They had been empty mere seconds before; now the streets were filled with men and women returning from the grand finale in Clopin's Travelling Carnival. Some gave vent to little squeaks of terror, others to forced and unnatural laughs. Men carried fainted wives, and some of them looked about ready to faint themselves. All in all, it had been a good – that is to say, profitable – day at the fair. The black tent where the finale had taken place stood empty and bereft of the teeming life it had held earlier, silent in its billowing cloth. One sound only emerged into the still, chill night air… from within, a shuddering sigh, heart-harrowing and sorrowful disturbed the veil of darkness.
Where am I? Where are my brothers? I'm hungry. Are these people good people? Do they know Momma? I think they know Momma. People! "Yip!" Good people! "Yip!" Where are my brothers? I'm hungry. "Yip-yap aow!"
A little pup wandered between the legs of the retreating carnival-goers, barking incessantly for the attention none would give him. There was too much music of Heaven and the face of Hell on their minds for them to return to Earth.
I'm cold. Where's Momma? I don't think they know Momma. If I lie down she'll carry me home like always, and—I'm hungry…
A soft whine sounded into the night, in the empty field before the black tent with its one living inhabitant. There was silence in the wind and even within the tent…
One skeletal hand pushed open the flap, pale, translucent almost and ghostly. It was trembling, and its owner moreso, as he emerged only a little more into the night. A puppy? An unseen smile considered appearing—and that was the most any smile on that face had done in a long time. With less hesitation, the tall and bony-thin figure emerged at his impressive height, from the polished boots to the stark-white mask, its hole of a mouth gaping mournfully out at the world around a flap of blood-red cloth. "Hello, little one."
Who's that? He's tall and I can't feel his warmth! Maybe he took Momma away! I'm hungry, he, he's not got food! "Grrrirrr!"
The bony, pale hand
withdrew into its silken sleeve of ebony, and slowly, softly, its
owner sat by the black tent, across from the little brown pup. In a
soft, mournful voice, to mask the expression etched eternally on the
mask, he spoke: "You do not like me either?"
Another
shuddering, sorrowing sigh rent the still night air.
What's he saying? He's all cold-feeling, and he smells like Sister did! Where did Sister go? Where's Momma! I'm hungry and he's not got food! I can't see him smile, he's all white and scary! I'm hungry and cold… did he take sister?
A second growl, stronger than the first, sent shivers down the skeletal man's protruding spine. "No, you are not like Sascha," the man commented. "Of course… how could you be?... Sascha was blind." He says this so matter-of-factly yet so painfully that it bites the air with a further chill.
He's scaring me! He's scaring me! He's scaring me! I don't like this man, I don't! He doesn't bring Momma and he smells like Sister! Where did she go, anyway? I'm hungry. He won't feed me and I'm hungry. I don't like this man. I'm going to move!
Erik's sunken eyes
pricked… even a dog feared him, an innocent pup feared him, inched
away from him even as he lay there… Maybe—maybe he was only
hungry? Perhaps he could have a friend? That couldn't be too much
to ask. "Where is your mother, little one? Sascha was a mother. You
should be with your own… but you are not. Are you hungry?"
He
stood, forgetting how tall and intimidating he seemed even to humans,
motioning inside the tent… he could not, of course, but reasoned a
dog, even one so young, should be able to smell the bit of food
inside. Perhaps you could be my friend?
He said her name! He said mother! I'm hungry. Why isn't Momma in there if there's food? Maybe he's going to take her away like Sister! They put her in a box and put the box in the dirt! I like dirt, but I'm hungry! I'm hungry, and he's trying to trick me! I don't like this man.
"Oh," he moaned softly. "You don't like me…" The pup had fear in his eyes, and was backing up further still from his black tent. "It is going to rain," Erik noted, eyes closed, matter-of-factly. "You should have shelter. Where is your mother." The pup, he was certain, could not have a mother! An orphaned thing, friendless and foodless, and cold, and—he could care for him, he could, and have a friend! A friend, all his own.
Mother! Momma! He said Mother! Momma's with Other Momma, the short person-woman! I'm coming, brothers! I'm coming, mother! I'm hungry!
Erik stood, dumbfounded, as the pup ran… "I… I had thought you were alone in the world… I had thought that… you were like…" At once, he closed the flap of black cloth behind him, and let loose a silent cry of terrible agony. He screamed the word he could not say in soundless suffering… and with that, flinging his mask off he threw himself in anguish onto the cot, burying himself like a child – lost, alone, and dead.