Momma,

  Gone to school. Made my own lunch.

  I’m sorry about the groceries.

  Anthony

  He left the note on the dinner table and gave his mother one last look. He felt like he was about to betray the entire world—his entire existence—but he had to set his father free and maybe, just maybe, he would set his mother free, too.

  And with that hope in his heart, he closed the front door behind him.

  The only contingency Anthony hadn’t factored in to completing the monsters’ task was the fact that he didn’t really have any friends at school.

  He knew very few of his classmates by name, but since his father’s death he had isolated himself from contact with anyone. Now he needed to reach out to them and he had no idea where to start.

  Anthony sat in a stall of the boy’s toilets and stared at the tickets. They felt brand new; like real tickets to a real stage show. He began to worry about what would happen to the children he gave them to, but he worried more about what would happen to his father if he didn’t. He got up off the seat and flushed to complete the illusion he was simply answering the call of nature. He left the stall, washed his hands and exited the bathroom into a hallway packed with grade schoolers.

  He could feel their eyes upon him as he weaved his way to the classroom. Their stares said it all: That’s the boy whose dad hanged himself; they say his mom’s a drunk; they’ve got no money; he’s a loser, a freak, a nobody. Each and every one of them would have been thinking the same thing. He didn’t think any of them would give him the time of day, let alone accept tickets to a strange performance in the middle of Keaton Woods.

  Anthony sat at his desk and, keeping his head low, scanned his classmates. There were more girls than boys—girls didn’t like him. Of the boys, most were of the athletic variety—football jocks or sprinters in the making.

  Then, amidst the crowd, he saw a glimmer of hope.

  The boy was bone-thin and short, a long, straight fringe dangling over horn-rimmed glasses. He seemed silently eager for class to begin, taking his seat and resting his hands atop his stack of workbooks. Anthony didn’t know who this boy was, but he decided he would approach him at first break. Surely, despite outward appearances, this boy would like stage shows—and perhaps even know of other children who liked them too.

  Anthony gingerly approached the boy as he sat under a tree in the schoolyard, engrossed in a tattered book.

  “Hey,” Anthony said.

  The boy looked up from the page and Anthony attempted a smile, but it felt awkward.

  “Hello,” the boy said and closed his book.

  “What you reading?”

  Anthony saw him scrunch up his nose; at first, he thought he was about sneeze, until he realized it was a way of keeping his heavy, horn-rimmed glasses in place.

  “Tom Sawyer,” the boy said.

  Anthony examined the cover of the book, which depicted two boys fishing, pieces of straw dangling from their lips.

  “That’s an adventure one, right—on a big river?” he asked.

  “The Mississippi,” his classmate confirmed.

  This time, the boy gave in and used his finger to reposition his glasses. “You’re in my English class, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, my name’s Anthony. Anthony Moore.”

  Anthony saw the interplay of thought on the boy’s face. He wondered if he knew who he was—who his father was.

  “Donald Boysie’s my name,” he said. “I remember the day the Sheriff came in looking for you.”

  Anthony went silent, thinking of his father in the woods with the monsters taunting him. He saw Donald staring at him and imagined he was thinking what a weirdo! Anthony wondered now whether he’d made a mistake even talking to Donald, but then he thought of his task and how much he needed a new friend. He sat down next to Donald, an act which took both of them by surprise.

  “So, you like adventures, then?” Anthony said.

  Donald shrugged. “I like reading, mostly.”

  “How would you like to have a real adventure—some real fun?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if…” Anthony tried hard to display excitement and not fear. “What if I shared a secret with you?”

  “A secret?”

  “What if I knew about a fun place no one else did.”

  Anthony was pleased to see Donald’s eyes light up. “Like what?”

  “Like my own private circus.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, it’s not actually a circus—it’s more like a group of, umm, play-actors.”

  Anthony saw Donald frown and the action sent his glasses down his nose again; he pushed them back up. “I don’t under­stand,” he said. “How would you have your own group of performers?”

  Anthony averted his gaze. “They’re not mine, I met them outside town. They’ve just arrived and they need to practice before they put on their big show.”

  Donald scratched at his ridiculously straight hair in thought. “So, they’re rehearsing?”

  “Yeah, rehearsing.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Umm, magic tricks and stuff. Some dancing, too. So, would you like to come and meet them or not?” Anthony reached into his pocket and retrieved a slip of paper. “They gave me some tickets.”

  He handed it to Donald, who gasped at the fancy script printed in red ink:

  VAUDEVILLE!

  Come one, come all and see the All-American Travelling Troubadours starring:

  Mister Crispin! Charlie Rukus! Celeste Renoir and The Great Kaskaraken!

  CHILDREN FREE!

  “When is it happening?” Donald said, eyes even wider.

  “Umm, tonight. After school,” Anthony said. “So, will you come?”

  Anthony watched as dismay wiped the excitement from Donald’s face.

  “Tonight? Gee, I’d have to ask my mom—”

  Anthony’s arm shot out and gripped Donald’s. “No! You can’t tell anyone!”

  “Why not?” Donald said, pulling his arm free.

  Anthony bit his lip to prevent any further outbursts and checked there was no one in earshot before he said, “Hey, come on. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that, well, they told me only to bring kids. They want it to be a surprise for the grownups.”

  Donald swallowed. “Okay, but I’m still not sure—”

  “You’ve got to see these guys. Kaskaraken made a whole pack of cards disappear and Miss Celeste is real pretty. Come on. Please?”

  Anthony watched Donald stare at the ticket for what seemed like forever. Surely the idea of seeing a circus was enticing; he would have jumped at the chance.

  “My dad doesn’t like me going to circuses,” Donald said finally. “I think I went to one once when I was three, but then it was all about going to school and getting a good education. I’m not even supposed to have friends.”

  Anthony felt sorry for Donald, but secretly was glad. “Every kid should see a circus when it’s in town,” he said.

  “You’re right,” Donald said, but then he turned serious. “I’ll come, but only for a little while—I don’t want my mom or dad wondering where I am.”

  Anthony’s entire face was changed by his smile. “Great!” he said. “But hey, do you know anyone else who’d like to come? I’ve got three more tickets!”

  7

  Anthony didn’t really take notice of girls, but he had to admit that Donald’s sister Catherine could have been considered pretty. Yet Anthony knew as soon as Donald interrupted his sister’s gossip session with her friends that she had little consideration for boys their age. Anthony winced as Catherine Boysie immediately began to berate her brother in front of everyone.

  “I thought I told you not to bother me during lunch,” she told Donald.

  “I just wanted to ask you something,” Donald said, adjusting his glasses.

  Anthony heard Catherine sigh heavily and he guessed this was how sister-and-brother relationships ran—a fully requited love-hate relationship.

  “What is it, and make it quick,” she said, dragging Donald away from her giggling friends by the shirt sleeve.

  Anthony flinched when Donald turned and pointed to him.

  “Well, my friend Anthony has invited me to a special show and I have some extra tickets and I thought you might like to come?”

  Anthony watched Catherine study him and he’d never felt so small. Instinctively, he pushed out his chest and tried to look tough.

  “Anthony?” she said, squinting. “Who’s he?”

  “He’s just my friend,” Donald said.

  “What tickets are you talking about?” She held out her hand until Donald handed over his ticket.

  “Vaudeville? What is that, a band?”

  Donald chuckled. “No, they’re real actors. They’re going to perform in Keaton and Anthony got some free tickets when he met them in the woods and he’s got three more and I thought you—”

  Catherine grimaced. “Me? No. No way!”

  “But Anthony says they need four kids—”

  Catherine flashed her brother a scornful look. “I’m almost sixteen. I’m not into magic shows and all that. You go to it if you want.”

  Donald sighed and took the ticket back.

  “Have you asked Mom and Dad if you can go?” Catherine called as her brother began to walk away.

  “Umm…”

  Catherine laughed. “Dad will tan your hide when he finds out what you’re up to!”

  Anthony saw Donald’s face flash with panic. “You won’t tell them, will you? It’s after school and I thought…if you told them I was in the library studying or something? I’ll only be gone for an hour—honest.”

  Catherine dismissed her brother with a wave. “Fine, what­ever.”

  As they walked away, Anthony couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for Donald. “What’s her problem?”

  “She’s just sixteen, that’s all. Come on, let’s go.”

  Catherine wouldn’t have given them a second thought if it wasn’t for the look her friend Cherise was giving her.

  “What?” Catherine said, instinctively checking her hair.

  “Where’s your brother going with that weirdo?” Cherise said.

  “Oh, he’s made a new friend,” Catherine said. “Finally, he might stop bugging me. They’re running off to the woods to see some magic show or something.”

  “The woods?” Cherise gasped.

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Don’t you know who that other boy is?”

  Catherine shook her head; Cherise’s worried look became infectious.

  “That’s Anthony Moore,” Cherise said. “You know, the boy whose father hanged himself last year—in the woods!”

  And all of a sudden, Catherine wished Donald was bothering her again.

  The sun was falling steadily towards twilight when Anthony and Donald set off for Keaton woods.

  Donald’s excitement quickly began to annoy Anthony, the way he seemed to skip with each step. He wished he could just drag Donald into the woods and let the monsters take him, but he couldn’t be like them. If only things were different—if only he could have known Donald under different circumstances. Instead, he would have to pretend they were going to have the time of their lives.

  “So, tell me more about these performers?” Donald asked.

  “Huh?”

  “The vaudeville people—what are they like?”

  Anthony conjured his latest lie as if it was second nature. “Umm, they’re nice,” he said. “Real friendly, like.”

  “Then why do you look so worried?”

  Anthony stopped walking and stared at him. “No, I’m not.”

  “Is it because we haven’t got the four? Will they be upset or something?”

  Anthony sighed and shivered; the deception was getting on his nerves. “I hope not. Come on, we’d better keep going before it gets too dark.”

  Donald caught up. “So, what are they like then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who’s met them already.”

  Anthony picked up his pace.

  “Yeah, I know I’ve met them.”

  “Then what do they look like?”

  Anthony stopped short again and whirled on Donald, anger knotting his blond eyebrows together.

  “Why do you keep asking questions? They don’t like questions, okay!”

  Donald flinched. “You asked me to come. I just want to know what they look like. I don’t know why you’re so mad with me.”

  Anthony turned his eyes to the ground, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his sneaker. When he eventually lifted his gaze, he fought the tears welling up in his eyes.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Anthony said. “I guess I’m just nervous, that’s all. I think it would be better if you just met them yourself.”

  Anthony turned and waited; would Donald run away? Deep down, he hoped so. Then he heard his friend jog towards him.

  “Okay. I’m sorry, too.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes and Anthony watched Donald gaze at the trees of the woods emerging on the horizon, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun.

  “Were you in the woods because of your dad?” Donald asked.

  Anthony turned, frowning. “What?”

  “When you met the performers?”

  Anthony pictured the terrible quartet crawling out of the bushes towards him just hours before. He nodded, almost unconsciously.

  “Did you tell them that’s why you were there—did you tell them about your dad?” Donald pried further.

  Anthony swallowed hard. “Yeah, that’s why they gave me the tickets. They wanted to cheer me up by putting on a show, I guess.”

  Donald smiled. “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. Come on, they’ll be waiting.”

  Anthony wanted to tell Donald to run, to tell him not to believe a single word he had to say. He wanted to shout the truth about what resided in the woods and share his fear with Donald, but all he could see in his heart was his father—that one vision clouded any sense of reason. He heard Donald’s footfalls behind him; if only his newfound friend knew what he was walking into. Yet, it was too late now—the monsters were just around the corner.

  “I’ve only been in these woods a few times, when I was little,” Donald told him, but his voice was swallowed quickly by the silence.

  Anthony was mute with trepidation, but Donald kept on talking.

  “They’re kind of creepy even in the daytime.”

  Anthony’s feet dragged in the dirt, while Donald gazed at the trees and back to his companion.

  “Do you think your dad’s here?”

  Donald’s words were cut short as a figure suddenly emerged from behind an ash tree. Both boys gasped at the man in the top hat and coat tails—the enigmatic Mister Crispin. He was wearing his human visage—and a wide smile.

  “Hello there, boys!” Crispin said.

  Anthony saw Donald look to him for some confirmation, but he never gave a hint of response; he simply stared at his father’s captor, wearing an expression that gave nothing away.

  Donald turned and offered Mister Crispin a smile. “Are you one of the performers?”

  Crispin threw his arms wide. “Oh, yes. Mister Crispin at your service!” He shook Donald’s hand enthusiastically. “I hope you’re ready for the big show.”

  Anthony stayed straight-faced as Donald nodded and smiled; the boy was under Crispin’s spell now.

  “The rehearsal?” Donald asked.

  Crispin snapped his fingers. “Exactly, my boy!” Then his jocularity seemed to bleed from his face. “Although, I fear there may be something amiss.” He turned his eyes to Anthony, who began to tremble.

  “Anthony, what’s wrong?” Donald said.

  Crispin stepped past Donald and bent to peer into Anthony’s terrified eyes. “Where are the rest of the children?”

  “I’m sorry,” Anthony said.

  “You’re sorry?” Crispin snapped, his outburst startling Donald.

  “I couldn’t find anyone else, only him.”

  Crispin turned to consider Donald and there was such dark­ness in the performer’s eyes that his young blood ran cold. “Him?” Crispin said. “One solitary boy?” He turned back to Anthony. “I said four! Four children! Was that really too much to ask?” He reached out and gripped Anthony’s shoulder. The boy winced. “Two of you is not enough. I need four!”

  Anthony began to cry. “I said I was sorry.”

  “I tried to get my sister to come,” Donald said, a mixture of confusion and fear on his impish face. “But she said she was too old for a magic show. It’s not Anthony’s fault, sir.”

  Crispin reached out his other hand and took Donald in a half embrace. He brought the two friends together and Anthony’s fear seemed to close the space between them. They could suddenly smell Crispin—a deep, strong aroma of mold and dust. His clothes, for an instant, appeared to be falling apart.

  “It’s no matter,” Crispin told them. “We’ll just make do with what we have, won’t we? Two can easily be divided into four. Shall we meet the others?”

  As if on cue, Rukus, Celeste and The Great Kaskaraken appeared, born from the shadows. Anthony saw that all of them seemed agitated; pre-occupied with some secret need.

  “Did I hear Anthony correctly?” Rukus said, with a sneer. “That he has only brought along one other?” He tsked and tapped his cane incessantly on the ground.

  “Oh, dear,” Celeste added, but she too seemed to seethe with a tempered fury.

  “What shall we do now, Mister Crispin?” Kaskaraken said, his impatience hanging over him as heavily as his cloak.