AN: Short, but very important!
"Yes, sir... I understand, sir... I... I'll do what I can," Frederich Showenhower snapped his cell phone shut in his hand with a disgruntled snarl. That man... ordering him around? He was the ringmaster of this circus, he was the one calling the shots.
But he had to obey the only man who could possibly be considered his 'employer'.
The man had approached him ages ago, interested in his family's extensive collection of ghostly artifacts. Until then, it had been a folly of his family. There were never any ghosts and the 'summoning' techniques were all for naught. Old wives tales or the result of a delusional cultist hallucinating while deliriously high on the plants he'd burn as incense or ingest as a 'potion'.
This man, however, had taught him how to gain access to ghosts. Real ghosts, and how to use his artifacts properly. Oh, it was a glorious thing, to have control so completely over these entities. To have absolute power over something so powerful.
The man had shown him how to access several impressive entities 'on loan' to Frederich. Intangibility, invisibility, flight, it was all his to control and that was just the beginning of their powers.
And in addition, the man had given him funds to start his own circus. A front for criminal activities using ghostly powers to invisibly, intangibly swipe precious gems and valuables from even the most 'secure' vaults! Riches like royalty at his every whim, power beyond compare!
Oh, he belived with his ghostly minions, nothing would stand in his way.
But, then he got... a tad bit overconfident. He used one of his family's most potent relics; a crystal-ball staff imbued with rare elements and compounds that could control a ghost even just by sight. Every ghost he applied it to were jumping through hoops like toy poodles in a show at a mere thought.
He believed he could overthrow his sponsor's yoke. Take back the spotlight, gain a little more control.
He was laughably wrong.
The enthralled ghosts he sent to... 'dispose' of the man would oftentimes never return. Save one horribly battered and beaten which barely managed to eke out "m-monster" before dissolving in a puddle of goo right in the middle of his trailer. They left a terrible stain on the carpet.
That ghost must have led his sponsor back to him. That night, a horrifying specter invaded his home and gleefully had Frederich on the run from room to room, like a cat toying with a mouse. It took some tricky escapes to get to the artifact trailer he kept under lock and key.
Then, when he finally had his staff in his hand...
It did nothing.
Perhaps the most powerful object in his arsenal. And this ghost could stare at it all day long and laugh at its power.
It was harrowing to see the artifact destroyed by a ghost itself, sneering at Freakshow's trembling form all the while.
The shards were gathered telekinetically by the ghost, who promptly left to return to, presumably, his Master. Barely an hour later, the man himself was at his door, the ghost nowhere in sight.
But the man's grim, mocking smile didn't need a ghost to back it up. In the end, his sponsor didn't kill him, but hinted he could at any moment. Perhaps the ghost was invisible in that very room. Ready to reach into his chest and crush his heart like a pomegranate. Leave a puzzling mystery for a coroner that would never trace back to any suspects.
In the end, as some 'consolation prize', he was given one singular shard from the original orb. The man kept the rest 'as payment for all the assassination attempts'. He laughed it off like he was settling a bar tab between friends instead of attempts on his very life.
But then, the easy-going smile dropped and he shifted to grim, mocking glee as the man made one last threat.
"Do behave yourself in the future, my friend. It would be terrible to see an accident befall a pitiful mortal like yourself."
His eyes burned red like coals as he turned and left.
It finally made him wonder... just who... or what did he make that deal with all those years ago?
Under his employer's scrutiny, Freakshow was cautious. The singular shard became decoration in a new staff of his. It left him barely able to control the ghosts in his command. It reminded him just how much he was dependent upon it for everything in his circus. A ghost beginning to 'come to'? He needed his shard. A ghost rampaging? He needed his shard. A ghost questioning him? Of course, he needed his shard. He couldn't sleep at night without an eye open and the staff in his arms.
Still, it was all worthwhile as long as his little operation remained lucrative. With his sponsor's money that he 'graciously' still gave him, Freakshow was able to go town to town, roaming the country and amassing thousands of fans and admirers. Then, secretly using his ghosts to swindle and steal from towns he'd scope out.
Flight was handy, particularly to hit a store a hundred miles away after he made sure to have skipped town long enough not to be a suspect.
Though, his sponsor would still require his services.
'Payment' he called it, for the initial loans for the circus as well as the more immaterial services to show him how to enslave ghosts. His employer would from time to time ask him to arrange for an artifact to go missing from a museum or a book from a private library to "vanish".
It was all rather easy with ghosts, considering a notable lack of 'ghost-based' security measures. A ten-ton, state-of-the-art, super-alloy-steel vault was laughable if the thief could walk right through the walls and back out.
But this request...
He looked back to his phone. this request was much more, dare he say, sinister than his previous ones. It left him just a tad uneasy about it.
Kidnapping a boy?
His moral compass was hardly straight and narrow, but this wasn't simply burglary or money laundering. This was another human being.
Not only was this more dangerous, from a criminal and legal standpoint, there were complications on top of that to kidnapping. A diamond necklace didn't try to escape a box hidden in a cart. A book doesn't need feeding... (usually).
He couldn't exactly stuff the kid under the floorboards-
He froze.
Apprehensively, he turned to glance to the floorboards of his personal trailer. Beneath the nailed-shut boards, was hidden an artifact he didn't dare leave behind anywhere he couldn't see every day... but also an artifact he didn't dare leave out on display.
...
Despite his anxieties, he couldn't deny it would be simpler.
As if in response, a faint gleeful tinkle like a music box echoed tauntingly. Muffled through his floorboards, sending what hair he didn't have on his bald head on end.
...
Perhaps it was time... to use 'him'.
"This is weird, right?"
"So weird, man."
"Has she ever...?"
"No! I've never seen her like this."
"Will you two quit it?" Sam swiveled on her foot, finally fed up with the two whispering behind her.
Danny shuffled awkwardly, rubbing his neck, "Well, it's just... you're..."
"Suspiciously perky and excited lately," Tucker supplemented, the halfa nodding in agreement. "What's up with you lately? New flavor of vegan chip or something?"
Sam huffed, but instead of snarking, she shoved a flyer in their faces.
It depicted a large circus tent and a man with chalk-white skin in a dark suit and top hat smiling sinisterly from the page.
Danny's eyes were drawn to the staff. It was elaborately carved from a single piece of wood into the shape of a skull, but with a single, ruby-red crystal embedded below the jaw. He felt a sense of uneasiness at the sight. The top of the flyer proudly stated 'CIRCUS GOTHICA' in creepy old-timey font.
"They were approved by Mayor Masters! Can you believe it?!" She cheered.
"Never heard of it," Danny admitted.
Sam shrugged, "Well, it's not really as renowned as a big-name circus, but it's huge in the Goth community! It's not a 'kiddie' circus, but it's geared towards us! Teens and young adults who embraced Goth."
She held her hands out like reading an invisible banner, a dark smile on her face, "Where nightmares come alive. Where clowns never smile."
"Sounds sufficiently depressing," Danny offered, bemused.
"Exactly!" She enthused, "And you never know when they'll show up or where, but it's always a hit and no one puts any videos online because they say the circus curses any video recordings and anybody who tries vanishes seven days after posting! I've got to go see it!"
"Easy, easy," Tucker soothed, hands up. "We'll get you your selfie with the Bearded Zombie-Lady or whatever, but can us 'normal' folk get in, too?" He gestured to himself generally.
"Yeah, I mean, there's no guarnatee you'll like it, but it's not age-restricted or 'Goth-only' like the cafe downtown." She said.
"Well, let's book a ticket and see how things turn out. Right Danny? ...Danny?" They turned to see their half-ghost friend staring back at the flyer in his hands.
"Yo, dude, you okay?" Tucker asked, waving a hand in his face.
Danny started and blinked, "H-huh? Yeah, sorry, just a little creeped out by the artwork, I guess," He offered weakly.
"Well, if you're spooked by the artwork, imagine what the real thing will be like!" Sam grinned, leading the trio down the sidewalk.
Danny hesitated, looking back down at the flyer. His attention of the artwork was divided by the enrapturing, but unnerving crystal shard prominently displayed in his staff and the background.
It wasn't special, it had some graphic images of some of the main attractions. A contortionist, a guy who could chew nails for breakfast, a pair of conjoined twins. All sufficiently creepy, all attention-grabbing.
But for a second, just a second... he thought he saw something. Or someone.
An extra figure in the background, but vanished in a blink. A black and white blur of memory.
But for a circus that claimed 'none of them smiled'...
That clown's pointed smile was... unsettling.
Freakshow stood alone in his trailer that night. The ghostly performers were 'asleep' around the campsite and all the show goers were gone. He'd instructed Lydia to keep anyone away on the off chance they try to go near. He needed to be alone for this.
Tomorrow he moves out, packing up the circus and heading to Amity... so he needs to know if he can use 'him' or not.
In front of him, an innocent-looking box sat on the ground. He took a crowbar to his trailer boards and pulled it out of its hidden compartment that evening, not able to trust anyone. Even his ghosts.
The box was easily over a hundred years old, but in almost pristine condition.
It was wooden, with only slightly-flaked paint that was still as vibrantly colored as the day it was first made. Images of elephants and circus tents and acrobats and jugglers decorated all the sides of the box in gorgeous detail.
Not that anyone could see it, of course, given how the box was wrapped in a criss-cross of chains and padlocks securing every surface, including and especially, a small crank-handle on the side.
He slipped a keyring off his belt loop, selecting each one to slip into their padlock and one-by-one undoing the locks.
The last key fit into the largest padlock and clicked it open. Undoing it from the two halves of the chain, he reared back when the chains slithered unnaturally off the box to the floor, like the box was shedding a skin.
The box, completely exposed, sat innocently in the dim light of the trailer.
...
The handle began to turn.
Like an invisible hand was cranking it, the device cranked itself and slowly plinked out a crusty-sounding metallic melody off of the music-box comb.
*Plink-y Plink-y Plink-et-ty Plink-*
*click*
Freakshow jumped as the lid popped open.
Hand to his heart and breath caught in his throat, he stared at the opened box. Afraid to look away. Afraid to blink.
As seconds passed in silence, he got curious. He cautiously edged closer to the box.
He peered inside.
...
Empty?
He was confused. It was just the box's interior. Just four thin, wooden walls and a bottom. No visible gears or mechanism for the metallic chimes within. Just an empty... box...?
Not even a-
His heart leapt to his throat. The thought producing a hollow dread.
'Not even a clown in the box.'
Where was the clown?
Where was the Jack in the Box?
His senses were suddenly assaulted by the smell of pungently sweet cotton candy tinged with an acrid undertone of something metallic.
A voice, whose breath reeked of the stench, whispered in his ear;
"Pop. Goes. The Wea-sel."
AN: Virtual cookies and kudos to the folks who guess this character (::) (::)