Page 2 of Maison De Fous

I don’t doubt him. Johnny’s good at what he does—too good, sometimes. But that’s why he’s here, why he’s been with me for as long as he has. We understand each other in a way that no one else ever could. We’re both monsters, cut from the same fucking cloth, and we revel in the darkness. It’s where we feel the most at home.

Indie joins us. Her dark hair swaying in the wind behind her as she wraps her arms around my neck before lifting herself on her toes and pressing a soft kiss to the scarred flesh on the side of my face. Normally, I’d shudder away from the touch. But not with her. Indie is the one fucking person who can touch me, whenever, wherever and my body’s natural instinct isn’t to kill.

“The tent’s ready,” she explains with a soft tone. She’s tired, that much is clear. Setting up is no easy task, everyone has been hard at work all through the night ensuring we’re ready to go for tonight.

“Good,” I say, looking up at the towering structure. “Let’s go over the details one more time.”

We huddle together, discussing the plans for the night. It’s all been carefully thought out, every detail meticulously planned. The sideshows will cater to every depraved desire imaginable—spider kinks, masks, and acts so twisted that even the most hardened among us would flinch. But that’s what our customers want. They come to us because they crave the darkness, because we offer them a chance to bewhothey truly are without fear of judgment.

But tonight’s show has a little twist to it.

The masks will go on at the door, and the lights will go down. Once you’re inside the big top, you’re no longer a person—you’re aparticipant.The rules are simple: there are no rules. You can do whatever you want to whoever you want. Cirkie and customer alike. It’s a game of survival, a test of how far you’re willing to go to satisfy your desires. And when it’s all over, when the sun rises and the masks come off, only the strongest will walk away.

Most of the cirkies are as excited as we are, though there are a few who are less willing to participate, but I know how to handle them. Johnny has already been given instructions on how much to dose them, and when. By the time the show starts, they’ll be more than willing. They’ll be begging for the anarchy that’s to come.

And if I lose a couple of cirkies, so be it. There’s no shortage of drug addicts and sewer rats living in the main cities that would be more than willing to join my crew if it provided them with a roof and a full stomach.

“This is going to make history,” I say, my voice thick with anticipation. “Fergus will never forget us or Cirque Du Désir.”

Indie’s eyes lift to mine as she wraps her arms around my middle. Using my gloved hand, I cup her chin, and I trail my thumb across the raised flesh of her scar. The scar her drunk piece of shit father marred into her once perfect and pure skin. He’s lucky she killed him. Because for what he did to her, the death he got was less than what he deserved. I would’ve made him suffer. I’d have made him regret every foul and disrespectful thing he said or did to her, and then when he cried, and beggedfor me to end it all, I’d leave him for dead with no way of escaping. Locked away where no one would hear him or find him.

Alone in the dark while he took his last pathetic breath.

I take a long drag of the cigarette, filling my lungs with the toxic nicotine as I pull Indie close against me. Her eyes shine with something dark and hungry as she holds my stare. “I can’t fucking wait.”

Neither can I. This night will be one for the books—a blood-soaked spectacle that will cement our place in Canadian history. I can already see the headlines: “Circus of Horrors Comes to Fergus,” “Town in Shock After Night of Terror.” But they won’t understand. They’ll think we’re monsters, but they won’t see the truth. We’re giving people what they want, what they need. We’re freeing them from the chains of society, from the expectations and rules that bind them. We’re letting them be who they really are, even if only for one night.

It’s well into the very early hours of the morning by the time we finish setting everything up and going over our plans. The town is still quiet, still enjoying a few hours rest before they’ll be waking up. Heading out to go about their day, pretending they don’t have a darkness lurking within them. Some will be drawn by tent and the signs posted around the town that offer the promise of something different, something forbidden. And tonight, we’ll be waiting for them, ready to give them exactly what they asked for.

I step back, admiring the tent, my mind already racing with possibilities. This is going to be the best show we’ve ever put on, and nothing is going to stand in our way. Not the town, not the people, not even the ghosts that haunt these streets. We’re here to leave our mark, to carve our names into the bones of this place. And when we’re done, all that will be left is the blood and ashes of all the desires we fucking fulfilled.

Indie nuzzles her head into my chest. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to ground me, to remind me of why we’re doing this. For her, for us, for the darkness that we share. Now that we’re here, Fergus doesn’t stand a chance.

The cirkies crowd around us, as we all take a moment to admire the sight of what we’ve accomplished.

“Let’s get some rest everyone,” I say, my voice a low growl. “Tonight will be here sooner than we know it, and we need to be ready.”

The others nod, and head off to their buses with Johnny close behind them. Indie and I move as one, our steps echoing in the stillness. Tonight is ours, and by the time the sun rises tomorrow morning, Fergus will belong to us, too.

chapter two

johnny

Grim Weeper - Diggy Graves

The big top looms against the star lit sky, its tattered, dark fabric twisting and writhing in the wind like something alive—a living, breathing fucking nightmare. Watching it sway makes my pulse quicken, a deep shudder running through me. The thrill of it, the chaos it promises… It sends a wave of delight straight to my gut, making my cock twitch with excitement.

Tonight is going to beperfect.

Leaning against the side of one of the buses, I let a wild grin stretch across my face. My fingers itch to hold a blade, to carve into something soft—something that bleeds. The starlit sky glows above me. I can practicallytastethe blood in the air already, hear the screams… the terror—it’s like a warm-up act for the main event.

The foreplay before the violence.

Some of the crew is still bustling around the tent, meticulously checking every detail for tonight’s show. They know the consequences of missing a single thing if Lux findsout—everything must be flawless. While the rest of the cirkies huddle inside their buses, avoiding the cool night air and the mayhem of last-minute adjustments, I stand outside, embracing the tranquil beauty of the clear, starry sky. They don’t see the perfection in this—how everything is aligning for something truly spectacular. But I do.

Oh, I fucking do.

I scan the field and spot a group of them huddled together, already drunk, laughing and stumbling like the fools they are. They’ve got no clue what’s coming. It’s 3 a.m., and they’re behaving as if the night’s already over. But it hasn’t even begun. My gaze locks onto Sydney, one of the knife ballerinas, sprawled on the ground with her legs wide and a bottle in her hand. Her tight black outfit clings to her curves, and her painted red lips glisten with the cheap booze they’ve been passing around.

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