The way through was far from obvious to me. There were various huddles, some dark faces looking up to see if there were others that wanted to join them. I did not feel able to show my colours: unprepared for interrogation, I merely stood in the sidelines, hoping that an opening would reveal itself thus removing any need to make a decision.

Imagine my surprise when I was accosted from the shadow side of the square by an animal on its rear legs. The eyes were human enough, but the rest of it seemed swaddled in night’s swarthy hair, shanking down to ill-plaited swatches. A huge member dangled, as if part of the innards had shaken loose through some terrible wound in its belly.

I pulled myself free from its grasp upon my sleeve; its limbs were invisible against the mottled backcloth of their marquee, so it was more difficult to dodge their random swings. I wanted to say something, attempt some communicaton, in the hope of defusing the situation. But even in the panic of the moment I realised that only with foes who understand words can you negotiate. Looks are not enough.

The others who had congregated in that square beside the cathedral’s dome made themselves scarce: they had chosen to ignore me, but now they feared something that had at least done me the honour of acknowledging my presence, albeit aggressively. I was grateful to it for that

The show was about to start I could hear. Within the marquee could be heard the under-ringmaster’s whiplash, the ill-toned snorts of deep brass, the teasing air-breaks of the trapeze act..

‘Roll up! Roll up!' A figure perched on a tub bellowed from the entrance. ‘The Dark Circus is about to unwind its revolving coils...’

There was no need for his sales pitch, for most potential customers had fled to their winter-warming chestnut fires. The few who had already sidled into the marquee were to be the only punters they’d tear a strip from tonight.

The beast brute whom I was getting to know better than my own step mother pulled up a flap of the marquee and motioned me to crawl underneath. Was I about to be allowed in free of charge?

My eyes squinted in the searing searchlights, as I found myself hustled into the centre of the ring. Then I felt the tender touch of the whip upon my back and I turned to see who’d delivered the ultimate kiss of pain. But even God’d’ve failed to discern the figure in the off-beams of the gantry lights.

Flapping applause broke out from every quarter of the circling darkness, as I went through my paces on all fours.

Finding myself the centre of attraction, I took great delight in performing. For a grand finale, I balanced on my erect member and spun like a big top.


Exhausted after the act, I was taken to a cage for foddering. The excitement of the greasepaint still ricocheted between the skullsides: the show’d been everything it’d been cracked up to be. I could see my own reddening nose and blackdripping eyes in the sheen of sweat that faced me.

Eventually I realised that within reach in the neighbouring cage was another one like me. But I was too sore to accept its overtures.

In the distance, I decided it was the cathedral’s mighty wurlitzer that was roaring.


(published 'Your Worst Fears Confirmed' 1989)