Applauding trapeze artists’ aerial excellence, Caitlyn declared, “Way better than some mangy flea circus!”
I agreed. “So fun!”
We must’ve misread the advertisements. The show was impressive, a dazzling evening inside a towering tent, complete with clowns, acrobats, and lion tamers.
A hundred spectators cheered as nimble performers gathered centre stage, taking their bows.
The ringleader thanked everyone for attending, adding, “Concessions are closed. Now, time for us to eat.”
Troupe members shed their skins—disguises—revealing insectoid mandibles, three pairs of powerful limbs.
Massive, agile bloodsuckers leapt into the stands, surrounding prey.
We screamed. Stumbled. Found nowhere to flee.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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