Welcome to the Circus (2016 version) ~ An actors nightmare

"Remind me again what we're looking for?" asks Tim.

I hum as we slowly make our way around the circus grounds. All around the Big Top are a series of stalls and sideshow tractions. They've got everything from palm reading to fire breathing and carnival games. " The eyes," I say while attempting to make casual glances at the workers, " you know that old story about the eyes being the window to the soul?"

Damien's expression turns thoughtful, " Grandfather always said you can tell intentions through eyes. Is it the same for ghosts?"

"Not exactly, but that's a story for another day. What we're looking for, for now, are subtle color changes. For example, when they came to Amity, all the workers had red eyes. At first, I thought it was contacts, but it was an effect of the staff," I explain.

" Does the color have significance?" interrogates Bruce.

I shrug my shoulders, "There's a lot of weird eye colors common for us; even our regular eye color is subject to change depending on what we're doing or the circumstance. But, when it comes down to mind control, It usually turns the eyes red or makes it reflect that way."

" And the staff only works on ghosts," says Dick trying to reaffirm.

"Or those with ectoplasm in their system," I say.

" Then why do you want us to look at all the people's eyes? Surely not these many people have been exposed to ectoplasm if it's as rare as you've made us believe," says Tim.

"Overshadowing," I say.

"And we're supposed to know what that means," says Jason.

" Right, right," I say, forgetting they don't know that terminology, " I guess it would be a possession for you. You know, like in The Exorcist."

"That's real!?" Dick sputters.

" Very, and one of the easiest ways to tell this is through the eyes. The eye color won't be the same as it should be, and sometimes even glowing," I say.

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" asks Bruce.

I look at him guardedly, "If I did, would that change anything?"

"What do you mean, Danyal?" asks Damian.

"If you knew about the ability to overshadow, would you still have come within the circus? Would you still be willing to put your life at risk in the face of an unknown?" I ask all of them, but my eyes stay trained on Father's face.

"They are an unknown because of your lack of information," he says gruffly.

" What did you expect me to say?"

" The truth."

I let out an exasperated sigh, "I never lied to you–"

" But you weren't forthcoming with information either," Tim cuts in.

My hands rest on my hips, "Look, everyone has different abilities. Some stuff is standard, like flying, intangibility, and invisibility. Other stuff is subject to the person. Some can do more than others, While some are incapable of doing anything else."

"It still would have been nice to know," Says Dick calmingly, trying to mediate between us.

"Well, it's hard to tell you what to expect when we're not even sure if anything is really happening here." I slip my phone out of my pocket and look at the time. It's about an hour before the show starts, " why don't we split up and look for clues?"

Jason snorts and says, "Alright, gang. So how are we doing this?"

" It would be unwise for Jason and Danyal to be paired together in case one of them is put under the staff," Says the man-bat.

" Let me go with little- wing," says Dick and continues in a knowing tone, " just in case you lose his control, he's going to need someone to hold him down."

It's just something about how he said it takes me by surprise. How he said he needs someone to hold him down reminds me of how someone would talk about a rabid animal. Not a person. I look at Jason and see him not being too happy about that comment.

" It might take more than just you; I'll go with you as well. Tim and Damian go with Danyal," orders Bruce.

" I think it would be best for Damien with you, too," I interject, " If by chance Showenhowers Is here, it would be better if we were separate."

Damian crosses his arms, and his mouth is pointed down into a slight frown, " You wish for us to fight separately?"

I wince at his words, as he sounds hurt.

I explain, "It would be better if we weren't together. They may have seen what I really looked like while I was brainwashed; I don't remember everything from that time. We look enough alike that if they saw you, they could think you were me," I try to sweeten the deal, " if it is them, this could help you get intel. They'd be more likely to attack me than anyone else here."

" You wish for both of us to act as bait," he says, scrutinizing me.

"Would you do it for a Scooby Snack?" he stares at me as if I've lost my mind, " a bat snack? A Robin's snack?" I wait for an answer, but all I get is silence before asking seriously, "Do you have a better plan?"

The glances at one another shrugs, and continued silence was answer enough.

So we split off in different directions. I can't help but look over my shoulder every once in a while, hoping to see Damian or the others not too far behind, but they get easily lost In the crowd. Tim and I travel in silence, content walking in circles, people-watching. I try to observe others' eyes but not to catch them. None of their eyes have an inhuman sheen or a radiating glow, but that doesn't mean something isn't going on. Some, like Spectra or Amorpho, can look human when they want to; who knows, maybe others can too. I run into the side of Tim as his pace slows.

He turns to look at me, and I give him an apologetic look. He shoves his hand into his pocket and takes out his wallet, " you up for some games?"

A wide grin forms on my face, " I thought you'd never ask."

He looks at me a little weirdly, and when I raise my eyebrow at him, he says, "Sorry. It's still weird seeing an expression like that on Damien's face."

" Well, it's my face, too, so you should get used to it," I say blandly.

He scratches the side of his face and says awkwardly, " Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," but I can tell he wants to say more.

We play a couple of rounds of that basketball game, where they have the really big prizes, but no one ever really wins before he gets the guts to ask, "Is there any way to stop it?"

" Stop what?"

" The possession– overshadowing thing?"

" There's a couple of ways, but it's nothing you could do naturally," I say, grabbing his attention as I info dump, "The Fentons, while they were shitty scientists, weren't that bad at inventing. So I spent quite a few years in–" I say shakingly, trying to think past the cages and ectoplasm stains, " –the lab, working on inventions with them."

We walk in silence for a few moments, with me unable to look at him as I push past the memories until he asks, "Do you think you could recreate the inventions?"

I try to smirk at him, but it feels more like a grimace, " I probably do it in my sleep. I would have to modify it, though. While it keeps anyone from overshadowing you, it is also quite obvious when using it."

" What do you mean?"

" They designed it to act as a belt, called it the Specter Deflector, that thing is gotti, and I doubt anyone would be willing to wear it as it is. All of my regular rogues can identify it on-site. If any of them travel to Gotham to cause some trouble, it would be pretty obvious if you had it on."

" Would you be able to make it more compact? It sounds advanced. How would you change it?" Tim asks with the enthusiasm of a puppy.

" It's not that advanced," I try to deflect, " it shouldn't be too hard. A lot of the stuff they made was with cheap parts that they found in scrap yards or broken appliances on the street. If I use proper parts, I can make it a lot smaller, most likely like a bracelet or something of the sort, for everyday wear."

"Is that all you would do? Or would you do anything else?"

"There are a few other modifications I'd make, just to make it better for friendlies."

" What do you mean?" he asks, his eyes big with worry, " it has side effects?"

I nod, " Those with ectoplasm in their system will get a really big shock just touching the person. It doesn't matter if they were trying to overshadow them or not. It's helpful in identifying those with ectoplasm, but it can also put a target on your back." I put my hands in my pockets, trying to seem casual as I say, " Not many know about ghosts, and those who do are normally hunters. Even peaceful ghosts could attempt to attack you if they think they might be in the line of fire."

" Wouldn't it be better to just try to modify it so it doesn't attack you or Jason?"

" While maybe helpful for the two of us, it wouldn't tell others. Nobody deserves to be attacked on the basis of what they are. Also, think of it like this: what if you're actively trying to go after the ghost? It'll alert them that you're there. Putting you and the civilians in more danger."

Tim's face pales as he hurridly tries to apologize, saying, " I wasn't thinking of it like that. I just meant it would be good to know if they were a ghost or not. Not as a method of attack."

I eye him wearily. Batman and the birds are known for their contingencies. Talia and Ra's ensured we were aware of that.

"If you were to wear it, or Jason, would it be the same?" Tim asks with a weird expression on his face.

" I'm not sure about Jason," I confess, " after the.. incident happened. When going around like this," I say, gesturing to my human form, " it felt uncomfortable to wear it, but it wasn't outright painful–."

Tim cuts me off, "You say that like that isn't the fact now."

" That's because it isn't. Over time, I got stronger, so it had more of an effect. I can't even touch it without getting electrocuted. If Jason were to have one of the Fenton's models, it could cause him some discomfort, maybe even some slight pain, as his ecto signature isn't very strong, but I don't want to risk it."

We go to play a couple more games before we have to meet up with the others. Tim is quiet the whole time, silently reviewing the information I've given him. We try different ones until an unnatural crackle sounds off in the air, like the start of a 1950s intercom. A husky voice reverberates through the lot, "Welcome all Ghouls and Ghosts to Circus Gothica, the world's only nightmare circus! Come join us into the unknown at our next performance, starting in 15 minutes. Join us while you last," they say as another crackle sounds, marking the end of the announcement.

Tim drags me off last minute to one of those concession stands to get a couple of boxes of popcorn and some water before we make our way to the big top.

Tim looks at his water questioningly, "Hey, random question: does holy water work on ghosts?"

" I don't know. I've never seen anyone try that before."

He gives me a shit-eating grin, "Don't you think it's time to find out?"

—

Saying, 'Where the hell would you get that' to a bat is a stupid thing to say. How was I supposed to know they had an emergency kit in the trunk? And even if I did, holy water wouldn't be at the top of my list. So I stand at the circus entrance, watching Tim skedaddle to the car and rummage through to come back with three Dasani water bottles.

" How do you make sure you don't drink it by accident?" I feel the need to ask.

Tim shrugs, " It's not like it would hurt us if we did. Though none of us drink Dasani water anyway, so even if we did forget, we would be less likely to drink it;" He looks at me with a crazed expression, reminding me of Wes's face whenever he'd bring up the Fenton–Phantom conspiracy, " I swear whatever they do to that water makes it gross."

" I don't know; it's never really bothered me," I say with a shrug, "I'd just take what I could get."

Tim waves a water bottle in front of my face, " you ready?"

I look around the grounds to see it full of people, " not here; it's too crowded." Then, finally, my eyes wander over to a deserted corner, and I gesture, " Why don't we try over there?"

Tim just nods, and we head over. The closer we get to the area comes a wretched stench. 'Of course, the only unoccupied area is behind the porta-potties.' Tim unscrews the water bottle and starts to pour without even warning me. Just before the water hits me, I yank my arm back and exclaim, "Wait!"

" What?" he questions, " I thought you wanted to test it."

"Yeah, but not on my arm." Did the smell of cotton candy make him lose all his brains? I pinch at my eyes and huff, "What if somebody saw us come over here, and the water does work? What if it leaves a mark? It can't be somewhere someone would easily see."

Tim crosses his arms and says with an exasperated tone, "Where do you suggest I pour it then?"

I wordlessly pull up my pant leg and gesture for him to get with it. I sharply inhale as the water hits my skin. It doesn't hurt per se, but it stings. It's like the leftover sensation of a hard slap or a limb going numb. It starts in one place, where the water hits, radiating outwards until it feels like pins and needles are prodding my skin.

"That's enough," I hurriedly tell him, and he stops the flow of water. The pain recedes as soon as he stops, and the feeling from the water droplets running down my leg lessens to a tingle.

Tim spews out, "How was it? Was it bad? Does it hurt? Does it not hurt?"

" I'd give it a three out of 10. it doesn't hurt, but you can feel it."

He closes up the water bottle, having used about a quarter of it, and asks, "Do you think it'll be any help against Showenhower?"

" Honestly, It depends. It might make the weaker ones back off, but it would be a bit more than an annoyance for the others."

"So no good then?"

" I didn't say that. If they have ghosts under their control, I don't want to hurt them. They'd be innocent in all this."

" But Danny, what if we don't have a choice?"

" There is always a choice. If things get out of hand, can you get the others to leave it to me?"

" There is no way Bruce will agree to that."

"That's why Im not asking Bruce; I'm asking you."

" Danny–"

" I don't want anyone to get hurt," I tell him seriously, " but if things go south and if someone makes a wrong move–"

" We're all highly trained; we can handle this," Tim tries to reassure.

I look into his eyes; I can see his conviction, " fine," I say, giving in, " but if it gets to be too much–"

" Which it won't," he interjects.

" Pull back."

Tim opens his mouth to argue again when an unnatural crackle sounds off in the air. A husky voice says, " Last call for all wandering Ghouls and Ghosts to head to the big top as our performance is about to begin. You have five minutes to find your seats," then another crackle sounds, marking the end of the announcement. We look at each other and rush off toward the big top.

To say finding the others was a hassle would be a lie.

Everyone besides the people still lined up at the vendors has already headed on inside. Standing a ways away from the entrance are the others. Their backs are turned to us when we arrive, so none of them see us when Dick cries out, "This is blasphemous!"

I stop Tim from announcing us and give him a smirk as I creep up behind Dick. I stand on the tips of my toes and whisper in his ear, with a hint of ghosts speak in my voice, and ask, "W̷̜͛h̶̨̄ȧ̴̗t̸̠̑'̵̹̽s̶̊ͅ ̷͇͐b̵̌ͅl̸̲͗a̷̗̕ş̵͠p̶̟̈́h̶̛̤e̷̺͆m̴̼̔ọ̶̃u̵̖̕ṡ̵̡?" causing the man to shriek and whip around to face me.

"Don't do that!" Dick exclaims as soon as he sees it's me.

I can't help it as laughter comes tumbling out, "You should have seen your face!" My laughter soon dies as Captain Furry catches my eye. "Come on," I say defensively, " I was just trying to joke."

"A mission is no place to joke," Bruce says in a low voice.

" Yeah, but this isn't a mission," I say slowly with a raised eyebrow, " this is a family outing."

" You've got to admit, B, it was funny. But did you see the look on Dickfaces face? I wish the replacement had his camera that could have been the family's Christmas card," says Jason.

" We're Jewish," says Damien.

"Huh, I didn't know that; you'll learn new things every day," says Jason in a mock surprised tone.

"Can we just go in now," says Tim, " the show starts in a minute."

Bruce looks at his watch, stares at each of us before looking back between Jason and me, and says defeatedly, "Will you two at least attempt to behave?"

"Scouts Honor," we both say In tangent, causing him to huff and make his way towards the Big Top.

Damien nudges my shoulder, "You were a scout?"

I just smile, "Nope."

As we walk into the tent, we start hearing the sounds of the circus. There's music playing, like an eerie music box, similar to that weird startup in Melanie Martinez's songs.

Standing in the middle of the entrance is a clown.

Not one of those happy-go-lucky ones that you see at most circuses, oh no. My eyes stay trained on Dick as I watch him trip over Air at the sight of it. This one's bald; their exposed skin is painted white. Its eyes are red, but no glow in sight. Its eyelids and under eyes are dark, bruised purple. Triangles are painted from his eyebrows until the middle of his forehead, though it could be farther up as it's without hair. I can't really tell. It looks like its skull has been stitched together by wire and zippers. Between the openings is skin that looks flayed, still oozing with blood. However, parts of it look to be old as some places have pus. Its mouth is open wide in an all-teeth smile, worse than the Jokers. It's wearing a two-piece jumpsuit of red and black. It's adorned with tiny skulls and splatters of red. As I get closer, I can tell it's not a design but some kind of blood. Parts of it look rusted over, and I can smell him as I walk by.

He reeks of death.

I watch as he snaps at people as they walk by, having a hand stretched out with long cracked fingernails, just barely coming in contact with the circus patrons. He moves closer every once in a while to the guests that have food snapping at them. One might say he was making a joke, that's what clowns are supposed to do, after all, but its eyes are ravenous.

A call of "Wait" is yelled from behind me. I look back to see the rest of the family still standing there.

I turn around," You guys coming?"

While Bruce, Damien, and Tim look fine, Dick and Jason both look like they're going through the five stages of grief all at once. Damien pulls Dick by the arm to get him moving. Each step he takes is fumbled as he reluctantly goes with him.

Jason, on the other hand, won't budge.

I turn to Dami and Dick, "Why don't you two go find our seats? I'll be up with them in a second," and walk over to the others without waiting for their reply. When I get to him, his eyes flash back in forth between blue and dark toxic green.

" what's wrong?" I ask.

He talks low and fast, but all I can make out is, " ..Those fuckin, mother fuckin clown– joker soul wannabe–" I can feel his emotions; sorrow– sorrows–fear–anger–anger–fear radiating off of him.

"Can I help?" I ask.

"Danny, I don't think–" Tim starts, but I cut him off.

" Jason," I say, trying to push calm–safe at him, "I can help, but only if you let me."

"Hmm," 'What do you mean? How can you help?' Demands Bruce.

I don't answer him.

"Jason," I say one more time, prodding a response.

It takes a moment for him to find my eyes, " How?"

"I can take your anger, your fear, not all but some, and redirect it," I say, causing Bruce to stiffen beside me, " it'll help you calm down. I'll only do it if you say so; if you don't want it, I won't. One of us can always walk you out."

Jason's eyes leave mine and look over my shoulder towards the clown, they stay like that for a moment, but his eyes eventually make their way back to mine, "Do it."

I gently take both of his hands and pull. I watch his eyes fade from green back to Blue, and his body sags in relief.

"Jaylad–"

" I'm fine," he says, " let's just find our seats."

I take Jason by the arm, trusting the other two to follow behind. I make sure I'm between him and the clown. We spot Damien and Dick in the crowd and make our way over, but we never lose the stare of the clown. Once we get there, not a word is said, but a look of understanding passes between Dick and Jason. Bruce and Tim sit down just in time as the lights dim.

A crack of a mic sounds from overhead, and a hissy voice says, "Welcome Ghouls and Ghosts to Circus Gothica! A place for all your nightmares to come true."

The Spotlight dances around overhead, going across the crowd until it finally stops in the center of the ring. They're caped and hooded. They have a staff in hand.

"Are you ready for your nightmares?" They cackle, "Because they're ready to meet you."

At the end of the words comes a bang the lights go out. The lights come back flickering, and screams are heard throughout the tent. Clowns are running throughout the stands, snarling at those they pass. Until every stairway has a clown standing right in front of it. Three in each stairway, one at the top, one in the middle, and one at the end trapping everyone in their seats.

"Oh, you thought they'd be in the ring?" The hissy voice says, laughing, "Don't worry, your nightmares are only beginning." People come from the sides of the tent and go spewing into the ring. They look almost Normal, but things like their walk would be off, their movements aren't fluid, it's like they're a puppet on a string.

" uh," Dick starts hesitantly, "We've got a problem."

Our attention turns to him, " what is it?" Tim asks.

" Those people, they're not from here."

" What do you mean, Richard?" demands Damien.

"Do you guys remember how I was out most of the day with Babs, the day Danny came home?"

"Yeah?" says Jason.

"We went to a carnival; they were only in Gotham for two weeks, so we went on the last day. That contortionist," he says, pointing to a woman crawling about on the floor towards the ringmaster, " The one in the purple leotard, the one with rhinestones, she was there. Her outfit is the same."

"Do you recognize any of the others?" asks Bruce.

"The man juggling fire. There's something wrong with them; they're not moving right. they're skinnier than they should be; they look like they lost 20 lbs in a few weeks."

" Their eyes," Damien cuts in, " have you noticed? They're red."

Their heads swivel to me as of asking for an exclamation when the hissy voice speaks again, "Who's ready to join us in the ring," They take off their cape and hood to reveal a head full of spiky black hair and red eyes. The clothing is a mixture between out of Catwoman and a dominatrix, and they're covered in tattoos that stand out against their dark glowing green skin, Behold a glowing red scepter in their hand as they say, " I am Lydia, the ringmaster of circus Gothica, and I'll be taking care of you this evening."

" Fuck."

All the lights, shaded blue, slowly make their way to Lydia. Making her body glow teal, as if in a laser tag briefing room. I watch her tattoos awaken as they start to twitch and slither as she says, "For our first act, we require a few… volunteers," causing a sea of hands to go up around us. With a low chuckle, she says, "Ah, just what we like to see." She moves from the middle of the room and starts to make her way toward the seats, and the others follow suit. Once cast members approach the stairs leading to the audience, nearby clowns descend from them, all five sets, and join them in the arena.

Accept one.

The greeter, the zipper face clown.

It descends slowly from the stairs across the arena. Its head moves side to side, studying the crowd. Once it finally gets down, it heads towards the middle. It stays unmoving; It's head tilts while its eyes inspect the patrons. Its eyes move fast, like they're racing, until its gaze reaches our section.

It walks slowly towards us as Lydia says with mirth, " What a good crowd we have tonight! It's just so hard to choose."

It stands at the bottom of the stairs licking its slips, looking towards us. I can feel Jason stiffen beside me as it makes its way up. It stands in the middle licking its lips as Lydia says, laughing, " So why don't we do this," tension fills the air in anticipation of her decision. Her tattoos are moving more, ready to spring, to come off her skin. A hand – Dicks– grabs my shoulder to pull me back towards the other set of stairs as it keeps coming up. It's only a couple rows away as she says, " I choose all of you," her crew mates look towards her as if looking for confirmation, "and her face splits into a wide grin, " we are an interactive show, after all." Her tattoos start to blow brighter and one by one they start peeling off her skin, " what are you waiting for?" she asks the others, "Go."

Screams.

The tent is filled with screams.

I look around to see the escaped tattoos fly around the tent, corralling the humans away from the exit and down into the arena. The contortionist, firebreather, and a few other clearly human acts walk towards them on stumbling feet while the others forgo walking altogether and start flying after the patrons.

Dick tugs my shoulder hard, "Danny, come on, let's go," he says, slightly panicked, bringing my attention back to the clown in front of us. Unlike the others, it just stands there while waiting for us to make the first move.

"Are any of you armed?" I ask lowly, not wanting the clown to hear.

"Lightly," says Dami.

I take a deep breath and step back, prompting the clown to move. It climbs on all fours across the last two rows up to us, mouth open wide, drooling all over itself. I look back and see everyone heading off, adorned in domino masks, heading in different directions. I yell at them, "If you get close to Lydia, try to break the staff!" The clown lunges forward, snapping its teeth at me, making me jump into another row of seats causing it to chase me as I try to lead it away from others.

I can feel a chilled hum in my core as I reach into it and pull out ectoplasm, shaping it into a mask and sticking it to my face. As I'm running, I get close to Bruce. He's dodging attacks from a snake-shaped tattoo. I gather ectoplasm in my hand and shoot an ectoblast at it, causing it to burst. I shift to change directions, but not before saying, " Tim has something that can help with the ghosts."

He starts towards his next target and grunts, "No names in the field."

A gut-wrenching scream fills the air, forcing my attention. A clown tackles a woman to the ground with one hand on her head and another on her arm. He opens his mouth impossibly wide and chops down on her neck. She screams again, which is followed by a quick Bang Bang Bang. Each shot hit the clown in the back, but it only staggered forward. The clown flickers in and out of tangibility, and the three slugs buried in its back fall to the ground. The woman lays there, blood spewing out, staining her shirt, eyes wide, until she starts to move. She scoots backward, never taking her eyes off the center of the arena, holding a hand to her bitten-into flesh. The Clown goes off in a floating sprint toward Jason, the woman's blood and skin stuck to its teeth.

My eyes stray towards Tim, hoping he's seeing this, but he's occupied with the contortionist. So I slow down and let the clown get close. I wait until it's just an arm's length away before I stop and throw up an ecto shield. The clown has no time to stop as it rams right into it, flying away as if it's been hit by a car. It knocks into the tent, causing it to sway. I rush over to it and pull out a keychain. On it are three miniature containers about the size of chapstick, in sleek silver and green, a Phantom thermos (Name pending).

I take off the cap and suck up the Clown, and on the side of the tube pops up, ' ⅕.' I shove my keys back into my pocket, shoot down most of the remaining tattoos, ' Only three left,' and enter the arena.

I start to make my way toward Jason, seeing him struggling with a clown, but before I get halfway there, Tim comes up behind them and smacks the clown in the back of the head with a pole. The clown tumbles forward, and Tim pulls out his water bottle. He pours water into his hand and flicks it at the clown, causing it to hiss and flinch back. Where the water hit comes angry green skin; the longer the water stays there, the darker it becomes like it's burning into it. Seeing that it's distracted and I have a clear shot, I send an icy ectoblast straight to its chest, knocking it to the ground. I rush over and pull out the Phantom thermos again, sealing the clown inside.

" What the hell, man! Why didn't you bring that out before!" exclaims Tim.

" Sorry," I say, knocking out another tattoo, " but it's self-powered."

I look around, trying to find the others. I finally find Bruce and Dick engaging with other clowns and Dami fighting off the last two tattoos, making it so some civilians can break for the exit.

" give me some of that," Jason says, wrecking my concentration. He's grabbing at one of the holy water water bottles.

" No can do," says Tim, " It affects baby D. So…."

" Yeah, your point?" Jason asks, still grabbing at it.

" It could affect you too, dumbass."

I can hear Jason mumbling something suspiciously like, 'Timmy gets all the cool toys.' but I let it go. He lets off a couple of shots, both hitting their target.

They stagger.

Both bullets land in the contortionist, one in the shoulder and another in the kneecap. They go down hard. Their body twitches in a puddle of blood on the ground, trying to move. It twists and contorts, swimming in it, trying to do anything so that it can stand upright, but it's not enough. Their bloodshot, red eyes roll into the back of their head, and their body slumps down like a puppet that's lost their strings. Ejecting out of them is a tattoo in the form of a voodoo doll.

" What the fuck," says Jason.

" Possession," I say, unable to truly call that overshadowing, as it looks like anything but. " Why don't we team up? Help Dami with the rest of the tattoos, then take out the rest of the clowns?"

" What about the rest of the circus?" asks Tim.

" They look to be human," I say. Well, at least, I think. There is no telling if all of them are still alive. If they've been possessed the whole time they've been here, their bodies wouldn't have started decaying yet. " we can restrain them. I might be able to pull out whatever is controlling them."

"Like you did earlier? With the anger?" asks Jason.

" No," I say, shaking my head, " this is something different."

" But you think it will work?" asks Tim.

" As long as I don't run out of room in these," I say, gesturing to the thermoses.

" How many can they hold?" asks Jason.

" Five each; I have room for 13 more," I say.

" Well," says Tim, securing the water bottles, " I guess it's time we start ghost hunting."

" Never say that again," I say with a shiver and make my way toward Dami.

" Was that offensive?" I hear Tim ask. He's quiet for a second before he whispers to himself, "Oh my god, that was probably offensive," causing me to snort.