Robert, Agnes and Emma Gray-1881
At the start of Autumn, in the chilly, foggy early hours of the morning, the circus arrived to sleepy Derry. The colorful painted wooden wagons and elephants parading along Witcham Street drew the children of the town out of their homes to smile, gawk and laugh while still in their pajamas.
The performers clamored about the town, exploring, or posing for photographers as set-up began, including the biggest draw of all; the big top tent being erected by young laborers. Decked out in overalls with smudged cheeks, they traveled with the circus and during performances often did humdrum chores, such as tending to the animals and the handling of props the various performers used during their acts. The laborers, while not paid well, certainly ate well, with three hearty meals a day. The opportunity for travel was also desirable for many young men and women.
The wagons were sitting in a circle around Bailey Park, in the center is one emblazoned with 'Pennywise The Dancing Clown.'
Otherwise known as Robert Gray, formerly Gustafsson. He'd picked up his stage name while performing in London with an English clown George Rowley, known as 'Sad Jacques,' who uttered the saying, "Penny wise and pound foolish" in response to the lavish spending he'd witnessed while in the city. Robert found the saying delightful and adopted it as a stage name. Before, he simply was known as 'The Dancing Clown.'
Robert was born in Södermalm, the only son of Anna and Sven, both from familes of dancers, musicians and actors. His father had been known sinply as "The Sångare," and had moved the family to England upon landing work at King's Theater. His actress mother made regular appearances on the Royal Theatre stage.
The family's home life was often filled with drama that matched that depicted in his mother's plays; his father had at least three different mistresses, each having bore him a child. Robert had never acknowledged or spoke with any of them. His father was also a strict disciplinarian, often beating Robert mercilessly for something as trivial as not finishing all of his vegetables.
His father, who had a taste for the macabre, also spent a fair amount of time consuming magazines and books filled with horrifying tales of people being buried alive. As a result, this caused him to request that his teenage son promise to behead him upon death for fear of premature burial. When the time came, Robert did as asked and upon the death of his mother a few years later, set out on his own, mostly finding work in Italy, Denmark and Sweden.
It was in London where Robert met his charismatic wife Agnes, also known by her stage name Elvira, who was a trapeze artist famed throughout Europe as the "Daughter Of The Air." Her performances often took her up fifty to sixty feet from the ground, without using any net or other safety measures. The audiences adored her and she was often the subject of magazine news articles.
Born in Stockholm, she was of Danish ancestry and had come from a family of trapeze artists, 'The Flying Jensens' and had been performing since she was a toddler, with her father balancing her on his hand during his opening act.
Robert had been taken with her hourglass figure, and long light brown hair which was well past her waist. She'd been drawn to his height and striking eyes, the blue-green color reminding her of the sea. Even finding his slight buck teeth appealing. They had eloped when they were touring with the French circus director Didier Gautier in Cirque Du Nord
Their seven year old daughter Emma was a dark-haired morose child who was born in Austria while the couple were touring with Circus Renz.
When America came calling, they landed on Ellis Island and they promptly changed the family name from Gustafsson to the more easily pronounced Gray and eventually were hired by P.T Barnum upon hearing of the couple's fame throughout Europe.
America, however, wasn't all it was advertised to be, and Agnes and Robert were becoming increasingly weary with life on the road. Overworked and exhausted, at this point their young daughter was their priority and settling down was maybe what was best for her. A stable home. School. And, most of all, friends. The girl was isolated, and apart from a stuffed lion she called 'Fred' given to her by the lion tamer Isaac Van Der Berg, she had no real companions. She often spent long hours sitting in Agnes' wagon printed with 'The Legendary Elvira,' reading or playing marbles while the couple did their shows.
Derry seemed like the perfect place to settle down permanently. They had acquired enough savings to live comfortably.
Upon their exploration of the town, Robert, Agnes and Emma happened upon 29 Neibolt Street and a lovely two-story mansion, somewhat rundown-looking, encircled by patches of half-dead grass and sunflowers that looked like tiny suns sprouting around the yard. Upon talking with the locals they discover that the home is for sale and was owned by one of the wealthiest families in Derry, the Muellers.
In fact, according to the local residents, the place hadn't been lived in for many years. The last known occupants, the Vance family, had moved out around thirty years prior. There were whispers that the place was haunted-rumors both Robert and Agnes immediately dismissed.
But not so much Emma. Standing outside the wrought iron gates, she gawks up at the circular attic window at the very top, goosebumps breaking out along her skin. The window almost resembles the eye of a cyclops, watching her closely. She takes a step backwards.
"No, I don't want to go in here." she mumbles, dropping her head down, holding Fred tight to her plaid dress, prying her fingers from her mother's. The house had a strange atmosphere, like it would come alive and gobble her up if she set one foot inside.
Like some kind of monster from a fairytale.
"It's just a house, my love. Nothing to harm you," Agnes lovingly reassures. "Nothing to be afraid of."
Robert gives his daughter a gentle rub along her shoulders, removing his cigar from his lips to give her a comforting smile. "We're just going to have a look around, okay? Nothing to fear."
She's never lived in a house before. It's all a little foreign to her. She'll adjust.
But there's something about this house. Something drawing Robert to it. It certainly wasn't the most attractive and the work going into it would be time-consuming. But there was a charm about it. It had potential to be their dream home.
Robert leads his family in, with Emma returning her hand to her mother's protective grip. Once inside, they stand gazing about the living room, admiring the woodwork; the staircase and wooden beams, evidence of fine craftsmanship. The furniture was still here, as if the former owners had left in a hurry. The fireplace inlaid with 'Good Cheer, Good Friends,' and a piano sits beneath the window, sunrays coating along its white and black keys, the dust particles floating through the air twinkle in the warm light.
"The price they're asking for this place is a bargain, given how it includes the furniture and everything," Robert says as he approaches the stairwell. "Seems too good to be true."
"The furniture will have to be replaced. Look at it," Agnes runs a white gloved hand along the blanket of dust along the wooden frame of a parlor chair. "It's filthy! We can't possibly use it."
"No, just a little dirty. Just needs some sprucing up a bit. Just a little bit of love." Robert grins like a kid, his round cheeks turning up as he bounds up the stairwell.
Agnes follows, with Emma at her heels, clinging to her, her large brown irises searching along the walls, waiting to see if something emerges, or moves out of anywhere. A pair of massive hands with hairy fingers reaching out for her, like a troll from the Scandinavian folk tales the children back home told around a camp fire. The eerie sensation that this house was somehow alive was rustling within her. Every nook and cranny was just seeping with this discomfort.
Robert opens a door to a bedroom where two of the windows have been shattered.
No matter. Easily replaced.
Agnes enters behind him, leaving Emma out in the hall. As she stands, a whispered voice touches her eardrums.
Emma.
Startled, the girl spins around. That voice was neither male no female. That was not either of her parents calling her name. Although it seems like it was speaking to her through her mind. A cursory glance into the bedroom shows her parents are preoccupied with discussions of renovations.
Emma.
She stares down the hall towards the kitchen as the door opens ajar and just inside there's a miniature ball of light, doing a little dance mid-air. It looked no bigger than one of her marbles. It reminded her of the fairy stories her mother told her. Describing the little sprites as having an otherworldy glow.
It couldn't be though, could it?
Without hesitation she runs to the kitchen as it disappears behind the doorway. She stands watching, holding Fred tighter to her as the little glowing ball skips through the air to the open door of the basement, casting its luster along the darkness. As she steps closer, she feels a pull, a force, beckoning her further in. Like a pair of large invisible hands guiding her along by her shoulders.
She had to go down there.
As she enters, standing atop the steps leading down into the murkiness, she is met with a bone-chilling cold, the clammy decayed odor of the basement air meets her nostrils, causing her to cough. She charily begins to descend the stairwell, in direction of the light ball as it highlights each step, creaking loudly under her tiny feet as she reaches the bottom.
There, just a few feet from her, in a weak beam of sunlight from a nearby window, is an ancient stone well. The little ball of light hovering just above it, circling the opening. The well is partly destroyed, a rusted pulley dangles just above. With Fred still tight in her arms, she stares at it, almost mesmerized. Gradually, she starts to come closer. As she does, something moves just along the broken stones.
A pair of luminescent yellow-orange hands rise from within and cup the tiny light ball, followed by the head of a woman with her hair pinned back, her entire face illumined in that same bright color that resembled an amber gemstone. She rises up out of the well, still holding the tiny bead of light, wings sprouting out from her back. She lands on her feet with a dainty ballet-dancer like movement, wearing the same style of lace-up slippers and dress her mother wore when she performed.
Emma stares, her mouth agape.
A real fairy. An actual real-life fairy.
The fairy gestures for her to draw near. "Come." she says in a delicate feminine voice that sounds like an angel, or the most delicate porcelain bell chiming.
Emma heeds, inching closer, in utter awe of what she was seeing. The fairy sticks her hand out, wiggling her slender fingers. "Come with me, child."
Emma swallows, still feeling the embers of fear smoldering, although much of it had dampened. But a fluttery anxious feeling was still present. "Come where?" she inquires.
"Come and you'll float. I promise. Don't you want to have wings?" the fairy replies, turning her shoulders slightly to display hers. "Come and you will float too."
Emma is about to take her hand, when she sees the fairy's features up close. Her eyes are two empty black sockets. At this, Emma pulls back, an unnerving feeling starting to shiver through her.
"Um, that's okay. I-I think I need to go upstairs now," she says as she starts to back away, gaze not wavering from the strange sight. "I need to leave now."
The beaming visage the fairy was displaying now falters, her tiny mouth curling downwards into an exaggerated pout. "Now Emma, that's not very polite. Come and let me take you into my lights. You won't grow old there. You'll remain the same forever." she says grinning. Although friendly, there's enough hint of malice beneath it to cause Emma's fear to skyrocket, coupling it with a burst of panic.
No, this isn't normal. Fairies aren't real.
Then, out of the corner of her vision, she spots something moving beside the fairy, something black. Possibly a rat or a mouse
A closer inspection shows it is neither, but some sort of...thing.The closest she could describe it as is a shadow, only solid. It danced along the edge until another appeared. And another. And another. Until what looked like a writhing bundle of obsidian tentacles begin to rise up from the well. Followed by veins of orange light creeping up along the grooves of the stones, pulsing and flickering.
"Come Emma. Come into my lights." the fairy intones as ebony webs begins to snake out of her eyes, cocooning around her head and neck, slithering down her thin frame.
The pulley above the well begins to swing as the monstrosity starts to lift out and towards Emma, now taking on the appearance of thick inky tar, the fairy vanishing within. The powerful scent of raw sewage fills the musty air as the orange light brightens the well as if there were a fiery lava pit deep below, painting its smoldering gleam along the stones.
The hairy phantom tentacles start to crawl towards Emma, the fear now escalating, almost making her numb with fright. A scream is wedged in her throat, she works her jaw, trying to utter a sound of alarm, her nails digging into Fred's soft fur.
"Emma!"
Agnes' voice jolts the little girl out of her stupor and she shrieks, whirling around to dash up the stairs, the slimy tentacles nipping at her ankles. As she reaches the top, her mother appears in the doorway. Emma almost knocks her down as she wraps her arms around her waist.
"My goodness, what-" Agnes begins, patting her daughter's trembling back.
"Down there! There's something there!" she stammers, turning and jabbing her finger downwards.
Only there's nothing there. Nothing at all. No sign of the strange yellow-orange light, that menacing fairy, or the black tentacles. The pulley now immobile. The horrid smell of sewage replaced with the mildewy scent of the basement.
As if nothing had even been there at all.
"There was something there..." Emma breathes, tightening her small arms around her mother. Agnes glances in the direction of the well. The whole basement was going to take some serious work, something she may not be up for. But Robert's enthusiasm was contagious.
"There was something coming out...and I thought I saw-"
No I did see. There was a fairy, but you wouldn't believe that.
"It's alright dear. That young man was only joking, I'm sure. Those ghost stories are just make-believe. Not anything real."
They'd spoken to a local youth who had informed them it was "the haunted house" in earshot of Emma, and it clearly had influenced her into 'seeing' something.
"What's the matter?" Robert appears beside Agnes, gazing down at his shaken daughter. "What is it?"
"That." Agnes, still holding Emma to her arms, gestures at the well. Robert smirks.
"That won't be a problem," he says. "We can take care of that."
"Mhm." Agnes arches her brows as she peers down at the unsightly area. It seems like more trouble than it's worth. But if he is convinced they could do it...
"Come on, I want to go see the owners, see if we can get this going." he announces as he gently maneuvers his wife and daughter away from the basement door. He takes one last glimpse as he shuts it.
Inside, just above the opening of the well, three tiny orange lights appear, hovering in a circular motion.
After the trip to the Muellers, and despite the fact that the snooty family looked down on circus performers, the house on Neibolt was now officially the new Gray residence.
Robert, inspired by the architecture of the churches they'd seen throughout Europe, went out and immediately bought a pair of stained glass windows from a local artist, painted with bright scenes of the circus. Once installed, they filled the room with rays of yellow, orange, blue and turquoise.
This was to be Emma's room, but the perceptive child was still frightened. Frightened and perplexed. Why did nobody live here? Why did the Mueller family not reside here? What of the family that did live here before? Cleaned up, it made for a lovely home. So, why was it just sitting here unattended to? Her young mind could not make sense of the questions her parents seemed unconcerned with.
No doubt, it was connected to whatever that was in the basement.
Snuggling Fred, she stares at the newly-installed windows, the design almost resembling a pair of wicked eyes grinning at her. The image of that fairy comes on. She shudders as the sound of the fairy's voice still plays in her mind.
Come into my lights.
In their new bedroom, Agnes was laying out her mother's large old quilt along the bed, featuring a scene of men herding cattle, women fetching water from a stark blue river and boys building haystacks. At the foot of the bed sat a large cedar chest, inset with the initials R.G, where Robert kept his clown costume, made of fine off-white silk from Lyon, and his make-up supplies.
As he and Agnes prepare to perform, Robert, or rather Pennywise, stands looking at the full-length mirror. Adjusting the thick ruffle around his neck, he grins, his trademark red stripes thick along his cheeks, his lazy left eye slightly askew. As he stares, something rather curious happens. The kerosene lamp just behind him on the nightstand flickers, the tiny flame within breaking apart into three smaller flames, forming circles.
Seeing this odd movement in the reflection, Robert turns to look as the flame returns to normal. He approaches, taking the lamp in his large gloved hands, staring intently at the light as a small, barely-audible voice arises from its warmth.
Robert.
Dazed, he watches as the flame begins to break apart again, separating into the three tiny balls of orange-yellow as they begin to rotate. Robert's corneas begin to mirror their glow, the voice still speaking to him, whispering, before-
"Robert?"
Agnes is now beside him, her thin fingers caressing the puffy material of his shoulder.
"You okay?" she whispers, bringing her pink lips to his and planting a quick kiss.
"Fine," he replies as he places the kerosene lamp back down. "I'm fine."
Over the next few days, they perform a show in the afternoon and again at night, with Agnes doing her signature one-arm plange act, enthralling the audience who marveled at her grace and elegance. When the time came for Robert to do his dancing clown act, the children all squealed with delight as he did his gags, slapstick comedy and dance moves where he engaged the children in the front rows. Adopting a slight lisp as part of his performance, he coaxed one little girl from the front to stand before him as he presented her with a large silver dollar from behind her ear. The girl looks positively enchanted.
The show concludes with the two African elephants, Sylvia and Thump performing and the lions Ivan and Maurice, jumping through hoops of fire.
Afterwards, the children all gathered around Pennywise to ask for an autograph or a special trick just for them, usually with him presenting them with candy or a small toy. One girl in particular, a redheaded child with a round freckled face hangs behind the other children, waiting for them to clear away, before she approaches the clown.
"Those kids do love you. They just flock right to you, don't they mister?" she says, smiling, displaying a minor gap between her two front teeth. Robert gazes down and chuckles.
"Kids love clowns. They bring happiness and joy. As P.T says; 'clowns and elephants are the pegs on which the circus is hung.' Did you like the elephants?"
"Oh, I did, but the you were the best part. The children all loved you." the little girl replies, fingering one of her braids.
"Well thank you. Now if you excuse me, I got to get going. My little girl is waiting." Robert gives a little wave as he walks towards his wagon where Agnes is waiting with Emma, smiling back at the girl, who returns the wave enthusiastically.
Agnes wraps her arms around his neck as he reaches her. "You were fantastic as always...um... who were you talking to just now?" she queries as Emma steps out the door of the wagon, looking relieved to see her father.
Of course this meant they'd be going back to that house.
To Neibolt.
"That little redheaded girl, she really loved my performance. She just thought the elephants were okay," he grins proudly as he pulls Agnes in for an affectionate hug. "You know, I'm gonna miss this. The crowds."
Agnes simply smiles weakly as she peers over his shoulder, her brows knotting together as she studies the area where she'd seen him engaged in a conversation outside the tent exit all by himself with nobody there but a wooden barrel.
Over the next few days, Robert starts to undergo a drastic personality change. His normally cheery upbeat demeanor became more somber, his words curt. He was short with both Agnes and Emma. His eyes underlined by dark half crescents. While he performed, he still saw that little redheaded girl in the bleachers, smiling and cheering. But it was on the second to last night that the circus would be in town that he saw something that made his blood run like ice rivers through his veins, his heart palpitate.
Tucked away in the back of the bleachers, standing with the girl,was Sven. Looking as he did the last Robert saw him. The shock sends Robert tumbling from a large ball on which he was balancing. The crowd responds with a chorus of gasps as Robert stands and shouts a phrase in Swedish that was incomprehensible to the spectator's ears.
Later that night, Agnes is woken up by the sound of the piano, the same sharp note over and over again. Groggily running her hand along Robert's side of the bed, feeling nothing but the cold sheets. Heading downstairs, she sees him sitting at the piano, hunched over, his right index stabbing at one single key repeatedly. He flinches as her fingers come up to brush along his back.
"Another nightmare?" she quietly asks, moving to sit alongside him on the small bench, tucking her blue silk nightgown around her knees.
"I keep thinking of him. Since we've been here. He's been on my mind. I don't know why." he replies, still poking at the key. Agnes reaches and grabs his hand in hers. He keeps his face down, obscured from the light of the kerosene lamp that sits atop the piano.
"Your father's gone. He's not here-"
"But he is. I saw him. Saw him in the bleachers tonight."
"What? How could-"
"He was here, Aggy, I saw him. And when I woke up just now. He was standing in the corner of the room staring at me," Robert pauses, before continuing under his breath. "I know it was him. He didn't have a head."
A much more ghastly image of Sven had appeared in the far corner of the bedroom, gripping his head by the scalp, blood dripping from the bloody stump of his neck, grinning maniacally.
Agnes rests her forehead upon Robert's shoulder, wrapping her arm around to massage his shoulder blades. She'd grown accustomed to his past occasionally showing its ugly head, as disturbing as it was, but this was merely a phase.
He then violently shakes her arm off.
"Get your ass back to bed. Stop bothering me." he sneers.
She pauses and stumbles up, her visage mixed with both surprise and hurt, even though this attitude has been present since they'd arrived.
"Robert, please just let me-"
"Just leave me alone!" he shouts as he smashes his fists against the piano keys. Agnes continues to back away as Emma, woken by her parents voices, appears at the bottom of the stairs with Fred in her arms, nuzzling him against her cheek.
"Mommy?" she says as Agnes rushes to her, guiding her back up the stairs.
"Come on, get back to bed." Agnes orders as Emma glances over her shoulder at her father, who has resumed his one-note playing as the flame of the lamp takes on the form of three rotating spheres.
Near him, a thick black mass hovers along the wall.
The last night of the circus was their largest crowd yet, with it nearly doubled from the last few days, most likely people from out of town or drifters who'd received the free tickets they'd given out. Both the crew and the performers were relieved, as things had not been right the moment they'd come to this town. Technical difficulties, the people getting into arguments in the bleachers. The animals, especially the lions, seemed agitated, pacing back and forth in their cages. Isaac was doing everything her could to keep the beasts calm and collected. Not an easy task with the roaring sounds of a raucous crowd.
Agnes stood on her platform, nearing the roof of the tent, the last night she would do so. Then the house on Neibolt would be their permanent home. The circus life left behind. Certainly a positive thing given the bad turn Robert was taking. She gazes down at Robert as Pennywise. He put on his clown face and performed his act with the gags and humor, but privately, he was different. Some shadow had overtaken him. Something she knew wasn't quite right.
Something to do with this town. That she felt. The people, the atmosphere. It was...unsettling. For reasons she couldn't comprehend. Perhaps settling down here wasn't the right decision.
Inhaling a deep breath, Agnes swings down from the platform, about to perform her final act when a loud 'snap' echos throughout the tent as the swivel that was holding the rope shatters. The audience gasps and screams in alarm as Agnes plummets to the ground.
Robert runs to her lifeless body laying in the center of the ring, cradling her in his arms, touching her cheek, feeling her heartbeat slowing.
"No, no...why?" he whimpers, before he turns his head up at the ceiling. "Why did you do this?!" he cries as the Ringmaster Norman Claude and the laborers watching from the sidelines dash over to aid.
Just outside, Ivan and Maurice are pacing impatiently in their metal cages. An invisible force opens the latch of each, the two lions pouncing out as Isaac shouts, taken by surprise by their sudden escape. The two large cats attack him, tearing out his throat before turning their sights to the circus entrance, the chaotic sounds of the people drawing them in.
Nearby, a kerosene lamp atop a crate that a few laborers had been using tips over, the flame crawling towards the flap of the entrance.
Inside, the lions attack. Anyone and anything in their path. Tearing at clothing and flesh alike, the people screaming in confusion only fuels their bloodthirsty rampage. Outside in Agnes' wagon, Emma sits, hugging Fred to her as she sees through the small window the tent becoming engulfed in flames. The frantic spectators all knock each other down as they try to excape both the blaze and the lions.
Inside, Robert remains holding Agnes in his arms as the top of the tent starts to collapse as the fire engulfs it.
Emma stays sitting in the wagon, weeping as she hears the ensuing chaos, too frightened to move. Just as she decides to move to open the door, it bursts open, with her father standing before her.
Oddly calm.
"Daddy!" Emma runs into his arms, noting for one brief moment how cold his torso felt as she snakes her arms around him.
"Where's mommy?" Emma queries, tears cutting down her pink cheeks as she gazes up at her stone-faced father as he leads her away from the inferno, the lions now outside the burning tent, still attacking those that managed to escape from inside.
"Daddy, we can't leave mommy."
Robert halts, turning his head slowly to look down at his daughter. Emma stares back, eyes damp and red. There is a strange emptiness within his irises. She feels a chill travel along her spine as her heart drops to her stomach as they continue to stare at each other.
"Where's my daddy?" she asks in such a low intone that the words are barely even a whisper. She works her hand loose from his, still maintaining eye contact.
Robert only smiles calmly, derisively, his pupils taking on an orange glow that matches the fire burning against the night sky. His mouth then opens, revealing three tiny balls of orange light.
"Come into my lights, Emma."
Emma's eyes cloud over as her stuffed lion drops from her fingers.
It's only a few weeks later that the horror of the fire is forgotten. The death toll is said to be in the hundreds, however, the exact number is unknown.
Decades later, while reading about the great circus fire of 1881, Mike Hanlon comes across a black and white photo of a tall clown, standing before a wagon, painted along its sides is 'Pennywise The Dancing Clown.'
Beside him is a little brunette girl, holding a stuffed lion, a bright smile across her face.