A Birthday Gone Awry

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NEW PROMPT:
NEW PROMPT: Here's the scene: At the circus, the performers are celebrating Manny the Clown's birthday. Suddenly, the lights go out. When the Ringmaster finally gets them back on they find.... Write a short story or poem about what they find.
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In the circus tent’s middle ring stood a tall man sporting a shiny top hat and surrounded by half a dozen clowns. The colorfully-garbed clowns tumbled around him to show their excitement at his next announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages,” called out the ringmaster. “Today’s show is special since our own Manny the Clown is celebrating his birthday.”

As if on cue, the lights throughout the large tent went out. The audience listened in total darkness while the ringmaster’s voice urged them on by saying, “Manny is coming to the center ring now, so put your hands together and let him know you want to share his birthday party with him. Clap as loud as you can to make the lights come back on.”

The crowded tent filled with the sound of hundreds of hands coming together, but the darkness continued. The ringmaster called out once more, “Louder, everyone! Louder!” Even after the crowd became more frenzied with its applause, the lights remained off.

Something’s wrong, thought the ringmaster. Why didn’t Manny turn the lights back on at my cue? He very carefully made his way through the puzzled group of clowns and out of the ring to the side of the tent. When he felt his way to where the bank of light switches for the tent was, something on the ground caused him to stumble. After he located the main switch and flipped it up to turn on all the spotlights, what he saw at his feet shocked him into immobility.

For long, silent seconds he just stood there staring down at the body on the sawdust-covered ground. The clothes belonged to Manny, true, but there was something strange about the corpse. By now, some of the clowns and a couple of the other circus performers had joined him. The murmuring of their voices and indistinct buzz of conversations coming from the increasingly bored audience brought the ringmaster out of his daze. He knelt to get a better look at Manny.

Behind him, he heard Sylvia, the beautiful horseback rider, whisper, “He looks like a deflated balloon.”

Her husband, the lead trapeze artist, agreed with her. “Where did all his blood go? It looks like something drained him down to practically nothing. He’s just skin, bones, and organs.”

“Everyone, get back,” ordered the ringmaster. “Jacko, you and the rest of your trapeze troupe, go back in the ring before the audience finds out something is wrong.” He waited until the various performers briskly reacted to his orders before sending one of the clowns to fetch the local police.

Over an hour went by before the clown returned with two uniformed police officers. During that time, the various performers kept the audience amused while the ringmaster stood guard over Manny’s desiccated remains.

The officers slowly walked around the body, nodding while giving significant looks at each other. Every now and then, during the 10 minutes this went on, one or the other would go, “Hmmm!”

When the older officer eventually reached down to push Manny’s flopping, lifeless head to one side, he pointed out the marks on the shriveled neck. “He’s back.”

Annoyed at this cryptic comment, the ringmaster demanded, “Who is back? What are those marks, and how did Manny die?”

Neither officer answered immediately. The second one took out his cell phone and walked away, out of the hearing of the ringmaster. After spending five minutes on this private phone call, he motioned for the older officer to join him.

The ringmaster leaned toward them in an attempt to listen in on their animated conversation. All he heard, however, was, “to be expected” and “Cluj-Napoca” and “blood.” He watched, his frustration increasing, when the officers returned to the corpse, terrified expressions on their faces.

Finally, taking a big gulp, the younger officer turned to the ringmaster to ask, “Can you tell me what this man’s name is? Rather, what his surname is?”

The ringmaster had to think a bit before he remembered Manny’s full name. “It’s Dragomir, Marku Dragomir. We all just called him Manny. He grew up here, so we came back to perform before all his old friends on his birthday, even though he’s now an American citizen. Why?”

Once more, the two officers sorely tried his patience when they again huddled together, just out of earshot.

When they returned, seconds before the ringmaster’s rising temper exploded, the younger officer looked about to cry when he whispered. “Your circus never should have come to Cluj-Napoca with an expatriated Romanian. You were tempting fate by doing this, and his death is the result.”

The older officer joined in when his partner fell silent. “Your Manny was all Vlad the Impaler needed to return, after he disappeared for decades. He died in 1476 and wasn’t really a vampire during his sadistic lifetime. Since then, being called back from the grave as a vampire many times, he probably has drained more blood than he did when alive.”

The ringmaster, a sceptic down to his bones, scoffed at the explanation for Manny’s death. Nevertheless, shortly after the current circus performance, he ordered the tent taken down. Within hours, the land where the tent and trailers had been located was completely deserted. All that was left behind on the ground, covered by an old blue tarp, was a bloodless body. Only after they were traveling outside of Transylvania did the ringmaster breathe a sigh of relief.

Of course I don’t believe there’s any such thing as vampires, he thought as the circus caravan crossed the border into Latveria, but why take unnecessary chances?

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Microsoft Word count = 936

"The Writer's Cramp - Poetry Week"  daily contest winner for 01/24/08
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