Wonder Show by Hannah Barnaby Page A

five years old, and five years could change a person. She doubted Max would recognize her.
    She could only hope that, if he did set foot on the midway that night, she would find a way to see him, to know him, and this time, not to let him leave without her.

Inside
    That evening Portia went inside for the first time.
    Jackal said she needed to observe his methods before she could make any attempt at her own bally, and he told her to bring a quarter for admission. But Portia was not about to surrender any of her precious savings to follow Jackal’s orders, even with the added bonus of finally having her curiosity satisfied. It was unheard of for Jackal to give anybody anything for free. But he had become addicted to having a pupil. So he relented, and Portia became the only nonpaying sideshow spectator in the history of the Wonder Show.
    The crowd had been drawn, as they were meant to be, by Mosco’s and Marie’s acts. They were the pit show, designed to entice passing rubes with their strange and marvelous tricks. Portia stood to one side of the stage. She thought again of The Pinhead and the accordion, the strains of tinny music reaching her ears as she sat high on the stranger’s shoulders. She glanced at the faces below—she could see everyone, but it was like looking into a forest from far away, impossible to distinguish one tree from another. Still, she scanned the crowd, searching for anyone she recognized.
    It would be impossible to find someone, Portia thought, if you lost them here. She looked again behind the carnival games, past the place where she knew the trucks were parked, into the blackest dark. And she felt such despair that she had to close her eyes.
    The night voices threatened to speak again, and she fought them off.
    One night at a time, she told herself. The world is smaller than it seems.
    As Anna gathered her sister Marie’s knives and exited the stage, the rubes whispered and shuffled nervously, unsure of what they would see next.
    And Jackal went to work.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, friends and neighbors,” he bellowed, “allow me to change your lives!”
    It was key to have an opening line that was just this side of unbelievable. Did the rubes think their lives would really change because of what was in the tent? Of course not. Did they want to risk missing out, just in case it was something truly spectacular? Of course not.
    Portia saw the midway crowd draw almost imperceptibly closer. Elevated above them, in his blinding white suit and bowler, both hands on the podium as if he were just barely able to contain his excitement, Jackal looked every bit like the preacher salesman that he was.
    “That’s right, folks, change your lives, that’s what I said. For inside the tent behind me sits a stage full of the strangest people you have ever seen. Seeing is believing, folks, but you won’t believe your eyes. It’s the most marvelous collection of human oddities this side of the equator.”
    A murmur rippled across the crowd, equal parts doubt and interest. This was the balance Jackal wanted to upset in his favor. “It’s like making cheese,” he’d told Portia. “You want to skim the bad stuff off the top and get to the parts that’ll give you what you want.” The first to go: anyone with young children.
    “Not for the faint of heart, folks,” Jackal warned. “If you’re prone to nightmares or you’ve got a weak ticker, you’d best move on.”
    A few mothers clucked their tongues and gathered their offspring immediately. “Let’s go see the elephants again,” one said.
    “I wanna see the freaks!” her son wailed.
    The woman gave Jackal a disapproving look over her shoulder as she led the disappointed boy away by the arm. Portia smiled a little, thinking of the mothers of Brewster Falls calling their children away from the road when she came flying by on the red bicycle.
    “That’s okay, son,” Jackal called after them. “You come back by yourself next