Somewhere between major cities, rolling down a highway in an unusually colourful parade of vehicles, was the circus. It was utterly normal, at least by our standards, and heading for somewhere near London that their boss had assured them was one of the most financially lucrative places for a circus to go. In fact he'd booked them a field for two months!
His confidence was both inspiring and worrying. While he was trusted and admired by all his employees the length of their stay was highly unusual and enough to set them on edge. Stray whispers were sent around in texts suspecting some kind of side deal.
The town's sign was as average and dull as the field they were set up on, no major landmarks nearby, no houses for a good mile but a forest of trees taller than any they'd seen. When the performers did their rounds of the town handing out flyers and vouchers to any and all who would stop for them they found that the people all had a greyish tinge to them.
It was like the entire town was slightly foggy at all times though a few older performers declared that they'd seen this phenomenon before and wanted to leave before nightfall, forgetting that everything was set up already for the show the following night. It was all too far underway to stop, not to mention the boss refused to move until they'd at least made the field's rental cost back.
With this said worries were kept to quiet grumbles and tickets were booked, sold and given away as fast as they'd placed the seats to begin with. The greyish tinge seemed to be following a few performers who'd hung around the town the longest, though they declared that there was nothing there and it was just dust in the air.
The crowd that came the first night only brought more of the fog with them, leaving little grey swirls by their feet and thin plumes gently rising up to the central hole in the tent giving the illusion that the whole place was on fire inside. If that hadn't been enough to worry all performers, the crowd's reactions certainly did.
They didn't laugh, clap, move or even breathe throughout the whole show - not even when they were "randomly selected" to join the clowns on stage. They just smiled a little too widely and spoke quietly when spoken too. There wasn't so much as a flinch when an acrobat, soaked through from the thickening mist, slipped from his post and fell, breaking through the net to land with a loud thud.
The crowd were silent, almost invisible as the mist continued to grow. The show was called off and the crowd silently walked outside, smiling all the while as the acrobat's body was gingerly covered with a large spotted tablecloth until the ambulance arrived an hour later. Even they were the same quietly spoken, mist producing oddities that the town seemed full of though they tried to appear more human at least, as they slipped and admitted they weren't.
They called themselves Gesweorc and translated it as the mist inside bodies willingly given, or a close approximation. Both seemed friendly enough, declaring casually that the acrobat would be up and about in no time if he had fallen on purpose, much to the outrage of his loved ones who called it murder straight up. If the mist hadn't been spreading so much he wouldn't have slipped, they said through their tears.
The paramedics, still gently smiling, advised that they'd see in the morning. Invited them to come to the morgue early in case the acrobat woke up. According to them it was awfully frightful at first, to suddenly Be and to Be Alone with the voice of the mist welcoming them back. Apparently the voice was a terrible comforter, convinced that being told that you were now one with an eternal force of undying life was the best thing to say to the newly reborn.
The circus was gone by morning, never having stopped by the morgue to collect their acrobat (dead or reborn) and never talking about the town again. Though the mist continued to follow them, whispering in their dreams and promising eternal life and youth, the majority never returned. A few did, too tempted by the sombre tones of the mist and how it poured out of the mouth of their dearly departed acrobat as he swung around in their sleep-filled minds.
One by one these deserters stepped into the morgue to begin their new life and one by one freshly formed mistlings drifted out through the walls, eagerly absorbing their new lives.
His confidence was both inspiring and worrying. While he was trusted and admired by all his employees the length of their stay was highly unusual and enough to set them on edge. Stray whispers were sent around in texts suspecting some kind of side deal.
The town's sign was as average and dull as the field they were set up on, no major landmarks nearby, no houses for a good mile but a forest of trees taller than any they'd seen. When the performers did their rounds of the town handing out flyers and vouchers to any and all who would stop for them they found that the people all had a greyish tinge to them.
It was like the entire town was slightly foggy at all times though a few older performers declared that they'd seen this phenomenon before and wanted to leave before nightfall, forgetting that everything was set up already for the show the following night. It was all too far underway to stop, not to mention the boss refused to move until they'd at least made the field's rental cost back.
With this said worries were kept to quiet grumbles and tickets were booked, sold and given away as fast as they'd placed the seats to begin with. The greyish tinge seemed to be following a few performers who'd hung around the town the longest, though they declared that there was nothing there and it was just dust in the air.
The crowd that came the first night only brought more of the fog with them, leaving little grey swirls by their feet and thin plumes gently rising up to the central hole in the tent giving the illusion that the whole place was on fire inside. If that hadn't been enough to worry all performers, the crowd's reactions certainly did.
They didn't laugh, clap, move or even breathe throughout the whole show - not even when they were "randomly selected" to join the clowns on stage. They just smiled a little too widely and spoke quietly when spoken too. There wasn't so much as a flinch when an acrobat, soaked through from the thickening mist, slipped from his post and fell, breaking through the net to land with a loud thud.
The crowd were silent, almost invisible as the mist continued to grow. The show was called off and the crowd silently walked outside, smiling all the while as the acrobat's body was gingerly covered with a large spotted tablecloth until the ambulance arrived an hour later. Even they were the same quietly spoken, mist producing oddities that the town seemed full of though they tried to appear more human at least, as they slipped and admitted they weren't.
They called themselves Gesweorc and translated it as the mist inside bodies willingly given, or a close approximation. Both seemed friendly enough, declaring casually that the acrobat would be up and about in no time if he had fallen on purpose, much to the outrage of his loved ones who called it murder straight up. If the mist hadn't been spreading so much he wouldn't have slipped, they said through their tears.
The paramedics, still gently smiling, advised that they'd see in the morning. Invited them to come to the morgue early in case the acrobat woke up. According to them it was awfully frightful at first, to suddenly Be and to Be Alone with the voice of the mist welcoming them back. Apparently the voice was a terrible comforter, convinced that being told that you were now one with an eternal force of undying life was the best thing to say to the newly reborn.
The circus was gone by morning, never having stopped by the morgue to collect their acrobat (dead or reborn) and never talking about the town again. Though the mist continued to follow them, whispering in their dreams and promising eternal life and youth, the majority never returned. A few did, too tempted by the sombre tones of the mist and how it poured out of the mouth of their dearly departed acrobat as he swung around in their sleep-filled minds.
One by one these deserters stepped into the morgue to begin their new life and one by one freshly formed mistlings drifted out through the walls, eagerly absorbing their new lives.
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