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How in the world did you end up like this?
Okay, don’t actually answer that because you already know the answer. Three months ago, a circus came to town, bringing along a bunch of freaks of nature—I mean, freaks in the circus, yes. You were walking to work at a small cafe just a couple of blocks from your house. You were already late, but you stopped when you saw a random stranger kicking, screaming, and hollering at a clown you now know as Pierrot.
Helping him then seemed human, and the man acting like a monkey seemed inhuman at the time. Now you know just how inhuman all of those "circus freaks" actually were! It started with Pierrot. You found out a week after helping him that he had somehow broken into your house to watch you sleep. Every. Single. Night. Now, that was a shock, yes, but not as much as the fact that you were okay with it.
It wasn’t like Pierrot was planning to kill you (at least, you didn’t think so); he’d melt under any form of attention you gave him, practically a soppy wet puppy every day. If you told him to go away, he’d obey—with the most ridiculously loud sighs and groans on the way—but he’d try nonetheless. But then there was Harlequin.
You had already been warned about him, having seen Pierrot's reaction to his name. The problem was that when you first met Harlequin and told the green clown that Pierrot had given you his ticket, he was shocked beyond belief. Just like that, he never left. Unlike Pierrot, if you told Harlequin to leave, he’d just mock you—a more stubborn kind of dog.
Flirting was the first thing he did every time he saw you, and he would get handsy whenever Pierrot was near. You suspected Harlequin just wanted to annoy him, but you grew skeptical when he began coming to your house like Pierrot. The first time he did it, Pierrot never showed up (you suspected because of Harlequin). Instead, you spent the entire night bickering with the green clown until you blacked out. Or maybe you were just so tired you fell unconscious? Who knows.
Yes, Harlequin and Pierrot were quite a handful, but it got to a point where you really started to bond with them! Who cares if they weren't very human and kind of ate people every day? Your eyesight was bad anyway.
The day it started to get bad was like any other. Like clockwork, your two routine clowns begged you on their knees (well, not Harlequin) to go to the circus to watch their show. You only agreed because, after you denied having time for the fifth time that day, Pierrot dropped to his knees and curled into a ball to sob hysterically. You nodded and obliged the now very happy clowns.
Going to the circus became a weekly thing, though they’d beg you daily. By the end of every week, you’d either already said yes or were ready to give up. This time, they even tussled in front of you over whose ticket you’d take. To settle the score (and shut them up), you took both from their hands and decided for them after quite the debacle.
Unfortunately, no matter how close they wanted to be to you, they both knew they had a job to do at the circus, or Jester would have a problem with them. At the time, you didn’t know the other members very well. It was like marrying an orphan and meeting their parents for the first time—except it was their first time as well.
The person greeting you at the front was the Ticket Taker, clad in dark blues and blacks. He wore the same uncanny white mask with carved eye holes that you had grown used to. He took both tickets and raised a curious brow. His expression suggested it had finally dawned on him that you were the reason Harlequin and Pierrot were running off in the dead of night.
Usually, the person greeting you would be Jester, because Harlequin would challenge you to sneak in for the seventh time. Each time, Jester would show up, arms crossed, face plastered with an unimpressed expression. “Sneaking in? Again?” Harlequin would give a chuckle, hands hidden behind his back like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.
“You can go to both tents tonight; make sure you don’t distract our employees.” If you squinted hard enough, you almost thought you saw him wink as he ripped the tickets at the dotted line, handed them back, and pointed to the two tents in the distance.
That was your first encounter with the Ticket Taker. Your last encounter was when you were stripping into a new pair of pajamas, straight from the wash. You had been so excited for them, immediately trying them on and standing before the mirror. If you had looked closely enough, you would have seen narrow eyes and an amused expression.
Oh, wait. You did look close enough! Seeing his dark silhouette inside your mirror made you jump out of your skin. You backed away in fear, toppling over your laundry basket before staring up in a daze at the Ticket Taker, who was now standing in front of you with his hand out. He looked borderline proud of himself for making you jump, a low chuckle escaping him as you hesitatingly took his hand.
“Oh my god, I’m going to close my eyes and you're going to disappear, yeah?” He laughed a little louder at that, but when you snapped your eyes shut and opened them again, he was still standing there, prestigious, with his hands folded behind his back. “Why didn't you disappear?” you deadpanned, dusting yourself off and returning to the mirror.
Subconsciously, you looked into the glass, seeing the Ticket Taker in the background but no one actually inside the mirror anymore. “Still paranoid?” he quizzed. You huffed, ignoring him. This went on for two weeks before we got to the present. But hold your clowns! We’re not done going through the before-and-after meetings yet.
The penultimate is Jester. As I said, you met him several times while sneaking in with Harlequin—enough times that he just stopped caring altogether. But the first time you met him at his own show, he had given you a purple ticket when Harlequin wasn’t looking and said he needed more popularity (even though he’s the most infamous).
You knew this was a lie, but you stepped into the purple tent anyway. As he told a story, you lost focus when you made eye contact. He had more of a reaction than you did, almost falling over from where he leaned against the back wall. The last encounter was yesterday night, while you were sitting and talking with the other two clowns who continued their breaking and entering.
Harlequin and Pierrot. They seemed to stick around, and once you threatened to throw them out, no more fuss was made about the other—though you didn't know how that threat convinced them, considering you weren't stronger than something inhuman. That night, as you were bickering, you went to the pantry. While you grabbed some flour, your shadow shifted into something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Only after you heard a loud crash, a tumble, and two synchronized voices say, in the most dramatic and irritating way, “Jester?” did you realize who was possessing your shadow. Not even looking back, you slumped against the shelves, the other ingredients forgotten. You needed privacy from these loonies; it was driving you absolutely insane.
And finally, our favorite illegal surgeon: Doctor! Your first meeting was quite regular. Pierrot, for some reason, was acting like himself that day and was exhausted—whether from his own antics or from working at the circus, who knows! Either way, the next time you agreed to a visit, he handed you a black ticket. You were curious, so you didn't correct him. Oh, you sweet summer child.
That was one of the days you decided not to sneak in (much to Harlequin’s disappointment). When you showed up to the booth, the Ticket Taker looked confused to see that Pierrot had not given you one of his tickets. He hadn’t known the sleepy performer had given you the wrong one, and you chose not to tell him.
Ticket Taker handed you a spare red ticket, mumbling something about not wanting to see Pierrot have another tantrum. You graciously accepted and watched Pierrot's show before heading to the Doctor’s tent. Despite how many people held his ticket, not a single line had formed. You walked right in. not a single line had formed outside and you just walked in, free of waiting in line.
It was dark— dark enough that you stumbled and tripped several times trying to find the light. Machines and tools surrounded a very uncomfortable-looking medical bed. You stopped in your tracks; it was so quiet, save for the buzz of the bright white light pointing at the silver bed.
A hand pressed to your lower back and you screeched, turning your head and relaxing only when you saw the Doctor. Without a word, he guided you to the bed and gestured for you to lie down. Once you were spread out, leather cuffs snapped around your ankles and wrists. He approached with a scalpel. A sharp, stinging pain littered your body after that visit; he had cut your cheek, your hands, and your back.
All the while, he hummed and nodded, realizing why the others were so obsessed.
Your last encounter wasn't actually the worst, but it was the scariest—or the most memorable. Actually, never mind, it was definitely memorable. When you were coming home from work, so many people had screamed at you that day that you found yourself hoping they would show up in one of Pierrot’s shows just so you could do your job in peace. Unlocking the front door with a click, you set your bag down and groaned, stretching.
You turned toward the bedroom, but stopped at the doorknob, blinking blearily to see if what you saw was real. There, on the kitchen table, were several mats made for potty-training dogs, some knives and scissors, and a dirty-looking leather bag dropped to the side. And sitting there? Doctor.
Eating someone.
You had passed out.
Now, let's talk about the present. It was a "regular" day, though I realize I’ve said that quite a few times before something odd happened.
So, scratch that. It was as regular as a day could be for someone with five obsessive freaks. You entered your house, juggling your phone to send a quick text to your boss saying you wouldn't be in tomorrow. You felt bad, but work had been a lot since Carol "left," and business was more stressful than usual.
Guilt weighed on your chest. You imagined your boss's face—would he try to convince you otherwise? It didn't matter; your health was deteriorating despite your boring routine. You had gone to a counselor who told you that you had mild depression because nothing exciting was happening. That was stupid. You were very much "excited" to be on the verge of being kidnapped every day.
Pushing the door open, you were already sick and tired of dealing with strangers. It wasn't any better that you hadn't seen either of your favorite clowns to cheer you up with their antics. A few thoughts floated in—thoughts you tried to swat away. Had they grown tired of you? Were you no longer amusing?
Shaking your head to distract yourself, you dropped your bag and stretched. There was a red stripe across your right shoulder from your bag strap. Instead of imagining piles of money, you were imagining lying in bed and sleeping for years.
Sadly, you were an adult with a life and, worst of all, responsibilities! After your bag hit the ground, you opened the fridge and grabbed some instant noodles. You wanted to eat something huge and pass out, but all you could handle was boiling the kettle.
Too lazy to put a cloth under the bowl, you made a mental note to wipe the table in the morning. You couldn't just go to bed yet because it was only mid-day; if you slept now, you’d be up all night. Plus, your brain couldn't handle the feeling of wearing sweaty clothes in a clean bed. Curse your boss for letting you go early.
While eating, your brain began shutting down. You were so tired of hearing people shout about not having exactly 2.2683758 cups of creamer in their coffee. Then, you heard it. After three months of your house being broken into by two childish clowns, their bells sounded like cymbals slamming together.
You had a sixth sense for when you were about to be snuck up on. And you were right.
Of course you were right.
Privacy wasn’t a thing. Your shoulders sagged, and you let out a sigh of exhaustion as the twinkle of bells grew louder, followed by footsteps. One pair, then two. “Oh my god...” your words were barely a whisper. You dragged your hand down your face as the footsteps stopped behind you.
“You heard us...?” It was Pierrot. When you turned around, there was a light dust of pink on his mask(?). Behind him was Harlequin, looking slightly shocked but mostly showing just how few damns he gave. He was just there to irritate Pierrot by being near you, so long as it didn’t cause Pierrot to kill you in a "if I can't have you, no one can" fit of rage.
Pierrot’s eyes were tiny and wide. He stood frozen in the middle of the living room while Harlequin pranced over to the wooden chair across from you. Propping his elbows on the table, Harlequin tilted his head as you made eye contact. A grin spread across his face at the sight of your exhaustion.
“Does my irritation make you happy?” you asked, your eyebrows drawing together in frustration. At your words, the green Harlequin’s smile grew impossibly wide.
“No, it’s just comedic that you’ve become so familiar with our bells.” He reached up and flicked the bell on his hat. “We’re a part of your routine now.” This thought only made you angrier, realizing he was right. You constantly looked around during the day to see if they were watching.
Pierrot overcame his shock. It dawned on him that while he was trying to figure out why he was being so loud, Harlequin was chatting you up. He slid into the seat next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, staring daggers at Harlequin. The green clown just laughed; this was exactly what he wanted—to get under Pierrot's skin.
Trying to ignore them, you abruptly stood up and took your bowl to the sink. The two behind you were still bickering, Harlequin reminding Pierrot of his obligated silence while you aggressively scrubbed.
Just to distract yourself, you held up the bowl, now sparkling clean. In the reflection, you saw a slight movement. You whipped around, only to see the faint outline of the blue Ticket Taker. You nearly dropped the plate, realizing that not one, not two, but three different monsters had now broken into your house to stalk you.
He must have already been watching, because at that moment, a pair of ankles in dark blue leather dress shoes reached through the glass, followed by his entire body. Stepping out of the mirror in his full uniform, he watched as your plate clattered into the sink. You faced him fully, eyes wide. “What the hell?” you whispered. You were questioning where exactly your life had gone wrong.
Harlequin and Pierrot stopped bickering at the sound of the plate, switching their focus to their coworker. “Well, that’s quite a shock,” the Ticket Taker said, though his tone sounded even less interested than Harlequin’s.
“You—I—are you kidding me?!” It dawned on you that yelling at inhuman… creatures capable of snapping your bones wasn't a good idea, but the audacity of these clowns could power a city. It was enough to convince you they deserved a scolding. Two of them were fighting at your table, and another was hiding in your mirror?!
You had the urge to just forget everything and go to sleep, but your conscience wouldn’t allow it with three cannibals roaming around—especially since it was only 3:00 PM.
Once again, you covered your eyes and groaned, crumbling to your knees. Pierrot immediately ran over and knelt beside you. “Are you hurt, dear?” You simply shook your head. “It’s you guys! Why are all of you in my house?!” You grabbed Pierrot's wrist as he tried to rub comforting circles on your back.
It couldn’t be comforting when he had broken in.
He was momentarily stunned, looking delirious as he explained, “But I couldn’t stay away from you! And Harlequin told me he was coming, so I wasn’t going to leave you alone with him.” The last sentence was barked out as he glowered at the green clown. Harlequin put a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Well, I wouldn’t be alone anyway, because I’m betting my left leg there’s another one.” The fact that your leg didn't disappear should have been a sign. There was a quiet shuffle before Harlequin’s shadow stepped off the ground. Jester. Bright purple, and if you squinted, his smile looked a little less hungry for flesh and a little more guilty.
“You—? You know what, I’m not even going to ask.” Deciding you were done for the night, you jumped up and strode toward your room. You pushed everyone out of the way and kicked the Ticket Taker out so you could slam the door in his face. You hit the door and slid down, resting your elbows on your knees.
“Oh my godddddd...” you groaned. You stopped when you looked up. Your bed was covered in a light blue plastic sheet. Your desk had been wiped clean and was now covered in gauze, scalpels, and something that looked uncomfortably like a butcher knife. And there, sitting right beside your bed, was the Doctor, his mask's eyes glowing a neon cyan.
His hands froze as he was arranging tools on your desk. He looked caught—guilty, like he’d stolen a chocolate bar rather than breaking in to set up a Grey’s Anatomy set in your bedroom.
“Just leave. Just get out.” You opened the door and pointed out with a stern expression. You watched as the other four, who had been pressing their ears to the door, fell to the ground in a heap.
You just sighed.