Cirque du’ Phobeus, the Circus Fear Tour (Part 1)

My version, let me know what you think:

So my wife, @miraimage, had this dream the other night (now about 2 weeks ago). She woke up the next morning and was just so uneasy that she had to tell me about it (not to say she doesn't tell me about most of her remembered dreams). I listened to the tale and thought to myself, "Wow, that would make for a great little story to share to the Steemit community. I, personally, think that @everyone should read about her dream and appreciate it (https://steemit.com/minnowsupport/@miraimage/my-crazy-messed-up-dream), especially with Halloween in the states fast approaching. Then, after reading the dream sequence, read through the following tale that I spun out of that dream (with her blessed permission, of course).

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Cirque du’ Phobeus, the Circus Fear Tour (Part 1)

I could feel the electricity in the air already as I stepped from the car. I felt the crunch of gravel underfoot and heard the distant moans and screams. The night's dead quiet and slight humidity only seemed to enhance the fear that I was waiting for. I pushed the car door closed and it slapped in place, echoing in the quiet of the make-shift parking lot. We were out in the country somewhere, having heard of this Haunted Trail show from some friends the prior weekend. They kept telling us how terrifying it had been. I, of course, love feeling scared and jumped at the chance. My sister, however, was less enthusiastic and I had to plead with me to go along as my Husband was unable to do so.

"I can't, honey," he had told me earlier in the week. "I have too much work that I need to catch up on as we have so many new Clients to Integrate."

I didn't like it, but I knew he was right. He worked as a Programmer and wrote stuff for shipping software. This was the time that most of their clients were pushing to be set up. I loved to listen to his enthusiasm for it, but I couldn't understand it entirely.

So, anyway, it was just I and my sister that came here to Cirque du’ Phobeus, the Circus Fear Tour.

The entire Haunt had been set up to look like a Freak Show, complete with a Bearded Lady, Sword Swallowers, and Midgets juggling knives and bowling pins. Each was dressed with a twist and just seemed off as we passed inside. They were even playing eerie music in the background with skittering tones and shrill white-noise sounds intermingled. I already had chills and we hadn't even made it to the Entrance yet.

As we walked along, passing entry scarers, we laughed to keep from feeling to scared. At least, that's why I laughed. My sister might not have felt the same, since she really hadn't wanted to go to begin with. The scent of hay and rotting flesh was enough to turn the stomach, adding the creep factor immensely. I almost gagged at it, but it was gone as soon as it came, so it must've been some added stench. I don't know where they might have come by such a foul odor in stores, but it really did the trick.

The closer we came to the line, the more the circus was revealed past the line-markers and guide ropes. The performers were all clad in garish outfits with humps and gnarly curves. It was gross to look at, but awesome to think how they must have made the costumes. I have always been artistic and a bit odd, so I couldn't help but think of it in those terms... how much would this cost? and what kind of paint or materials were used? and how long would it take to produce? and when could I do it?

Every now and then one of the line-performers would appear, seemingly from nowhere, to scare the people lining up for the Haunted Trail. They would get at least one, if not the entire group, every time they came around. I jumped a couple times... they were creepy. Especially the one with the hanging eye, it was so gross and realistic.

My sister whipped her head around at a cat-call, ready to fight. After just a moment of anger, her face relaxed and she was waving her hands. "Hey look!"

I looked over and it was her best friend off to the side with a couple of other people. She didn't stop the conversation, just waved my sister over... I might have been included, but I just wanted to get inside and have some fun. My sister didn't even hesitate before heading over there, turning her head at me and giving me the "Don't be like that" look that brothers and sisters often use.

I pulled the money from my pocket and called out to her, "We need to buy tickets still!"

Source

She did a half-nod and shrugged, as if the tour suddenly wasn't important at all. So now I found myself just standing there with money fanned out in my hand with people starting to look at me twice. I stuffed the money into my front pocket and sighed heavily. After just a few more moments I decided I'd just go ahead and pay.

While I waited in the line, I heard a few short conversations. Mostly the usual scare-tactic bits that people say, where so-and-so knew a person that knew a person that knew a person. These almost always ended up in someone getting abducted or killed or both. I liked to wonder some times how many actually were based on true events, because I very much doubted that it was a good deal of them.

So, anyway, I was waiting in line. I remember it being such a slow-moving line and every once-in-a-while I would see a small group would seemingly bypass the waiting line altogether. 'They must have special passes,' I thought to myself more than once during the long wait.

I was becoming bored with the wait and just hoping that the tour itself would be better than the line wait, although they did have a headless man and a tiger-faced woman handing out snacks and refreshments to the people in the line. Slowly the line moved, person-by-person, until I was at the front. I glanced around to see if my sister had come back yet, but saw no sign of her anywhere... I was not about to buy her a ticket and her ditch me. So, when it was my turn, I bought myself a ticket... alone. I figured I could have fun by myself if she was going to act like that.

The line shortened in short bursts between long bouts of waiting. The refreshments were ok, but I was afraid that it was going to make me have to pee; and I did not want to get out of the line to do so. I was lucky, though, and didn't have to. While I waited, some sort conversations began around me and, me being who I am, I was pulled into the conversations by some of the groups.

A petite woman with a piping voice, the kind that makes you instantly think of Cheerleaders, started hopping up-and-down. Her high-pitched voice seemed to echo as she spoke, hands pressed to each cheek. "I hear that this year is supposed to be so much scarier than last year!"

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The man that she was with just rolled his eyes. He had stubble on his chin and a pack of menthols peeking out of the cuff in his sleeve. I couldn't help but think, 'I don't think James Dean smoked menthols.' He was trying so hard to be cool like James Dean, but the most he pulled off was a whiny version of the guy from the old 90210 show. Who was that? Damn! I can't remember... oh! it was Jason Priestley (or however you spell his name). You get the idea.

The girlish woman clung to his arm the entire time, but he seemed more interested in another woman. I tried to ignore it, but he stared so much that I couldn't help but glance over. The guy that he was watching was also watching him, a coy smile on his lips, which were painted bright red.

'To each their own,' I thought. 'I wonder if the cheerleader even realizes.'

Finally, after about an hour of standing and waiting in the line, we reached the area with benches. I gladly sat down, feeling sore already in my knees. Standing did that to me sometimes, especially on uneven ground and gravelly paths. I hit the jackpot on this adventure: uneven gravel going slightly uphill.

I began to talk to some people around me and try to engage a bit in their conversations as we all were waiting. Some were from from the area, but most had heard about the place from a guy-who-knew-a-guy-who-knew-a-guy. It was almost always a similar story: Bob heard it from Frank, who heard it from Johnny, who had seen the guy who came out insane (or pissed all over himself... or vomited on the person next to him... or died of a heart attack... or never even came out again). I always wanted to laugh at those stories.

A man dressed in a ragged shirt sat down next to me, fake blood hanging in tendrils from his thick beard. I smiled at him and said "Hi" as a cordiality. I immediately wished that I had not. The hand on my thigh was not mine.

I shouldn't have smiled. I should not have smiled.

I looked up at the guy more closely. I wanted so much to detach the person and the hand. His eyes were filmy, but not because he was vision impaired or anything. He was just stinking drunk. He smelled heavily of liquor on top of beer on top of Bar-B-Cue Chips (the cheap ones with the rust-colored powder that always seemed to slide off onto the fingers). I was repulsed from the first moment and quickly shoved his hand off of me. I shivered and tasted bile in my throat.

Drunk-speak is sometimes hard to follow, but his was so long and drawn out that you could not help but follow every sound that came out. The tone was deep, slightly gravelly like a Mountain Man might have... it was the type of voice that one might swoon for if the words were not totally off-putting (or if the person wasn't visible). "Hi sweetie-pie. How'd you like-ta have a chaperone? You don't look old 'nough to go in by yerself."

His hand was back on my leg again! I shoved it off and replied in a firmer, louder voice, "No thank you! I would like you to back off!"

I intentionally turned towards the Cheer-Priestley circle and acted like I was part of their group. I even talked with them some. It wasn't enough to deter the guy, though. He clamped a hand more tightly on my thigh and leaned closer. Spittle rained down on me as he blubbered about his wife and children not wanting him and now me not wanting him. I really didn't care. I just wanted him to go away.

I shrugged him off. I didn't want to make scene, but I did want him not to be around me. "I'm not interested."

"I have lots to offer-a girl like you," he said with a half-grin.

"I'm not interested. Besides, I am married."

He looked at me up and down - how creepy - before he responded. "Where's yer ring?"

I smiled. "I don't need a ring to know that I love my husband. I have been happily married for 12 years."

"Well, he doesn't have to know."

"I would know and I would tell him, because we are honest with each other. Besides, I'm NOT interested!" The last part wasn't meant to be so loud, but when so many heads began to turn towards us, I was glad.

His face contorted in rage and he stood up. He was taller than I had expected, and thick around the chest. His beard was rough and went all the way up to his tight-furrowed brows. Anger etched every crease and line of his face, but he didn't say another word to me. I watched him leave, wanting to make sure he didn't return.

He went to the front of the line and exchanged words with the man taking the tickets. The man was pretty animated and motioned in several directions. The ticket man, dressed as a skeleton with glowing eyes, scowled at the man and slowly blinked. He took the next group's tickets while the man continued his tirade. Then, as if smacked, the man cut short as the ticket-man raised his arm and sharply straightened it out, pointing away from the line. The man visibly shook with rage, but turned and stormed away.

"I'm glad that guy's gone." I didn't expect any response.

The woman's voice next to me was a surprise. "Yes, he is always trying to get with the younger girls here."

I flushed slightly. I wasn't all that young. Then I turned and had to catch myself before I screamed... the creature that was speaking was all loose flesh hanging off, with dripping gore and stitches all over. I jumped in place, though, to which the woman smiled at through the half-torn jaw.

"I love when people start talking to me before seeing me," she said, laughter at the edge of her voice. It was a smooth voice, quite contrasting the outward appearance. "Some actually scream. It's so much fun."

Ever the artistic type, I could well appreciate the amount of work that had went into this costume. It was well-done, so much so that I almost reached out to tug at the skin to see if it was real. The woman could tell, but she didn't comment on it.

I had to shake off the effect before I could speak. "How long have you been working here?"

"Here? 'Bout ten years I think." She ticked off years and murmured things to herself, then nodded assent. "Yes, 'bout ten years."

"Wow, that's a long time. You must really enjoy the work."

She scratched her head and wrinkled her brow. "I must. I do enjoy some o' the reactions, that's for certain, but until I went to this tour, I wasn't too much into horror stuff."

"Oh. It must be a really good show."

"I haven't been through since then, to be honest. I don't even remember how it was the first time, except that I enjoyed it quite a bit. Besides, it gave me a place to stay after I ran away from home." Tears leaked from her eyes, but she didn't even seem to notice them. She went on for a short while, describing the housing and the great food and the good people.

I wondered quietly whether or not she had tried to return home at all. It wasn't my place to do so, but I wondered it to myself. As is the case with me more-often-than-not, strangers seem to trust me so much that they feel comfortable telling me their secrets. I take it as an honor, but I often wish it weren't so... so much.

Source(loosely based on the story)

After a while, the line started to move forward once more. As it did so, the young lady moved off randomly. I watched her half-shamble, half-limp. She was really good at playing the character. By the time she was out-of-sight I was about 3 groups behind.

That, of course, was when my sister showed back up. She showed up with her friend, waving tickets in front of her. They handed the tickets over to the ticket-taker and was immediately shown inside, led by a special caretaker. I swore at her silently and shook my head.

“I hope they scare the crap out of you and you pee your pants,” I added softly. A couple beside me chuckled, having been close enough to hear me.

The guy, dressed in an old Hard Rock Café T-shirt, leaned over and spoke in a whisper. “You know them?”

“My sister and her best friend,” I answered.

He just nodded and gave me a pat on my back. That was the extent of our conversation.

I, however, was quite agitated still. “I can’t believe she just left me here and now has the nerve to go in before me. I think I might kick her when we’re through… if she remembers to take me with her.”

Suddenly I was a bit apprehensive, not knowing whether I would actually have a ride home. On top of that, she drove and had the keys, so if she didn’t drive home I would have to find a phone somewhere to borrow.

I tried to shake off the melancholy and think about what the tour might have in store. I knew there would be a number of jump-scares, the inevitable spooky-rooms with people hiding to pop up, possibly some sort of Mad Scientist Lab or Butcher-type scene, and of course a bunch of circus-themed horrors. I just hoped there would be something more as well.

“This way,” a gruff-but-languorous voice prompted.

I looked this way and that until I came face-to-face with the owner. He was upwards of six or six-and-a-half feet tall with sparse, white hair. His skin was taut and colored in greens and grays, with dimpling and veining over the entire length. He wore contacts that were cloudy and greenish-gray. He pinched his Butler’s suit at each shoulder and tugged until it puffed slightly.

The Tour Guide warned us to “Follow closely, and do NOT go off the path.” He gave each of us a crooked stare, creasing his forehead. His gait was smooth, even though he stepped with an exaggerated limp.

I smiled despite myself. I thoroughly enjoyed just how much these people got into character. I stepped in line behind almost everyone, taking up one of the most rearward positions, and followed the Guide beyond the rope line and through the curtained entryway.

The line crossed through the barrier and walked into a nightmare. A green glow faded in and out against the walls of a tool shed. Hammers and tape measures hung from a peg-board wall next to a long scythe and a belt sander. The whir of machines echoed from a darker corner, then an agitated hum and flickering from fluorescent lights caught my attention. A sudden scream cut me to the bone.

“Help me,” whispered someone from below. The whisper echoed, amplified by the acoustics of the room. “Please, help me.”

I glanced down and cringed. A leg-less body dangling with entrails, arms clawing for a grip against the floor. The face was bathed in the greenish glow, but I could see the partly-melted flesh. I tried to keep from gagging at the foul stench that erupted from oozing pustules on the face. So realistic, just gruesome. I had to stop and remind myself that it was all fake.

The fluorescent lamp began to creak and swing back-and-forth. Then a form shambled out of the shadows with a knife. Several voices cracked with screams as he – or she – ran past the group. Our guide limped from the side and made quick gestures to pull us onward.

We went through a short tube that had a spray of red streaking down the sides. The grinding sound was irritating and it made me feel strange. Then I realized that the walk-way was shifting slowly one way then the other way, causing the sense of vertigo that I was having trouble identifying.

I held tight to the rope rails and just pushed onward. I felt my own stomach turn at the sound of retching behind my position in the line. The guide waves us forward and off the shifting pathway.

The next room, more of a long hallway, was intense with slivers of shining light, and hands tried to grab us from behind the walls. Several actors jumped from behind planters and paintings that would open like windows. The corridor seemed to shrink as we went through, and the entire hall seemed to be twisted ever-so-slightly. I hated the feeling of vertigo, and much of this tour was rife with it.

I followed the tour through room-after-increasingly-grotesque-room. Lights changed in color from green to red and the subject matter went from lab-style to demonic. The screams were higher in number and mostly now from the tour group. I could sense the tension all around me as well as inside me. It almost vibrated.

Then I was grabbed from behind and a hand clamped over my mouth. I tried to bite and scream, but I could not. The arms were so strong that I was dragged from the group without much of a struggle. But then again, I was beginning to feel woozy and light-headed, clouds fogging my mind. The hand over my mouth was cloth-covered and smelled strange. I didn’t recognize the odor, but in a moment of clarity before my head slumped forward, I thought for sure that it must have been a chloroformed rag. I could hear whispers, but I couldn’t interpret the words, then a dry cloth was shoved in my mouth and a bag shoved over my head. Blackness was all around and I couldn’t make a sound to alert anybody.

I felt as resistant as a rag-doll. I could distantly sense the tension and scratching from thin cords being wrapped around my unresponsive hands and feet. There was a dull sense of burning and pressure. I was lifting from the ground and I listened to the sound of contented whistling. I didn’t cry out, mainly because I could not, but I felt the thud as I was tossed into something. I listened lazily to the small squeal of wheels as the world spun away.

I passed out, the image of my husband foremost in my head.

(to be continued)

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Thank you for reading and I hope you stay tuned for Part 2 to show up within the next week.