Kay. J-Horror Fan 4-Ever told me off for writing derogatory messages about my stories... Sorry. I'm really nervous about the reception on this story.
John gazed down at his new family, his heart swelling with pride. He picked his newborn son up, and smoothed the babe's cheeks in wonder. A son. Jane looked up, smiling at her husband and child with love. She reached up and brought the infant down, readying him for suckling, she missed the jealous look that John passed to their son.
"Jack," She whispered, her odd, rough voice swallowed by the wooden walls. "We'll name him Jack."
John left the caravan and turned to his fellow performers who were waiting in the firelight just outside the door.
He raised his arms up, the performers signal of a show about to begin, "It's a boy!"
An assortment of sounds greeted his announcement. Gargles, shouts, giggles and snorts rose up from the ring of oddly shaped gathering. They quieted again, their eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
John sensed what they wanted and hung his head. "Ten fingers ten toes." He grimaced, and a few performers clapped his back consolingly.
"What's this I hear, Jane and John's son a norm?!" I have to see it to believe it." The company quieted down for the Boss Lady as she staggered forth. Her voice rising on the last statement. A few of the gathering chuckled and John didn't meet the Boss ladies eye. Shame written on his honest face.
"He shall be a human marvel." This was greeted by somber silence. The boss lady, a four foot bearded woman, commanded respect from her performers and a human marvel was not something wished upon anybody in the ring.
John stared down at her. "Shall I do it now?" He whispered.
She nodded gravely and Jack went back inside to his wife, his heart oddly still. A human marvel was not respected nor liked in the community. It was a freak, scorned, pitied and patronized, not a true person. Incomplete, lacking.
Jane was holding the child, her pig-face contented. John stared down at them awhile, drinking the scene in.
Gently he pried his wife's arms away from his son. She woke instantly, her eyes blinking in the dim light. "What's wrong?" She asked sleepily.
"Nothing sweet-cheeks, go back to sleep."
Jane staggered upright, still stained by child-birthing liquids. "Where are you going with him?"
"The boss lady is readying her blessing."
Jane stared at him startled. "Why? What's wr-"
She flicked back the fabric that covered the infant, inspecting him thoroughly. At last understanding she stared up at her husband. "She can't... She wouldn't..."
John looked at her, puzzled. "What's wrong?"
Jane snatched her babe away. "You can't, I won't let you."
John advanced cautiously. His wife backed away, colliding with a cupboard. "Please John, he's your son for Christ sake."
She backed further away, her arms clenched tightly to her son, protecting him. Holding him. He squealed in indignation and they both looked down.
John took the opportunity to snatch him away from Jane. He stumbled out the caravan, nearly falling down the steps. The fat lady blocked the caravan door, her rolls of fat rippling as Jane threw herself against the wood to get to her son.
The boss lady was waiting outside a knife and a blunt stick in her hands, she said nothing, but held out her arms for the child. John handed him over after a moment of hesitation.
Baby Jack looked up at the Boss Lady his voice stopped in mid cry. Boss Lady stared down at him, and saw into his eyes, she saw something there, a glint of something deep in the child's eyes. She began to laugh, and the baby giggled with her. Their combined merriment rose up through the silent circle.
"Bring Madam Selena Patricia."
John stiffened, his hands closing around his son convulsively.
There were some whispers an odd panting noise and an old woman was dragged into the firelight on a long chain. She stared up at the Boss Lady, a small line of drool running down her chin, her blind eyes swiveled around and she bared her filed teeth as she barked a laugh at John's nervousness.
"Read the child." The Boss Lady placed the infant before the slavering creature. John made a funny noise in the back of his throat and made a jerky movement towards his son who lay on the grass giggling up at the distorted faces. Madam Selena picked up the child gently, her long gnarled fingers caressing his skin lightly.
"Oh, it's a dark one all right. A shadow of plague in his future." She lisped, giggling. She ran a filthy fingernail down the child's face. "Oh, he'll be slimy for sure, but tasty for a pot. A handsome lad. Always the joker."
She traced his mouth from one ear to the next. "But he'll be marred and marked my lady. But not by your hand. Teach him the knives if he lives through the Midwinter festival."
She clucked at the child and licked his cheek. John again twitched but remained still after a moment.
"A tasty little child... I'd kill him now, save someone else the trouble."
Selena lunged forward her teeth bared but Boss Lady quickly hooked the child and dragged him away. John reclaimed his son, his brow furrowed in anger. Madam Selena Patricia growled her filed teeth yellowish in the half light. He stared down at his son. "Always the Joker, Jack?" He whispered. Jack squirmed, trying to get back to Selena.
The Boss Lady turned back to John. "He'll be spared tonight, we'll get him a knife master and some knives. But he belongs to the circus." She turned her back on him.
"Go back to your wife, bender. She sounds dreadful."
John was left in the darkness clutching his child. His wife's muffled screams piercing the darkness behind him and the firelight playing on his face. Madam Selena preening herself in the tree line.
Jack became part of the circus and for the first few years he was the pride and joy of it. He laughed and giggled, played with the various animals within. But he never talked. Never said a word to anyone. His mother worried and paid for a doctor who threw words around, complicated, impressive but on the whole, worthless. His father grew apart from his wife and son. He spent little time with them preferring to work late hours on the sidelines of the show, bending and twisting himself around various objects. Double jointed and born with cartilage bones he could turn his neck around to face his back, and one body part at a time, turn around.
It was a great favorite in the show, people hated and loved the grotesque creatures that were paraded before them. They hooted and wailed and shrieked in fear and glee as the various artists performed their tricks and turns.
The freak show moved around the country putting on underground shows as their troupe was banned from performing. Jack grew with the circus, performing in the ring from the early age of four. The Boss Lady hired Dagobert Machlowitz, a Russian knife thrower to tutor Jack. Dagobert spoke little English and so their lessons were quiet. John watched his son from the stands, warming up on the railing.
Jane, Miss Piggy, doted on her child, fussing and coddling. She would make sure he was well-fed and clothed, his face always bright. But nobody but Boss Lady could control Jack when he was in one of his moods. He would smash the china cups, tease the younger children by pulling on their deformities. Not that he wasn't teased himself. Most of the performers were nasty to him, pointing out mistakes cruelly and constantly mistaking him for the audience.
Jack smiled all the while a little smirk on his face that was entirely too old for his age. His father pitied him, having been born a freak in a small minded village, and protected his child from the worst of the circuses prejudices.
John wasn't the best father, watchful of course as any parent would be, yet he held himself apart, aloof, detached. He tried to talk to his son, tried to persuade a word from those still lips, eventually giving up in frustration.
"It is my pleasure to present to you ladies and gentlemen, the knave of knives, the Jack of the deck!" Stage lights flicked on to illuminate the young boy in the center of the stage. He bowed low, smiling. His long blond hair obscuring his face in shadow.
He began to juggle his knives and the audience gave a little sigh of appreciation. Jack flicked his knives higher and higher to the tents roof. Then stopped to catch them as they came down. He flicked one onto his palm keeping it steady and added another to the back end, making a tower of balancing knives.
His father walked backward into the arena, his head facing his son the whole time as he walked around the arena.
The show continued from there, the acts becoming wilder and wilder, always with Jack in the center twirling his knives silently performing his deadly dances.
His father came home that night celebrating. He dragged Jane and Jack out of their beds and sat them at the table, laughing and cajoling them. He poured them all a drink and leaned toward his wife with a triumphant look.
"I've found a man." He said, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. He sat back, a satisfied smirk on his thin face.
"What?" Jane asked blearily, wiping her eyes.
"He can fix Jackie, make him talk."
Jane stopped moving her hand still on her face. "He doesn't need ta' be fixed, he's not an animal."
"Are you deaf Piggy? I said he can make him talk." He took another swig of whiskey from the glass in front of him. He looked at jack who was staring at the table, his thoughts obviously far away. "Look at him, he knows something about those missing children, he was the last one to be seen with Saji." John folded his palms in the performer's salute to the dead.
Jane scooted her chair back. "Mayhaps he doesn't want ta' remember John. He's best left alone." She stood up only to freeze as she heard his fist hit the table, shaking the caravan.
"It's not good enough anymore! Have you seen him with that 'norm that teaches him the knives. He'll listen to him but he won't hear a word that I say. I've set an appointment up tomorrow, and Jack's gonna be there."
Jane continued to the bed after a moments hesitation and lay down with her back to her husband. John followed suit, flicking off the lights as he got undressed muttering. Jack was left at the table staring at the pale sliver of lights that filtered through the crack above the caravan door. His brown eyes alight with some mad intensity.
John woke first with a groan and went outside to stretch. Jane stretched soon after he had gone and checked the time. She got up, heaving herself to her feet with a grunt of effort.
She kissed Jack on the crown of his head and made breakfast, cold sausage and mash.
Yawning she served for three and called John in to eat. Neither of them noticed Jack's grass stained pants nor the specks of blood that dotted his sleeve.
John came slowly back inside, casting an indifferent look at his son who sat his eyes fixed on the opposite wall and his hands splayed on the rough wood of the caravan table.
"Hey there Jackie, have a nice night?"
Jack turned his head sideways, his eyes wide in his pale face. He looked like a wax doll, staring at his father he ignored the plate of food in front of him.
If John noticed or cared that his son was acting strangely he didn't show it. He continued to eat his mash.
Slowly Jack turned to face the wall again.
"Doctor's coming today." John said through a mouthful of food, watching his wife who sat opposite from him.
"I don' like this idea. Maybe Jack's mute." She sniffed and wiped her snout with the back of her hand.
You heard him the night he was born." He grinned proudly at his son. "You had a pair of bellows back then Jackie."
The wall continued to soak up Jacks attention. John squinted at him. "You don't even know what day it is do you?"
Jane looked up startled, a smile on her face.
John noticed and smiled back. "That's right honey, we've got a show tonight."
Jane looked down, unable to hide her disappointment. "What's wrong sweet cheeks?"
"It's his birthday." She said clearing the plates, emptying Jacks full one out for the dog.
John looked up, shocked. "Oh, really, that's...that's wonderful! How old is he?"
"If you weren't so focused on Jack being perfect you might keep track."
"Oh, sweetness, don't be like that...""
"Like what John? Like a mother? Like a wife? I have the right to be angry!" Her pinks cheeks were red, her words distorted by the unusual shape of her mouth.
"Janey-"
"Don't you Janey me! You don't care that Jack is the best thrower in the country, you haven't been to his competitions, you've been scheming to get his voice fixed since he were two!" Her cleft fingers rubbed across the dirty dishes in fast angry movements.
"This is what we wanted, this is what we had him for? To throw knives and be congratulated, he doesn't listen Jane, he doesn't understand. For Christ sakes he's old en-"
There was a loud knock on the door, and the pair stopped. Jack was still at the table, he hadn't moved.
John swept around him to open the door. A thin seedy old man stood in the doorway. His thinning gray hair was oily and stuck to his head in little curls. He smiled at John, showing yellowed teeth. "I am the good doctor. I come to help the children."
He had a thick northern accent which was further distorted by the large gap between his front teeth.
John pointed to Jack and stalked out, not once looking towards his wife. The caravan door slammed behind him.
Jane continued to wash the dishes angrily. The doctor went to shake her hand. "I am the good doctor. I come to help-"
"The children, yes I heard." She glared at him. "How much do you cost?"
"Oh, very little your husband has taken care of our little transaction."
"Unusual accent, where are you from?"
"Oho! A circus performer at a loss to name my origin, that is very new! I come from Estonia, a very little country. You may not have heard of it."
Jane nodded curtly and The doctor looked down at Jack. "Oh, he is a handsome little fellow." He looked at Jane again. "It would be perhaps better that you leave so I can talk to little Jack alone. Many do not wish to witness the cure, but I assure you the end result in quite worth it.." He tapped his nose conspiratorially.
Jane laughed and nodded reluctantly heading towards the door. "I'll be in later to make lunch."
She left, and behind her she heard the doctor. "Open wide, little Jack..."
Jane pulled the water bucket to the front of the steps, she sat on the steps, watching her husband warm up on the grass while she cleaned their costumes. Whenever he did a particularly good trick she would clap and laugh in delight. She wasn't skilled or beautiful, it was because she was an ugly oddity that she got paid and had a family, little moments like these were what made life worth living.
The anger between the couple disappeared. And they both felt relaxed and at ease. Shouts drew them from their caravan into a large clearing where the performers drew water from the well.
"Has another child gone missing?" Jane asked her husband, drawing closer to him.
John shook her off and shoved himself through the crowd, adjusting his nimble body to flow through the mob. He soon arrived at the inner circle.
The boss lady stood in the center, one hand on a man's shoulder, it was Ralph Emerson, his face blank. He was kneeling beside the body of his daughter. Ralph was a big bruiser of a man, but a gentle giant, long thin tendrils of bark-like skin wound up his arms stemming from club like hands. He was the tree nymph, his daughter had inherited the strange look. Small fungus like protrusions popped out of his skin at odd angles like little twigs.
John squinted at the body on the wet grass it was Ralph's daughter all right. Denis-Donna? Something with a 'D'. The bark had been stripped away from her skin, the tissue underneath porous and bloody. Her club like feet had been completely severed and lay next to her. Jagged bone protruded from the stumps where they had been, There was a piece of paper pinned to the body. John peered closer in horrified fascination, the writing was in childish block letters written in deep black ink it read.
undeRneAtH we'Re All THe sAme
Jack stared up at Ralph, the tree-man stared emptily ahead, and John saw someone he didn't expect to see in that gaze.
He saw his son, gazing at the wooden caravan wall But This man was tortured beyond belief.
And John realized that perhaps his son had heard him all those years, but maybe there had been nothing to say. The knife that pinned the bloodstained note to the dead girls chest was a throwing knife, custom made and weighted for a child's hands. His son's hands.
John ran, pushing people over ramming bodies aside as he leapt out of the circle. Jack... Where was Jack last night?
He was at the caravan. He wasn't carving little girls up, that's not like Jackie, Jackie doesn't murder children.
WHERE WAS HE LAST NIGHT?
He was at the caravan, he was there in the morning, in his chair.
"John?" His wife's voice was scared, he ignored her and sprinted to his caravan jumping over tent poles and circus pets.
Those missing children, when did it start?
Four years ago... no wait... five? How many a year? only two or three...
Circus cats and dogs? The elephant that got hamstrung...that's been over eight years. How old was Jack?
Damn.
I have no idea.
He arrived at his caravan door, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, maybe he was wrong about Jack, perhaps his imagination had gone too far. He was panicking for nothing.
Taking a shuddering breath he pushed open the door.
Jack's back was to the door, the doctor stood in front of him, splattered in blood, in fact there was blood everywhere. John gagged and covered his mouth.
The doctor turned around. "Ah, Meester, I have not finished, you must come back. In a few more hours."
John stepped into the caravan a hand half protecting his nose and mouth from the coppery tang in the air. He shoved the doctor away and stared at his son.
He rolled Jack's head back, and shouted in shock. his son's mouth was hanging open in ragged tatters. The slimy skin peeled back from the teeth by complicated metal clips. Jack himself rolled limply out of the chair as his weight was shaken to the side. John gagged and ran outside, his stomach churning. He didn't make it, but tripped down the steps and landed on the dewy grass face first. He raised his head and threw up.
Stocky, practical shoes were at the edge of his vision and hard pincers pulled him up by the shoulder. It was Jane.
"John what's going on?" She was terrified, she caught site of his hands. "John! Are you hurt?"
John looked down mesmerized by the dark red substance he found in smears along his palms. His son's blood, on his hands... "It's Jacks..."
So yeah, thanks J-Horror Fan 4-Ever, you are as always my best reviewer yet. I'm just so sick of failing at my stories, parents, grades, image, friends, homework, essays, and teachers. So you know what? Fuck everyone, I'm going to run away and join the circus