Bert was entering Dr. Carneival’s House of Freaks when he was snatched from behind. Now, he laid upon a surgical table surrounded by severed birds’ heads, pigs’ ears, and gators’ tails; the remainders of their bodies hung above his head. A lamp came on and glinted off jars of frozen eyes, while hands like chicken claws placed a row of knives and needles near his fingers. His trembling fingers stretched towards them, but his hand would not follow.
“No point tryin’,” an old voice laughed.
The hands clutched his eyes open and a woman’s face like melted candle wax appeared; eyes that poked sideways swiveled over his face, resting for a moment on his eyes.
“I don’t wanna die” He croaked.
“If you was gonna die, then you’d be dead.” The woman placed one of the jars beside the table. The eyes bobbed up and down in their gray liquid, each pupil burning a hole into his skin. She threaded the biggest needle and jabbed it into an eyeball, squishing gray liquid everywhere. He tried to sit up; he tried to run; but his head just rolled side-to-side.
“Don’t worry,” the woman patted his cheek. “I’ve done been through four jobs afore this one, and I can ‘sure you, this pain won’t be nothin’ to what you already feelin’.”
It was his own fault. Bert had been swayed by blind ambition, lured by Carneival's promises of riches; of never again having to beg for money. And his exit had been dramatic:
Today's show was brought to you by the letters "F" and "U", and the number two million dollars!
But no one walks away from PBS.
Bert heard a sound. A scuffle at the edge of his vision. A familiar figure approached the table.
"Yes, Bert, it's me. You can never leave, you know. And once Lydia here is finished, you'll never again be tempted to have some other guy's hand up your ass."
Opening: Anon......Continuation: anon.