Cirque Du Freak [A Living Nightmare]

I climbed the stairs. My eyes had gotten used to the dark and I could see pretty well. The stairs were old and creaky and I was half-afraid they would snap under my feet and send me hurtling to my death, but they held.

When I reached the top I discovered I was standing in the middle of the balcony. It was very dusty and dirty up there, and cold, too. I shivered as I crept down toward the front.

I had a great view of the stage. The lights were still on and I could see everything in perfect detail. Nobody was around, not the freaks, not the pretty ladies, not the blue-hoods not Steve. I sat back and waited.

About five minutes later, I spotted a shadow creeping slowly toward the stage. It pulled itself up, then stood and walked to the center, where it stopped and turned around.

It was Steve.

He started toward the left wing, then stopped and set off toward the right. He stopped again. I could see him chewing on his nails, trying to decide which way to go.

Then a voice came from high above his head. "Are you looking for me?" it asked. A figure swooped down onto the stage, its arms out to its sides, a long red cloak floating behind it like a pair of wings.

Steve almost jumped out of his skin when the figure hit the stage and rolled into a ball. I toppled backward, terrified. When I rose to my knees again, the figure was standing and I was able to make out its red clothes, orange hair, pale skin, and huge scar.

Mr. Crepsley!

Steve tried speaking, but his teeth were chattering too much.

"I saw you watching me," Mr. Crepsley said. "You gasped aloud when you first saw me. Why?"

"B-b-b-because I kn-kn-know who you a-are," Steve stuttered, finding his voice.

"I am Larten Crepsley," the creepy-looking man said.

"No," Steve replied. "I know who you really are."

"Oh?" Mr. Crepsley smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Tell me, little boy," he sneered, "who am I, really?"

"Your real name is Vur Horston," Steve said, and Mr. Crepsley's jaw dropped in astonishment. And then Steve said something else, and my jaw dropped, too.

"You're a vampire," he said, and the silence that followed was as long as it was terrifying.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MR. CREPSLEY (OR VUR HORSTON, if that was his real name) smiled. "So," he said, "I have been discovered. I should not be surprised. It had to happen eventually. Tell me, boy, who sent you?"

"Nobody," Steve said.

Mr. Crepsley frowned. "Come, boy," he growled, "do not play games. Who are you working for? Who put you onto me and what do they want?"

"I'm not working for anybody," Steve insisted. "I've got lots of books and magazines at home about vampires and monsters. There was a picture of you in one of them."

"A picture?" Mr. Crepsley asked suspiciously.

"A painting," Steve replied. "It was done in 1903, in Paris. You were with a rich woman. The story said the two of you almost married, but she found out you were a vampire and dumped you."

Mr. Crepsley smiled. "As good a reason as any. Her friends thought she had invented a fantastic story to make herself look better."

"But it wasn't a story, was it?" Steve asked.

"No," Mr. Crepsley agreed. "It was not." He sighed and fixed Steve with a fierce gaze. "Though it might have been better for you if it had been!" he boomed.

If I'd been in Steve's place, I would have fled as soon as he said that. But Steve didn't even blink.

"You won't hurt me," he said.

"Why not?" Mr. Crepsley asked.

"Because of my friend," Steve said. "I told him all about you and if anything happens to me, he'll tell the police."

"They will not believe him," Mr. Crepsley snorted.

"Probably not," Steve agreed. "But if I turn up dead or missing, they'll have to investigate. You wouldn't like that. Lots of police asking questions, coming here in the daytime …"

Mr. Crepsley shook his head with disgust. "Children!" he snarled. "I hate children. What is it you want? Money? Jewels? The rights to publish my story?"

"I want to join you," Steve said.

I almost fell off the balcony when I heard that. Join him?

"What do you mean?" Mr. Crepsley asked, as stunned as I was.

"I want to become a vampire," Steve said. "I want you to make me a vampire and teach me your ways."

"You are crazy!" Mr. Crepsley roared.

"No," Steve said, "I'm not."

"I cannot turn a child into a vampire," Mr. Crepsley said. "I would be murdered by the Vampire Generals if I did."

"What are Vampire Generals?" Steve asked.

"Never you mind," Mr. Crepsley said. "All you need to know is, it cannot be done. We do not blood children. It creates too many problems."

"So don't change me right away," Steve said. "That's okay. I don't mind waiting. I can be an apprentice. I know vampires often have assistants who are half-human, half-vampire. Let me be one. I'll work hard and prove myself, and when I'm old enough…"

Mr. Crepsley stared at Steve and thought it over. He snapped his fingers while he was thinking and a chair flew up onto the stage from the front row! He sat down on it and crossed his legs.