On our way down the midway, we crushed underfoot littered popcorn and stuffing that floated in the wind from mutilated stuffed animals. The wooden frames of the games and concession stands were rotting in addition to the paint peeling off of them. They looked a day away from collapsing in on themselves. Perfectly topping off the pitiful state the circus was in was the sound of a haunting calliope playing slowly in the distance.

As familiar as we were to each other, he had no name that I knew of. This was another part of the game he played in my dream. He knew quite well, however, who I was. This being to my disdain. The Ringmaster was fond of humoring himself at my expense.

“How is your family doing, Miss. Sinclair?”

The smooth arrogance of his voice made me an impulse away from socking him in the face. He’d probably just catch my hand, too, like he did with any other projectile.

With a slightly crazed smile on my face, I copied his voice, “I don’t know. What about yours?”

His jaw tightened and I knew I finally hit some sort of spot with him. His typically empty eyes darted to me with a deadly glint in them. If he wasn’t living in my head rent free, I knew he would’ve murdered me.

The grin I gave back only made him tense even more, “Ah, pity.”