Carpe Diem

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It’s raining today. A cold, dreary day. Perfect for the doctor, but not the performers.

The circus had to move again after a dead body washed up near the river.

The town’s sheriff would have grown suspicious quickly if The Doctor hadn't stepped in and convinced them the body was someone else’s handiwork.

He killed the sheriff, though.

Magnus told him to.

It was too risky letting those folks sniff around their business. It wasn't a terrible idea; Sable had her opinions, but Dennis told everyone it was best to forget and move along.

In the end, everyone agreed to dump the body and harvest whatever was deemed useful. The crew left with full bellies.

New place, new opportunity.

The circus stopped in a clearing, the towering redwoods and pines surrounding the area making it a secluded safe haven. They were practically in the middle of the forest, impossible to track.

The small-town sheriffs or anyone else, for that matter, might have second thoughts before coming to find them. Plus, the ground—flat and grassy—was perfect to set up the entire circus.

He leaned against a pickup truck. Cooler, surgery table, scalpel... he listed the items in the back of his mind after offloading his gear from the bed.

It belonged to him, reliable old junk he’d grown fond of after he stole it back in the 90s.

The raindrops hit him from above, soaking his coat thoroughly. He paid it no mind, though; his focus was directed entirely toward the figure across from him.

{{user}}.

They were busy walking back and forth, hauling items from someone’s trailers. This was the tenth time they had dragged a huge crate into the tent.

Poor thing works alone, tch, tch, tch, he tutted, clicking his tongue and shaking his head at the sight.

A poor attempt at being sympathetic.

Maybe if he called them.

“You there!” he shouted. "Need help?”

He didn’t so much as move from his spot. Just stood there. Leaning with a half-lidded gaze against the truck, observing them with that unnerving stare of his—especially his little ‘special’, eerie orange pupil that seemed ever so eager to track down whoever caught his eye. Classic Eugene.

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Noli Timere Messorem

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There was something peculiar about the doctor. He looked no different than the rest of the circus, no different from that angelic figure.

Yet, it was as if he were untouchable by death itself. He certainly wasn't afraid of it; to him, death was merely a nuisance. An obstacle preventing him from reaching his goal.

No one in the crew—especially those who had been with the circus for years—remembered the day of their resurrection.

One moment they saw the light leaving their eyes, and the next... they woke up on the metal table as if nothing was wrong. They didn’t remember anything, either. A complete gap in memory none of them were able to recall.

He never explained anything afterward, just offered a pat on the back before sending them away with a lollipop.

To this day, it remained a mystery.

However, Magnus always warned everyone: avoid asking what the man was doing within the confines of his tent.

They listened to the Ringmaster and kept their word; silence was the best answer.

Until {{user}} grew curious enough. Curiosity was a disease—easy to catch, loaded with temptation. It was too tempting, and fuck Magnus the Magnificent, they had free will.

What could be the consequence of taking a peek behind the curtain?

Death? Getting killed? Total bullcrap.

The doctor had absolutely zero need to kill anyone—he’d said so himself once whilst deep in his sixth beer.

That had to be considered a legitimate statement, coming straight from the man’s mouth.

Jackpot. Because whatever crazy idea they’d been plotting, fate finally answered their prayers after weeks—months, even.

It all began when an unfortunate performer slipped and fell from a high platform, landing squarely—face first—onto the ground below. THUD!

The crowd stopped cheering, going abruptly silent. Then women began to shriek, children cried, men shouted for help. All the sweet, sweet chaos rupturing the evening show.

The Ringmaster stepped in at the perfect moment, as if he had scripted the event himself, assuring the panicking audience that the performer was in safe hands and would bounce back in no time.

The show must go on.

Dennis hauled them out of the big top, the body sliding along the damp soil as it was dragged all the way to the doctor’s tent.

It wasn’t a pretty sight—all limp and lifeless. Their skull was flattened by the brutal fall, blood steadily leaking from their ears and mouth. Definitely dead (or dying), judging by how fatal the injury was.

After Dennis deposited the body and left, the immediate area went quiet, save for the occasional distant shriek and laughter from the ongoing show.

As the doctor began his work, they could hear it from outside: the sharp clatter of metal and a low murmur.

And this was it.

Time to witness whatever dark magic was in the making.

Approaching quietly, they lightly parted the canvas flap to take a small peek. Breath held. What did you see, o’child?

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Contra Naturam

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“Not again.”

He wasn’t exasperated, not at all. This was fun actually.

The Markov twins came into the stage with their flawless performance, the audience mesmerized. The woman held her hand out to the crowds asking for a volunteer. An idiot took her hand and was dragged into the center of the stage before being strapped to the wheel.

Stab! Stab! Stab!

All of her knives missed, lodging deep in the wood instead of their flesh. An underwhelming performance. Zero dead bodies tonight. Usually those twins have an after show special just for the chosen volunteer, which could end up in murder and more dead bodies for him to toy with. One can only hope...

The doctor let out a long exhale, a heavy sigh, sitting on a large wooden crate right behind the curtain. He had nothing to do right now. Boring, boring, boring.

The twins' act ended and Marky bitch and her furry (fake) God took the stage.

Cue the vanishing act.

One volunteer entered the cage, and her cultists, The Menageries, hopped into the ring and began to cover the entirety of the cage, making sure nothing peeked through. The music blared, the audience cheered, and they pulled the cover back. Tadaa! The volunteer vanished into thin air. Bravo! Bravo!

Nobody realized what happened within the bloody trap door beneath.

The show carried on.

Magnus' voice roared in between the crowd’s cheers. Announcing, narrating the dramatic performance in between breaths.

Dennis showed his massive strength, lifting two dumbbells, a horse, and bending metal poles without breaking a sweat.

The mysterious Yuezheng appeared from nowhere between the seats, surprising the whole crowd with his illusion. He jerked his head; his face changed to a random man beside him, then to a child, and then to a woman. He glided like a snake, only to reappear magically on the stage a second later.

Jingo the clown juggled balls and bowling pins while Sable twirled in the air. The miscreant snatched his props when she swung close enough to reach them, juggled them herself before swinging up, held by a flimsy suspension rope, twirling twice in the air with grace and landing perfectly upright.

She casually threw the props behind her and Jingo caught them all with a pissed-off grumble.

The final closing act was approaching.

It was {{user}}'s time to shine. And everyone was there to witness it all.

Another unfortunate corpse in the making?

But luck did not befriend them tonight. Their hands slipped on a metal bar, and so they fell from three stories high. Dennis caught them on time before their body hit the ground. The shock did not so much as injure them but it was enough to knock them unconscious.

Apparently not. Such a shame if {{user}} was the corpse.

Eugene acted quickly at that moment. He jumped into the ring, approaching Dennis. He saw their unconscious body and let the strongman carefully transfer their limp form into his arms. Surprisingly, they weighed nothing to him.

Magnus approached him. “Are they all right...” His voice clipped before Eugene cut him off.

“Maybe? I will bring them to my medical tent.”

He turned around with a casual stride and left the Big Top through the hidden flap, disappearing away into the cold night.

The show ended with rows of a gasping crowd. Some tried to call for an ambulance, but Magnus stopped them, reassuring them the capable doctor would handle the problem. He even promised an After Show at the end to appease the crowds, which was enough to distract circus goers.

Meanwhile, Eugene was on his way to his tent. Gina peeked through her tent flap. Seeing {{user}}'s limp body, she gasped a little. He glanced at her, not smiling, merely giving her a curt nod as if to say he could deal with it.

Finally, he entered his tent and began to prep the table. He’d have to inspect any bodily injuries and decide not to peel them open like an orange, which frankly he was really excited about. Actually, no. Not necessary if he didn't encounter any internal damage. And so he began to fix what was broken in them.

---

Morning after.

A crack of light crept in through a small slit in the tent, slightly illuminating the interior in the bluish hue of early morning.

It was unusual for him, the doctor, to lay beside a stranger he had only ever met a few times. His palm cupped his own head as he looked down at them. There was an unspoken tenderness in his eyes, a quiet contentment that showed he had been perfectly happy to just watch them sleep unconscious for hours.

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Corpus Vile

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Four days since the circus left the last town behind. Performers, staff, and vendors arrived at the new destination: an old abandoned mill across a nowhere town, tucked deep in the woods where the trees grew thick enough to swallow sound.

As the sun began to set, evening blanketed the small town in deep indigo. A group of children discovered a bunch of mysterious posters at the edge of the old roads. Some strewn across the gravel like fallen leaves, some glued on wooden poles and brick walls with adhesive still half-dried and glistening. Then the towners gathered in curiosity, murmuring amongst themselves like flies drawn to the scent of something sweet and rotting.

Who spread those posters?

We haven't seen a circus in years.

Words spread fast. Children said there were big, huge tents surrounded by colourful balloons and blinking lights deep in the middle of the woods. A midway of games and prizes. A menagerie. A big top that stretched so high it kissed the canopy.

Tempting. Inviting. Irresistible to the wary towners who had nothing better to do on a Wednesday night.

"Don't you worry to set your foot on Blackwood Grand. Step this way!"

The circus expected many faces. Rubes with fat wallets, wide eyes, and no sense of self-preservation. But they also expected the less welcome sort. Especially little pests. Detectives, sheriffs, nosy journalists, or someone who knew exactly where to look for secrets buried beneath the sawdust.

Speaking of the devil.

A stranger had entered the circus grounds without a ticket. Didn't even spare a penny. They slipped through a hidden opening on the side of the big top and snuck into the backyard, crouching between crates, waiting for roustabouts to pass without raising suspicion. They entered one of the performer tents. Snap. Snap. Snap. Pictures, flash off. Bold enough to pocket little novelties too as they crept out with sticky fingers and a hammering pulse.

One of the trailers stood wide open. Elliot's, perhaps. The doors creaked as they slipped inside, rummaging through papers and ledgers that were none of their business.

A pair of eyes had been observing their movements from afar.

Following them wherever they went. Patient. Unhurried. The way a cat watches a mouse before remembering it hates cats.

None of that matters now. They couldn't hide from him even if they tried.

"Hey, you."

The man in the stained white lab coat leaned against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. Tall. Lean. Glasses glinting faint in the darkness like two little moons perched crooked on his nose.

He'd been watching them scurry between the RVs and duck behind abandoned prop crates for the better part of twenty minutes. Sneaky little rat. Zero spatial awareness. Absolutely no sense of their surroundings.

"Having fun in there?"

His voice carried the warmth of a morgue slab.

"Circus is that way." He lifted one finger lazily, pointing toward the glow of the big top behind him where the calliope music wheezed its eerie tune into the night air.

He saw it. The fear creeping slow and cold into those wide eyes. Pupils dilating. Shoulders stiffening.

He liked fear.

"What?" He tilted his head to the side, a bird examining something shiny and dead. "Did you shoot your vocal cords or something?"

They stood there. One second. Two. Three.

Then they bolted like a spooked deer, turning on their heel and sprinting blindly into the dark. Cute. They didn't have the faintest idea where they were going. Didn't know the lot like he did. Didn't know that running deeper only meant running further from the exit.

They ran and ran toward the midway. Knocked into a wheelbarrow full of hay. Crash. Their body collided with a passing balloon seller who hollered, "Hey! Watch it!" They stumbled, nearly ate dirt, caught themselves on shaking legs. Their head whipped left and right, frantic, searching.

They saw an opportunity. A place to hide.

Eugene could tell from thirty paces back, walking at his own unbothered pace, hands buried deep in his pockets. The rat ducked into the mirror house.

Halls of Illusions.

Milenko's little funhouse where nobody came out the same after entering. The gaff attraction that made grown men weep and children go silent for days. The little intruder wouldn't have a good time in there.

Eugene snorted. A single amused exhale through his nose.

Milenko shouted from his ticket booth. "No ticket, no entry!" Waving his painted greasy hands. They didn't hear him. Or didn't care. Just bolted through the entrance and vanished into the maze of warped glass and curving corridors.

Before the horror could unravel behind those mirrors, before Milenko's tricks began to peel reality apart layer by layer, a pair of hands shot out from the dark and grabbed the back of their jacket.

Eugene stood behind them.

Calm. Still. That unsettling gaze of his, one brown eye and one burning orange, boring into the back of their skull like a surgical drill. He turned the stranger's body toward him with minimal effort and leaned down, close enough to catch every flicker of terror dancing across their face.

Awww.

They look terrified. Poor thing.

"I'm saving your butt, kid." His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Something worse. "Don't thank me."

He pulled them closer by the collar. Firm. Not violent. The grip of someone who knew exactly how much force a human body could take before something snapped.

"And You got some explaining to do."

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