Twisted Endings: 5 Disturbing Stories (5 page)

“No, no, no,” she protested.

He winked at her and pulled her toward the stage while the audience hooted and hollered. “C’mon. This won’t hurt.”

“Please, Aunt Jen.”

Jen saw the excitement in Ashley’s eyes, and reluctantly handed Carla her purse. “You owe me, Sis.”

The showman led her to a six-foot long steel table at the center of the stage. Two fleas had just competed in a chariot race on the same table. She could see now that the chariots were perfect wooden replicates with wheels that were shirt buttons.

“If Dexter overshoots the table,” the entertainer instructed, “I need you to catch him. Can you do that?”

Right. She’d catch Dexter. She knew the fleas didn’t exist. The showman had been using a fake microscope to view the creatures while assuring the audience that the whole charade was real. It seemed like the props moved on their own across the stage.

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Fantastic.” He led her to one end of the table and released her hand. Jen thought for a moment he had stroked his thumb over her index finger when he walked away. But no, that was absurd.

The showman smirked and headed toward the opposite end of the table. He stopped halfway and pulled a matchbox out of his pocket, struck a match, and pressed it against a wooden hoop the size of a baseball cap. It dangled only inches above the table and was engulfed in flames in a matter of seconds.

He knelt and pulled a large, black suitcase out from beneath the table. He popped it open and snatched an unknown object out of it with one hand. He then held an open palm to the crowd to display a small, white, plastic square.

“Dexter will now shoot from the canon, through the Flaming Hoop of Death and land safely with the help of this parachute.” He motioned to the white square. “And just a reminder: If you have an itch, please don’t scratch.”

The crowd roared with laughter.

He sauntered to the end of the table. Waiting there was a simple, tiny propulsion device. He produced a large pair of tweezers and brushed the supposed flea into the hollow end facing up towards the flaming hoop, and winked at Jen.

I hope Ashley never forgets this.

He lit another match and pressed it against a miniature wick on the back side of his homemade cannon. “Count with me,” he begged the audience.

“Five...”

“Four...”

Several people stood and counted, pumping their fists in the air. Most of the young girls held on to their seats. One cried.

“Three...”

“Two...”

“One!”

A puff of smoke erupted from the cannon and the white, square object sailed into the air and through the burning hoop. It blossomed into a parachute that opened just inches in front of Jen. The flea, if one existed, glided down beneath it.

“Ladies and gentlemen...the amazing Diving Dexter!”

Thunderous applause and laughter filled the room. The girl who had been crying jumped up from her chair and ran to where Dexter had landed.

“Is he okay?” she wailed. “I don’t see him.”

The showman walked over with his microscope and viewed the area around the fallen parachute. “I assure you, my dear, he’s perfectly fine,” he said as he stepped up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Now go back to your seat.”

She hung her head and walked back to her seat. A number of people pointed and laughed. Jen shook her head when one boy shouted, “It’s just a stupid flea.”

“And now for a Bible lesson,” the showman continued, winning back the crowd’s attention. “Ahem. Fleas: Adam had ‘em.”

Jen rolled her eyes.

Everyone else seemed to think he was hilarious. They laughed, clapped, cheered and whistled.

“And finally —”

Thank goodness
.

“— a brief lesson about our friends. Fleas can pull 160,000 times their own weight and jump 150 times their own length, making them the strongest and fastest creatures in the world for their size.”

The room was filled with gasps.

“Not to worry, folks. Only a few bother us. Most are attracted to small, hairy animals like cats and dogs. And that’s all for today. Thanks for stopping by and don’t forget to pick up a copy of
Fleas Have Feelings Too
at your local bookstore. Be sure to stop by our main tent to see Bobo the Bear in action. It’s a show you do not want to miss!” He bowed and motioned to Jen and the supposed half dozen fleas on the steel table.

Jen looked into the crowd to find Carla and Ashley as everyone stood up, applauded one last time and stampeded for the exit.

"Mommy, I couldn't see the fleas," one girl complained when Jen passed her.

That makes two of us.

“That was fun, Aunt Jen!” Ashley jumped out of the mass and grabbed her arms, swinging them from side to side. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

Jen started to say “not in this lifetime” before Carla interrupted.

“We’ll talk about it when we get home.” She smiled at Jen, giggling between words. “I think Aunt Jen’s had enough fun for now.”

Jen nodded. “I won’t argue with that. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed Ashley’s hand and marched for the exit. This had been more than enough for now. Niece: happy. Sister: happy.

She stopped in the parking lot and held her hand out to Carla. “It’s been fun. I’ll take my purse back now.”

“Your purse?”

Jen rubbed her temple. “Yes, my purse. The one I handed you before my big break in show business. Please tell me you have my purse.”

Carla blushed. “I don’t have your purse.”

“Great. That’s just great. The perfect ending to a perfect night.”

Carla shrugged. “Sorry, Sis. I know where it’s at. I’ll go get it.”

Jen shook her head. It wouldn’t do any good to stay angry. “No, that’s all right. Get this pretty little lady to bed.” She winked at Ashley.

Ashley laughed. “She called me ‘pretty little lady’. That’s what the flea man called her.”

“Well you can keep that name,” Jen said. “Now say goodnight and give your Auntie Jen a kiss.” She bent and placed her cheek next to Ashley’s face.

Ashley kissed it and said, “Goodnight. I love you, Aunt Jen.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry, Jen,” Carla said as Jen stood back up.  “I’m always screwing things up. You know I didn’t mean to do it.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it and see you in the morning.”

“Okay. G’night.”

“G’night, Sis.”

JEN FELT nauseated when she approached the “flea man’s” tent, as Ashley had so eloquently put it. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cotton candy she had earlier or because she didn’t relish the idea of being around the crazy showman.

The eight-foot security gate surrounding the tent was still open and light continued to pour from the bottom of the tent. At least she still had a chance of recovering the purse tonight. Too many credit cards were in it to leave it lying around with the traveling circus freaks.

“Hey, you’re back!” the showman said when Jen entered the tent. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you earlier.” He walked up to her with a big smile and held out his hand. “Name’s John.”

She wasn’t about to hold his hand again. “No problem. Listen, I left my purse behind. Haven’t seen it, have you?”

John’s smile faded as he lowered his hand. “No, but I’m sure it’s still here. I’ll help you look.”

Jen shifted her weight and cleared her throat. “That’s okay. I know where it’s at. She sensed he felt rejected when she broke eye contact and stepped back.

“Whatever,” he said. “Holler if you need me.”

She nodded and proceeded to the seat she sat in earlier. Her heart jumped when the purse wasn’t there. The flea man, or John, or whatever his name was probably had it.
Crap.

She rubbed her neck, unsure of what to do when she noticed a familiar black object tucked beneath a nearby seat.
My purse!
  She remembered now that Carla had it at her seat. She picked it up and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” John shouted from the stage.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just a joke from earlier.”

“Yeah, the show’s pretty amazing, right?”

“Yeah. Well, have a good night.” She headed straight for the exit.

“Wait a sec. Think you could give me a hand with this suitcase?” He nodded to the suitcase beneath the table, the one housing his fleas. “My assistant had to take off early.”

Jen looked down at the suitcase and shrugged. The guy was middle aged and it looked heavy. He probably couldn’t lift more than 25 pounds. He was harmless. Besides, he hadn’t taken her purse. She could do one more good deed tonight. “Sure. Whatever.”

John struggled to drag the suitcase out from beneath the table. “There’s a handle on each side,” he said, huffing. The thing looked like it was from the 1800s and still had the original dust. “Lift on three and let’s set it on the table.”

She nodded and grabbed a handle.

“You know, the flea diet consists solely of blood.”

Thanks for sharing.
She didn’t say anything and refused to make eye contact.

“One, two, three.” She jerked on the handle to hoist it up, but found it surprisingly light. Puzzled, she looked at John. Then it made sense. He was staring at the crevice between her chest. She dropped the handle and stepped back.

John lost his balance when the suitcase crashed on the ground. “Whoa. Careful. There’s some expensive equipment in there. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’ve got to go.” This circus act was over. She headed for the exit again. Old geezer needed to get a life.

A strong hand grabbed her arm from behind, turned her around and pulled her toward John’s body. “I’ll tell you when you can leave.”

She tried to break free but her arms were pinned against his chest now. She smashed a knee between his legs.

John groaned and stumbled backwards. “Son of a…”

She sprinted for the exit.

A large man entered just as she reached the exit. Judging by his oversized hat and the rope on the side of his belt, he had to be one of the circus trainers. “Thank God. Help me!”

“Slow down, slow down.” He looked at John, doubled over in pain. “What’s going on here?”

Jen still couldn’t breathe normal, but spoke as calmly as possible. “He...attacked me.” She turned to nod at John. “I think...he was going to....” She turned back around just as the man’s huge left backhand smashed into her face. She fell to the ground and spit a coppery taste.

“You’re right,” the large man said, approaching her. “He was.” He looked at John and shook his head. “I mean, he will.” He stopped in front of Jen, towering over her. “And so will I.” He reached down and hoisted her over his massive shoulders.

She beat her fists on his back and screamed until he threw her down, crushing her back on the steel table. All of the air escaped her body. Time froze.

What’s Ashley doing right now? What’s Carla doing? Are they safe? Am I going to live? They can have the purse. I don’t want the purse. I just want to go home.

“Now you,” the large man brought her back to reality. She could tell he was speaking to the flea man. “You know better than this. What if I hadn’t showed up? What if someone else had walked in?”

“Sorry, Bill.” John stood up straight for the first time in several minutes. “I guess I got too excited.”

They both looked back at Jen.

She felt paralyzed on the table. Was this really happening?

“Don’t worry, hon. This won’t take long.” She couldn’t determine who was saying what anymore. A damp hand covered her mouth and pressed hard against it, causing her to bite a huge chunk of her lower lip.

She squealed and flinched, sending a stream of water down her cheeks. She was unable to scream for help through the strong hand. She felt another hand creep up her thigh.
This isn’t happening. It’s all a dream. They wouldn’t do this. Oh God, this isn’t happening!

The flea man looked into her eyes. He put an index finger over his lips. “Just be real quiet.”

I’m sorry for everything I ever did. Please help me. Someone help me. Carla, help me. I’m sorry. So sorry.

Bill stood back and looked over her body. “This is gonna be good.”

She heard fabric unzip. She swallowed hard and jerked her leg.

I jerked my leg!

“Be real still, honey.”

“It won’t hurt,” John added.

Jen trembled at the words. They were all too familiar.

Bill hovered over her and winked.

One chance.

She kicked her functioning leg as hard as she could, and smashed her shin against Bill’s crotch. She bit the flea man’s hand with all her might at the same time.

John winced and caressed his hand, while Bill thudded on the floor and cursed.

She had to make a break for it.
Get up now or it’s all over.

She willed her body to jump off the table. She shoved John to the ground before he could react and ran for the exit. She looked back to see John helping Bill up.

“C’mon. We gotta stop her!”

Jen slammed into the metal gate just outside the tent exit. She shook it with all her might.
No! It can’t be locked! You can’t do this to me!
She could hear the quick footsteps behind her now. She wanted to scream for help, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Her body quaked and she felt like vomiting. Then an obvious thought:
Climb!

The gate was eight feet tall, no spikes on top, square metal. There had to be enough room to jump and grab the top to pull herself up and over. She jumped frantically and grabbed at air.
No! Oh God, no! Jump higher!
She could hear the men behind her now. She began to whimper. She took a deep breath, bent as low as she could and jumped with her arms and hands as far up and over as they would go.

“Gotcha!” one of the men taunted behind her.

Jen’s hands wrapped around something metal. Something square.
The top. I made it. I’m going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.

A strong arm tugged on her right leg. She kicked back as hard as she could and thrust herself over the gate at the same time. Her back pounded on the asphalt on the opposite side, once again rendering her paralyzed.