The lesson his mother's slap had taught him so succinctly that morning settled like an iron weight in his childish spirit. If he was to keep from being broken by whatever was in store for him, he would have to remember that lesson, even cherish it. He equated Herroux to the evil ogres and giants in the stories Hannah had told him. The heroes of those stories were always stalwart and brave. They never caved in before their tormentors. Erik swore to himself that, no matter what, Herroux would never see him cry. OF course, Erik didn't know what kind of man Herroux really was.

Time meant little in the dark, stinking room that imprisoned him. He heard the sounds of the fair gradually die away to the sounds of fair groundskeepers cleaning up the day's overflow of refuse, grumbling about the way 'people just couldn't throw a piece of trash in a barrel these days'. He heard animals being put up for the night, and the laughter of fair workers as they ate their evening meal and drank their evening beer. Eventually, quiet descended. Sooner or later, his captor would return…but there was nothing he could do about that. When heavy boot-steps pounded into the wagon, Erik hugged his knees more tightly, and prayed the horrid man would not notice that he had moved.

The door banged open. Torchlight flickered on the walls, illuminating Herroux's monstrous silhouette. The burly man reached out and grabbed him, hefting Erik to his feet by the collar of his shirt. This time, Erik's little wrist was squeezed painfully as Herroux pulled him out of the wagon and into the freak-tent through a flap in the back.

The heavy smell of some animal emanated from a large cage set in the middle of the room. The floor of the cage was packed with mangled straw. There was a bowl of water, a plate with some unidentifiable scraps of food on it, and a bucket. Erik winced, guessing what the bucket was for. The mansion's privies had been kept scrupulously clean, even if they were cold and drafty..

Herroux shoved the child through an iron door with a satisfied chuckle. He slammed the cage door and padlocked it. There was no way he would let this treasure escape.

"Welcome home. You can thank the bear that died last month for this nice home. Don't make noise. Don't speak 'less you're spoken to -hell, don't speak unless I tell you to-, and do what you're told. Do all that and maybe I won't have to smack you around too much." He pointed to a wall where a sinister looking whip hung coiled. "If you can't do what you're told, then that's," he exaggerated his pointing motion, "for you." More low chuckles followed this introduction. "You better make me money, boy, after what I laid out for you." Relief washed over the boy when his captor exited the tent, leaving him in the dark once more.

The tent was stiflingly hot, the water was sulphurous, and Erik dared not taste the scraps. He stretched out on the straw and closed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to scream and cry, but knew that would only bring unwanted attention. Hannah's memory rose in his mind; her kindly face and soft voice comforted him. Eventually, despite his fear and misery, Erik fell asleep.

The following morning, Erik woke to the sound of a creaking cage door. His eyes snapped open and he scuffled to a crouch in a corner of the cage. Herroux stood in front of him, holding the white mask. He waved the mask in Erik's face, taunting him.

"This is nicer'n what I got for you. You don't need it." He tossed the mask through the bars of the cage. "I got something better." He pulled a small burlap sack from his back pocket. Two rough eyeholes had been cut into it. He walked over and dropped the sack onto Erik's lap. "Put it on."

Erik hesitated only a few seconds. Too long. His mother's slap had merely sent him to the floor; the kick aimed at his hip launched him into the bars of the cage. He struggled back to his guarded crouch as quickly as possible.

"Put it on!" roared Herroux, raising a fist. This time, there was no hesitation. Erik pulled the rough thing over his head and adjusted the eyeholes so he could see.

Once the bag was in place, Herroux grabbed him by the front of his shirt, which promptly ripped. He shook the small boy soundly, reveling in his greater power. The other freaks could come and go as they pleased. They were performers and adults. This was different. Herroux intended to put this one in his place long before the ugly creature ever thought of puberty.

"Next time you'll move faster, or you'll taste the whip. Now, you're gonna make your debut. Stand up."

Debut? thought Erik as he rose to his feet, favoring his bruised hip. A debut was what a performer did onstage. He had dreamed, as a small child, of his debut as a singer. Never, he decided. I ill never perform for you.

Herroux opened the curtain, and the fair workers streamed in, crowding around the cage. They always previewed each new act and give their opinions about the title. Herroux had found that the pre-screening usually resulted in excellent marketing ideas – it also amused his coworkers, earning him free beer and wine.

Herroux towered over the trembling boy, presenting him with an outstretched hand.

"I give you my newest acquisition. I haven't decided on a name, but I know you're going to help me out there." Cheers erupted from the crowd. "Those among you faint at heart, avert your gaze!"

"Aw, give it up, Herroux. Bet you ain't got nothin' under that bag we ain't seen before."

"You bet, eh?" Herroux laughed his booming laugh. "Fine. I'll wager you dinner for the next week. How's that?" There were shouts of agreement – Herroux could already taste the mutton. He tore the bag from Erik's head, catching several strands of hair.

Erik's little hiss of pain was lost in the collective gasp of the crowd. Several people did turn their heads, others made startled exclamations.

"Hideous!"

"Ugh!"

"What is that?"

"Oh ye gods, Herroux, cover it back up!"

Erik started to put his hands over his face, more to hide from the crowd than anything else, but a cuff on the back of the head warned him that it was not allowed. Despite his determination not to cry, no matter what, he felt his eyes prick. He blinked rapidly, forcing the unwelcome display of weakness back. In his mind, these were wild animals, and if they smelled fear he was doomed.

A stillness to his right caught his attention, and he turned his gaze that way. Near his cage stood the girl from before, the one with the pastries. She was perhaps two years his senior. She was neither yelling nor fainting; she was looking at him with a peculiar expression of discomfort. She clutched her tray proclaiming 'Pastries: Delicious & Freshbaked'. She seemed solemn, and a little sad. The screeching of the crowd dimmed in his ears for a moment as his eyes met hers. She mouthed, "I'm sorry," and walked away, gracefully weaving between the larger adults in the throng.

The topic of conversation was now the title of his "act". 'Corpse boy' and 'walking dead boy' were bandied about. The ticket taker, with her shrill voice, hollered over the rest.

"You oughtn't keep him at all, Herroux! That's the Devil's Child, that is!"

Herroux laughed. "I think Claudia's given us a name, there. The Devil's Child it is. Get John on the job and make me a sign!" The burlap bag was thrust over Erik's head once more, mercifully hiding him from the leers and cruel eyes of the crowd.

The rest of the day was a blur. Once the sign hung over the tent door, Herroux was open for business. Crowd after crowd of grubby faces and wide eyes paraded past his cage. Over and over, Herroux ripped the hood from his head to a symphony of screams and gasps. People fainted, women hid their eyes in their husbands' shoulders. Never in his worst nightmares had Erik ever imagined a hell like this. Am I really so terrible? he wondered.

At the end of the day, when the crowds had gone, Herroux thrust a plate of scraps into the cage and removed the bucket for emptying. Erik could only lie curled up in one corner, shuddering and trying futilely to disappear. He could still feel their eyes all over him, and the feeling was insufferable. He ignored the food and reached for the mercy of sleep.

Days passed without change in the routine. Erik realized that he would quietly go mad if he could not divert his thoughts from the screams and gasps of the multitude. In that first week, he put his extraordinary mind to the task of preserving itself. There was nothing else for him to do. Without Hannah or books, only one pleasure remained to him – Music. To keep himself sane, he composed music in his head, and sang it quietly to himself after all sounds from the fair grounds ceased. He practiced his spelling, his mathematics - anything to remind himself of the person he had once been.

Eventually, hunger drove Erik to take some food. He was too young to follow through with his plan of suicide by starvation, too young to do much but survive. Several of the fair workers came to peer at him after hours, but he gave no sign that he noticed. When they threw rotten food at him to raise a reaction, he simply pushed the fetid stuff out of his cage and sat back down, his eyes focused on a point a thousand yards from nowhere. He wondered about the quiet girl and where she was working.

This was a travelling fair, moving from town to town. He knew they were moving on when his cage was lifted by workers and loaded into a wagon. That was the only clue he ever had - from the bars of his cage and the dingy walls of the freak-tent, every town looked the same. The people who came to gape at him were all the same big stinking, screaming person. Herroux became more brutish as time passed, not less. He was generous with his fists and heavy boots, determined to prevent any "cheek" from this little freak.

When he was drunk, he used the whip, whether Erik had caused any offense or not. Herroux was a brute, but he was not a stupid brute. As cruel as he was, he had money invested in Erik. He was careful not to kill the boy, because the boy was worth far more money if he was healthy looking, if he could stand and be gawked at. Short of that, though, he did as he pleased and when he was drunk, he did things that made even the shrill ticket-taker pity the ugly child. Through everything, Erik kept his vow. He never cried once.