Concerning the Circus

   The air grew thick with the threat of rain. Still in the distance, but present nonetheless. Out in the field by Drywood Creek the carnival was a dark and silent creature, abandoned and slumbering beneath a moon moving in and out from clouds. Hoell stayed in the shadows, warily treading the perimeter of packed dust and sporadic gravel. Grey rain would later turn the field into a mess of pale clay mud, and then the carnival would be gone, but for now Hoell silently walked in the long shadows of mechanical giants, evil silhouette of midway booths, silent terrors advertised by weathered cutouts.
   The carnival spun out like a wheel, a spiral, turning slowly from the center, the Midway. Hoell kept moving in clockwise, watching a shifting moon alter the landscape. Rounding the front of an old flatbed pick-up he thought he saw one shadow melt away from the rest, but rather than recede with the moon's tide glide toward a tent rippling gently in the quiet breeze. The air picked up the must of the river, sharp fuel and animal spore, and the hint of decay lurking just on the end. They were still following him.
   He ducked around the creaking pendulum of a Ferris Wheel car, skeleton shifting faintly the metal gates, getting an empty animal pen between them. He thought he had dodged sight, but slipped around a hulking truck still reeking of diesel to get some distance.
   The moon vanished, obscuring the attraction in front of him, housed in a trailer with sides like a Murphy Bed. In the darkness a shadow moved beyond the Ferris Wheel. Hoell took his chances and slipped inside.