| didn't start doing shows until I'd been with the Circus for about six 
months, but when | did, they put me right at the top of the bill fora 
while. Every poster they put up would have my name up there in big 
bold lettering. "URIEL FISHBONES, THE AMAZING SLUGGO". 
That made me proud and | hoped that when my parents saw that, it 
made them proud too. 


After every show, I'd have to lie down in my trailer. Other acts, they 
were far more athletic. Running, tumbling or swinging around and 
around they were, and there | was, just sitting on a stool, 
manipulating my stalks. And still, every time | was done, | felt so 


tired. | needed the applause though, it was the only thing 


68 


Herman Fuller Presents: The Fishman Of Manasquan 


The Fishman of Manasquan 
Part fish! 

Part man! 

All freak! 


Man or fish? YOU DECIDE! 


How can this abomination exist? 
What lurks beneath the waves? 
The Fishman knows and all will be revealed! 


The original, the only real fishman in existence! Born into this cruel 
and uncaring world somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, the Fishman 
now travels with our Circus to bring you a most exciting show. Hear 
the whispered secrets from the depths of the ocean! 


ONE DAY ONLY 


This Sunday, 1 PM, at the Botetourt County Fairgrounds. 
One show, one chance! Come one, come all! 


ham sandwich, a glass of iced tea, or even more luxurious items like 
caviar or a brick of gold. A list of notable items the butler has thus far 
been able to provide to those who ring the bell may be found in 
addendum 662-A1. 


Mr. Deeds will also perform menial tasks, such as washing vehicles, 
preparing food, and cleaning bathrooms. If a request is deemed 
unreasonable or impossible by the butler, he will kindly tell the ringer 
so, and offer an alternative if one may be had. 


The butler is not immune to ill actions taken against him while in 
sight. He has been killed or injured in multiple tests, and will remain 
either dead or injured until he is out of sight. Upon return with a ring 
of the bell, all previous injuries will have vanished and he will be 
groomed and well dressed in his uniform, and ready for the next 
order. 


A more detailed explanation of the jobs he can perform and the 
limits to which he may be put can be found in the aforementioned 
interview log 662-L1. Test logs relating to his ability to heal himself, 
and those of the properties of the bell, may be accessed by any 
level 2 or higher personnel. All attempts to catch Mr. Deeds 
"disappearing" have failed, as equipment will either fail or he will find 
a suitable unobserved spot. 


Addendum 
662-A1: Items and Tasks Requested and results 
Items: 


-Nearly any conceivable kind of sandwich. Human flesh has been 
requested as lunchmeat and politely denied. 


-Beverages, also of nearly any kind. As with sandwich meat, human 
blood has been requested and denied. Pig blood, however, was 
served promptly, still warm. 


-A brick of 99.98 percent pure gold (Mr. Deeds produced a brick of 
99.14 percent pure gold, and apologized for being unable to provide 
the requested purity). 


Herman Fuller Presents: The Flame Faced Man 


The Flame-Faced Man 
Come see the burning man! 
Cursed by a witch-doctor! 


Forever wreathed in bright flames! 


He feels no pain! 
See him set objects ablaze! 
Come see the hottest show on earth! 


Sir Allan Bottley-Shillingham, world-renowned explorer, ran afoul of 
the natives of Darkest Africa. Cursed by an evil witch doctor, he 
wandered the earth as the flame-faced man until the Circus found 
him. Come see this wonder of darkest magic and feel the heat! 


ONE DAY ONLY 


This Sunday, 1 PM, at the Botetourt County Fairgrounds. 
One show, one chance! Come one, come all! 


A Circus Milked Dry 


A Circus of a Wreck » 


A few miles east of the remains of a fairgrounds, a gopher stuck its 
head out of its hole and squinted into the boiling afternoon heat. It 
looked around curiously, surveying the land for any threats. After a 
few minutes had passed, it ducked down and chattered to its fellow 
rodent. 


"Okey doke, Pius, | think the coast is finally clear! The Party 
Poopers have finally left!" The little animal spoke perfect English, in 
a sharp, brusque manner that had an air of permanent exasperation. 


"Thank goodness. | don't think | could have coped with the smell of 
rotting gopher much longer. Why didn't they come over here? I'm 
sure a pond of blood and guts would have merited some interest, 
even if it was just gopher." The second critter spoke in a much 
calmer tone, though it was clear he was feeling somewhat strained 
from being pent up in a dirt hidey-hole. 


"Morty's been cleaning up at night. For a sadistic little beast, he's 
surprisingly good at covering up his messes." 


"Ah, well. That explains it. Where did Mortimer run off to anyway, 
Eugene?" 


"Wowwee! Wowwee!" 


The two gophers turned their heads upwards to see a neon green 
rabbit peering back at them through their hiding spot. Its mouth 
curved upward in a malicious grin to reveal a mouth full of forked 
tongues. It hissed with mischievous laughter. "Wowwee! Wowweel!" 


"Mortimer, dammit! Get down here now! Do you know how much 
Fun-Lovers are wanted by the others!" Eugene the Gopher bristled, 


showing no signs of alarm at the peculiar rabbit, only indignation. 
"| thought you said we were climbing out?" Pius said politely. 
"|— | just meant— fine. Get out of here." Eugene snapped. 


"Gladly," Pius replied, and the two gophers clambered out of the 
hole into the hot grassy plains of the former Circus site. For a 
fraction of a second, the gophers seemed to shimmer and bubble in 
the sun's glare. An instant later, two stereotypical-looking circus 
clowns stood in the place of the rodents. 


"Good to be a Clown again, Eugene?" Pius asked his taller 
companion as he flexed his shoulders; a large layer of dust sprinkled 
down from his costume. 


"On the contrary, I'm more than a bit irked," Eugene snapped. "! 
would have preferred being normal right now, but | doubt | can pull 
off another transformation stronger than this; I'd need more Clown 
Milk than we've got at the moment." 


"How long is the walk to the grounds?" 
"Not long with a Mortimer! Get over here and give us a ride!" 


The rabbit gave a final "Wowweel" before jumping up a good eight 
feet into the air. A swirl of dust and a loud crack followed. A second 
later, the rabbit was gone, replaced by a chittering, amorphous sac 
of black liquid supported by a dozen or so human arms. The thing 
shuddered once more, then sprouted a pair of rudimentary wooden 
chairs on its back. It lowered its body as the clowns hoisted 
themselves up. 


"Mortimer, any milk on you right now?" Eugene asked the pitch- 
colored thing. 


The beast rippled unhappily in response; an empty sloshing noise 
could be heard within the sac. 


"Damn. Not enough to pull off a Ringer. Let's hope something's left 
at the grounds to make Morty happy. He already blew through the 
gophers here." 


"Try to stay calm this time, Eugene," Pius said solemnly. "You'll 
waste your Milk supplies if you get all fired up." 


"Shut up, Pius," Eugene snapped. 
Chitter, chitter, chitter. The Clowns' mount clicked and rumbled. 
"Shut up, Morty." 


And with that, the two exhausted Clowns and their Eldritch ride 
skittered to the Circus grounds. 


As the unusual trio neared the burnt remains of the old Circus 
grounds, Eugene the Clown swore. 


"We're going to be hard-pressed to find anything here," he groaned. 
"The place has been torched." All around, patches of burnt grass 
and ashen wood frames clouded the air with smoke and dying 
embers. Mortimer came to a halt as they came to the central Big 
Top. The Clowns dismounted, and the Eldritch sac took off in search 
of new ways to amuse itself. 


The Big Top tent post, surprisingly, was still standing, though apart 
from that, there wasn't much left. The seven meter tall wooden stake 
was firmly driven into the ground at the center of the abandoned fair. 
Scraps of scarlet and gold fabric shuddered and flapped in messes 
and tangles of wire, splinters, and string. Heaps of charred wooden 
seats ringed the once proud setting of the main attraction. Right 
outside the ring of ash and dirty red and dirt, several, smaller heaps 
of deformed, blackened metal sunk into the dust. Concession 
stands. A little further off, several more booths that were once home 
to carnival games smoked softly. There was not another living soul 
in sight. 


Eugene sighed. "Everyone except us got out. Of course. Morty had 
to go play Hack-a-Mole when the Call went out." 


Eugene loved being part of the Circus of the Disquieting, though he 
was, to say the least, unhappy at the moment. It had been seventy 
years since he and so many others of his kind had first met Herman 


Fuller and traveled the worlds for countless performances that 
befuddled and awed every audience. Every show was a new, 
thrilling experience; the Clowns wanted the fun to go on and on and 
on. 


And that was what Fuller promised. A lifetime of entertainment for 
everyone, for all the Clowns. Entertainment was hard to come by in 
their own home. Things could be downright dull, so the Clowns were 
eager to join the Circus when it became clear that Fuller could ease 
their boredom, which, in itself, said something about Fuller's 
confidence in his abilities; the first Clowns that had come in were, to 
say the least, monstrous; they were too unstable to be fit for regular 
Circus Performances. As a result, the creatures who were employed 
by Fuller were required to stunt their growth, abilities, and primal 
violence to the point where they could be, at the least, accepted 
without too much concern for worry. 


Eugene cursed again. "| bet the Higher Clowns are sitting on their 
asses just clowning around right now. No one cares about two 
miserly Lessers! We're just the Highers' dogs!" he lamented. "Oh, 
the freaking humanity!" 


"The term humanity doesn't apply to us," Pius corrected as he knelt 
down to look at a ruined cotton candy machine. "And yes, we do 
serve the Higher Clowns, but it's far from a slave system." Then, 
frowning in disappointment, he added, "No good here; all the Milk's 
spoiled from the heat. It burst all over the vat." 


"Well there has to be something we can use to get Morty up and 
running!" Eugene spat. "And it'd better not involve me! | don't want 
to become a Fun-Lover's punching-milking-bag-thing again!" The 
Clown shuddered as it recalled a vivid image of it being forced to 
turn into a cherry-red wobbly heavy bag so it could keep Mortimer 
occupied and away from the audience. 


"You'd prefer being abandoned by the Circus and left to whither from 
Milk Deprivation? It will take Mortimer at least a week to make a 
gallon of Milk for just one of us if we don't let him off the chain for a 
bit. Give a little to win a little," Pius remarked curiously, regarding 
Eugene as he was a mildly interesting thing found within a rotting 
log. 


"No, | just want to stop being someone who has to do all the dirty 
work!" Eugene shot back. "How'd we get stuck with that Fun-Lover 
anyways? | thought that after Marlene was transferred | had 
requested one that just needed company to be milked, not one that 
was a sadistic little twit!" 


"Mortimer was given to us under...special circumstances if | recall,” 
Pius said as he walked towards another melted concession stand. 


"Aside from the psychotic milking needs? | thought violent Fun- 
Lovers were shipped back home." 


"Don't you remember, Eugene? Honestly, you'd be much better off 
paying attention instead of moping all the time when someone's 
talking; in fact, your attitude contributed to the Higher-Ups giving us 
the "sadistic little twit". Anyhow, allow me to lay it out for you..." 


Behind Eugene and Pius, Mortimer returned with a box of two dozen 
twisty balloons, honking and hissing reproachfully as it continued to 
walk with an empty fluid sac. It plopped down and turned one of its 
arms into an air hose. Its remaining hands, which were surprisingly 
dexterous, began inflating and tying the balloons until it had sixteen 
balloon animals ranging from dogs to monkeys to cats. It loaded a 
handful of pebbles into one of the remaining eight balloons and 
inflated it to near bursting before shaping it like a shotgun. Then it 
popped it, sending the miniature rocks hurtling towards a pair of 
rubber turtles, which both deflated with hissing floops... Mortimer 
clapped its hands and repeated this antic seven more times until the 
balloon zoo was mowed down completely. The milk sac on its back 
filled slightly, maybe a dozen milliliters, though Pius and Eugene 
didn't notice. 


"...Mortimer was sent off with Trisha to go scout for potential show 
additions," Pius lectured. 


"Oh, yeah, Trisha, | remember her," Eugene interjected. "What 
happened to her?" 


"She was... Inflated after Mortimer got out of hand during their 
search," Pius said, with a tone of sadness in his voice. "It was at 
some artist's convention; Mortimer went bonkers when he saw one 


of the pieces." 
"Which one was that?" Eugene asked. 


"A total deathtrap thing. Lots of needles and sharp stuff and 
explosions, the whole lot. It was supposed to represent some human 
element." 


"You mean ignorance? Downright, complete, and utter asininity?" 
Eugene gave a short bark of laughter. 


"Something like that," Pius responded, smiling slightly in spite of 
himself. "We confiscated it from Mortimer after he somehow 
managed to take it right out from under their noses. | don't even 
know why anyone in their right mind would have displayed it to begin 
with, though the artists Trisha had been sent to go look at were... 
odd. | remember hearing something about how everyone should 
"chill" in the report." 


"Human slang, sometimes." 
"I know, right?" 


"Go on." Eugene implored Pius to get to the point. Meanwhile, 
Mortimer, now in a form resembling a monstrous, half-mechanical 
praying mantis, was taking helium canisters and chopping the seals 
off with transformed bladed forelimbs. One sped straight towards 
Pius' head, who casually sidestepped the projectile. The canister 
snapped the Big Top pole in two and continued skidding for a good 
hundred feet. Eugene wasn't so lucky, and caught one right in the 
back, sending the Clown sprawling face first into the dirt, where he 
stuck out like a nail. 


"Wowwee! Wowwee! | 'da Champ! | 'da Champ!" Mortimer laughed 
again. 


Eugene pushed himself out of the crater, and rubbed his nose, his 
eyes watering. "Son of a Flame-faced man, looks like I'm gonna 
have to be the punching bag after all. And why the he// does he keep 
repeating that?" 


"Freak Show if | know," Pius replied in a singsong voice. "Shall | 


continue?" 


"Go ahead," Eugene growled, glaring at the gloating Fun-Lover. He 
was beginning to see red, and his ears were ringing, though he 
couldn't tell if it was from the melting make-up or just his anger. 
Then, looking back, he saw Pius cocking an eyebrow at him in mock 
disapproval. "I'm staying calm, Pius." 


"Ahem, | doubt it. Eugene? Dial back on the steam engine state, will 
you? The rest of us don't want your...spout to blow." Pius gave a 
little smirk as he watched his colleague try and get his temper down. 


Eugene felt the top of his head. "Shit." He had let his shape-shifting 
get out of control again; an old-style train smokestack had sprung 
out from his skull and was now billowing copious amounts of black 
smoke while whistling shrilly. "Screw you, Pius," Eugene snapped at 
Pius' chiding, still staring daggers at Mortimer. However, the 
smokestack retreated back into his head. "Better?" Eugene asked. 


"Good." Pius smiled. "You're learning a bit of patience and tolerance 
today, Gene. That's very good for getting a promotion."