When the Circus Comes to Town: Part One

 

    The cup sailed past Grant's head, smashing against the kitchen door. The faces of all four brothers reflected looks of horror; however, Orvil’s expression was mingled with an extra element of dread. They had been tasked with doing the dinner dishes, and relations had deteriorated, as they often did. Yet now they all shrank at the thunder of approaching feet signaled that at least one of them was about to die. Orvil knew who that would be. At this moment, he was almost resigned to his fate, and he was not quite sure why he should care.

        

Sure enough, Ma and Pop burst through the door, instantly scanning for injury and evidence of blood or the dismembered body of one of their four sons. Nothing. The parents moved to the next two evaluations in quick succession: what was broken and who was guilty.

    

    The three semi-innocent brothers, Grant, Fred, and Ray, didn’t immediately know if it was better to run, stay to dodge any blame that might come their way, or try to heroically save the life of their youngest brother.

  

    Orvil had been having a rough time since he was born. He was the youngest in the family, which some might foolishly claim is the easiest age placement in a line of siblings. While it might be true on rare occasions, that was not how Orvil saw it. And he had evidence to prove it. He was always sick. A lot of it had something to do with allergies, yet he also had asthma and bronchitis. He even had chicken pocks. Twice in fact! Sure, his older brother, Grant, had been born three months premature and managed to survive only because Pop had constructed an incubator out of a chicken brooder, four colanders, and a bed pan. And yes, Grant then got bleeding ulcers that put him in the hospital for three months, and then he got slightly mashed when the team of horses got spooked and slammed him into a fence in their desperate effort to get into the barn all at the same time. But how can you count all that?

    Orvil had it worse. Not only was he sicker, but he was also perpetually being bullied by the Jackson boys. And then, Ma and Pop were too tough on him just because he had occasionally forgotten to do his chores, such as feeding the chickens, the pigs, and the cows, and the horses. Was that any reason to close any possibility of going to the circus this year? Pop always said that the harvest time made it so they were too busy to go. And yes, Orvil did tend to daydream when he was in school, which prevented him from there was a larger hole on the other side to accommodate the other arm and head to accomplish a proper costume for any vine-swinger from the jungle.

  

    Orvil stood up in the loft of the old barn, pitching hay down to the cows, he saw the distant lights of the circus out the window. That was it. The circus was always looking for new talents, and he was really good at, at, well, good at something. Still, it was worth a try. His mind was set, and he was on his way. It was a good two-mile walk to the banks of the Snake River, where the circus had been staked out all weekend. On the way, he began to rethink the rash decision. He slowed his pace. The slower he moved, the more he recognized that he was unaccountably terrified.

   

    Fred and Ray felt a degree of guilt for the situation. It was true; they sometimes did not know when to stop their teasing. They also knew Orvil's impulsive nature. In fact, though they would undoubtedly deny it, they actually cared for him. Mostly. Well, some of the time. This was one of those times. They watched him storm into the barn and attack the hay with one of the pitchforks. They knew this would not be a safe time to approach him, even if they armed themselves with pitchforks of their own. They did not want a repeat of that day back in June, so they held back in the shadows.

    

    When Orvil reached his bold resolution, they watched him march boldly past them, alone on his determined way to join the circus. They followed at a judicious distance, determined to keep their little brother from doing anything stupid. The oldest brother, Grant, held back even deeper in the shadows, watching two of his brothers who were watching his youngest brother. He knew how impulsive they all could be. Though far from happy about going out into the night, he had to do his duty as an older brother. None of them were aware of the perils that waited for them beyond the immense darkness of the night.

   

    The sun had long set. The damp chill was on the rise. There was just barely enough moonlight that Orvil could see. The autumn leaves swirling about his feet giving a satisfying crunch with each of his steps. Beyond the cloudy moon, he could see no other lights except the distant glow of the circus tents. He began to slow his pace, recognizing an unexpected fear that was building within himself. This was unlike him; after all, he was a farm boy. Since he was eight, he had been sent out into the darkness to check on the irrigation water or to tend to the animals. Yet, he had always been like a moth, drawn to the comfort and safety of light. It wasn't the case with this particular moth that night. Each step towards the circus seemed to cost him a little more of his dying resolve to start a new life.

        What a coward. What a baby, he chided himself because there were no parents to do it for him. Just a little more power extracted from his anger and self-loathing got him moving again. Orvil found it easier if he focused on the moon rather than the circus lights. However, the gravity of those lights kept pulling his eyes down to what should have been cheerful lights. In spite of his fears, he passed through the circus' entrance. It was made up of an arched gate with colorful triangular pendants and strings of Christmas lights fanning out on each side.

  

    Motionless. He was unable to move, bolted to the spot. He might have been there for hours if not for the pair of silhouetted figures that emerged out of the darkness, followed by one more to take their places next to their brother. They didn't seem to be aware of one another at all. The four brothers gazed on in wonder and that unexplained fear. Was it the hypnotic colors that affected them in that unnatural way? It was a rare moment that they were all simultaneously motionless.   

      Spooky. The canvas tent doors swelled in the breeze and then drew back, calling them to enter. The cool of the breeze made them shiver and woke them from their trance. They looked about in confusion. Orvil noticed his older brothers for the first time. Somehow, he was not surprised to see them. No one said a word. Besides themselves, there was no one in sight. Strange. It wasn't all that late, maybe nine o'clock. The circus should certainly still be operating at that hour, but no, nothing.

    

    Wiser boys, or boys with clearer minds, would have retreated to the safety of the darkness. These boys did not. "We really should go," encouraged Grant. "Ya," each muttered under their breath, their eyes locked in a stare forward. They took one step closer to the tents. "Ma will be getting worried," continued Grant. "Worried," they affirmed. One step further. "Pop is going to be mad." "Mad," they repeated. They moved forward, picking up momentum with each step forward toward their fate.

    

    The strands of circus lights formed a massive spiderweb, converging toward a large central tent. It pulled at them. The four boys obediently followed the impulse forward. With still a remnant of his determination to join the circus, Orvil chose to be the bold one. Once at the focal tent, he crouched at the side of the entrance and peeked around the edge into the bright depths. "What do you see?" whispered Ray. Then a little louder, "WHAT DO YOU SEE?"

    

    "Nothing," murmured Orvil.

    "Come on," begged Fred with a growing sense of dread. He brightened when Orvil backed away from the opening towards his brothers. They might escape after all, he hoped.

    

    "Let's get home," admonished Grant. "I'm the one who will get blamed if you all die. Wait and see. You all will probably get great funerals; you'll never have to do chores again; and I will be punished for the rest of my mortal life. Let's go now!"

    

    "Not till I see," mumbled Orvil. To the distress of the others, he skirted around to the back side of the circus tent, hurtling each of the stretched anchor ropes. He then closed his eyes, clenched his fists for a moment to summon all his strength, and dropped to his belly, wiggling his head under the tent skirt.

    

    "No," moaned Fred. Let's just go without him. One dead is better than four." Ray was tempted to agree.

    

    "Don't you dare leave me here to save this idiot by myself," glared the oldest brother.

   

     "Oh heck," resolved Ray. "We just as well see whatever it is before we die." He crawled down to take his place next to Orvil."

    

    "Fine," whispered Fred. "I just hope dying won't hurt much."

   

     "What am I doing?" Grant moaned, dropping down as well. "Well, there are worse things than dying."