I’ve tried to protect you …”

“What wasn’t? Dad, you’re scaring me. What’s happening?”

“Just get to the circus – they’re waiting for you. Take one of the tickets, you won’t find them without it. Don’t worry, Neddles, just give Benissimo the box, he’ll know what to do.”

Terry grabbed the remaining ticket, tore it into shreds and started swallowing the pieces.

“What is going on, Dad?? How do you know these people? Where are you going? When can I come home?”

Ned could feel the tears welling in his eyes.

“You’re going to need to be brave, son, and grown up, more grown up than I’ve ever let you be before … but I will find you, Ned, I promise. Trust only Benissimo and Kitty, and don’t lose sight of that box.”

“But what does it do? What’s it for?”

From back the way they’d come, still hidden in the fog, came the honk of a horn and somewhere beyond it another.

“The clowns … they’re coming,” said his dad, now peering into the darkness. “They’ve found me.”

“T E R R Y,” called a rasping voice, that was both ugly and near.

“Run, boy, just run!”

The Greatest Show on Earth

Ned held onto his dad, tears beginning to flow down his face. How could he leave him to those monsters, with their cracked make up and glass cutting nails? It was the strength of his dad’s push that gave him his answer. Ned had no choice.

He ran in the direction he was pushed, through the thick fog, only stopping when he could run no more. He looked down at the ticket clutched in his hands. Gold letters spelled out ‘BENISSIMO’S CIRCUS OF MARVELS’ and underneath the words was something he recognised. A picture of an elephant with tiny wings. It was just like the one from his dream. Nothing in his little world made sense any more. How could a travelling salesman obsessed with safety be mixed up in all this, whatever ‘all this’ actually was? Who were those clowns and what was the first one scratching into the glass?

When he had caught his breath, Ned set off again, half running, half stumbling deeper into the wall of fog, until suddenly he hit something hard. When he looked up, in place of the tree he was expecting was a mountainous, red-cheeked man, who looked every bit as terrifying as the clowns. Ned was too dazed to try and escape, and was still catching his breath when the mountain spoke.

“You are boy, no?” he said, sounding decidedly Russian.

“Err, yeah …” At least, he thought he was. Though the last half hour had left him unsure of … well, almost everything.

“I am Rocky. You are safe now, no one mek passing. De Circus has you.”

There was a gust of wind and within a few seconds the surrounding fog started to form shapes. It swirled and rolled over itself, revealing lights and an echo of music. The mountain stepped aside to reveal his father’s birthday surprise: BENISSIMO’S CIRCUS OF MARVELS.

It had an old, hand-carved wooden entrance, with angels at its top and pitchfork-bearing devils at its bottom. Miniature red and yellow hot-air balloons with little lanterns at their bases floated above the sign, welcoming in their visitors.

Ned’s father – safe, sensible Terry Waddlesworth – was in serious trouble, Ned was in the hands of a Russian mountain, and yet somehow, as they approached the entrance, Ned couldn’t help the faintest of smiles.

A team of three, white-moustached emperor monkeys worked the crowd. They wore smart red outfits, with bellboy hats cocked to one side, one taking the admissions at the front desk, while another checked people’s tickets. The third monkey cranked the handle of a strange-looking machine. From its mass of brass pipes, percussion instruments and what looked to be part of a violin, came the most bizarre music. It sort of wheezed out a tune that was both fast and slow, light-hearted and melancholy.

Ned followed Rocky past the queue and into the packed grounds. His head was a riot of adrenaline, of both horror and wonder, as he took in the sights while his father’s name and the way the clown had snarled it still throbbed in his ears.

There seemed to be three main strips or streets, formed by gypsy caravans and painted lorries, strung together by a web of fairy lights. He could see palm readers, tests of strength, a mechanical Punch and Judy show and a hall of mirrors, outside of which, according to the sign, stood Ignatius P Littleton the third, ‘the Glimmerman’, who was a portly old gentleman covered from head to toe in tiny, rectangular mirrors.

“Roll up! Roll up!” he yelled, his suit and hat alive with reflections. “See yourself as never before! I guarantee you’ll wish you hadn’t, or your money back!”

The circus folk were dressed in a mix of old styles and new. A top hat with a leather coat, gypsy bracelets and ruffled shirts under military jackets and bowler hats. Their faces were all decorated in one way or another, some with glitter, others with white face paint and a few were covered in tattoos. ‘CANDY MONGER’S’ sold sweets and the biggest popcorn buckets he’d ever seen, while ‘the Rubbermen’ passed out helium balloons of every conceivable size and shape.

But as much as Ned marvelled at the sights and sounds, he couldn’t stop thinking about the clowns out in the fog, and his dad out there with them.

“Rocky, my dad said I should talk to Benissimo, do you know where he is? Can you take me to him?”

“Everyone see Benissimo, Benissimo is boss,” answered Rocky, motioning beyond the sea of faces and over to the big top.

Ned had the sense that Rocky had been waiting for him and knew at least something of his predicament, though the urgency of the situation seemed to be going over his head. He hoped that, for all Rocky’s enigmatic comments, he was taking Ned where he needed to be. As they waded through the crowd, Ned had an odd sensation. It wasn’t that anyone was looking straight at him, but it felt like there was someone out there watching from the shadows, from the nooks and crannies of the tents and trailers. Then just as suddenly as the feeling had started, it stopped. It was then that Ned noticed something else. He didn’t recognise anyone in the crowd, not a single soul, and yet they all seemed to know each other, giving the occasional nod or stopping to shake hands. Ned realised that he hadn’t seen a single circus poster or ad in any of the usual spots around town. In a place like Grittlesby, a visiting circus was news, so why weren’t they publicised? Where had they all come from and who were they?

Suddenly a crescendo of horns, trumpets and drums all blared at once as a dozen men on stilts appeared, towering over the crowd.

“Your circus awaits!” they shouted, as they began ushering people to the big top.

Some juggled fire, others plucked violins or blew trumpets. They worked like a team of cow hands, coaxing their herd to the mouth of the big top. Ned followed, too much in the moment to notice himself take his seat: front row and centre.

“Watch show. After, I find you,” announced Rocky, and with that he was gone.

“But …”

Ned tried to protest but at that moment the shouting stopped and the lights dimmed and Ned found himself surrounded by many, but completely alone. He’d just have to sit it out and wait for Rocky to return.

A beat later, the big top’s main spotlight fired up, casting its beam on the centre of the ring. There was an almighty crack, as a pile of sawdust was kicked up off the floor by a coiled leather whip and in strode the Circus of Marvels’ Ringmaster. He was an imposing figure, at least six-foot-three with a thick moustache and eyebrows to match. He wore a red military jacket with tarnished gold buttons and tatty braiding, faded striped trousers and a waistcoat that had seen better days. Even his top hat was crooked and a thin scar ran down the left side of his face, giving the impression of a man part gypsy, part rogue. Was this who Rocky had meant by the boss? Was the Ringmaster Benissimo? He paced around the ring almost leering at the audience; this was clearly his ring and his circus. If anyone under the big top was going to help, Ned hoped that it was going to be him. That was, until he started to speak, and as he did so Ned noticed the strangest thing: the Ringmaster’s whip was moving on its own. It was hard to see at first, but it seemed to twist slightly, like a coiled snake writhing in his hand. Ned blinked and it stopped. Who were these people and why did his father trust them so much that he’d left Ned here alone with them?

“My Lords, Ladies and layabouts, welcome to the Circus of Marvels!” the great man barked. “I, Benissimo, am your Ringmaster and guide. From the mountains of China, the deserts of Africa and the jungles of South America, I have brought you the most miraculous and strange. Tonight you will see and hear things that will blind your ears and deafen your eyes! Let the show begin!”

The band burst into action and in strode seven of the cheeriest men Ned had ever seen, with ‘THE FLYING TORTELLINIS’ emblazoned on their shirts.

“Hey! How you doing, whad-a ya know, where ya been, whad-a ya say?” they chorused.

Boys with overprotective fathers have little in the world to be scared of, apart perhaps from homicidal clowns. But ever since he could remember, Ned had had an overwhelming fear of heights. He felt his stomach lurch as the Tortellinis flipped, lunged and somersaulted through the air. Up on the trapeze and high-wire they moved like mountain goats, as happy a hundred feet up as they were on the sawdust below.

The next act – ‘Mystero the Magnificent’ – came as a welcome relief to Ned. He wore a dinner jacket with a bow tie and was a slight, ill-looking man with pale, clammy skin and a serious disposition. How he managed to escape from the inside of a safe, without so much as a rattle, was completely beyond Ned. Ned knew more than most boys his age about how intricate a locking mechanism actually was. He pictured it in his mind, how the chained and padlocked escape artist might move in the cramped space of a safe, how he might try to unlock it. His father would have had an idea, Ned thought with a twinge. He always had an idea when it came to puzzles and plans. Again Ned felt restless in his seat, wishing he could talk to Benissimo.

But there was no time for that, as the next act took to the stage – a Frenchman who called himself Monsieur Couteau, and announced himself to be the finest blade in all of Europe. He was also wearing a blindfold. There were screams from the crowd as his razor-sharp sword cut a series of crossbow bolts from the air, each and every one of which had been aimed directly at his head. When the lights came up, only sawdust and matchsticks remained of his would-be assassins.

The acts went on and on. The Guffstavson brothers lit bulbs by placing them in their mouths. The Glimmerman walked through one mirror only to emerge through another, more than thirty feet away. Ned imagined an elaborate trap door and tunnel, hidden beneath the sawdust, but the Glimmerman had seemed to disappear and reappear in an instant.

As much as it made his head hurt, the final act was the strangest and most unsettling of all.

“Now,” announced Benissimo, “do not be alarmed. Though our next act has a terrifying aspect, I assure you, you are in no danger. Even so, our youngest members of the audience may wish to look away. Found as a small baby by my own hand, he is the largest gorilla in recorded history. I present to you, George the Mighty!”

Benissimo stepped back into the shadows. For a long time nothing happened. And then it came. A long drawn out wailing – a grunt – and then a deep thundering roar that silenced the big top. Curtains were pulled back to reveal a huge gorilla, at least twice the size of an ordinary ape. He snarled and bellowed at the audience, his mouth curling back over his gums angrily. Ned had never seen such real or ferocious rage.

There were several displays of George’s incredible strength. Metal pipes were bent, huge weights lifted and members of the audience duly terrified. And then it happened. As the ape snapped his last metal chair into countless broken pieces, he stopped moving, peered across the ring, and fixed his great dark eyes front row and centre, on Ned’s own. He grunted softly and then … smiled, a smile that seemed to be aimed directly at Ned.

Ned’s body tensed. He looked about him to see if he was mistaken and the giant gorilla was in fact looking at someone else, but at that moment the big top’s lights flared up. The crowd clapped and cheered. The show was over.

And then there it was again, that feeling, that from somewhere in the shadows, from way beyond the now empty stage, someone was watching him.

***

Outside the big top, the sky was a deep black. All the stalls had closed and just a few fairy lights pointed the way to the exit. Ned had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He had to find Benissimo, the Ringmaster was sure to be backstage somewhere and Ned’s head physically hurt with questions. When would he see his dad? Who were those clowns? What was the Circus of Marvels and was Ned really safe with them?

Happy Birthday, Ned, he thought to himself as the rest of the crowd walked off into the fog, chatting happily, back to their ordinary, clown-less homes. He turned back to the big top, ready to go and look for the Ringmaster, and came face to face with Rocky.

“Boy, come. Sleep,” announced his surly bodyguard.

“Erm, I … I still need to see Benissimo. It’s urgent. My dad sent me, Terry Waddlesworth, do you know him? Is he safe?”

“Niet niet. Now tomorrow you meet boss, mek questions.”

Ned protested as Rocky shepherded him towards a clearing surrounded by cages, with one large container at its centre. The cages were empty and around the entrance to the central container, which was apparently his new bedroom, were multiple signs – ‘NO ENTRY’, ‘KEEP OUT’ and ‘DANGER’, each one larger than the next.

“Are you sure this is right? This is where I’m sleeping?” asked Ned spinning round, but Rocky had gone. Ned’s sense of humour was beginning to wear thin. His phone still had half a bar of batteries; it was time to try Dad.

“Hello, Dad?” he blurted out as soon as the phone stopped ringing, “I’m not having a very good time here! This place is really weird and I still don’t know what’s going o—”

“The number you are calling is no longer in service.”

Ned’s heart skipped a beat, then another. What had happened to his dad’s phone?

“Just come and get me, Dad …” he whispered.

But the recording at the other end of the line had nothing left to say. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t treat someone like a rare piece of china for years then abandon them to some freakshow without the slightest explanation. Ned had wanted to be free, but not like this.