The Collection of Asterisks

Asterisk - a small starlike symbol (*), used in writing and printing [...] to indicate omission.

Note: Before anyone asks this is not about vampires. This does take place in a different world from our own, and once you read it, you'll notice that there are a few key things that are a little off. This is all intentional

Lastly, The Collection of Asterisks is my on-going novel. I'm about a third of the way through. This is just a small part of the first chapter. I hope you guys enjoy.

The night surmounted in fire. Each flame was like contorting arms begging for sustenance. We among the crowd fluttered like moths towards the light. A thumping in my heart aligned with the reverberating beat.

There, the manikins danced in their colorful costumes: a rich array of red and gold, swiveling velvet capes and silk scarves that flowed in intricate designs when choreographed with the group. All wore a tremendous headpiece adorned in feathers, which made them appear twice their height. These monstrous, yet agile creatures were the focus of everyone’s attention. But what held my gaze were the masks. Those beautiful, white masks. White enough to reflect the fire’s glow. White enough to remind me of things long past. Such tainted memories were still vivid in my heart.

But I had come to the carnival to enjoy myself.

The act ended with a bang—the dancers froze in odd poses just as all the surrounding lights were snuffed out. All of a sudden, I could feel the chill of autumn. I wrapped my arms around myself, glancing around to find my friend, and once up at the sky.

The moon had chosen that moment to appear, a ghostly apparition. Alone, it loomed amongst a chasm of infinite darkness, peering out to meet my gaze—and just once, for that small moment, I saw the faint outline of his features etched against white marble.

It slipped by so quickly, as memories often do. When I blinked it was gone.

The music was alive again, and with its provoking charms came the resurrection of the manikins. If you looked away they were gone, leaping off the stage and into the crowd before another moment’s notice. People gasped, retreating as if burned. I was one of them.

Perhaps it was the chill that startled me—or the animated show—perhaps the alcohol had an effect as well, because my imagination was running wild. I found myself cowering in fear. I didn’t want to see him again. Him, whose presence still hung like an after-taste, imprinted in the back of my mind. A distorted image. He was changed and gone forever. No longer would I see the real him again.

These memories! If only I could burn them!

Despite my fear, I was entranced by the performance, much like I would be if I were watching any horror film. Most of the dancers exited the scene. Some disappearing into a mist of smoke, others climbing with due haste onto conveniently placed ropes. There was one manikin left. He weaved around the crowd, still dancing to the hypnotic rhythm; he selected a volunteer with his white hands. She was a pretty, petite woman that could pass off as Mona from this distance. I glanced around again, but my friend was nowhere to be found. Could it be her?

There was no telling from this distance.

The encircling musicians pulled into a tighter circle, caging us all. A wall of sound pushed the crowd forward, towards the stage where the manikin danced. First, by the waist he supported her, lifting her up with little effort. She held firmly to his shoulders and the two of them spun around like tops. Faster and faster. The violins were screeching, building up the tension as the audience held their breaths.

It had to be her, I decided. Mona was once a dancer in her days.

One swift movement later, she climbed up to his shoulders, still spinning. Faster and faster! They were but a blur of movement.

He shot her up. Mona flew like an arrow. Spinning, spinning, spinning. Lights were flashing. The music was deafening. I had to clench my teeth to the sound.

She did several twirls as she came back down. Two, three flips. The crowd was silent. The music stopped.

He caught her! Then he snapped her in half... Like a twig.

There was no blood. No screaming. Just a deformed body, which he threw to the ground unconcerned. Upon realization that she was no puppet came the screaming from the aroused crowd.

People ran, frantically—chaotically. Just as quick, the manikin chased after them. Those who stood stock still, framed in fear were saved. As witnesses.

I stood staring. Into the eyes that bore out of that beautiful, white mask. Sunken black, dilated eyes. He caught up to a man this time, and they danced to the song of agony.

He didn’t take long to kill him—a snap of the neck. The next victim he grabbed within reach. Then shook his body with some kind of animal strength. It was then that I realized…

He didn’t have a mask after all. He was the puppet all along. The real manikin. Somebody behind me seemed to have come across the same realization.

The man clapped his hands. “What a show,” he said with dead-beat eyes. “What a show.”