Ke's Tales: "The Circus of Doom"

The comedian Rodney Dangerfield (if you younger folks out there even know who he is) once said “I get no respect.”
Story of my life.
The name’s Ke Blazer, and I’m a SAVIOR agent.
Two questions probably just popped into your mind: “What the devil’s SAVIOR and what kinda name is ‘Ke’?” SAVIOR is this government agency that deals with paranormal/supernatural threats, and ‘Ke’ is short for “Kecha.”
Second question popped right back into your mind, didn’t it? Okay, very long story short, I’m an alien; an undead one at that. No, I don’t mean zombie or vampire undead. I mean “half-ghost, revived-at-the-brink-of-death, partially-dead” undead.
Like I said, it’s a long story; a long story that I really don’t need to get into right now. What you do need to know about me is that I’m a second-class, Investigation and Action agent; first part meanin’ I’m among the “second-best of the best” at SAVIOR and the second part meanin’ that my main job is bein’ sent to investigate claims of paranormal/supernatural activity and dealin’ with any problems that arise (i.e. kickin’ in the faces of any thug/creature/etcetera that’s dumb enough to get in my way). The fact that such “problems” often underestimate me due to my age (sixteen) makes it all more interestin’.
Now, as for the Rodney Dangerfield reference, I’m kinda what you would call an “underappreciated underdog.” You’d always have these higher-classed jerks makin’ cracks about me. Agents like Brad Dackerson, a famous first-class SAVIOR agent with an ego big enough to clog the hole in the Ozone layer, or Jane Able, a first-class agent from GUARDIAN (another government agency) who tries to do everything her power to make me feel two-inches tall. (But with karma bein’ the way it is, their pride usually bites ‘em in the ass.) Yes, I do some pretty awesome things from time to time, and people I help are usually grateful, but I don’t get much fame for it like other similar heroes you hear about. The only remote fame I get is my reputation for bein’ a bit of a hooligan.
Like I said, I get no respect.
Case and point, a mission I had the other day.
It was in this small rural town in Indiana; Cavington, I think. The town kids were disappearin’ left and right. The local police had an investigation, the FBI came in, and a psychic finally got involved and claimed to sense otherworldly forces at work. The immediate authorities dismissed it as mumbo jumbo, but SAVIOR jumped right on it like a five-year-old on a bed.
And who gets woken up at seven a.m. and sent to Cavington? That’s right, yours truly.
I’m not complainin’ though. I actually love this job. Plus, kids are involved, and that kinda strikes a chord with me. So anyway, I get to Cavington, which had that whole folksy, Mayberry vibe to it, and sure enough, no kids.
The silence caused by this was pretty eerie. I never knew how much I could miss something as simple as kids laughin’ and playin’. The town was obviously devastated by this. Tons of “Have You Seen This Child?” posters were posted on walls and telephone poles like wall paper. The local ice cream parlor, toy store, and playground were emptier than a moron’s skull. TVs displayed in store windows broadcasted local news coverage on fruitless attempts to find the missin’ children. The most dispairin’ moment of my trek was when I saw a woman sitting on her porch, clutchin’ a doll and cryin’ quietly to herself. Damn sight broke my heart. I wanted to go up to her and tell her that I was here to find her kid (a daughter, judgin’ by the doll in her hands). I wanted to tell her that I was a heroine who helped people all the time, so she had nothing to worry about….
But I couldn’t. It sucked, but I just couldn’t. Part of a SAVIOR agent’s job is keepin’ such involvements under wraps. Sounds dumb, but it’s actually for the better of the world.
I pulled myself away from the cryin’ mother and began to make my way to city hall. When you’re on this sort of mission, your first stop is usually a place you can find information on the place you’re investitgatin’. And since city halls sometimes have a display about its city, my first stop had a high chance of being helpful.
It wasn’t.
Neither was my trip to the library, or the town records building, or even the frickin’ schools to look at whatever information students compiled into a big class project in history. Yes, the information was plentiful, but I didn’t find anything to suggest there were any historical unusual aspects at work (curses on the town, ancient ruins of some sort, local secret societies, the works).
Say, did you know that Cavington was discovered when a farmer lost his cow and found it grazin’ in the town plot? Or that President Chester A. Arthur came here during his presidency and slipped in some horse manure? Because I most certainly didn’t.
On the brink of screamin’ an expletive out of the top of my lungs, an aged-voice plucked me from my frustration.
“Excuse me? Child?”
I turned around to see an older woman who had her gray hair in a bouffant. She seemed like your run-of-the-mill senior citizen (even was equipped with a wooden cane), but I sensed something outta the ordinary about her right of the bat.
“Yeah, can I help you?” I asked. She stared at me with eyes that were like unpolished jade for a few seconds before she spoke quietly to me.
“Are you here to save the children?”
I damn near jumped outta my skin.
How the hell does she know that?! I thought, I was barely here a day, and I didn’t do crap!
“I sense your power.” she explained, obviously sensin’ my angst.
Oh, I probably forgot to mention this. I have powers (due to my undead nature, of course). My powers were typical, ghost-like powers; invisibility, flyin’, intangibility, levitation, and the like.
I gripped my cool again. “And I think I’m sensin’ yours.”
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joyce Lenoire. I’m the psychic that sensed the evil here. There’s no need to explain who you are, Ms. Blazer. We’ve met.”
That was funny, ‘cause I didn’t remember ever seein’ her.

******

“I’ve been having this dream about you.” Joyce explained as we sat in her dimly-lit living room, a gray, chubby cat sitting on her lap.
“In my dream, you are fighting some large men and a smaller man. Then there is this bright light and the place you are fighting in is gone. After that you are taking the children back to this town; back into the arms of their overjoyed parents.”
“A bright light?”
“Yes.”
“From what?”
“That I do not know.”
The cat jumped off her lap and parked itself on mine. Normally, I would have zapped the fat little bugger a bit and watch him scamper off, but seein’ how it wasn’t my cat (and the fact that its owner was actually in the same room), I just petted it patronizingly. Don’t get me wrong, I like some cats, but not all.
“Listen ma’am. This information has been good and all, but it doesn’t help much if I don’t know where the kids are even bein’ held.”
“But I can tell you that, too.” Now she got my attention.
“Really?”
“Yes, there is circus that set itself up here last week. ‘Mordman’s Circus of the Weird’ I believe is what it’s called. It a circus that seems to specialize in the strange and unusual. I’ve been sensing a great power coming from it. Since it set itself up, the children started vanishing one by one.”
“And the police didn’t investigate this?”
“They did, along with the FBI. However, they found nothing.”
“But you know better?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I’ve been to the circus myself. I’ve even seen Mordman. I can sense the evil there and the children, but I’m not exactly in the best shape to do anything about it.” I knew exactly where she was getting’ at.
“But I am.”
“Exactly.”
Well, it was my job.

******

         It was night by the time I got to this “circus of the weird”.
         “It’s in the outskirts.” Joyce explained to me back in her livin’ room, “Just follow the main road until you leave the town limits, and then go on this dirt road called ‘Hallamore Trail.’”
         I’m flyin’ in the air under the cover of invisibility, keepin’ my eye out for this place, until a surreal, tent and ride-laden fairground crept from behind the trees. “Circus of the weird” indeed! These violet and green search lights reached up to the night sky. Even from thirty feet in the air, I could make out the strange, creepy costumes the circus hands were wearing and the usual, twisting statues that littered the grounds.
         Forget “circus of the weird”; “circus of the damned” seemed more appropriate!
         “[Come one, come all, to the Three-Ringed Freak Fest!]” a man’s voice beckoned through the speaker systems of the grounds, “[Beginning in ten minutes in the big top- a live gallery of the strange and usual! All ages are welcome, but only the bravest and strongest of stomachs should dare to come!]”
         I decided to take a peek at this so-called “freak fest”, courtesy of invisibility and intangibility.  The inside of the dark purple tent was packed with people; mostly gothics and the occasional tourist. I floated above the bleachers and turned my attention to the center ring. There was a plume of smoke in the center ring and from it came the ringleader.
         He was about my height (5 foot 6inches) and was dressed in a long red (what seemed to be) velvet suit and a matching top hat. He had a beak-like nose and short, wavy black hair. He waved his black cane grandly in the air as he spoke.
         “Welcome, people of the light world, to this little taste of darkness and wonder. I am Mordman, and I will be your guide into this tour of oddities and spectacles.”
         Then the freak show began. These big guys in cloaks brought out these “strange and wonderful creatures” which I named in my head as they were paraded throughout the arena.
         Dragon…Harpy…Naga…Apres…Bunyip…
         They did these little routines; like fightin’ playfully among one another or flyin’ above the audience. That didn’t shock me a bit, unlike the wide-eyed, gapin’-jawed people in the audience.
         No, what shocked me the most was that these creatures were real.
         They were as real as the exotic swordfights that took place in the ring, or the spells Mordman himself casted in order to amaze the spectators.
         Eventually the show ended, and Mordman and his motley crew disappeared in another puff of smoke, leaving a hysterical audience to applaud and vacate the tent. That is, except for me. I had the metaphorical scent of Mordman’s aura, so I decided to go look for him. After all, if there was an evil at this circus, it would most likely be connected with him.
         I began to fly around the circus grounds, unnoticed by the dissipating crowd of patrons. Eventually, I felt Mordman’s presence in the caravan area of the grounds. I made my way to a red caravan which I pinpointed his location at and fazed into it, finding myself in a sort of mobile office. Mordman sat at a large oak desk in the presence of two cloaked thugs, counting the money he had raked in tonight.
         He leaned back into his chair and grinned, fan of dollar bills in hand. “Gentleman, we have made a killing today. It’s a good thing that people can’t resist gaping at the freakier side of life.”
         “You got that right, Mr. Mordman.” one of the thugs agreed. Mordman separated a couple hundred dollar bills from his stock and offered it to the men.
         “Here boys. Why don’t you go to town and treat yourself to a good time?”
         The men jovially grabbed the money and promptly thanked their boss.
         “Hey sir, what about the other deal? You know, the one with the kids from town?”
         “Oh yes. We’ll sell them off once we leave town and get to a mystic territory.” My heart sunk as I got a grip of what he was talking about.
         “It was pretty smart of you to disguise this operation as a circus to lure children in.”
         “Oh alright, here’s fifty more bucks.”
         So that’s what this has been about! Human slave trade!
         I should have known. Children are always the preferred targets for the human slave market. After all, it’s easier for mystic lords, monster kings, or whatever kinda scumbag who would indulge in such a thing to break children down instead of a full grown adult.
         Now I had to find those kids, or else they’ll be stuck as house or factory slaves…or worse-prostitution.
         And not only that, I had to shut these sons of bitches down; for good.
         “Say, boss, where are those little runts anyway?”
         “Simple, in my caravan.”
         His caravan? All those children? How?
         Instead of just floatin’ there and wonderin’ how the hell he could stuff at least thirty children in a decent-sized-but-still-small caravan, I decided to mosey on down and find out myself. Aside from a fancy décor that would make a sultan’s jaw drop, there were no kids in sight.
         That when my senses flared up something awful. I was getting’ an overwelmin’ presence from the top Mordman’s dresser. I swayed ever-so-slightly as I made my way to the dresser and found a hand-sized mirror. I began to mentally translate the massive aura into bein’ the auras of a large group of people. Then, there was a faint breeze of a noise; what sounded like a squeakin’ sound at first.
         When I recognized it to be the faint voices of children, I just knew.
         Holy crap, the kids are in the frickin’ mirror! So that’s how Mordman hid ‘em from the cops and FBI!
         I heard the wagon door open and a fragment of a discussion about a fireworks show takin’ place the next night before I could do anything.
         “Who are you?!”
         I had an “Oh crap!” reaction and turned to see Mordman and his goons in the doorway. Silly me, I turned visible when I saw that the coast was clear in this caravan.
         “Uh….free Mary Maids trial service?” I can really suck at lyin’ when I’m caught in a pinch.
         “That power I sense….a ghostly power…What are you?”
         I flew/lunged at Mordman, right foot held out in a flyin’ kick. “The girl sent to kick your ass!”
         Bull’s-eye! Right in the gut! Once Mordman was on the ground, his two thugs struck. A pulse of purple energy from me sent ‘em packin’. Mordman pointed his cane at me and shot lighting in my direction. Unfortunately, it was a direct hit. I flew back into the caravan and crashed right into his bed.
         Mordman, with the help of his recoverin’ thug, climbed back onto his feet.
         “Okay girl, I don’t know who you are or who you think you are, but you’ve just found yourself in a sea of trouble.”
         I glared at him fiercely. “Bring it on, dumb-ass, I never met a mystic who’s ass I couldn’t kick.”
         Another lighting bolt, but this time, I dodged it by jumpin’ in the air. The elegant headboard of the bed was reduced to splinters of firewood, though. In an attempt at improvised psy-op tactics, I grabbed Mordman and took him up into the air, high above the empty circus grounds.
         “Listen, how about this?” I said as Mordman struggled like a newly-caught bass in my arms, “You tell me how to get the kids outta that mirror and give yourself up, I won’t kick your ass from here to Canada!”
         Something grabbed my foot and weighted me down like a pair of cement shoes. I looked down and saw a thug with his hood knocked off.
         A troll. He was really a troll, which would explain how he was able to jump up into the air and grab my foot.
         He weighted me down so fast that we went through a large, remote tent before I could do anything. The troll broke me and Mordman’s fall, but I was still in a ton’ave danger.
         Surroundin’ me was a large group of non-hooded trolls, carryin’ crates around and starin’ at me; talk about walkin’ into bear’s cave.
         They leapt on me and held me down. You may be thinking’ “why doesn’t she just use intangibility?” Well if I did, these guys would just become intangible, too. I couldn’t sent another energy blast at ‘em either, courtesy of a blue, transparent, engery shroud Mordman put on me.
         That velvat-clad weasel stood above me and sneered like the greasy little bastard he was.
         “You want to know how to set those little children free, my annoying little friend? Well it’s quite simple.” He reached into his long coat and fished out a glowing green crystal shard on a chain around his neck. “This crystal is a sort of key to that mirror.”
         “Okay…”
         That’s all I wanted to know.
         “Now, to deal with you. Tongo?”
         A troll larger than his fellow creatures stomped his way towards me.
         “Would you mind taking care of this little pest?”
         Tongo just nodded and raised his fists. Meanwhile, I was focusin’ on one of the crates in the tent. Usin’ levatation, I launched it at the big guy’s cranium and he fell like a tree. The commotion was enough to break Mordman’s concentration, which dissolved his spell.
         After that, your classic fight scene. Kicks, punches, and blasts from yours truly rained everywhere. Yes, I was hit a few times, but nothing serious enough to stop me. I made the right moves to assure my eventual victory.
         A kick to the face of a troll with a cigarette in his mouth, however, was a bad move. The cigarette flew into one of the crates marked “fireworks.” It was a crate the size of a frickin’ cow, mind you, and happened to be placed next to a large, towering herd of other crates. At the time, I was thrown to the ground a few feet away from the wooden boxes.
         Remember that unidentified “bright light” from Joyce’s dream? Well I suddenly did, and I happened to figured out what it was right there and then.
         “Oh shi-”
         Boom!
         And not just any kinda “boom”. It was a “boom” that would be spelled with capital letters. It was a “boom” that sent me kissin’ the sky fast.
         I was quick enough to raise a shield, but I was still thrown up high.
         As in, really high.
         As in, I looked down and saw the Goodyear blimp.
         I was a good sixty-thousand feet in the air by the time I regained control and began floating back to the tent site. It had been reduced to a huge crater decorated with rubble and twisted metal. I couldn’t see any remains, but I knew Mordman had left the building. (Translation: blown to kingdom come.)
         Fortunately, however, the glow of the key crystal stood out like a punk rocker in a ballet recital. I picked the crystal up and made my way to the caravan to free the trapped children.
         I didn’t really know how to use the crystal to open the mirror, so I tried to wing it.
         I held the crystal up to the mirror. “Okay….uh….Open!”
         A misty band of green light drifted from the crystal and wrapped itself around the mirror.
         Yes! It’s workin’!
         My troubles, however, were far from over. Mordman and his army of lesser trolls were history, but Tongo was A-okay. He must’ve just been launched into the forest or something.          I was happily observin’ the mirror when the big boy grabbed my waist and lifted me up into the air.
         “H-Hey, leggo!” The big moron just grinned a wicked, snaggle-toothed grin at me. At that point, I was on the threshold of my “Oh screw it” mode. I arched my back, reached my palms to the front of his face, and sent a blast of ghost energy. He gripped his face and snarled, inadvertently letting’ me fall to the ground and givin’ me a chance to grab the cage mirror. Knowin’ the mirror was safe, I sent Mordman’s dresser strait for the behemoth’s head (not like it would cause any serious damage to an idiot like him). The big fella went down again, fallin’ into the wall and creatin’ a huge hole in the caravan.
         “And stay down.” That bein’ said and done, I went to the entrance of the fairground and released the joyful children outta their prison. The normal “Are you an angel or superhero?” questions followed.
         Then one of the kids squealed. I turned to see Tongo comin’ back for more.
         “Oh for the luvva Pete!” I darted towards the chargin’ troll. “Why can’t ya just take a hint-” Then, with a combination of a throwing technique and my levatation ability, I sent him flyin’ into the air. “-and frickin’ stay down?!” He flew into the distance like a baseball hit by Babe Ruth. The kids stared at me with wides eyes and wide mouths.
         “And that chidren,” I said, “is why you never work for the bad guy. No matter how good the pay is.”

******

         Joyce’s dream was damn accurate once again when me and the laughin’ children were returning back to town. The adults of Cavington, who were awoken by the precious sound of the kid’s laugher, came out side and erupted in tearful joy at the sight of the young one’s returnin’ home. Talk about a heart warmin’ scene; all those parents and children huggin’ each other.
         A hand clasped my shoulder, and I turned to see a smiling’ Joyce.
         “You’ve done well, Miss Blazer.”
         “Thanks.”
         “But there’s one more thing you need to do.”
         I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
         She guided me back to her house, and there was Tongo, layin’ unconscious in her back yard and bein‘ inspected by her cat.
         “Oh…ah…sorry about that.”
         “It’s alright. At least the children are safe.”
         And she was right. And bless those kid’s hearts. The many handmade thank you cards and drawin’s of me kickin’ Tongo and Mordman’s asses would cushion the pain of the completely asinine thing that would happen a few moments later.
         Joyce was inside her house and I was goin’ to lift Tongo up when the voice of my coworker Brad Dackerson sounded off.
         “Hello Ke.” Half-heartedly, I turned to my colleague.
         “Brad? What are you doin’ here?”
         He was smilin’ that asshole smug he usually did. “My job. I have to retrieve something from a nearby circus.”
         “Didn’t ya see it on your way here Brad? The kids are back and the circus is outta business. Nothing left to do.”
         “I’m not talking about the kids, Ke.” Brad reported, “I’m talking about the jewels.”
         I fully spun around and stared at Brad in questioning.
         “Jewels? What jewels?”
         “The jewels that Mordman stole from a treasury a while back. The jewels that are worth about three million dollars. The jewels that were stored in the tent you blew up.”
         My jaw dropped.
         There were jewels in that tent?
         “I was sent here to clean up your blunder.”
         “Wait, I didn’t blow up that tent! There was a cigarette that fell into a crate of fireworks and-”
         “Save it for the report. Your’s truly has to go talk to the press waiting for me at the site. Then I have to write an acceptance speech for a Gold Nebula Award I’m receiving from the mystic lord the jewels were taken from.”
         Brad swaggered away (swear to God, he swaggered). Just like that, whatever good deeds I did that night were shaken away like a sketch on a Etch-E-Sketch. I slumped onto my bum on the grass next to Torgo’s body.
         A gruff chuckle came from behind me.
         “Wow, now that is lame.” I turned to see Tongo awake and grinning’ like an idiot. “Dissed by that little asshole. That is pathetic.”
         I stared daggers at him. “Oh just shut up and die already.”
         Like I said, I just get no respect.