C H A P T E R T W O

WE HAD Mr Dalton again after lunch, for history. We were studying World War II. Darren wasn't too keen on it, but Steve thought it was great. He loved anything to do with killing and war. He often said he wanted to be a mercenary soldier – one who fights for money – when he grew up. And he meant it!

We had maths after history, and – incredibly – Mr Dalton for a third time! Our usual maths teacher was off sick, so others had been filling in for him as best they could all day.

Steve was in seventh heaven. His favourite teacher, three classes in a row! It was the first time we'd had Mr Dalton for maths, so Steve started showing off, telling him where we were in the book, explaining some of the trickier problems as though speaking to a child. Mr Dalton didn't mind. He was used to Steve and knew exactly how to handle him.

Normally Mr Dalton runs a tight ship – his classes are fun but we always come out of the them having learned something – but he wasn't very good at maths. He tried hard but we could tell he was in over his head, and while he was busy trying to come to grips with things – his head buried in the maths book, Steve by his side making "helpful" suggestions – the rest of us began to fidget and talk softly to each other and pass notes around.

Notes were being passed back and forth between Darren and Alan – probably about the piece of paper he was holding earlier. At first he was reluctant to pass it around, but after a few more notes from Darren, he gave in. Tommy was sitting the closest at the time, so he got it first. He opened it up and began studying it. His face lit up while he was reading and his jaw slowly dropped. When he passed it on to me – having read it three times – I soon saw why.

It was a flyer, an advertising pamphlet for some sort of travelling circus. There was a pictures of a wolf's head at the top. The wolf had its mouth open and saliva was dripping from its teeth. At the bottom were pictures of a spider and a snake, and they looked vicious too.

Just beneath the wolf, in big red capital letters, were the words:

C I R Q U E D U F R E A K

Underneath that, in smaller writing:

FOR ONE WEEK ONLY – CIRQUE DU FREAK!

SEE:

SIVE AND SEERSA – THE TWISTING TWINS!

THE SNAKE-BOY! THE WOLF MAN! GERTHA TEETH!

LARTEN CREPSLEY AND HIS PREFORMING SPIDER – MADAM OCTA!

ALEXANDER RIBS! THE BEARDED LADY! HANS HANDS!

RHAMUS TWOBELLIES – WORLD'S FATTEST MAN!

Beneath all that was an address where you could buy tickets and find out where the show was playing. And right at the bottom, just above the pictures of the snake and spider:

NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED!

CERTAIN RESERVATIONS APPLY!

'Cirque Du Freak?' I thought to myself. Cirque was French for circus... Circus of Freaks! Was this a freak show? It looked like it.

I finished gawking at the flyer and passed it onto Darren – who was now fully immersed in the advertisement. After a few moments the room was silent, I looked up and there was Mr Dalton – as red-faced as ever – standing behind Darren and he appeared to be reading the flyer as his lips tightened. I turned around to see what Steve had been doing, only to find him sticking his tongue out and taunting Darren over his current predicament.

"What is this?" he snapped, snatching the paper from Darren's hands.

"Where'd you get it?" he asked. He looked really angry. I'd never seen him this worked up. "Where'd you get it?" he asked again.

Darren licked his lips nervously, it's not like Alan would just own up to it, after all he isn't the bravest person ever. Luckily, Steve stepped in.

"Sir, it's mine" he said.

"Yours?" Mr Dalton blinked slowly.

"I found it near the bus stop, sir," Steve said. "Some old guy threw it away. I thought it look interesting, so I picked it up. I was going to ask you about it later, at the end of class."

"Oh." Mr Dalton tried not to look flattered but we could all tell he was. "That's different. Nothing wrong with an inquisitive mind. Sit down, Steve" that's golden boy off the hook again, he sat down and Mr Dalton stuck a bit of Blu-Tack onto the flyer and attached it to the black board.

"Long ago," he said, tapping the flyer, "there used to be real freak shows. Greedy con men crammed malformed people in cages and–"

"Sir, what's malformed mean?" somebody asked.

"Someone who doesn't look ordinary," Mr Dalton said. "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."

"That's cruel, sir," Deliana Price – a girl near the front – said.

"Yes." he agreed. "Freak shows were cruel, monstrous creations. That's why I got angry when I saw this." He tore down the flyer. "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.

Mr Dalton studied the flyer again, then shook his head. "I doubt it," he said, "Probably just a cruel hoax. Still," he added, "if it was real, I hope nobody here would dream of going."

"Oh, no, sir," we all said quickly.

"Because freak shows were terrible," he said. "They pretended to be like proper circuses but they were cesspits of evil. Anybody who went to one would be just as bad as the people running it."

"You'd have to be really twisted to want to go to one of those, sir," Steve agreed. And then looked at me and Darren – who was sitting next to me -, winked, and mouthed the words: "We're going!"