We had Mr. Dalton for history, we were learning about world war two. I love war; Darren didn't so wherever we had an assignment, I'd discuss the gory details with Steve, who, like me, loved war.
Maths, after lunch, Mr. Dalton for a second time, apparently Darren had had him earlier on in the day as well, making it three times for him. Steve was showing off, so Darren was telling me in the notes he was sending me. I thought it was rather funny. He had also asked me whether he should risk sending a note to Alan, asking to see the soggy piece of paper, my answer; Yes.
Darren passed the note, it seemed obvious to me that Alan had said no, because the two kept sending notes between each other. Alan caved after awhile and handed it to Tommy who then passed it on to me with a look of surprise on his face.
It read:
Cirque Du FreakFor one week only – Cirque Du Freak!
See:
Sive and Seersa – the twisting twins!
The Snake Boy! Wolf Man! Gertha Teeth!
Larten Crepsley and his performing spider – Madam Octa!
Alexander Ribs! The Bearded Lady! Hans Hands!
Rhamus Twobellies – Worlds Fattest Man!
Beneath all of that was the address for the ticket booth, and where and when the show was playing. I handed it over to Darren whose eyes lit up at the sight of the poster.
'Cirque Du Freak?' he muttered. He was reading through it before Mr. Dalton snatched the paper from his hand.
'What's this?' he snapped.
'It's an advert, sir'; Darren answered nervously.
'Where'd you get it?' he asked. I had never seen Mr. Dalton so angry, well, not since a girl in the front row of the class had written a dirty note to one of her friends and he had found it. 'Where'd you get it?'
'Sir, it's mine', Steve said stepping forward.
'Yours?' Mr. Dalton asked slowly, unsure of whether Steve actually owned it or whether he was just covering for Darren.
'I found it near a bus stop, sur', Steve said. 'Some old guy threw it away. I thought it looked interesting, so I picked it up. I was going to ask you about it later, at the end of class'.
'Oh', Mr. Dalton said, chuffed that someone would take the time out of his or her own time to ask him about a silly old flyer, he was still a little upset about it though. 'That's different, nothing wrong with an inquisitive mind. Sit down, Steve', and Steve did what he was told. I was just gaping at him.
Ding, Ding, Ding, Steve: two. Us: zero.
'Long ago, there used to be real freak shows', Mr Dalton said tapping the flyer which he had now stuck to the blackboard. 'Greedy con men crammed malformed people in cages and–'
'Sir, what's malformed mean?' somebody fro behind me asked.
'Someone who doesn't look ordinary', Mr. Dalton explained, 'A person with three arms or two noses; somebody with no legs; somebody very short, or very tall. The con men put these poor people – who were no different to you or me, except in looks – on display and called them freaks. They charged the public to stare at them and invited them to laugh and tease. They treated the so called "freaks" like animals. Paid them little, beat them, dressed them in rags, never allowed them to wash'.
I almost stood up and objected. I was staying at the Cirque and the last time I checked, I was he only one there that was forced to wash, by the performers none the less. They were clean freaks, and their manager, supplied them with a hefty amount of clothes.
'That's cruel, sir', a girl towards the front of the class commented.
'Yes', he nodded, 'Freak shows were cruel, monstrous creations. That's why I got angry when I saw this', he ripped the paper off of the blackboard and I had my arms crossed, clawing myself, just to stop myself from jumping up. 'They were banned years ago, but every so often you'll hear a rumour that they're still going strong'.
'Do you think the Cirque Du Freak is a real freak show?' Darren asked as I turned to look at him. Mr. Dalton read over the flyer again before answering.
'I doubt it, probably just a cruel hoax. Still if it was real, I hope nobody here would dream of going', he stated, looking around the class at all our innocent faces.
'Oh, no, sir', we all stated quickly.
'Because freak shows were terrible', he said, 'they pretended to be proper circuses, but they were cesspits of evil. Anybody who went to one would be just as bad as the people running it'. I was about to lose it. I was about to jump up and rip his head off. I lived there. Am I cesspit of evil? Pushing aside the whole half-Vampire thing. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the Cirque Du Freak.
'You'd have to be really twisted to go to one of these, sir', Steve agreed as I glared at him. I looked up just in time to see Steve mouth "We're going" to Darren and I smiled.