The air was littered in fog, clogging my vision from a clear view as I steadily trekked through the deserted forest. The fog swallowed up the sights before me, and with each step, cleared only a mere few feet to reveal more and more scattered trees. A dense smell of damp soil filled my nostrils with each breath, feeling like my lungs were being cleansed by the frigid musky atmosphere. I could hear crickets chirping needlessly out of sight, and the off rustle of shrubbery as the wind built up gradually and died down repeatedly. Only the moon illuminates the dark mysterious forest, casting the shadows of the thin, mangy trees and I. AS I recalled, the moon was full and bright, comforting me in my loneliness, yet not strong enough to cut through the tough thick fog. Even my super-adapted vision cannot veer through this weather.
I can't locate the area I'm in, but the scenery is only one of hundred environments and areas will witness in my lifespan. It's not the scenery that stumps me; it's the strong sense of another being in the area besides me. I feel watched, or as if I am supposed to be searching for something specific. Anything, really- a person, animal, object – some sign of any sort. But as I amble forwards, the environment never changes, nor does the fog dare to lift up from the night sky. My body feels strange, as if it is heavy yet airy and light at the same time. My mind cannot think clearly or stay on the same topic for long, and I cannot control most thoughts. Yet I do try as hard as I can to figure out this situation. It doesn't appear I'm in any danger, so there is no rush, but curiosity on how I got here is getting the best of me.
Deciding to rest, I drag my heavy body over to one of the many scrawny trees and sink to the ground with my back resting against the rough bark. I perk my knees up, resting the palms of my hands on them gently and cautiously of my sharp nails as I tilt my head back to rest against the tree as well. My eyes close for a brief moment as my mind wonders momentarily. I sure don't know why I'm way out here, or how I even got here. If I knew where I was I'd easily turn back the direction I came. I should be at the Cirque, helping about with chores, or making plans with Harkat and Vancha on the war. Now that I think of it, wasn't I just napping back at the Cirque, too? Or am I forgetting something? Perhaps I needed a refreshing walk to break away from the stress to aimlessly stroll around. After all that's been happening, I do believe I deserve it.
Then again, maybe Vancha is attempting to pull a harmless prank on me. It's something he'd do, too, but I don't get why he'd even take the time to take me way out here, or why he'd find it humorous. But he is the unpredictable Vancha March.
No, I think, if this was Vancha, I could detect his stench from miles away. It would even wake me up in deep sleep!
Sighing, y eyes open slowly, widening as well when I immediately lock eyes with the figure looming in front of me. The tall, glowing figure whom I instantly recognize.
It's Larten.
The figure – the man, the vampire – standing mere feet ahead, tainted in a layer of light blue glowing mist surrounding his body and painting his infamous red suit different shades of blue, is Mr Crepsley. He appears ghost-like, his body appearing to be semi-transparent, with no shadow casted by the pale moonlight. His whole body is tainted blue as well, seeming so foreign. The Mr Crepsley I knew – the Mr Crepsley I know – would never, ever dare crack a smile. But now, a soft sincere smile spread across his face, causing his long facial scar to crinkle.
I gradually stood up, my hands and arms tense by my side, eyes still locked on Larten. Faint, trembling breaths escaped my mouth, creating small bursts of steam from the warm air in my lungs. Mr Crepsley stood frozen like a statue, yet very, very much alive and there. This is why I am here, to meet Crepsley. This is what I was meant to find.
My feet lunge forward swiftly as I attempt to give Mr Crepsley a tight hug, but my arms glide through him as I swing them for a hug, my arms crashing into each other. I step back slowly, looking down at my hands in shock before looking up at the tall figure still in front of me. The smile doesn't slip from his face, nor does Crepsley move an inch.
"I… Crespley, I…." I stutter, trying to let words escape my mouth.
"That is Mr Crepsley, young man."
Just then I remember how much I miss hearing that deep voice of his. I had spent all my time with Mr Crepsley, for many years. He has basically raised me, giving me new life and purpose. He had trained me all that he had known of the vampire ways, and helped me survive up to this moment. With him gone, I never knew I would miss his times of harshness and cold ways, or how the way he even talks. I owe everything to Larten Crepsley, and now is my moment to thank him for all the things he has blessed me with.
Tears rim my eyes, threatening to spill. I don't dare let them, though, because I know Crepsley will tease me for it. Being weak is not the vampire way!
I try one more attempt to touch Mr Crepsley, and the same results show. My hand glides through his glowing body, and I realize that I am only able to communicate verbally with him. It's better than no Mr Crepsley.
"Now, Darren Shan, are you crying?" He murmurs, the soft smile fading from his face to be replaced with the typical stern expression that always masks his face.
"N-No…" I wipe the tears away, sniffling once before straightening my posture and balling my fists up to seem tough. I pull a fake frown. "No, I was not."
In reaction to this, Mr Crepsley only smiles again, even laughing at me jokingly. I'm so stunned by the reaction that the frown slips off my face. Embarrassment flushes over me and I try to abstain a flustered blush.
"You have always had a more emotional side, Darren. Your human ways have not changed."
"I know, I know, you always reminded me. I thought that was one thing you despised about me," I mumble, clearing my throat. "I've missed you, Mr Crepsley."
"I know, Darren, I know. But there is no changing what has been done." His arms open, and I think for a moment he is asking for a hug, so without second thought I lean forward again to wrap my arms around my mentor, believing and hoping that this time I'll receive the kind gesture I've been waiting for. But to my surprise, I gust right past the glowing ghost and swiftly land face first into the damp soil of the ground, my body landing hard like a stack of books being dropped.
My body jolts up, heart beating fast against my chest, throat gasping to catch air. My eyes open immediately and scan the area as I wipe my forehead of sweat with a trembling pale hand.
I'm in my Cirque tent.
Tears, seeming once again, line my eyes as I realize, this is reality, and I was experiencing a dream.
Author's Note: It was just something I made of boredom. I wanted to write a fic for my first fandom and book series that I got into. I absolutely adore the Cirque Du Freak series, and it's nice making a story for it for the first time. Reviews are very much wanted, especially tons of feedback! Thank you for reading.