Her white blouse hinted at modesty with a singular unbuttoned notch. The brown hue of her skirt, a perfect match for the dining-room walls, seemed designed to deflect attention. Her nondescript jacket barely registered to the observing eye.

  Rather than exuding authority, the woman came off as dreadfully tedious. There was a mundane cruelty about her. "You look like a gaping fish when you pout like that," she remarked.

  Anya's lips closed abruptly, and a blush painted her cheeks a deep shade of rose.

  "This isn’t fair," Penelope declared, injecting her voice with an exaggerated sigh characteristic of her age.

  "She's right! This is manifestly unfair!" Anya's voice was a mix of frustration and desperation. "You always say the only way to excel is through consistent practice. Why would you cancel my lesson now?"

  Momma's eyes, cold and assessing, met Anya's. "It was quite straightforward. I dialed the phone number, and I informed them, 'Regrettably, Anya won't be attending today.'" She tilted her chin up, gazing at Anya down the slender slope of her hawkish nose. "Your defiance surprises me, Anya."

  "It's not defiance," Anya responded hurriedly, her eyes widening in fear of further reprisal. "It's just...these lessons mean a lot to me! Considering the amount you both invest in them—"

  "Indeed," Mother interjected with a heavy sigh. "We pour an inordinate amount into them. Yet, you consistently manage to remind us of your lack of gratitude."

  "I...I don’t mean to," Anya tried to protest, her eyes pleadingly turning to her father, hoping for an ally.

  But her hopes were dashed.

  "You'd have missed it anyway," Daddy chimed in. "After your antics yesterday, you're grounded. Did that slip your mind?"

  A weight seemed to press down on Anya, sinking her further into her chair. She hadn’t forgotten the grounding, but she had underestimated its implications. She barely used her phone, so its confiscation was irrelevant. She had no personal computer—all her assignments were on the communal one, stationed in Daddy's study. And her social circle had just been limited to Savannah, who clearly wasn’t a true friend.

  The thought of losing her violin lessons, however, hadn't occurred to her.

  "We didn't issue that grounding idly," Mother added, her voice taking on a sanctimonious tone. "You're not attending the violin practice. That's final."

  "But—" Anya began, only to halt herself. How could she even argue? This wasn’t truly a debate; it was a mere protest, a desperate grasp at the sliver of freedom that was slipping through her fingers.

  Penelope, however, was at an age where protesting came naturally. Her lengthy brown locks were fashioned into high pigtails, and she playfully tugged at one. “Why not get Maxine to watch me? She's so much more fun than Anya."

  “That's not true,” retorted Anya, her face flushing a vibrant shade of red. The realization that even her younger sibling didn't want her company, especially after the unpleasant incident with Savannah the previous day, was a profound blow.

  “She absolutely is,” Penelope chimed in, nodding emphatically. “She even lets me paint her nails.”

  That wasn't Anya's fault! The siblings weren't permitted to paint their own nails. Household rules forbade makeup, nail polish, haircuts, or dyeing. Nothing that might reflect poorly on their parents, or suggest the sisters were rebelling.

  "Maxine can't come; she's ill. Besides, why pay her when you're here all day?" their mother interjected dismissively, as if the mere thought of engaging the usual sitter was ludicrous. "That settles it. I expect no further disputes from either of you."

  Both girls clamped their lips shut, recognizing the signs of their mother's irrevocability. There was a particular narrowing of her eyes and the slight protrusion of her lower lip, revealing a hint of its moist interior, signaling she was firm in her decision.

  Challenging her further would undoubtedly land them in deeper trouble. Evidently, Penelope didn’t want to risk her freedom, and Anya dreaded the potential consequences of pushing her boundaries further.

  Daddy chimed in, “Finish your meals. And for heaven's sake, Anya, stop mutilating your eggs. It's unseemly."

  Tears threatened as Anya gazed down at her massacred breakfast, where the eggs had morphed into a mushy yellow sludge. She sighed deeply, heaping them onto a piece of toast. The remainder of the meal passed in silence. Arguing with their parents was futile.

  In this household, their parents' decrees were ironclad.

  Moreover, breakfast chats weren't customary. While Daddy advocated for communal morning meals, interaction was rare. Neither parent was genuinely interested in the minutiae of their daughters' lives, nor in global happenings. And silence, it seemed, was Momma’s favored means of familial bonding.

  As the routine went, breakfast concluded quietly, the adults embarked on their day, and Anya found herself relegated to babysitting duties.

  Once their parents had departed, Penelope, seizing the opportunity, wheedled, "You'll let me watch TV, right? Maxine always does."

  Anya frowned, responding, "Is that the only reason you prefer her company?"

  Though a part of her felt stung by Penelope's earlier preference, she took solace knowing the allure wasn’t personal.

  With a nonchalant shrug, Penelope retorted, "She's a lot more fun than you. She spares me from Mommy's tedious chores. Besides, she always brings sweets. I've yet to see you offer me a single chocolate bar."

  "She doesn't face the repercussions like we do," Anya grumbled, but relented, handing Penelope the remote. Babysitting her sister might not have been so tedious if Anya genuinely wanted to be there.

  Anya cherished Penelope deeply. It was of no consequence that Penelope had reached that age where the company of her older sister was deemed a chore rather than a delight. Such transitions were merely facets of growing up. Anya held a trove of memories, from playing dolls in the yard to countless hide-and-seek games and even a few spirited bouts of tag. That was, of course, before any game requiring running became taboo in their household.

  So, the issue wasn't with Penelope. The crux of Anya's concern was her impending inability to attend the circus that day.

  She found her mind continually meandering back to the vivid dreams from the previous night. Dreams of the circus where she donned the ringleader's attire, orchestrating the ensemble within. The applause as she took a bow...the aroma of the roses...

  And that apparition afterward.

  Contrary to her father's beliefs, Anya was convinced that it wasn't just a dream. It was a tangible experience. That entity had been in her room.

  I must return to that circus, Anya pondered, nestling against the sofa's armrest, eyes following a cartoon rabbit sprinting across the screen with two rabid foxes in hot pursuit. Missing tonight's event wasn't an option. Especially not after that incident.

  The circus, after all, was slated to leave town in a matter of days.

  Anya was adamant; she wouldn't miss the third night. She just couldn't.

  A flurry of activity ensued to shut off the TV and set up a board game as their parents' car rolled into the driveway, but they managed. By the time Daddy walked in, a lingering scent of cigar smoke accompanying him, the two were engrossed in a makeshift, half-completed game of Monopoly.

  "Always heartwarming to see you two bonding," he remarked, proceeding toward the master bedroom. Before their mother's arrival, he'd shower and launder his clothes. While this ritual wouldn't genuinely rid his garments of the smoke, the household would partake in the pretense that it did.

  The instant he disappeared, Anya's shoulders slumped in relief. "That was a close one. Next time, switch off the TV sooner."

  "Your cards are facing the wrong way," Penelope pointed out, reaching over to adjust them. "This charade is pointless. Alice Duggley doesn’t have to play innocent about watching TV."

  "We're not the Duggleys," retorted Anya. "This is our reality."

  "It's stupid. I don't understand our parents."

  Anya pressed her lips together, "Tread carefully with your words. Some thoughts are best kept unsaid."

  Penelope rolled her eyes, tossing down her cards in exasperation. "Did you borrow that line from Momma? Or one of those boring antique books you're always reading?" Without waiting for an answer, she stood abruptly. "I'm going to my room."

  Then, she was out of sight.

  Much like Penelope's usual, she left Anya to deal with the aftermath.

  Anya stowed the board game and retrieved a cup of yogurt for a quick snack. Their house rules dictated eating only in the kitchen, so perched by the counter, she devoured it. It wasn’t the pang of hunger she was trying to address, but rather a strategy to stall, giving herself time to finalize her plan.

  After discarding the empty yogurt cup and placing the spoon in the dishwasher, she approached her parents' door. With a deliberate knock, she called, “Daddy, I have a headache. I’m gonna lie down.”

  “Don’t say 'gonna,'" he corrected from the other side. “And did you ensure Penelope doesn’t need anything?”

  “Yes,” Anya fibbed, her patience slightly frayed. Her fondness for her parents was undeniable, but there were moments...

  Like this one…

  Without a word of comfort or a simple goodnight for her feigned ailment, Anya’s spirits dampened further. She retreated to her bedroom.

  Bedroom Decoy

  Sneaking out wasn’t going to be easy. Their household rules prohibited closing bedroom doors, but she took her chances. After ensuring everyone was asleep, she substituted her sleeping form with a crude assembly of pillows and soft toys under her blanket.

  Although a rudimentary decoy, sometimes necessity dictated such risks. Televisions were switched on in defiance of parental mandates; last-minute board games were haphazardly set up; and on this night, the allure of the Phantom Circus beckoned once more before its departure.

  Adorning her green-and-white-striped cardigan, she tiptoed to her window. Being on the ground floor had its perks. Silently, she raised the pane, taking a steadying breath before clambering out. Her descent met the soft embrace of crisp fall leaves. After securing the window, she sprinted.

  Their property was flanked by a high fence, a barrier between her family and the neighbors. Though scaling it was beyond her physical prowess, its looming shadow proved a valuable ally. She pressed her back to the fence, letting the shade cloak her. When the coast was clear, she slid around the edge.

  Shielded from view, a wave of relief washed over her. Resting her head against the sturdy wooden slats, she exhaled deeply.

  Alright. Phase one, accomplished. Now, to the circus. The hopes of it still being open spurred her on. She had departed prematurely on her first visit, so the precise closing time remained a mystery. Regardless, it warranted an attempt.

  Drawn like a moth to a flame, she navigated her residential maze, traversed Main Street, and steadily approached the vacant expanse hosting the circus.

  As she neared, a nagging thought tickled the back of her mind: Why was there such an expansive open space at the town's fringe...that she'd never noticed before? But at that moment, the rationale seemed inconsequential.

  Especially when the gold and burgundy fabric of the big top loomed into view. Fueled by excitement, Anya quickened her steps, breaking into a light jog. The rhythmic slap of her sneakers against the sidewalk punctuated the night's silence, a sound that softened as she transitioned from the pavement to the grassy expanse of the parking lot enveloping the circus.

  She halted mid-path, a sinking sensation clutching her heart.

  Though a few lights still illuminated the circus grounds, the accompanying music was conspicuously absent. The sign on the ticket booth unambiguously read "CLOSED," and the affable ticket seller from her previous visit was nowhere in sight.

  "No," Anya murmured, desperation evident in her voice. She hastened to the booth, pounding on its wooden frame. "Hello? Is anyone there? I realize it's late, but I must get inside. It's important." Although she didn't even understand why.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  No shadowy figure stirred within the booth. In fact, there wasn't a soul visible on the circus's periphery.

  Distant, muffled voices piqued her interest. She craned her neck upward, spotting two women donning dark red leotards on one of the elevated platforms overlooking the circus grounds. Underlying black bodysuits covered them entirely, save for their hands, feet, and faces. From their scalps emerged devilish horns, nestled amid thick, curly black locks. Tails, reminiscent of a devil's, extended from their leotards, and unique pentagrams adorned their cheeks--one on the left and the other on the right.

  The two seemed embroiled in a heated disagreement. In a sudden escalation, one woman, with the pentagram on her left cheek, pushed the other with considerable force. The scene quickly devolved into a physical skirmish, their identical stature and features making it look almost mirroring.

  In an unexpected twist, the one with the pentagram on her right cheek lost her balance, toppling backward off the platform.

  Anya's gasp was sharp and involuntary, her hand instinctively flying to her mouth. Such a fall would be fatal! But before she could contemplate alerting her parents or dialing emergency services, a metallic twang resounded. With deft agility, the woman hoisted herself up, finding balance on an almost invisible tightrope.

  A bout of laughter erupted from the left-pentagrammed woman as her counterpart responded with an indignant gesture. Relief washed over Anya; they had just been rehearsing.

  Yet, as engrossing as it was watching the two women nimbly traverse the tightrope, Anya was acutely aware she couldn't linger. Every moment she delayed amplified the risk of her clandestine escapade being discovered by her parents.

  Plus, she hadn't ventured out for the Fly Girls.

  She was drawn here by...

  Something.

  Anya pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart's pulsation beneath her fingers. There was an undeniable allure to this place that wasn't related to the two aerialists. Having already sneaked out of her home, she reasoned, why not sneak into the circus as well?

  Technically, it wasn't breaking and entering. There wasn't even a proper fence enclosing the venue!

  Confidently, Anya passed through the 'entrance' of the circus, beneath the grand black sign displaying "PHANTOM CIRCUS" in red letters, accompanied by a smaller sign declaring, "FREAKS WELCOME."

  The nocturnal ambience of the circus contrasted starkly with its daytime demeanor. Bulb lights hung between the Fly Girls' platforms and the larger tents, illuminating the area. Spotlights, although fewer, shone on the now-shut attractions. One spotlight focused on the wooden 'Test Your Strength' game, another on what appeared to be a magic stage, indicated by the nearby "Magically Tantorini" sign. Both game booths and food carts were illuminated, yet vast expanses of the circus grounds lay engulfed in shadows.

  Drawn by curiosity, Anya ventured deeper into the circus grounds, contemplating her next move. The unbridled liberty to explore the grounds unhindered was exhilarating, reminiscent of her dream where she donned the ringleader's garb. A grin stretched across her face.

  "This place truly is magical," Anya mused aloud. Selecting a path, she began her exploration, appreciating the attractions and signs without the pressing crowds of the daytime.

  One particular booth caught her attention--a game challenging players to topple hefty, vintage milk bottles. Normally, given her acknowledged poor aim and throw, Anya would abstain. But in the absence of judgmental eyes, the game seemed tempting.

  Selecting a vivid red tennis ball from a bucket on the counter, she weighed it in her hand. In her experience, characters in films would often squint one eye for better aim. Following suit, Anya narrowed an eye, adjusted her thick glasses for clarity, and took aim.

  However, just as she was about to release the ball, a forceful grip on her shoulder yanked her sideways. The ball veered off-course, crashing not into the bottles, but into a metal rack displaying teddy bears donned in circus attire. The impact sent the rack toppling, causing an avalanche of teddy bears to litter the ground. Startled, Anya whirled around, retreating until she collided with the booth's counter.

  Standing before her was the most colossal woman Anya had ever encountered. Her arms were as thick as Anya's entire body, and her hair was styled in a short crew cut. Her expression radiated fury, with eyebrows drawn together in a scowl and lips pursed in evident displeasure.

  “I…” Anya began, stumbling over her words. “I didn't mean to--I'll pick them up!”

  She nearly toppled in her rush to right the overturned rack of stuffed bears. Before she could retrieve the first bear, the imposing woman seized the back of Anya's cardigan, yanking her back. Panic surged within Anya.

  “Let go of me!”

  “Who in the world do you think you are?” the woman retorted, effortlessly dragging Anya like a doll.

  The cardigan was baggy, allowing Anya a moment of inspiration. Fueled by adrenaline, she wriggled and managed to slip free, leaving the cardigan in the woman's grasp. She darted behind the counter, placing it as a barrier between them. The protective half-wall of the milk-bottle game was at her back, but at least she had some semblance of protection.

  “I'm sorry,” Anya squeaked. “I'll leave immediately!”

  “You're not leaving just yet,” the woman declared, advancing menacingly. Her attire consisted of billowing black harem pants interwoven with red threads and a similarly colored black sports bra.

  The outfit accentuated her powerful physique, and it dawned on Anya that she might be the circus's ‘strongwoman.’

  “I've done nothing wrong,” Anya asserted. “I just arrived. I promise, I'll leave right after tidying up the fallen bears. I just—I was enchanted by my last visit, and I haven't been back since and—”

  “Enough with your yammering,” the woman interjected. “You think you can just waltz in here and—”