This is just part one of an estimated three. All comments and opinions are appreciated. ^_^
____
[The Beggarboy]
It was the Beggarboy who found the body.
The Beggarboy had stood on the lip of the river with his fishing-stick, poking at dark shapes below the water in hopes of finding breakfast. And when nothing came, he sat with damp seeping through his trouser legs and watched the current tug leaves along the banks.
The sky was yellow and heavy with rain yet to come. He watched the clouds blow overhead, reflected in the troughs of waves upon the water.
Much to his surprise, a hat came down the river, all folded and dapper with its gold rope and leather bill. Shoes came second, a tie, third. They pitched along the surface and came to rest on the sand somewhere down the way.
The Beggarboy waited.
He waited with his fishing-stick entwined in his fingers until a mass of tattered clothes and sodden hair laid itself to rest on the shore. He tucked the stick into his belt loop and went to see.
It was the body of Crose, scattered about his belongings. His face was pushed into the sand, and what little skin unmasked there was hued grey and blue. His freckles had faded into bone.
Crose had his arms outstretched, his gaudy sleeve-cuffs stained and torn. His fingers full of rings had twisted themselves in death into claw shapes- reminiscent of what they had been in life.
The Beggarboy knelt beside the remains. Crose had never been one for charity. It was interesting they should meet in these circumstances.
He slipped his hand into Crose’s pockets and pulled out a sodden mass of currency, some of it paper, some of it coin. The paper fluttered on the sand where he had laid it to dry, nothing but little copper circles keeping it from blowing away.
He cut the gold buckles from Crose’s shoes with a rusted pocketknife and slipped the rings from their fingers. He pulled back the sleeve-cuffs on the right hand and screamed.
Naught but a ridge of bone where his wrist would have been remained. Flesh, torn away, hung limply, a small trickle of remaining blood trickling onto the sand.
The Beggarboy, with his heart making little cracks in his ribcage, clasped his own hands to his chest to make sure they were still there.
___
[The Freak]
There was a funeral parade for Crose the next day.
They brought out all of the animals from his famous menagerie and lined them up two by two- the elephants, the tigers, the giraffes. The animals marched with red silk about their necks and the townspeople lined up on both sides of the street, dressed in somber clothing.
Only the children laughed.
The freak was at the end of the parade, standing on a golden platform with a baton in its twisted arms. It flung the stick above its head and watched it twirl once, twice, thrice- and it fell back into its hands.
They watched with mouths open as it danced, the beads on its mask shaking and shimmering. The mask covered all but its eyes, tiny, nervous things with the ring around the pupils blood red.
When the parade ended, the animals were tied to the church fence and the town slowly filed into the pews. The freak waited outside with the animals, the baton clutched in its twitching hands.
The giraffes' bodies were warm and smelled of sawdust. It pressed its ear against one of their bellies, in the middle of a brown splotch, just to hear the thing breathe.
The people cast it dirty looks as they past. It smiled with the remnants of a secret buried in its belly- a secret it knew better than they.
Its mother had been a circus girl- a tightrope girl, with a white sequined dress that flowed behind her like angel wings when she leapt from her rope and was caught by a man on a unicycle. Crose had been captivated, back when he was a University boy in a top hat and a coat with the red crest sewn into the lapel. He had sat on rough wooden seats with empty peanut shells tossed at his feet night after night, waiting for his chance to catch the tightrope girl flying from her bigtop perch.
The freak had been conceived in a dingy little halfway house by the side of the road. When it was born a month too soon, Crose was already off in a different town, married to a different girl.
The freak’s mother had taught it all it knew about circus performing- about throwing the baton, about showing people its eyes and how to doge apple cores. She had beaded it a beautiful mask of sparkling glass beads to hide what made it inhuman. She had taught it of its father.
She had been making a new mask for her wretched child when she died. She leaned over to pick up a bead rolling across the floor, and the needle she had been using pierced through her heart.
The freak found her on the floor and went to the ringmaster in the middle of the night. It had cried itself to sleep in his arms, blubbering the secret through sobs.
The ringmaster carried the freak to Crose’s doorstep and laid it to rest with a note pressed in its palm. This is yours.
Crose had put the freak in the menagerie and watched it dance. He gave it a baton and watched it twirl, in mesmerizing patterns above its head. He showed the freak off at all of the most fashionable parties, bidding it dance, dance, and dance one more time.
He had loved the freak.
It smiled in memory of Crose. One of the giraffes lowered its head to blow hot breath onto its hair as the last few people went up the church steps. It reached up and pressed two fingers against the giraffe’s nose, soft and wide.
The last man to enter stopped and looked. “You!” he shouted. The freak looked at the man, dressed in a black velvet coat. “Do you want to come in?”
It nodded its head and with its head bowed, followed him into the church. The man pushed it roughly toward the dark staircase that lead up to the choir loft.
The freak was careful to step carefully so that the metal steps wouldn’t ring beneath shoe soles. It sat in the bench in front of the organ, where cobweb lace was strung between the keys.
The people of the town were spread beneath it in pews, heads bowed in prayer. Henry, one of the men who had attended Crose’s parties to watch the freak dance, stood behind the pulpit, waiting. His foot was tapping anxiously.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice echoing off of the waves in the ceiling. “We are gathered here today in loving memory of Lawrence Crose, our dear friend and neighbor.”
He continued, his voice growing strained by the minute. When he ended, his eyes were filled with tears and no one could hear his words.
Several people were lined up behind the pulpit to speak after Henry. The freak recognized most of them. It wondered if they remembered its dancing.
They were a second parade, one of forced laughter and glittering eyes.
“He was a good friend.”
“He knew how to have a laugh. Don’t you remember that time…”
“I have never cherished the company of a man so much as I cherished the company of Lawrence Crose.”
They all ended with a prayer and a whispered amen.
The priest was the last to speak. He crossed himself and stepped behind the pulpit, and the room fell to a hush.
“It is my regret to inform you that Lawrence Crose did not die of natural causes,” he said evenly. His eyes were tired, his hair tousled. The hems of his robes were stained with mud. “His murder was the work of something sinister- something demonic.”
A few of the mothers clapped their hands over their children’s ears with hushed urgency. “When they found him, they found him with his hand severed. Not cleanly severed, mind you- ragged, rough. Like teeth had bitten into the flesh. Indeed, my sons and daughters: the death of Lawrence Crose was not the work of a sickness, nay- it was the work of a monster.”
Several people gasped. The sound was ugly, like breath from someone who had been knocked in the stomach. “Sprinkle your doorsteps with holy water and lock your doors- lock them twice if you must! The Devil preys on idlers, for they are wicked in their laziness.”
He said something more and crossed himself again, but the freak could not hear what he was saying. Instead, it covered its own ears and tried to close its eyes with its mind free of monsters and devils, and waited for the church to empty.
The sun was setting as it left the sanctuary and ran home, to its place in the hay next to the bears. They were asleep, the remnants of ribbons still fastened round their necks.
____
It was not long before men began to talk. Their walking sticks clattered against the glass menagerie floors, pulling the freak slowly out of sleep.
“The only way to catch it for sure is to lure it in and kill it,” one of them said.
“So we dress the pig up and put him out- but who will sit watch?”
“Not I.”
“Not I.”
“Not I.”
The freak heard the latch click on the pen door. One of the men kicked at its legs. “Wake up.”
The freak turned and looked at the man, who was still dressed in his funeral clothes. “Will you sit watch tonight, freak?”
“We’ll pay you, in silver and gold.”
The freak sat up and rubbed the back of its head. They laughed. “Money is too complicated for it,” the first man said.
“What…do?” the freak asked, slowly. They grimaced at the sound of its voice.
“You just sit with the pig tonight and wait. We’ll give you a gun and everything- it won’t be a problem.” Another one of the men was smiling at him sweetly. He pulled a pistol from its holster at his hip and handed it to the freak.
The freak took it cautiously in its hands. “You know how to fire a gun?”
It nodded. They looked relieved. “You wait here. We’ll be back in a little while, and we’ll take you to where you need to sit tonight.”
One of the bears shifted and rolled over in its sleep, its claws clacking against the bars of its cage.
They came back near an hour later with a pig on a lead. The pig was dressed in a frock coat and trousers- clothing that had been Crose’s. Clothing that was distinctly gaudy.
The freak held the gun by the barrel and stood, waiting for instructions. They looped the pig’s lead around its thumb and led them both out beyond the menagerie walls into the woods, where the trees were dark and sounded of breathing animals. They brought the freak and the pig in trousers to a rock, slick with rainwater. The freak sat, and the pig laid down at its feet.
“Wait here until morning,” they said. “We’ll bring the money with us when we come back.”
The freak nodded. The pig grunted its assent.
As soon as the footsteps of the men faded, the noises of the forest began to swell until they were almost deafening in the freak’s ears. Every owl cry and creaking tree limb was amplified. The pig began to squeal and tear at its clothing in its sleep.
But for the freak, sleep never came.
It sat perched on the edge of the rock, waiting and waiting and waiting, running its fingers along the sides of the gun.
It waited, and waited, and waited.
It waited until the breathing began- the breathing of something sinister, something inhuman. Deep, gasping breaths that sounded from within powerful lungs, whistling between fearsome teeth.
Something slithered through the leaves that coated the forest floor, the sound growing closer and closer. The pig awoke and began to squeal. The freak’s heart was about to burst, in the same way his mother’s had when the needle pierced between her ribs.
The breathing was louder. Wet smacking sounds rang out against the rock, and the freak bolted, the pig bleating and struggling along behind it, tugging at the lead connecting it to the freak’s thumb.
They dashed through trees and brush, the brambles tearing at their skin.
They ran until the river ran in front of them. The freak stopped just in time, its feet threatening to fall out from under him, pitching him into the dark water, where black rocks, like teeth, jutted out from its depths.
The pig flew forward, the rope connecting them snapping as it did so. Its trouser legs streamed out behind it and it landed on the rocks.
It thrashed and then fell still, the current gently tugging it away.
The freak stood at the edge of the river, horrified. It put its thumb in its mouth, where deep red burns from the rope remained.
And still, the breathing was growing louder.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
125,018 Literary Works • 672,856 Reviews
^_^ Thanks, guys!
Pantalid-- Yes, this entire story is a bit of a nod to TLotF. We were discussing the pyschology behind it in English class, and I found it really fascinating.
Clarence-- Thank you! Your comments were spot on. ^_^ *giggles* I had never thought of the irony of the tigers outside the church...granted, I wasn't thinking a whole lot when I wrote it, ergo the disjointedness.
I don't really get the whole part with the body washing up on the shore. The hat floats by, and then the body, but he...doesn't realize what it is. If there's a body floating by, you're probably going to know right away that, hey, that's a body. Dead people tend to float, being essentially big flesh-balloons. He would probably be fairly disgusting to look at, not mention smell.
When you tell us it's Crose's body, you say that it's scattered about his belongings. I assume you mean that his belongings are scattered about his body, because he's obviously still in one piece. That whole paragraph needs to be rewritten, because it doesn't make much sense. I got what you were trying to say, but you didn't say it well at all. What does it mean that his freckles are faded into bone?
"Fingers full of rings" could be changed to just "ringed fingers," and the "reminiscent" part can be taken out.
"...interesting that they should meet in these circumstances" doesn't really express what you're trying to say there. Make it more apparent that he's about to give everything he's got to charity. "Interesting that he'd give so much now," or something.
"Currency" should be "money".
How does he just slip the rings from the bloated fingers of a corpse that he found in a river? He would have to cut them off, basically. And if he did that...he wouldn't scream when he sees a torn wrist. Why would he scream at that anyway? He's looting a corpse...and he sees an animal bite. So he flips out. Yeah. You also repeated "trickle" in that spot.
The last line in Beggarboy part doesn't really make sense either. To make sure what was still there? His ribs? Why would they be gone?
Calling the Freak it instead of he is an interesting decision, but it creates some issues in places where it gets confusing what refers to what. You also only capitalize the F once, as opposed to the Beggarboy, who always gets a capital B.
So...why is he dancing at the funeral? Seems a little odd. And they tied the tigers to the church fence?
The description of his eyes is strange; "the ring around his pupils" is hardly the way I would describe someone's eyes. Just say that they're red.
As for his secret...of course he knows it better than they. Otherwise it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?
The way his mother died...well that's sort of ridiculous. Unless of course, that's just how it was told to him, and the reality is that his mother killed herself. That's actually more plausible.
The whole slightly disturbing part about how Crose treated the Freak is nice, especially since it shows how the Freak saw the situation, while it's obvious how it really was. Except that it brings up an issue about his secret; if Crose never acknowledged him as his son, and treated him like an animal, yet the Freak knows who his father is, how does he still see the relationship like that?
They find that Crose was mauled to death (if a single bite is considered mauling), and they naturally assume that it's a demon. Despite the fact that there are tigers and bears tied up outside the church. The sad thing is, I can actually believe that...
The "Not I" trifecta could use some variation, but I think it worked pretty well the way it is. Maybe a "nor" if you change anything.
Somewhere during the running or the pig falling, you call the Freak a him instead of an it.
I'm not a fan of cliffhangers, but you did say that it's only a part of a greater whole, so I won't hold it against you. I liked it.
I have no idea whether this is a serious story or not but if those tweaks of humor were intentional then i have nothing to complain about. in fact i quite loved this pace.
One disturbing little revelation: the 'invisible beast' thingy mentioned above reminds me of The Lord of Flies. and so does the cruel end where the pig crashed into the rocks and was washed away remind me of how the same fate came upon 'Piggy' in TLoF. So.......is that intentional? good work nevertheless.
This Critique is brought to you by the CCF, courtesy of Trident. Happy Holidays.
That green section did not make much sense and didn't flow very well. We suggest a read through and clarification
In death is repetitive as the sentence ends with a reference to what the rings had been in life. It also disrupts the flow of the statement making it hard to follow.
Oh my, Something needs to be done with trickle and trickling. Repetition is your enemy.
As dramatic as that sounds, it's not very realistic. Unless she is using a knitting needle to create this mask I don't see how it would be long enough to pierce the womans heart. It just doesn't sound very plausible.
How unpleasantly repetitive. you say some form of waiting far to much and then you go into breathing. It makes everything drag and drone on and on. It needs some better word choice.
You've refereed to the freak as it until now. In this section you call it a him. Have you decided to just designate a gender?
First of all let's look at the characters. The freak seems to be the focal point of the story, but we know very little about it as far as looks go. There are some, but not enough to really draw a clear picture. A description of the mask would be most helpful as it looks to be the most prominent feature of the freak.
The supporting characters look to be alright, there is enough to gain a picture but not enough to distract from the main focus of the story. It could still be expanded on a bit. Not much though, You would have to look through and find places that seem unclear or don't provide and accurate image of the character you are portraying.
The beginning had great setting imagery but later it seemed to lose some of it. It could use some more expansion to help draw a stronger picture of the story.
You really have to watch repetition, you do it often enough that causes the story to drag in places and makes our eyes glass over and forget what is happening. Nothing a quick read through can't catch and fix. Synonyms are a wonderful thing along with a thesaurus.
You use Commas a lot. You might want to watch it as it causes pauses in sentences that don't need them. A comma is a very minor pause, but it can still through a sentence for a loop if misused. An example being that you don't use a comma before and.
We also suggest not starting sentences with and, it makes it feel like a forgotten thought you just randomly threw in the story. Be concise and sure of what you are doing. Don't use words you don't need.
That should cover it, the story itself is very enjoyable and interesting. we are quite curious as to how this will play out and what the breathing thing is. Keep writing.
hey its got a good story line. but seeing as I am the daughter of a mortition (funeral directer) I could not help but point out some facts. first if he had been in the river, his features would have been to swollen from water log to reconize him. seconde he would have no blood in him, especialy near the wound. and i dont know about this beggerboy, but if anyone sees a body first they freak out, then they go over and look at it, then pitpocket, but hey he could be real tuff.
I'm a horrible person and didn't read through the other critiques. Oh well. Forgive me for any repetition.
Damp is an adjective. It totally doesn't work as a noun.
Could you use the word "bob" somewhere in here? That word seems particularly apt.
Bodies float. And if they don't float, they stay sunk, unless someone pulls them out. So I'm not believing this.
Ew. Get rid of that last part of the last sentence. You might as well be slamming us with a sledge hammer, screaming, "LOOK AT ME! I CAN USE SYMBOLISM!" Well, then USE it. Don't be so childish about writing.
The first sentence makes it seem like they've met before and the second sentence makes it seem like they've never met. Wtf? Make it make sense.
Ew! No. Currency? When somebody wants to buy something, but doesn't have anything to buy it with, do they turn to you and say, "Sammus, may I have some currency from you?" No! I hope that they don't. Instead, they'll ask, "Sammus, may I have some money?"
Yes, I can appreciate the ten billion dollar bill. But really... you don't have to pay that much.
I find it HIGHLY unlikely that he will be unfazed from handling a corpse, and yet he'll scream when he sees somebody who has been killed.
Haha, Citizen Kane much?
You realize how weird this seems to me?
In any case, you capitalized "The Beggarboy" so you should be consistent and capitalize "The Freak."
Who? Your pronouns do not explain.
Meh. It's weird to have an "it." I think it's too distracting to work.
It should be "passed."
"...doge apple cores"?
And this is awfully info-dumpish. I hope that there's a point to this.
...
*cries*
Sammus, I love you, but OMG. THIS SUCKS.
First of all, this does not make sense. Unless, of course, the needle is more like a sword or dagger, in which case it should be described as such BEFORE the death so it doesn't become a deus ex machina. But then, how are you going to have somebody sew something with such a big needle?
Sammus, you're going to have to create another death scene. This just sucks. And doesn't make sense. And makes me want to gouge out my eyes whilst singing, "Puff the Magic Dragon." Yes, it's THAT bad.
Fix it.
And... shouldn't the ringmaster be skeptical of the claim?
Aww... so this is why you made it genderless. You didn't want any funny ideas?
But yea. I still say you should come up with a gender. Or something.
And I find it slightly unlikely that the wife Crose took in would be thrilled by this arrival. It seems like you mentioned her once and then forgot about her? I haven't.
Meh. Doesn't seem right or in character for this to be mentioned in a funeral.
Haha... poor Freak. But I bet it was the wife. xD
So that's why the priest said it? Hehe... our church would never go there.
But really... wouldn't the townspeople guess that he was killed? So why would it need to be said anyway? I think it would be more likely that one of the people who came up to talk about Crose would say this -- not necessarily the priest.
Haha, she reminds me of the freak. XD
Little Red Hen much? XP
Change around the dialogue PLEASE.
The freak said that?
And what is it watching for? The men haven't explained. If I were the freak, I might ask, just because.
...did I mention how godawfully lame that scene was? Ugh! You reminded me of it again.
...and, CLIFFHANGER!
(I still say it's the wife.
Anyway, you better be working on finishing this story now. OR ELSE.
Hope that helps.
Lo, Sam!
The Beggarboy section was quite well done. The imagery there was vivid and I could see everything happening. The whole idea of the clothes coming down the river was great.
To be honest, I wasn't a huge fan of the freak. I wasn't sure whether I was to feel empathy for it, or just sort of sit back and observe it. I think part of the problem here is that since the character is, for lack of a better term, brain dead, there is very little character development that you can have for him to show on his own. You have some, such as the mother, but it seems very soft-hearted. I think if she were to die in some sort of freak accident (no pun intended), or she herself was so very bizarre, then there might be some weird association that the reader might be able to connect with the freak. After all, we can understand irrational mothers. ^_^ Right now, we sort of rely on other characters to characterize him, and in doing so, it feels like another ploy for pity.
As for the monster at the end, I thought the scene was quite typical of the "invisible creatures" themed stuff. I'm not sure it's working.
The whole idea that this was set at a circus/carnival is certainly interesting, and I'd like to see how you are going to pull the setting into the story later on.
I like the freak.
This was very good and very intriguing. It kept me reading right to the end, and I want to find out what happens next. Will you drop me a PM when the next parts are up?
This could be me being dense, but I had to read this bit a few times to understand it. The bit about Crose's hat and clothes seemed rather odd, and I didn't get it.
"Full of rings" seems rather an odd way to put it. "Covered in rings", perhaps?
I don't know what it is, but this just doesn't feel right. It's like you're being vague at a time when you need to be crystal clear, if you know what I mean. Say that the Beggarboy weighed the note down with coins; make it clearer.
Do you need a new paragraph here? And the "naught" annoys me, I'm afraid. Just "nothing" would do fine, but I guess that's personal preference.
I don't know if you meant it, but the repetition of "beads" is a bit off. Can you incorporate the description of its eyes in another way?
Again, do you need this paragraph? When you started saying about "their bodies" I didn't know whose bodies they were.
Comma after "born"?
Small letter on "the".
After this, you type "freak" with a small letter, so change it here as well.
---
It was very good and very well written. The story of the freak, woven into Crose's murder was very well done, and the "thing" at the end... o.0