A/N - Okay, you may think I'm crazy, but this fic was just itching to be written (in my
twisted little brain, anyway). If anyone wants to add on to this it's fine with me,
and if anyone has any ideas for where they want the story to go, please tell me. This
is done in a writing style that is a little bit different than what I normally write in,
so if you can't understand, that's why. Now- enjoy!
-
"Nightshade and Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show"
by the ace gang member sida
-
"You'll travel with us, Jim, and if Mr. Cooger doesn't survive (it's a near thing for
him, we haven't saved him yet, we'll try again now) but if he doesn't make it, Jim, how
would you like to be partners? Dark and Nightshade, Nightshade and Dark, sweet lovely
names for such as we with such as the side shows to run around the world. What say,
Jim?"
- Mr. Dark, "Something Wicked This Way Comes" by Ray Bradbury
-
Seven times around, Jim thought. Boy.
Seven years pile don in seconds of real time, changing and shaping him into a future
self. The idea both excited and repulsed him, though the curiousity overwhelmed him
most of all. And- imagine! Runnning a carnival- running *Dark's* carnival, with its
frightening exhibits, and people actually obeying *him*...
He smiled at thinking he might be able to control those such as the awful Dust Witch,
who had held his fate in her hands so often.
But, said a voice in the back of his head, what about Will? Mr. Holloway? They'd
know of what he had done!
-so what if they did?
What could they *prove*?
...nothing...
-and that's why it made it so wrong.
"Made your choice, then?" said Mr. Dark, looking at Jim patiently, examining him. He
stole a quick glance at his left palm, where a blue-inked rendition of Jim was etched.
Those tatoos, Jim thought, they allow him to control people. All of the freaks were
writhing as tatoos on his illustrated body, so how was Jim any different? The picture
alone gave Dark power over him.
The question still lingered on the air.
"Yes..."
He would do something to him, something horrible, if he said no, he realized. So...
So- join it.
"Your choice?" Dark enquired softly.
Slowly, steadily, he walked towards the carousel, its slightly faded painted horses
seeming larger and more intimidating than before. He found a magnificent mount, a
black-as-sin stallion with green ornamentation, and climbed up onto it.
"Twenty is a fine age, isn't it?" smiled Dark, his eyes gleaming. "I suppose you'll be
suited to it."
Jim made an indistinct sound in the back of his throat.
"Twenty it is."
He started the carousel; the funeral march began to play, ushering him into his late
teenage years, and on into early adulthood.
After a while, everything outside the carousel seemed to blend into a mesh of browns and
yellows- autumn colors. He hardly noticed the changes of his body as he went around
once, twice, three times.
There were faint cries of "Jim!" from the outside of the spinning wheel, though it was
too late- the machine had its prey in its hold, and would not let go until it had been
switched off.
Round and ronud, but slowing, slowing... and stopped.
When he had regained his balance, Jim looked up and saw Will- Will, who had been his
best friend since he could remember- crying his name in fitful bursts of sobbing.
Suddenly: a voice from behind, Mr. Dark's.
"Don't worry about him," he hiss-whispered.
Jim started to get up. "But-"
Suddenly, a white hot burst of pain shot through him like fire, crippling him into
stillness.
What-? He looked at Dark, who held his left hand with the other.
"Don't bother with him," Dark said again, and Jim didn't.
He rested his head on a mane of a laquered horse and closed his eyes, wishing it were
over, wishing for things to take care of themselves.
Dark quietly walked to Will and whispered into his ear: "Run, child. Tell all you know,
but realize that they'll never believe a word that comes out of your mouth."
"I- I-"
He turned and ran as fast as this almost-fourteen year old legs could carry him.
Soft laughter from Dark.
The carnival owner snapped his fingers once; the tent opposite the carousel collapsed
into a heap of fabric, and then some of the freaks hurried to load it into the train,
which was stopped on the tracks a couple hundred feet away.
"Hm," muttered Jim. "Is this it?"
"Is that it? *Is this it?* Hardly, my boy."
He cringed at this. No one had ever called him anything remotely close, though, then
again, he never had a father.
"Now," said Dark, addressing the freaks, "load onto the train."
"What about-" began Jim, turning around expecting to see the remaining carnival tents
and exhibits, but seeing everything gone without a trace of evidence.
"Taken care of," said Dark, waving a hand nonchalantly.
How was it possible? Jim marveled.
"Come," the older man said, using his hands to guide the younger's shoulders in the
direction of the train.
He walked, though very slowly, into the train.
Inside there were two black-sheeted beds on opposite sides of the room and a table
between them. Dark sat on one of the beds, so Jim took the other.
Immediately, he began to feel lightheaded, and let his head drop to rest on his hands.
"There is always some- general discomfort that comes with riding the carousel," said
Dark dismissively. "Of course, some that ride it become something freakishly different-
as you have already become familiar with, I presume. Others- like me- simply develop
*unique skills* or characteristics."
"You became the Illustrated Man," said Jim plainly, "and I- I-"
"-should wait and make your own conclusions," he finished for him. "We shall save this
conversation for later. For now- tradition!"
He got up from his seat and reached into the back of one of the dusty bookshelves that
lined the wall, withdrawing a stoppered black bottle with no markings. He opened it,
poured two glasses full of the murky red liquied, and replaced the bottle.
"What- is it?" managed Jim, trying his best to hide his disgust.
At this, Dark gave him a small, satisfied smile.
"Why, this is these are the concentrated sins of mankind, the temptations they give in
to, and their sad, short, lives."
Jim looked at it suspiciously.
Dark raised his glass of the evil-looking liquid for a toast, and said jovially, "To
Nightshade and Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show."
Reluctantly, hesitantly, Jim raised it to his lips.
Dark drank.
Jim drank.
-
end of chapter one
twisted little brain, anyway). If anyone wants to add on to this it's fine with me,
and if anyone has any ideas for where they want the story to go, please tell me. This
is done in a writing style that is a little bit different than what I normally write in,
so if you can't understand, that's why. Now- enjoy!
-
"Nightshade and Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show"
by the ace gang member sida
-
"You'll travel with us, Jim, and if Mr. Cooger doesn't survive (it's a near thing for
him, we haven't saved him yet, we'll try again now) but if he doesn't make it, Jim, how
would you like to be partners? Dark and Nightshade, Nightshade and Dark, sweet lovely
names for such as we with such as the side shows to run around the world. What say,
Jim?"
- Mr. Dark, "Something Wicked This Way Comes" by Ray Bradbury
-
Seven times around, Jim thought. Boy.
Seven years pile don in seconds of real time, changing and shaping him into a future
self. The idea both excited and repulsed him, though the curiousity overwhelmed him
most of all. And- imagine! Runnning a carnival- running *Dark's* carnival, with its
frightening exhibits, and people actually obeying *him*...
He smiled at thinking he might be able to control those such as the awful Dust Witch,
who had held his fate in her hands so often.
But, said a voice in the back of his head, what about Will? Mr. Holloway? They'd
know of what he had done!
-so what if they did?
What could they *prove*?
...nothing...
-and that's why it made it so wrong.
"Made your choice, then?" said Mr. Dark, looking at Jim patiently, examining him. He
stole a quick glance at his left palm, where a blue-inked rendition of Jim was etched.
Those tatoos, Jim thought, they allow him to control people. All of the freaks were
writhing as tatoos on his illustrated body, so how was Jim any different? The picture
alone gave Dark power over him.
The question still lingered on the air.
"Yes..."
He would do something to him, something horrible, if he said no, he realized. So...
So- join it.
"Your choice?" Dark enquired softly.
Slowly, steadily, he walked towards the carousel, its slightly faded painted horses
seeming larger and more intimidating than before. He found a magnificent mount, a
black-as-sin stallion with green ornamentation, and climbed up onto it.
"Twenty is a fine age, isn't it?" smiled Dark, his eyes gleaming. "I suppose you'll be
suited to it."
Jim made an indistinct sound in the back of his throat.
"Twenty it is."
He started the carousel; the funeral march began to play, ushering him into his late
teenage years, and on into early adulthood.
After a while, everything outside the carousel seemed to blend into a mesh of browns and
yellows- autumn colors. He hardly noticed the changes of his body as he went around
once, twice, three times.
There were faint cries of "Jim!" from the outside of the spinning wheel, though it was
too late- the machine had its prey in its hold, and would not let go until it had been
switched off.
Round and ronud, but slowing, slowing... and stopped.
When he had regained his balance, Jim looked up and saw Will- Will, who had been his
best friend since he could remember- crying his name in fitful bursts of sobbing.
Suddenly: a voice from behind, Mr. Dark's.
"Don't worry about him," he hiss-whispered.
Jim started to get up. "But-"
Suddenly, a white hot burst of pain shot through him like fire, crippling him into
stillness.
What-? He looked at Dark, who held his left hand with the other.
"Don't bother with him," Dark said again, and Jim didn't.
He rested his head on a mane of a laquered horse and closed his eyes, wishing it were
over, wishing for things to take care of themselves.
Dark quietly walked to Will and whispered into his ear: "Run, child. Tell all you know,
but realize that they'll never believe a word that comes out of your mouth."
"I- I-"
He turned and ran as fast as this almost-fourteen year old legs could carry him.
Soft laughter from Dark.
The carnival owner snapped his fingers once; the tent opposite the carousel collapsed
into a heap of fabric, and then some of the freaks hurried to load it into the train,
which was stopped on the tracks a couple hundred feet away.
"Hm," muttered Jim. "Is this it?"
"Is that it? *Is this it?* Hardly, my boy."
He cringed at this. No one had ever called him anything remotely close, though, then
again, he never had a father.
"Now," said Dark, addressing the freaks, "load onto the train."
"What about-" began Jim, turning around expecting to see the remaining carnival tents
and exhibits, but seeing everything gone without a trace of evidence.
"Taken care of," said Dark, waving a hand nonchalantly.
How was it possible? Jim marveled.
"Come," the older man said, using his hands to guide the younger's shoulders in the
direction of the train.
He walked, though very slowly, into the train.
Inside there were two black-sheeted beds on opposite sides of the room and a table
between them. Dark sat on one of the beds, so Jim took the other.
Immediately, he began to feel lightheaded, and let his head drop to rest on his hands.
"There is always some- general discomfort that comes with riding the carousel," said
Dark dismissively. "Of course, some that ride it become something freakishly different-
as you have already become familiar with, I presume. Others- like me- simply develop
*unique skills* or characteristics."
"You became the Illustrated Man," said Jim plainly, "and I- I-"
"-should wait and make your own conclusions," he finished for him. "We shall save this
conversation for later. For now- tradition!"
He got up from his seat and reached into the back of one of the dusty bookshelves that
lined the wall, withdrawing a stoppered black bottle with no markings. He opened it,
poured two glasses full of the murky red liquied, and replaced the bottle.
"What- is it?" managed Jim, trying his best to hide his disgust.
At this, Dark gave him a small, satisfied smile.
"Why, this is these are the concentrated sins of mankind, the temptations they give in
to, and their sad, short, lives."
Jim looked at it suspiciously.
Dark raised his glass of the evil-looking liquid for a toast, and said jovially, "To
Nightshade and Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show."
Reluctantly, hesitantly, Jim raised it to his lips.
Dark drank.
Jim drank.
-
end of chapter one