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She called more volunteers up on stage. She gave one a sledgehammer and a large chisel, one a hammer and smaller chisel, and the other an electric saw. She lay flat on her back and put the large chisel in her mouth. She nodded at the first volunteer to swing the sledgehammer at the chisel.
The man raised the sledgehammer high above his head and brought it down. I thought he was going to smash her face open and so did lots of others, judging by the gasps and people covering their hands with their eyes.
But Gertha was no fool. She swung out of the way and the sledgehammer slammed into the floor. She sat up and spat the chisel out of her mouth. “Hah!” she snorted. “How crazy do you think I am?”
One of the blue-hoods came out and took the sledgehammer from the man. “I only called you up to show the sledgehammer is real!” she told him. “Now,” she said to those of us in the audience, “watch!”
She lay back again and stuck the chisel in her mouth. The blue-hood waited a moment, then raised the sledgehammer high and swung it down, faster and harder than the man had. It struck the top of the chisel and there was a fierce noise.
Gertha sat up. I expected to see teeth falling out of her mouth, but when she opened it and removed the chisel, there wasn’t as much as a crack to be seen! She laughed and said: “Hah! You thought I had bitten off more than I could chew!”
She let the second volunteer go to work, the one with the smaller hammer and chisel. She warned him to be careful of her gums, then let him position the chisel on her teeth and whack away at them. He nearly hammered his arm off, but he wasn’t able to harm them.
The third volunteer tried sawing them off with the electric saw. He ran the saw from one side of her mouth to the other, and sparks were flying everywhere, but when he put it down and the dust cleared, Gertha’s teeth were as white, gleaming and solid as ever.
The Twisting twins, Sive and Seersa, came on after her. They were identical twins and they were contortionists like Alexander Ribs. Their act involved twisting their bodies around each other so they looked like one person with two fronts instead of a back, or two upper bodies and no legs. They were skilful and it was pretty interesting, but dull compared to the rest of the performers.
When Sive and Seersa were finished, Mr Tall came out and thanked us for coming. I thought the freaks would come out again and line up in a row, but they didn’t. Instead, Mr Tall said we could buy more stuff at the back of the hall on our way out. He asked us to mention the show to our friends. Then he thanked us again for coming and said that the show was over.
I was a bit disappointed that it had ended so weakly, but it was late and I suppose the freaks were tired. I got to my feet, picked up the stuff I’d bought, and turned to say something to Steve.
He was looking behind me, up at the balcony, his eyes wide. I turned to see what he was looking at, and as I did, people behind us began to scream. When I looked up, I saw why.
There was a huge snake up on the balcony, one of the longest I had ever seen, and it was sliding down one of the poles towards the people at the bottom!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE SNAKE’S tongue flicked in and out of its mouth and it seemed mighty hungry. It wasn’t very colourful – dark green, with a few flecks of brighter colours here and there – but it looked deadly.
The people beneath the balcony ran back towards their seats. They were screaming and dropping stuff as they ran. A few people fainted and some fell and were crushed. Steve and me were lucky to be near the front: we were the smallest people in the theatre and would have been trampled to dust if we’d been caught in the rush.
The snake was about to slither onto the floor when a strong light fixed itself to the snake’s face. The reptile froze and stared into the light without blinking. People stopped running and the panic died down. Those who had fallen pulled themselves back to their feet, and fortunately nobody appeared to be badly hurt.
There was a sound behind us. I turned to look back at the stage. A boy was up there. He was about fourteen or fifteen, very thin, with long yellowy-green hair. His eyes were oddly shaped, narrow like the snake’s. He was dressed in a long white robe.
The boy made a hissing noise and raised his arms above his head. The robe fell away and everybody who was watching him let out a loud gasp of surprise. His body was covered in scales!
From head to toe he sparkled, green and gold and yellow and blue. He was wearing a pair of shorts but nothing else. He turned around so we could see his back, and that was the same as the front, except a few shades darker.
When he faced us again, he lay down on his belly and slid off the stage, just like a snake. It was then that I remembered the snake-boy on the flyer and put two and two together.
He stood when he reached the floor and walked towards the back of the theatre. I saw, as he passed, that he had strange hands and feet: his fingers and toes were joined to each other by thin sheets of skin. He looked a bit like that monster I saw in an old horror film, the one who lived in the black lagoon.
He stopped a few metres away from the pillar and crouched down. The light which had been blinding the snake snapped off and it began to move again, sliding down the last stretch of pole. The boy made another hissing noise and the snake paused. I recalled reading somewhere once that snakes can’t hear, but can feel sounds.
The snake-boy shuffled a short bit to his left, then his right. The snake’s head followed him but didn’t lunge. The boy crept closer to the snake, until he was within its range. I expected it to strike and kill him, and I wanted to scream at him to run.
But the snake-boy knew what he was doing. When he was close enough he reached out and tickled the snake beneath its chin with his odd webbed fingers. Then he bent forward and kissed it on the nose!
The snake wrapped itself around the boy’s neck. It coiled about him a couple of times, leaving its tail draped over his shoulder and down his back like a scarf.
The boy stroked the snake and smiled. I thought he was going to walk through the crowd, letting the rest of us rub it, but he didn’t. Instead he walked over to the side of the theatre, away from the path to the door. He unwrapped the snake and put it down on the floor, then tickled it under its chin once more.
The mouth opened wide this time, and I saw its fangs. The snake-boy lay down on his back a short bit away from the snake, then began wriggling towards it!
“No,” I said softly to myself. “Surely he’s not going to …”
But yes, he stuck his head in the snake’s wide-open mouth!
The snake-boy stayed inside the mouth for a few more seconds, then slowly eased out. He wrapped the snake about him once more, then rolled around and around until the snake covered him completely, except for his face. He managed to hop to his feet and grin. He looked like a rolled-up carpet!
“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr Tall from the stage behind us, “really is the end.” He smiled and leapt from the stage, vanishing in midair in a puff of smoke. When it cleared, I saw him by the back of the theatre, holding the exit curtains open.
The pretty ladies and mysterious blue-hooded people were standing to his left and right, their arms loaded with trays full of goodies. I was sorry I hadn’t saved some of my money.
Steve said nothing while we were waiting. I could tell from the serious look on his face that he was still thinking, and from past experience I knew there was no point trying to talk to him. When Steve went into one of his moods, nothing could jolt him out of it.
When the rows behind us had cleared out, we made our way to the back of the theatre. I brought the stuff I’d bought with me. I also lugged Steve’s gifts, because he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he would have dropped them or left them behind.
Mr Tall was standing at the back, holding the curtains open, smiling at everyone. The smile widened when we approached.
“Well, boys,” he said, “did you enjoy the show?”
“It was fabulous!” I said.
“You weren’t scared?” he asked.
“A little,” I admitted, “but no more than anybody else.”
He laughed. “You’re a tough pair,” he said.
There were people behind us, so we hurried on, not wanting to hold them up. Steve looked about when we entered the short corridor between the two sets of curtains, then leaned over and whispered in my ear: “Go back by yourself.”
“What?” I asked, stopping. The people who had been behind us were chatting with Mr Tall, so there was no rush.
“You heard,” he said.
“Why should I?” I asked.
“Because I’m not coming,” he said. “I’m staying. I don’t know how things will turn out, but I have to stay. I’ll follow you home later, after I’ve …” His voice trailed off and he pulled me forward.
We pushed past the second set of curtains and entered the corridor with the table, the one covered by the long black cloth. The people ahead of us had their backs to us. Steve looked over his shoulder, to make sure nobody could see, then dived underneath the table and hid behind the cloth!
“Steve!” I hissed, worried he was going to get us into trouble.
“Go on!” he hissed back.
“But you can’t—” I began.
“Do what I say!” he snapped. “Go, quick, before we’re caught.”
I didn’t like it but what else could I do? Steve sounded like he’d go ape if I didn’t obey him. I’d seen Steve get into fierce rages before and he wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with when he was angry.
I started walking, turned the corner and began down the long corridor leading to the front door. I was walking slowly, thinking, and the people in front got further ahead. I glanced over my shoulder and saw there was still nobody behind me.
And then I spotted the door.
It was the one we’d stopped by on our way in, the one leading up to the balcony. I paused when I reached it and checked behind one last time. Nobody there.
“OK,” I said to myself, “I’m staying! I don’t know what Steve’s up to, but he’s my best friend. If he gets into trouble, I want to be there to help him out.”
Before I could change my mind, I opened the door, slipped through, shut it quickly behind me and stood in the dark, my heart beating as fast as a mouse’s.
I stood there for ages, listening while the last of the audience filed out. I could hear their murmurs as they discussed the show in hushed, frightened, but excited tones. Then they were gone and the place was quiet. I thought I’d be able to hear noises from inside the theatre, people cleaning up and fixing the chairs back in place, but the whole building was silent as a graveyard.
I climbed the stairs. My eyes had got used to the dark and I could see pretty well. The stairs were old and creaky and I was half-afraid they would snap under my feet and send me hurtling to my death, but they held.
When I reached the top I discovered I was standing in the middle of the balcony. It was very dusty and dirty up here, and cold too. I shivered as I crept down towards the front.
I had a great view of the stage. The lights were still on and I could see everything in perfect detail. Nobody was about, not the freaks, not the pretty ladies, not the blue-hoods – not Steve. I sat back and waited.
About five minutes later, I spotted a shadow creeping slowly towards the stage. It pulled itself up, then stood and walked to the centre, where it stopped and turned around.
It was Steve.
He started towards the left wing, then stopped and set off towards the right. He stopped again. I could see him chewing on his nails, trying to decide which way to go.
Then a voice came from high above his head. “Are you looking for me?” it asked. A figure swooped down onto the stage, its arms out to its sides, a long red cloak floating behind it like a pair of wings.
Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when the figure hit the stage and rolled into a ball. I toppled backwards, terrified. When I rose to my knees again, the figure was standing and I was able to make out its red clothes, orange hair, pale skin and huge scar.
Mr Crepsley!
Steve tried speaking, but his teeth were shaking too much.
“I saw you watching me,” Mr Crepsley said. “You gasped aloud when you first saw me. Why?”
“B-b-b-because I kn-kn-know who you a-are,” Steve stuttered, finding his voice.
“I am Larten Crepsley,” the creepy-looking man said.
“No,” Steve replied. “I know who you really are.”
“Oh?” Mr Crepsley smiled, but there was no humour in it. “Tell me, little boy,” he sneered, “who am I, really?”
“Your real name is Vur Horston,” Steve said, and Mr Crepsley’s jaw dropped in astonishment. And then Steve said something else, and my jaw dropped too.
“You’re a vampire,” he said, and the silence which followed was as long as it was terrifying.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MR CREPSLEY (or Vur Horston, if that was his real name) smiled. “So,” he said, “I have been discovered. I should not be surprised. It had to happen eventually. Tell me, boy, who sent you?”
“Nobody,” Steve said.
Mr Crepsley frowned. “Come, boy,” he growled, “do not play games. Who are you working for? Who put you onto me and what do they want?”
“I’m not working for anybody,” Steve insisted. “I’ve lots of books and magazines at home about vampires and monsters. There was a picture of you in one of them.”
“A picture?” Mr Crepsley asked suspiciously.
“A painting,” Steve replied. “It was done in 1903, in Paris. You were with a rich woman. The story said the two of you almost married, but she found out you were a vampire and dumped you.”
Mr Crepsley smiled. “As good a reason as any. Her friends thought she was inventing a fantastic story to make herself look better.”
“But it wasn’t a story, was it?” Steve asked.
“No,” Mr Crepsley agreed. “It was not.” He sighed and fixed Steve with a fierce gaze. “Though it might have been better for you if it had been!” he boomed.
If I’d been in Steve’s place, I would have fled as soon as he said that. But Steve didn’t even blink.
“You won’t hurt me,” he said.
“Why not?” Mr Crepsley asked.
“Because of my friend,” Steve said. “I told him all about you and if anything happens to me, he’ll tell the police.”
“They will not believe him,” Mr Crepsley snorted.
“Probably not,” Steve agreed. “But if I turn up dead or go missing, they’ll have to investigate. You wouldn’t like that. Lots of police asking questions, coming here in the daytime …”
Mr Crepsley shook his head with disgust. “Children!” he snarled. “I hate children. What is it you want? Money? Jewels? The rights to publish my story?”
“I want to join you,” Steve said.
I nearly fell off the balcony when I heard that. Join him?
“What do you mean?” Mr Crepsley asked, as stunned as I was.
“I want to become a vampire,” Steve said. “I want you to make me a vampire and teach me your ways.”
“You are crazy!” Mr Crepsley roared.
“No,” Steve said, “I’m not.”
“I cannot turn a child into a vampire,” Mr Crepsley said. “I would be murdered by the Vampire Generals if I did.”
“What are Vampire Generals?” Steve asked.
“Never you mind,” Mr Crepsley said. “All you need to know is, it cannot be done. We do not blood children. It creates too many problems.”
“So don’t change me straightaway,” Steve said. “That’s OK. I don’t mind waiting. I can be an apprentice. I know vampires often have assistants who are half-human, half-vampire. Let me be one. I’ll work hard and prove myself, and when I’m old enough …”
Mr Crepsley stared at Steve and thought it over. He clicked his fingers while he was thinking and a chair flew up onto the stage from the front row! He sat down on it and crossed his legs.
“Why do you want to be a vampire?” he asked. “It is not much fun. We can only come out at night. Humans despise us. We have to sleep in dirty old places like this. We can never marry or have children or settle down. It is a horrible life.”
“I don’t care,” Steve said stubbornly.
“Is it because you want to live forever?” Mr Crepsley asked. “If so, I must tell you – we do not. We live far longer than humans, but we die all the same, sooner or later.”
“I don’t care,” Steve said again. “I want to come with you. I want to learn. I want to become a vampire.”
“What about your friends?” Mr Crepsley asked. “You would not be able to see them again. You would have to leave school and home and never return. What about your parents? Would you not miss them?”
Steve shook his head miserably and looked down at the floor. “My dad doesn’t live with us,” he said softly. “I hardly ever see him. And my mum doesn’t love me. She doesn’t care what I do. She probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“That is why you want to run away? Because your mother does not love you?”
“Partly,” Steve said.
“If you wait a few years, you will be old enough to leave by yourself,” Mr Crepsley said.
“I don’t want to wait,” Steve replied.
“And your friends?” Mr Crepsley asked again. He looked quite kind at the moment, though still a bit scary. “Would you miss the boy you came with tonight?”
“Darren?” Steve asked, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll miss my friends, Darren especially. But it doesn’t matter. I want to be a vampire more than I care about them. And if you don’t accept me, I’ll tell the police and become a vampire hunter when I grow up!”
Mr Crepsley didn’t laugh. Instead he nodded seriously. “You have thought this through?” he asked.
“Yes,” Steve said.
“You are certain it is what you want?”
“Yes,” came the answer.
Mr Crepsley took a deep breath. “Come here,” he said. “I will have to test you first.”
Steve stood beside Mr Crepsley. His body blocked my view of the vampire, so I couldn’t see what happened next. All I know is, they spoke to each other very softly, then there was a noise like a cat lapping up milk.
I saw Steve’s back shaking and I thought he was going to fall over but somehow he managed to stay upright. I can’t even begin to tell you how frightened I was, watching this. I wanted to leap to my feet and cry out, “No, Steve, stop!”
But I was too scared to move, terrified that, if Mr Crepsley knew I was here, there would be nothing to stop him from killing and eating both me and Steve.
All of a sudden, the vampire began coughing. He pushed Steve away from him and stumbled to his feet. To my horror, I saw his mouth was red, covered in blood, which he quickly spat out.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, rubbing his arm where he had fallen.
“You have bad blood!” Mr Crepsley screamed.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked. His voice was trembling.
“You are evil!” Mr Crepsley shouted. “I can taste the menace in your blood. You are savage.”
“That’s a lie!” Steve yelled. “You take that back!”
Steve ran at Mr Crepsley and tried to punch him, but the vampire knocked him to the floor with one hand. “It is no good,” he growled. “Your blood is bad. You can never be a vampire!”
“Why not?” Steve asked. He had started to cry.
“Because vampires are not the evil monsters of lore,” Mr Crepsley said. “We respect life. You have a killer’s instincts, but we are not killers.
“I will not make you a vampire,” Mr Crepsley insisted. “You must forget about it. Go home and get on with your life.”
“No!” Steve screamed. “I won’t forget!” He stumbled to his feet and pointed a shaking finger at the tall, ugly vampire. “I’ll get you for this,” he promised. “I don’t care how long it takes. One day, Vur Horston, I’ll track you down and kill you for rejecting me!”
Steve jumped from the stage and ran towards the exit. “One day!” he called back over his shoulder, and I could hear him laughing as he ran, a crazy kind of laugh.
Then he was gone and I was alone with the vampire.
Mr Crepsley sat where he was for a long time, his head between his hands, spitting bits of blood out onto the stage. He wiped his teeth with his fingers, then with a large handkerchief.
“Children!” he snorted aloud, then stood, still wiping his teeth, glanced one last time out over the chairs at the theatre (I ducked down low for fear he might spot me), then turned and walked back to the wings. I could see drops of blood dripping from his lips as he went.
I stayed where I was for a long, long time. It was tough. I’d never been as scared as I was up there on the balcony. I wanted to rush out of the theatre as fast as my feet would carry me.
But I stayed. I made myself wait until I was sure none of the freaks or helpers were about, then slowly crept back up the balcony, down the stairs, into the corridor, and finally out into the night.
I stood outside the theatre for a few seconds, staring up at the moon, studying the trees until I was sure there were no vampires lurking on any of the branches. Then, as quietly as I could, I raced for home. My home, not Steve’s. I didn’t want to be near Steve right then. I was almost as scared of Steve as I was of Mr Crepsley. I mean, he wanted to be a vampire! What sort of lunatic actually wants to be a vampire?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I DIDN’T ring Steve that Sunday. I told Mum and Dad we’d had a bit of an argument and that was why I’d come home early. They weren’t happy about it, especially my having walked home so late at night by myself. Dad said he was going to dock my pocket money and was grounding me for a month. I didn’t argue. The way I saw it, I was getting off lightly. Imagine what they’d have done to me if they knew about the Cirque Du Freak!
Annie loved her presents. She gobbled the candy down quick and played with the spider for hours. She made me tell her all about the show. She wanted to know what every freak looked like and what they’d done. Her eyes went wide when I told her about the Wolf Man and how he bit off a woman’s arm.
“You’re joking,” she said. “That can’t be true.”
“It is,” I vowed.
“Cross your heart?” she asked.
“Cross my heart.”
“Swear on your eyes?”
“I swear on my eyes,” I promised. “May rats gnaw them out if I’m telling a lie.”
“Wow!” she gasped. “I wish I’d been there. If you ever go again, will you take me?”
“Sure,” I said, “but I don’t think the freak show comes here that often. They move about a lot.”
I didn’t tell Annie about Mr Crepsley being a vampire or Steve wanting to become one, but I thought about the two of them all day long. I wanted to ring Steve but didn’t know what to say. He would be bound to ask why I didn’t go back to his place, and I didn’t want to tell him that I’d stayed in the theatre and spied on him.
Imagine: a real-life vampire! I used to believe they were real but then my parents and teachers convinced me they weren’t. So much for the wisdom of grown-ups!
I wondered what vampires were really like, whether they could do everything the books and films said they could. I had seen Mr Crepsley make a chair fly, and I’d seen him swoop down from the roof of the theatre, and I’d seen him drink some of Steve’s blood. What else could he do? Could he turn into a bat, into smoke, into a rat? Could you see him in a mirror? Would sunlight kill him?
As much as I thought about Mr Crepsley, I thought just as much about Madam Octa. I wished once again that I could buy one like her, one I could control. I could join a freak show if I had a spider like that, and travel the world, having marvellous adventures.
Sunday came and went. I watched TV, helped Dad in the garden and Mum in the kitchen (part of my punishment for coming home late by myself), went for a long walk in the afternoon, and daydreamed about vampires and spiders.