Circus Of Whispers: A Fictional Nightmare
Come forward, curious onlookers of the Circus of Whispers. Come forward, and watch the performance of a lifetime.
It all started with tranquil whispers traveling through the night breeze, wafting through the window shutters, and waking up sleeping villagers from their empty dreams. Blinking their eyes open, lethargy lining the dark circles under each pair of eyes, the whispers whined determinedly for them to get out of bed and follow them.
And follow them they did.
Everyone followed the whispers through the outskirts of the village, until their sleepy eyes landed on the biggest circus tent imaginable. It was so massive, people almost thought it was a mountain in the darkness of the night. But as the first light trickled across the sky, the red and white striped tent bore a magnificent eeriness that propelled the watchers’ willingness to step a little closer against the gates restricting them from entering.
The whispers instructed people not to bring their children with them, and for a good reason, which visitors would soon come to realise later. The steel gates stood tall and mighty, restricting access from the circus grounds of mystery, and only causing people to amplify their excitement.
Warning signs were posted up on every other steel pole of the gates, giving people a disclaimer of what to expect once a person dares to set foot inside, but the people paid them no mind.
Children are prohibited from entering.
Not for the faint hearted.
Not for the sensitive souls.
Of course people waved such signs off, deeming them but a mere part of the circus’s ambience, but oh, were they wrong. The moment the gates finally whined open slowly, the circus guests filed inside eagerly, all heading towards the ticket booth, but all while their gazes remained glued to the massive tent before them in awe.
It really was a magnificent sight, and what made it more alluring was the pin drop silence that accompanied it. A circus was meant to be loud, chaotic, and cheerful — but this? This was strictly silent, and it was exactly this deafening silence, this unsettling atmosphere, that drew people in with a curious eye to explore the place. The striped tent’s glorious setting beckoned for them to come closer, teasing them with its blatant existence and holding a thick layer of mystery in the air surrounding it.
It did not feel normal, but then again, when was a circus ever normal, really?
The ticket booth had a mime handling it, which would normally be a disaster for the entirely one-sided conversation from the guests’ end, but it wasn’t. On the contrary, guests found it very straightforward, simply holding up their fingers to indicate the number of tickets they want, and quietly paying the mime. The mime had his face painted in black and white, black rings circling his eyes, and a layer of ghostly white paint coating his face, except his lips, which were also a pitch black colour. His soulless gaze caused people’s skin to crawl with discomfort, and no matter what, the mime never blinked.
It was unsettling, but not even the creepy mime could stop them from venturing further.
The guests entered, and while most of them were too tempted to immediately waltz into the magenta-striped tent, some were temporarily distracted by the tempting stalls lining the tent. Everything held an eerie mist around it, a foggy aura that smelt so strongly of a powerful fragrance that seemed to overpower people’s ability to think.
Like zombies, one by one, people started trailing leisurely to the stalls. First in line was the psychic’s stall — an old woman with freckles of old age scattered around her face. Her weathered skin bore lines of wisdom all around, but whether it was due to wisdom or just plain scowling all the time, the guests were not sure. She looked intimidating, with her nasty glare daring anyone to come forth, and the mysterious crystal ball resting in front of her, confining a purple cloud within it.
A brave man of no older than twenty one, approached the angry woman, but his body language mirrored a timid rabbit, seating himself down across from her. The psychic glared through his face, before she nodded towards a glass with a dollar sign taped to it. The man quickly stuffed his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a dollar, before he placed it in the glass jar.
The psychic immediately got to work, rubbing the crystal ball mysteriously as her soulless gaze focused on the orb. Building up the suspense in the air, and making the man’s throat run dry with anxious anticipation, his eyes darted to the image that materialised within the crystal, and his face sickeningly paled at the sight of it, while the woman smiled vindictively.
It was an image of a dark cloud, and she did not need to utter a word for him to understand it.
Further into the circus was a stall containing a massive bucket, inside which were an endless number of scorpions. The creepy man handling the stall had eyes the size of saucers, and he was smiling just as widely, instilling a sense of discomfort in every person passing by. He was pointing at the bucket, silently asking if anyone would like to peer closer, but no one seemed to feel brave enough to do so. This was definitely far too dangerous for anyone to come close to.
Into the tent, no words were spoken as people quietly filed inside and took their seats. A blue light engulfed the space, and a woman stepped into the centre of the tent, gazing up at the audience. Softly, a string of ominous music could be heard, bouncing around the tent, and the woman moved so smoothly, as though she were liquid. She weaved herself into inexplainable positions, earning astonished gasps from the audience. She was a brilliant contortionist, and she moved brilliantly — all while she had the most neutral facial expressions, as though none of these positions were painful.
They weren’t — she was far too skilled.
Following this segment, was a series testing the audiences’ phobias. Trypophobia was first on the agenda, where the whole tent was mirrored with an image of the tiniest holes stacked closely together, and discomforting a number of guests, who squeezed their eyes shut in mortification. But their saviour entered — a callous looking clown who cut through the holes with his loud laughter, ripping the image off the tent and smiling viciously at the audience, yet again scaring a few other guests out of the tent. The clown juggled bowling pins, purposely dropping one on his head, but he quickly fled the tent, before the third phobia stepped in.
It continued this way, and although some people quickly fled to not face their phobias, some remained — fighting to be brave and face their fears. The Circus of Whispers did not mean any harm, really. It was there for a reason, with good intentions, but horrible means.
It willed people to face their darkest fears, to look it in the eyes and tell it that they’re not afraid. To marvel at the beauty in being brave, and to acknowledge one’s own strength. But was it worth the scare? Was it for everyone? Perhaps not. Could it have possibly been gentler? Definitely.
But the Circus of Whispers had a reputation that would now precede it. It served those who were willing to set their consternations aside and move on from what was holding them back.
And not everyone would see it that way.
A misunderstood villain would be the condemnation of the Circus of Whispers, but the circus accepted it without a fight. Without trying to explain itself. Without trying to prove itself to anyone.
That is what the Circus of Whispers is. Whispers wailing at people who would be courageous enough to face their fears and overcome them by looking straight at them.
It is no easy task, and not everyone can do it, and that’s okay. Although, their methods were horrid — gradual exposure to phobias is not a bad thing, but being so suddenly exposed to them entirely is never a good thing.
The Circus of Whispers may believe itself to be a misunderstood villain, but really — it was just a chaotic, nagging nightmare. So if you hear its whispers beckoning you to come explore, pay it no mind, and continue sleeping as though you’ve heard nothing.
