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| an extract from |
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| On the Dancing Death of
Amanda Palmer |
| When Amanda Palmer ran away from the circus she knew
that that would not be the end of it. Indeed it was the wrong circus
to run away from. But then again, it was the wrong circus to be
brought up by, though that hadn’t really been her choice.
She had been stolen from her family when she was only four, and
could remember nothing of her previous life except her name. Nor
would they tell her anything, not even which town she had been taken
from. What she didn’t know was that she had been the youngest
of twelve children, to a very poor family, and when her parents
had eventually noticed she was missing they saw it as something
of a relief. No, she was a circus girl, and that was the end of
it. And so it might have been had she not grown up. For though they
had bullied and beaten her almost every day of her life, she had
become used to that, even found it oddly comforting. It wasn’t
until her budding womanhood began to show through her shirt that
the real problems began. |
| Silas Monger’s Travelling Circus was a family
troupe that had toured the northern states for seven generations.
Indeed they had utilised the careful management of “in-breeding”
very much to their advantage over the centuries. Not that they were
freaks, well not really. But they were the weirdest looking circus
you were ever likely to come across. The clowns, who were all dwarfs,
and cousins come to that, were of generally normal proportions for
such diminutive folk, but had the most enormous ears and noses,
giving them something of the look of baby elephants, particularly
when crawling on all fours; the strong man, who was, as might be
imagined, immensely strong, had such elongated arms that he could
almost pick up his weights without bending; and the stilt-walkers
were exceptionally tall, a good foot taller than any among the crowds
even without their stilts. But despite this dedication towards the
blood purity of the circus line, as they called it, the past two
generations had seen a steady decline in their prosperity, and for
the last twenty years they had been reduced to playing highway services
and the occasional small town. |
| It was for this reason that Silas Monger VIII had
declared that they must break with tradition and bring in some new
blood, and hence they had stolen Amanda. However, little thought
had been given, or at least little discussion been had, as to who
else’s blood might be going into the mix. Silas assumed that
it would be his, but many among the troupe had other ideas, all
of them male, fertile, without wives, and, truth to be told, in
most cases diseased as a result of various sordid liaisons with
the less salubrious professionals that shared the same passing trade.
Naturally Amanda was oblivious to all this for many years. She was
more concerned with keeping her head down and ensuring her chores
were done to avoid a thorough beating. But then, as she approached
her thirteenth year, the rising self-consciousness of impending
adulthood began to turn her thoughts, and almost overnight she started
noticing the way that they looked at her. Though she didn’t
understand quite why, it made her flesh creep, of that much she
was sure. And then there were the cold and savage glances sent her
way by the women of the troupe, particularly Evelyn and Evelyn,
the singing conjoined twins (their father had given them the same
name so as to avoid confusion) and so she kept her head down, and
did her chores with even greater vigour so as not to provide the
opportunity for any unwanted attentions. |
| The only comfort and companionship she ever experienced
was in her relationship with the animals. These were two donkeys,
and an old panther, whose teeth were falling out. When she was first
taken she had been made to sleep in the animal tent, which was little
more than a makeshift tarpaulin awning on the side of the donkey
trailer to cover the panther’s rusting cage. Not having seen
a panther before she assumed it was just a big pussycat and before
long she was sleeping in his cage, cuddling up to him for warmth.
She named him Fluffy, afterall she was only four. It always caused
her great inward amusement to see how Fluffy would spit and hiss
at the rest of the troupe, and how scared they were of him, though
she never let them see it, for that would just have led to another
beating. But to her he was quite literally a pussycat. |
| In the months running up to her fifteenth birthday
she could tell something was brewing, something that wasn’t
good. Her nights were increasingly disturbed by shouts, arguments,
and even fistfights amongst the troupe, and the looks she was getting
had become ever more accusatory. Then, two nights before her birthday
she was rudely awoken from a particularly pleasant dream involving
a large pink feathered hat, by an argument heading her way. She
was too groggy to understand what was being shouted, but it seemed
to quickly turn into a fight, and then silence. Suddenly the door
to Fluffy’s cage was flung open and a hand grabbed her ankle
and was dragging her out. It was Hector, the strong man. She tried
to kick and scream with all her might, but to no avail. His hands
were just too big and too strong. Before she knew it she was over
his shoulder, being carried off. But Hector had forgotten to close
Fluffy’s cage. There was an almighty hissing screaming sound
as Fluffy leapt up at Hector’s face, clamping his toothless
jaws around the unsuspecting man’s nose. In no time Hector
was on the ground, wrestling the fearsome beast that Fluffy seemed
to have become, and Amanda saw her chance. She ran, just ran and
ran straight across the fields into the darkness, and kept on running
until her lungs ached and her heart seemed to be bursting forth
from her chest. Finally she felt safe enough to stop, and simply
lay on the ground among the corn stems, waiting for daylight, wondering
what she should do now.... |
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Have you seen this
man? He is thought to be approx. 6ft two inches tall, and often
wears a false moustache. Please contact us urgently with any information.
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