Page 133 of Circus From Hell

If…

Why am I still debating?

Because I still don’t know the truth.

Those diaries. I need to see those diaries.

And after my exit will be the perfect chance.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our wonderful silk contortionist! Give her a hand!” Kreo shouts into the microphone from the floor beneath me as I spin down the fabric to land in the splits. The crowd does exactly as they’re told, screaming and cheering, and I ignore the itchiness of my sparkly outfit reflecting the lights to look at the sea of faces. This could be the last time I ever experience this, and that makes me smile.

Truly smile.

I hate performing.

Kreo is occupied with announcing the fire-eaters as I do a combination of cartwheels and walkovers off the stage. The moment I’m out of the limelight and back into the darkness, my whole body relaxes. I can hear the distant voice of Moxie commanding the clowns, preparing them for the grand finale of the show. Spiral will be with them, figuring out his getaway.

It’s hard being stealthy in this outfit—the sequins brush up against my legs with every step forward—but everyone’s too busy with the show to see me sneaking through the flaps of Kreo’s tent. It’s light enough that I’m not forced to rely on my shining eyes to see the way.

There’s a row of small, brown, leather books across the back tent wall. Something chirps in a cage. Teeth rattle against metal bars. There are many animals in here, confined to small spaces and experiments, and it makes me think of Soren. Guilt at the sight of these creatures is something I never thought I’d experience.

Spiral will be looking for me any moment. He’ll be expecting me at the exit so we can make our way over to the trailer together, where the rest of the guys will be waiting.

But I need to do this.

The air swirls with tension as I reach up for the first book labelled ‘Karma’. My fingers don’t tremble like a human’s would when they sense something dangerous is approaching, but I feel the unfamiliar notion of anxiety twisting deep in my stomach. It’s a feeling I’m becoming more aware of, but I can’t say I enjoy it.

I pull back the leather-bound cover to reveal the first light brown page marked with thick ink.

It’s alive. It worked. It’s well and truly alive.

My creation doesn’t speak, doesn’t attack. It’s a simple thing, waiting and listening. It appears I have finally succeeded. I have finally cracked the code to resurrecting human life without the chaos that came before.

This success is monumental, and I am eager to watch how my creation grows.

So far, it is docile. It has yet to move from the table, but it does sit up straight and watch me. Two hours have passed since my machine sent life into its vessel, and I have yet to hear it make a noise, but it mimics my expressions and tracks me with bright green eyes. So bright. I wonder how they’ll last.

I will study it. Keep a very close eye on it.

None of my past creations live up to this. Not the rat with chicken legs, not the birds with reptile skin, not even the human flesh I’ve pieced together before. This one… I can sense it. It will learn. It will grow. It will be trained.

Alas, I am no fool. I shan’t have a repeat of last time. I have a failsafe in case this docile behaviour wears off and it attacks.

But I am hopeful.

Hopeful that I have finally created the star of my circus.

The creased pages are fragile as I turn them, but so far, it hasn’t informed me of anything I don’t know. Although I don’t quite understand what he means by ‘last time’.

The next diary entry takes place three days later.

I have done it!!!

I neglected jotting down every piece of information I gathered, so swept up in my creation. She is magnificent. Obedient. Flexible. A quick learner.

But I have already discovered the first negative.

Animal meat and vegetables do not sate her. She is hungry, starving, but nothing I give her is enough. I tried her on a live one, and she seemed to enjoy that more than the dead and cooked, but it still wasn’t enough.