The road stretched out like a severed artery, bleeding into the suffocating darkness of the night.
It was a route the man knew better than the lines on his own palm, yet tonight, the asphalt seemed to coil and writhe under the tires of his sedan. He was driving home after another brutal day, the kind that scrapes the soul hollow and leaves nothing but a husk behind.
Regret tasted bitter in his throat, a familiar bile rising from the decision to work overtime yet again. He had traded the sunlight and the comfort of his evening for a few extra numbers in a bank account, only to be left working like a dog until the clock struck the witching hour.
His company was not merely far. It felt exiled from civilization. The drive was a relentless, two-hour odyssey that demanded total concentration when his brain was begging for shutdown. He loathed the distance.
The man hated the way his lower back throbbed and his eyes burned from staring at the red taillights of phantom cars that weren't there. Yet, he could not leave. The salary was a golden shackle, high enough to keep him tethered to a desk he despised because, in this economy, walking away was financial suicide.
Now, midnight had come and gone. The world outside his windshield was a void. There was not a single soul walking the pavement, no other cars to share the burden of the night. The only illumination came from the streetlights, their bulbs casting a sickly, sterile white glow that made the world look like an operating theater.
Outside the reach of those lights, the darkness was absolute, a lonely and oppressive space where sound went to die. On either side of the road, sparse rows of trees stood like skeletal sentinels, their branches reaching out as if to scratch the paint of his car, interspersed with empty, barren plots of land that looked like graves waiting to be filled.
The isolation began to claw at him. It made him anxious, a primitive fear spiking in his chest because, for miles, there was just him. No life. No movement. Just the hum of the engine and the beating of his own heart.
His mind, exhausted and fraying, began to drift into dark waters. He kept worrying that something terrible was about to happen, a scene plucked straight from the horror movies he consumed with masochistic glee. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white as he scanned the shadows for monsters.
Then, the man shook his head, forcing a dry chuckle.
"Get a grip" he muttered to the dashboard.
He mocked himself for the absurdity of it. He was a grown man, not a frightened child, and indulging in these fantasies was pathetic.
"God, deep down inside, I am still just a little boy" he thought. "Mom was right. She was always right. If I stay this weak forever, I will never truly grow up. I need to stop thinking. I am almost home".
The thought of his mother, even as a memory, brought a sliver of steel to his spine. He did not want her ghost to see him trembling at shadows. His spirit lifted slightly at the thought of his destination. All he wanted was to bury his face into his soft, beloved pillow and forget the world existed.
The dread began to recede. The road became just a road again. That was until he saw the anomaly.
In a large, vacant lot near his neighborhood, something had risen from the dirt. It was a circus tent.
It sat there, massive and imposing against the night sky. The man slowed the car, frowning. It was strange. He checked the community boards; he read the local news. He had never received a single notification or flyer announcing that a traveling circus was coming to town. It was as if it had materialized out of thin air, summoned by the darkness itself.
Questions began to buzz in his head like flies.
"Are they planning a surprise for the residents? Is that their marketing strategy?" he wondered aloud.
Curiosity warred with exhaustion. He considered pulling over, maybe walking up to the perimeter to see what the show was about. But as his eyes traced the silhouette of the tent, a heavy, suffocating gloom seemed to radiate from it. It was not festive. It was not inviting. It was a black hole wrapped in canvas.
"It looks... wrong. It looks scary. Best to just forget it" he decided.
The man pushed the feeling of unease deep down, dismissing the eerie aura of the structure. He pressed the gas pedal, convincing himself that a man in his state should stay far away from such oddities.
He drove on, leaving the circus behind in the rearview mirror. But he was ignorant of the truth. He did not see that from the deepest shadows of the tent's entrance, a pair of eyes was watching him. They were cold, calculating, and patient, tracking the movement of his car until he disappeared into the safety of the suburbs.
The sun rose, indifferent to the terrors of the night.
The man woke up in his soft bed, the sunlight filtering through the curtains to banish the ghosts of the previous evening. He went through his routine: shower, dress, coffee. It was a normal morning until the phone rang.
He sipped his hot coffee as he listened to his neighbor's voice on the other end. The tone was frantic. A disappearance had occurred, right here in their quiet neighborhood. A person had vanished into thin air. The neighbor warned him, voice trembling, to be careful at night.
"Be safe" The neighbor said.
"Don't stay out late"
He was told that the police were already swarming the area, investigating leads and promising the terrified residents that they would solve the case quickly. The authorities had issued a broadcast: everyone must lock their doors and seal every entrance after dark to prevent another tragedy.
The man hung up, looking at the dregs of his coffee. He tried to be rational. The police were involved; it would be over soon. He did not want to care too much. But a stray thought, cold and sharp, sliced through his indifference.
"What if the next one is me?"
He paused, letting the fear linger for a second, then forced a laugh. He shook his head, telling himself he would be fine. He grabbed his keys and left for another day of soul-crushing work.
The day dragged on, a blur of spreadsheets and meetings, until night fell again.
Driving home, the cycle of self-loathing returned. He cursed himself for choosing overtime once more. But his bank account was lean, and he could not call himself wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. The promise of a bonus had sparked a greed in him that overrode his safety.
The road was empty. The drive was familiar. Everything was the same, except for that damn circus. He passed the vacant lot, expecting to see lights or activity, but it remained dark and silent. He had not seen a single poster or heard a single announcement. He decided he would ask the neighbor about it tomorrow.
He glanced into the rearview mirror.
His heart stopped.
Under the sickly yellow pool of a streetlight, a figure was standing on the side of the road. It was looking directly at him.
The ma slammed on the brakes for a split second, then stomped on the gas. He tried to rationalize it immediately. It was a hallucination. It had to be. It was born from stress and the fatigue that was eating his brain alive. He locked his eyes forward, refusing to look back, driving with a knot of anxiety tightening in his gut.
The next morning, the nightmare escalated.
Another person was missing. A second mysterious disappearance, occurring right on the heels of the first, before the police had even found a clue about the previous victim. The investigation was stalling. The police were baffled.
The man felt a true panic rising in his chest. People were vanishing, and the authorities were powerless.
Then, his mind snapped back to the circus. It had been there for a day now. Still, it had not opened. No shows. No music. No information. He went to his neighbors, asking them if they knew anything about the strange tent. They all shook their heads. No one knew where it came from. They were all just as puzzled as he was.
But then, their tone shifted.
"It will open soon" they said. "We just have to wait".
It was a dismissal, strange and casual. The man decided he did not want to probe further. He had work to do. He went back to the office, grateful that this was the last day of his shift before his day off.
That night, the drive home was a torture session.
He was returning late again. The cumulative effect of days of overtime had shattered his stamina. His body was completely exhausted, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness. He drove slowly, navigating the deserted road like a drunkard, thankful that the emptiness meant he wouldn't crash into anyone else.
"Yaaawn"
A long, painful yawn escaped him. It felt like a tumor of fatigue was bursting inside him. His eyelids were heavy, like lead weights were attached to his lashes. He had to physically force them open, resting his head against the seat just to keep his neck from snapping forward. The commute felt less like a drive and more like a trial of endurance.
"Maybe I should just quit?" he thought. "I'm going to die of exhaustion at this rate. No. I can't. I am an adult. If I quit, I starve".
The internal debate gave him a headache. His body felt like it was being tortured.
The man stumbled into his house. He cracked open an energy drink, chugging the chemical sludge just to stay upright long enough to cook dinner. The overtime meant he had no time for chores, so he had to force his tired limbs to work in the kitchen.
He was stirring a pot of soup when a chill ran down his spine.
He turned his head toward the kitchen window. Felt it. Someone was watching him.
The man squinted into the glass. Outside, in the pitch black, he saw a silhouette. A shadow of a person.
His vision was blurry from sleep deprivation, and the darkness played tricks on the eyes, so he couldn't be one hundred percent certain. But his gut instinct screamed at him. There is someone there. Someone is looking in.
The drowsiness vanished instantly. Adrenaline flooded his veins, leaving him tense and trembling.
He turned back to the soup, pretending he hadn't seen anything. He tried to act normal, but terror was blooming in his chest. Is it the kidnapper? Is the person who took the neighbors watching me right now?.
His hands shook so hard the ladle clattered against the pot. He didn't know what to do.
"Please! Please! Please! Let it not be real" his inner voice screamed.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his lips moving in silent prayer. Wanted to scream. He slowly opened his eyes and looked again.
The thing was still there. Motionless. Rigid.
The man stared at it for a long minute until logic finally kicked in. He let out a sigh of relief. It was just a hallucination. Or a trick of the light. He scolded himself for watching too many horror movies and scaring himself half to death.
He ate his dinner in silence, showered, and collapsed into bed. Sleep took him instantly.
Dreams came, dragging him back to the past.
The man saw himself as a child. A weak, pathetic thing. His mother was still alive then. He was the favorite target of bullies because he was timid. They tormented him relentlessly because they knew he was too cowardly to tell the teachers. They could do whatever they wanted to him.
And they were right. He took the beatings. He took the insults. He never told a soul, not even his family.
But mothers see everything. Over time, she noticed the bruises blooming on his skin like dark flowers.
She was furious. Not just at the children who hurt him, but at him. She was angry that he had borne it in silence, that he hadn't trusted her enough to speak.
The man remembered sitting there, tears streaming down his face as she cleaned his wounds and scolded him simultaneously. He felt wronged at the time, but then he saw them. Tears in her eyes. She was crying for him.
That moment broke him. He realized his weakness hurt her more than the bullies ever could. He promised her then that he would become stronger. That he would make her proud.
That memory stayed with him forever.
After that day, his mother went on a warpath. She contacted the school and every single parent. The bullies were punished. Suspended. Justice was served.
In the dream, he smiled as he watched her scold the other parents. But the smile faded, replaced by fresh tears.
He missed her. God, he missed her. It had been so long since he heard that warm voice. He would never hear it again.
She had died of a sudden illness right after he graduated from university. He had been out partying with friends, drunk on freedom, and had ignored his father's calls. He didn't answer until he got home.
She had died an hour before he called back.
He had lost his chance to say goodbye because he was busy having fun. That guilt was a jagged scar on his heart that never healed. He tormented himself with it every single day.
At the funeral, his father told him the truth. She had been sick for a long time. She hid it because she didn't want to distract him from his studies.
He hated himself. He should have called more. He should have noticed. He should have paid attention to her the way she paid attention to his bruises.
The man woke up with a gasp, his hand clutching his neck.
The room was dark. His throat was dry as dust. He needed water.
He walked downstairs to the kitchen. When he entered, he looked at the window. The shadow was still there.
Panic flared for a second, but he remembered he had locked everything. The fear was irrational. He walked up to the glass to inspect it.
It was just the reflection of a tree in the yard.
He sighed, relieved. He drank his water and went back to sleep.
The next morning, the news broke.
A third disappearance.
"Three cases in a row! What the hell are the police doing?"
He was hyperventilating now. The pattern was clear. He was terrified that he was next on the list.
"Should I move? No, I can't move immediately" he thought. He was paralyzed by indecision.
Then, clarity hit him. The circus.
It had to be the circus. There was no other explanation. The timing was perfect. The lack of information was suspicious. If it wasn't the circus, it was nothing.
The man sat down and made a choice. He would not sit here and wait to die. He was not that weak little boy anymore. He had to find out the truth behind these anomalies.
He was nervous, yes, but he soothed himself with the promise he made to his mother. He could not be weak.
Luckily, tomorrow was his day off. He had time to investigate.
He went to his neighbors again, asking them to join him. He wanted safety in numbers. But they refused. They insisted, with glassy eyes and flat voices, that the circus was perfectly normal. They said it would open soon.
The man looked at them. They were wrong. Something was broken in them. How could they not see it? A creepy circus appears, people vanish, and they have zero suspicion?.
He realized something terrifying. They kept saying it would "open soon," but there had been no announcement. They were repeating a script. It was as if something was manipulating them.
The man backed away. He couldn't trust them. He couldn't trust the police, who would likely say the same thing. He had to go alone.
He could only rely on himself.
The man sat in his living room, organizing his thoughts. Then, he stood up and cleaned his house. He scrubbed every corner, tidied every shelf. He prepared it as if he were leaving forever.
When the house was spotless, he sat at the kitchen table and wrote a will. He left it there, in plain sight.
Then, he looked at the table.
There was a ticket there. An invitation.
It stated the time clearly: Tonight.
Location: The Circus.
"When did that get here?" he whispered.
"Unless..."
The man trembled. It had appeared inside his locked house. It confirmed everything. The enemy could reach him anywhere.
He decided to go. He would not live in regret.
The man stood before the circus. It was desolate and silent as always. The entrance flap was slightly ajar, inviting him in. Inside was a deep, abyssal darkness that looked ready to swallow any fool who entered.
"It's daytime, and I still can't see inside. Well... it's time".
He took out his phone. Snapped a photo of the circus and sent it to the local police text line. He typed a message:
"If I don't call you tomorrow, come investigate this place"
"I can't rely on you people anymore"
"I am using my life to open your eyes"
The man wondered if it would work. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a detective. He didn't know if this would save him, but it was all he had.
He looked at the entrance. Tears pricked his eyes. The fear was overwhelming.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cold air. Then he opened them. The fear was gone, replaced by resolve.
The man walked forward, his legs feeling like lead.
He did not know that his messages had been intercepted. A mysterious foundation had seen them, not the police.
Stepped inside.
The space lit up. It was dim, hazy, but visible.
He looked around. The seats were packed. The audience was full, save for a few empty spots. He scanned their faces.
"What the hell is this? Why are they smiling like that?" he whispered.
The spectators were frozen. Every single one of them wore a grotesque, exaggerated smile. Their mouths were stretched wide, corners pulling up to their ears, threatening to tear the skin. Their teeth were bared, white and gleaming. Their eyes were squeezed shut.
They looked like living dolls. Unnatural. Fixed.
The man looked closer. He saw them. The missing people. They were sitting there, amidst the crowd. But one was missing.
He tried to find the last victim, but the lights shifted. A spotlight hit the center ring. Jaunty, chaotic music began to play.
Clowns emerged from the velvet curtains. They carried props, dancing and tumbling. It looked like a normal circus until the animals came out.
"What is th-gag"
He clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
An elephant walked out. But it wasn't an elephant.
It had the shape of the beast, but the skin was human. It was pale, fleshy, and hairless. The head was a giant, swollen human face. The pupils were dilated to the size of saucers. The ears were human ears, pulled and stretched into massive flaps. The nose was a human nose, elongated into a grotesque trunk. The tusks were giant teeth jutting from the lower jaw. The limbs were human arms and legs, broken and reformed into pillars.
Every animal was the same. They were people. Twisted, warped, surgically altered into mockeries of nature.
Then he saw the dog.
It was the last missing neighbor. The man was on all fours, his body snapped and bent into a canine shape.
The man watched in horror as his neighbor, now a monster, performed tricks. He nearly fainted.
He tried to compose himself. He reached for his phone to record the madness. But a clown was suddenly standing in front of him. The clown gestured with a gloved hand, pointing toward the curtains behind the stage.
The man turned and ran. He sprinted toward the entrance.
It was gone.
The exit was sealed. The heavy curtains had fused together.
The man clawed at the fabric, screaming, but it wouldn't budge.
He turned back. The clown was still there, hand extended, waiting to lead him.
He looked around for another way out. There was none. He was trapped in the belly of the beast.
He took a breath, thinking of his mother.
His eyes hardened. He would not cry nor beg.
The man refused to die a coward. If he was going to die, he would be useful. He would not let his mother see him weak, even at the end.
The man raised his phone and hit record. He filmed the audience and the monsters. And then he turned the camera on himself.
"This will save someone" he thought.
"This will matter"
With the camera rolling, the man turned to the clown. Nodded. And then, the man walked into the darkness behind the curtains.