Cirque de Nuit.
halloween.
There was once a circus that travelled England every year, stopping off in a different town every single Halloween. It originated from Manchester, but the ringleader decided to be artsy and gave it a French name to attract the punters, who found anything foreign quaint and intriguing. Cirque de Nuit, it was called and it was indeed a circus of the night. As soon as dusk fell, the stars twinkling dimly overhead, the lanterns would glow invitingly, leading the visitors down the path to the ticket booth. The entrance fee wasn’t extortionate, cheap enough to bring in a huge crowd, but the overall cost of the visit was something money couldn’t buy.
No matter where the circus went, whether it was Yorkshire or Newcastle, a group of children would always disappear. Every single year. On the rare occasions that they were found, they were cold and blue, not even the tiniest drop of blood left in their tiny bodies, their necks almost completely torn in two.
And because I’m me, instead of someone sensible, I just had to get involved.
There have been many times in my existence where my young life has relied on a bottle of water – holy, not tap – and a tiny silver dagger that I hide up my sleeve. It’s kind of like my party trick. I’m a magician with a blade.
Anyway, my first and last visit to the circus was one of these times. I had to travel light so as not to attract attention to myself. One can’t walk through a crowd of hyperactive children with a gigantic machine gun or a pistol. One can’t even get away with just a penknife. It was also a lot more practical. I rely a lot on movement. When I slay, it’s like a dance and I can’t dance well with a bazooka in my hands.
So, I decided a bottle of water, my little, trusty blade and some desperate prayers would have to do. The only time I ever show any sign of faith in God is when I’m about to go and do something stupid and I want him to save my sorry arse, or when I really, really, really want something. He must hate me so much. But, I digress….
It was twilight when I reached the Cirque de Nuit, the sky painted an eerie grey-green, the clouds gathering to soak us all with rain and the chilling wind howling through the naked trees, audible even above the chatter of the impenetrable crowd around me. They didn’t notice the stench of the undead or the heavy feeling of death hanging over the clearing where the rides had been set up. Only someone with the gift, or rather, the curse, of knowing and seeing what emerges from the underworld can really sense the presence of something so vile and evil. Normal people only sense the undead when their necks get split open, all their blood splattering the walls and floor around them, a hungry monster gorging itself on their bodily fluids.
I still laugh when I read vampire romance novels. You people have no idea what these fuckers are really like. They have two forms, two shapes they take, two sides of the same coin. To lure their prey in, they’ll keep their human form, the face they had when they were still moral, truly alive creatures. Then, when they’ve got you right where they want you, they change into something your worst nightmares can’t even conjure up.
The first thing you’ll notice is the stench. I personally notice it when they’re hiding in their human skin, though it’s fainter, but then again, I’ve grown incredibly sensitive to it. When they change, they stink of rotten flesh, sour milk and urine, a smell that’s ten times worse than the smell of fish, a smell that you can’t even begin to imagine. Then, they start to mutate. Their eyes turn the colour of obsidian, leaving empty, soulless holes in their suddenly angular and deformed faces. Their mouths stretch to accommodate the second set of razor sharp pointed teeth pushing their way through the gums. Their reflexes quicken and their bodies become hollow and weightless, turning them into agile hunters with silent footsteps and keen hearing.
This is the reality of what you people fantasise about. Do they still sound romantic to you? Trust me, they’re utterly rubbish kissers.
This was what I was looking for at the circus. There were too many morons getting in my way and the rides themselves were set out like a maze, taking me down paths that led to somewhere I’d just been. And the smell kept disappearing every time I thought I had caught up with it. I wandered around aimlessly for about two hours, before buying a bag of candyfloss and sitting down on a bench next to a couple of kissing teenagers, feeling completely useless.
But, I found a little comfort in the fact nothing seemed to have happened yet. At least, there’d been no announcements of disappearances or any screaming parents frantically searching for their children. I nibbled on the pink sugar for a while, determined to finish the whole bag even though it was making me feel slightly sick, while watching the scene around me intensely, waiting for a sign that there was something lurking in the shadows.
It took a while but eventually it hit me, the odour making me gag, choke and spit out the candyfloss I was chewing. The action attracted attention from a couple of passers by but I ignored the stares and got to my feet, eyes fixed on the direction the smell was coming from. There was a tall, insanely ugly man dressed as a clown standing by the Ferris wheel ticket booth, his hungry eyes watching the people passing him.
He had no reflection, no trace of his existence showing up on the window he was in front of and his appearance was somewhere halfway between the two stages of human and mutant, but not far enough into the latter to make him stand out. Or, perhaps, he was just naturally hideous. I didn’t really care. He wouldn’t have much of a face left after I was through with him.
I chuckled, watching him closely, trying to second-guess his next move. I couldn’t do anything here. There were far too many people around and I didn’t want to be responsible for them having nightmares for the rest of their lives. He felt my gaze and turned his head sharply, his eyes piercing into mine. I stared back at him defiantly, twisting the chain of my crucifix around my index finger, my right hand gripping my bottle of water tightly. He winced slightly at the flash of silver, the cross hanging from my neck causing pain in his temples and his chest, then his eyes widened as he registered why I was there.
A slow, evil grin spread over his ugly mug, his eyes silently challenging me to give it my best shot. Admittedly, I don’t look like much of a threat, being a scrawny, lanky Japanese man that looks more feminine than my mother did when she was alive, but still, the look rubbed me up the wrong way.
The second I moved just a tiny bit, he turned on his heel and ran. Coward. I spat bitterly on the floor and chased after him at him, dodging the masses of people heading straight for me and trying not to crash into the various food stalls being wheeled around the clearing. I followed his scent into the massive tent, left empty because the entertainment had finished and paused to catch my breath.
“You’re quicker than I thought you’d be.” His cold, unpleasant, mocking tone made me shiver a little bit. He stood in the centre of the stage, watching me with beady eyes, the spotlights glaring down on him. A cocky smirk was playing on his face, his arms outstretched in a pose similar to that of Jesus’ on my crucifix. “Have you come to slay me, you little squinty-eyed runt?” A chuckle escaped from his throat. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“No.” I shrugged, taking the cap off my bottle of water and sipping a little bit. It tasted like regular tap water but without the weird floating bits. “But I don’t really care much.” I took a couple of steps forward, even smiling a little at him. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“You’re just another insignificant human.” He grinned, his face slowly beginning to change, his eyes glinting in a way that suggested he was trying to scare me. I’d seen this crap too many times to give a damn and just shook my head in response, the smile on my lips widening a little.
“I believe you guys have a name for me. Let me think… oh yeah.” I stared at him pointedly, knowing my reputation had preceded me and that he wouldn’t be smiling when he found out who I was. “You guys call me The Blood Samurai.” To be honest, I thought the nickname had a nice ring to it, but they could’ve been a bit more original. But still, beggars can’t be choosers.
“Shit.” His hideous face dropped, the patronizing smile disappearing completely.
“Am I still a little squinty-eyed runt?” I chuckled, cocking my head to the side, grinning widely. “Or do you take it back?” He stared at me stupidly, his mouth hanging open gormlessly. I took a step closer, my eyes boring deep into his. “Either way, you’re dead.”
He made a move to escape but my fingers were already circled round the handle of my dagger and before he could even lift his foot to run, the silver blade was already stuffed deep inside his chest, the wound spitting out acidic brown blood. He screamed, steam began to rise from the hole and I twisted the blade with relish before tugging it out savagely. The vampire dropped to his knees, clutching his chest and crying tears of venom filled blood. With a swift movement, I severed his throat, the blade not reaching far enough to completely behead him, but enough to make it easy for me to twist his head off. The snapping sound still chills my blood, no matter how many times I’ve slain these creatures before. But, it’s my hobby and I like to do it well. It’s not proper revenge if you do it half-heartedly.
I smiled down at the broken corpse by my feet, humming softly to myself as I poured every single drop of the water over it, stepping back as the flesh started to smoulder. After years of doing this, I’d quickly learnt to hold my nose at the stench and I still had to fight the urge to just run away. It was terrible, utterly disgusting. But I had to wait until the body was reduced to ash before I could leave.
Luckily it didn’t take long, the water always works quicker when they’re already dead and I scooped his remains up into the ashtray I kept tied to my belt. Feeling pleased with myself, I lit a cigarette, staring down at the spot where the monster had just been for a short while, my thoughts returning to my poor dead mother for the first time in a month. This was for her and I hoped she appreciated it. She’d probably hate me smoking though.
“Hey, you. You’re not supposed to be in here.” A loud voice distracted me from my thoughts and I turned my head to look at the woman behind me. She was dressed in a black cloak, violet wig and witches hat, with a long hooked warty nose attached to her face. And she was expecting me to take her seriously?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I flashed my best charming grin at her, my brown eyes twinkling with charisma but she just gave me a stern glare and left. A small chuckle left my throat and I turned back to the slightly charred ground around my feet. I said a few words to bless the place, crossed myself and made sure every last piece of ash was gathered up.
I turned away, deciding to have a couple of rides on the Ferris wheel and the carousel before heading home. The next day, it would be business as usual.
No matter where the circus went, whether it was Yorkshire or Newcastle, a group of children would always disappear. Every single year. On the rare occasions that they were found, they were cold and blue, not even the tiniest drop of blood left in their tiny bodies, their necks almost completely torn in two.
And because I’m me, instead of someone sensible, I just had to get involved.
There have been many times in my existence where my young life has relied on a bottle of water – holy, not tap – and a tiny silver dagger that I hide up my sleeve. It’s kind of like my party trick. I’m a magician with a blade.
Anyway, my first and last visit to the circus was one of these times. I had to travel light so as not to attract attention to myself. One can’t walk through a crowd of hyperactive children with a gigantic machine gun or a pistol. One can’t even get away with just a penknife. It was also a lot more practical. I rely a lot on movement. When I slay, it’s like a dance and I can’t dance well with a bazooka in my hands.
So, I decided a bottle of water, my little, trusty blade and some desperate prayers would have to do. The only time I ever show any sign of faith in God is when I’m about to go and do something stupid and I want him to save my sorry arse, or when I really, really, really want something. He must hate me so much. But, I digress….
It was twilight when I reached the Cirque de Nuit, the sky painted an eerie grey-green, the clouds gathering to soak us all with rain and the chilling wind howling through the naked trees, audible even above the chatter of the impenetrable crowd around me. They didn’t notice the stench of the undead or the heavy feeling of death hanging over the clearing where the rides had been set up. Only someone with the gift, or rather, the curse, of knowing and seeing what emerges from the underworld can really sense the presence of something so vile and evil. Normal people only sense the undead when their necks get split open, all their blood splattering the walls and floor around them, a hungry monster gorging itself on their bodily fluids.
I still laugh when I read vampire romance novels. You people have no idea what these fuckers are really like. They have two forms, two shapes they take, two sides of the same coin. To lure their prey in, they’ll keep their human form, the face they had when they were still moral, truly alive creatures. Then, when they’ve got you right where they want you, they change into something your worst nightmares can’t even conjure up.
The first thing you’ll notice is the stench. I personally notice it when they’re hiding in their human skin, though it’s fainter, but then again, I’ve grown incredibly sensitive to it. When they change, they stink of rotten flesh, sour milk and urine, a smell that’s ten times worse than the smell of fish, a smell that you can’t even begin to imagine. Then, they start to mutate. Their eyes turn the colour of obsidian, leaving empty, soulless holes in their suddenly angular and deformed faces. Their mouths stretch to accommodate the second set of razor sharp pointed teeth pushing their way through the gums. Their reflexes quicken and their bodies become hollow and weightless, turning them into agile hunters with silent footsteps and keen hearing.
This is the reality of what you people fantasise about. Do they still sound romantic to you? Trust me, they’re utterly rubbish kissers.
This was what I was looking for at the circus. There were too many morons getting in my way and the rides themselves were set out like a maze, taking me down paths that led to somewhere I’d just been. And the smell kept disappearing every time I thought I had caught up with it. I wandered around aimlessly for about two hours, before buying a bag of candyfloss and sitting down on a bench next to a couple of kissing teenagers, feeling completely useless.
But, I found a little comfort in the fact nothing seemed to have happened yet. At least, there’d been no announcements of disappearances or any screaming parents frantically searching for their children. I nibbled on the pink sugar for a while, determined to finish the whole bag even though it was making me feel slightly sick, while watching the scene around me intensely, waiting for a sign that there was something lurking in the shadows.
It took a while but eventually it hit me, the odour making me gag, choke and spit out the candyfloss I was chewing. The action attracted attention from a couple of passers by but I ignored the stares and got to my feet, eyes fixed on the direction the smell was coming from. There was a tall, insanely ugly man dressed as a clown standing by the Ferris wheel ticket booth, his hungry eyes watching the people passing him.
He had no reflection, no trace of his existence showing up on the window he was in front of and his appearance was somewhere halfway between the two stages of human and mutant, but not far enough into the latter to make him stand out. Or, perhaps, he was just naturally hideous. I didn’t really care. He wouldn’t have much of a face left after I was through with him.
I chuckled, watching him closely, trying to second-guess his next move. I couldn’t do anything here. There were far too many people around and I didn’t want to be responsible for them having nightmares for the rest of their lives. He felt my gaze and turned his head sharply, his eyes piercing into mine. I stared back at him defiantly, twisting the chain of my crucifix around my index finger, my right hand gripping my bottle of water tightly. He winced slightly at the flash of silver, the cross hanging from my neck causing pain in his temples and his chest, then his eyes widened as he registered why I was there.
A slow, evil grin spread over his ugly mug, his eyes silently challenging me to give it my best shot. Admittedly, I don’t look like much of a threat, being a scrawny, lanky Japanese man that looks more feminine than my mother did when she was alive, but still, the look rubbed me up the wrong way.
The second I moved just a tiny bit, he turned on his heel and ran. Coward. I spat bitterly on the floor and chased after him at him, dodging the masses of people heading straight for me and trying not to crash into the various food stalls being wheeled around the clearing. I followed his scent into the massive tent, left empty because the entertainment had finished and paused to catch my breath.
“You’re quicker than I thought you’d be.” His cold, unpleasant, mocking tone made me shiver a little bit. He stood in the centre of the stage, watching me with beady eyes, the spotlights glaring down on him. A cocky smirk was playing on his face, his arms outstretched in a pose similar to that of Jesus’ on my crucifix. “Have you come to slay me, you little squinty-eyed runt?” A chuckle escaped from his throat. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“No.” I shrugged, taking the cap off my bottle of water and sipping a little bit. It tasted like regular tap water but without the weird floating bits. “But I don’t really care much.” I took a couple of steps forward, even smiling a little at him. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“You’re just another insignificant human.” He grinned, his face slowly beginning to change, his eyes glinting in a way that suggested he was trying to scare me. I’d seen this crap too many times to give a damn and just shook my head in response, the smile on my lips widening a little.
“I believe you guys have a name for me. Let me think… oh yeah.” I stared at him pointedly, knowing my reputation had preceded me and that he wouldn’t be smiling when he found out who I was. “You guys call me The Blood Samurai.” To be honest, I thought the nickname had a nice ring to it, but they could’ve been a bit more original. But still, beggars can’t be choosers.
“Shit.” His hideous face dropped, the patronizing smile disappearing completely.
“Am I still a little squinty-eyed runt?” I chuckled, cocking my head to the side, grinning widely. “Or do you take it back?” He stared at me stupidly, his mouth hanging open gormlessly. I took a step closer, my eyes boring deep into his. “Either way, you’re dead.”
He made a move to escape but my fingers were already circled round the handle of my dagger and before he could even lift his foot to run, the silver blade was already stuffed deep inside his chest, the wound spitting out acidic brown blood. He screamed, steam began to rise from the hole and I twisted the blade with relish before tugging it out savagely. The vampire dropped to his knees, clutching his chest and crying tears of venom filled blood. With a swift movement, I severed his throat, the blade not reaching far enough to completely behead him, but enough to make it easy for me to twist his head off. The snapping sound still chills my blood, no matter how many times I’ve slain these creatures before. But, it’s my hobby and I like to do it well. It’s not proper revenge if you do it half-heartedly.
I smiled down at the broken corpse by my feet, humming softly to myself as I poured every single drop of the water over it, stepping back as the flesh started to smoulder. After years of doing this, I’d quickly learnt to hold my nose at the stench and I still had to fight the urge to just run away. It was terrible, utterly disgusting. But I had to wait until the body was reduced to ash before I could leave.
Luckily it didn’t take long, the water always works quicker when they’re already dead and I scooped his remains up into the ashtray I kept tied to my belt. Feeling pleased with myself, I lit a cigarette, staring down at the spot where the monster had just been for a short while, my thoughts returning to my poor dead mother for the first time in a month. This was for her and I hoped she appreciated it. She’d probably hate me smoking though.
“Hey, you. You’re not supposed to be in here.” A loud voice distracted me from my thoughts and I turned my head to look at the woman behind me. She was dressed in a black cloak, violet wig and witches hat, with a long hooked warty nose attached to her face. And she was expecting me to take her seriously?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I flashed my best charming grin at her, my brown eyes twinkling with charisma but she just gave me a stern glare and left. A small chuckle left my throat and I turned back to the slightly charred ground around my feet. I said a few words to bless the place, crossed myself and made sure every last piece of ash was gathered up.
I turned away, deciding to have a couple of rides on the Ferris wheel and the carousel before heading home. The next day, it would be business as usual.