━━━ ꧁ད ✶ ཌ꧂ ━━━

CHAPTER 04

━━━ ꧁ད ✶ ཌ꧂ ━━━

It was Friday at noon, and the last class was about to begin.

In the school gym, sitting on a wooden bench, I tried to convince myself that my sleepless nights were not caused by the medallion, or by its supposed owner.

During the past few nights of the week, I tried to sleep with the lights on because every time I turned them off, I felt as if someone was watching me from the darkness. And even though I didn't see Ashton again, I started to have some incredible dark circles under my eyes.

Determined not to think about it anymore, I tightened the laces of my white sneakers and stood up as the coach's shrill whistle pierced the air, scanning all of us with her magnifying glasses that made her eyes look larger.

"Run for twenty minutes around the court. Anyone who stops will get a zero in their grade," she warned, the whistle squealing between her lips. My ears could barely tolerate the sound.

"If you add a zero to any number, it remains the same," Natale Barone, the exchange student, mumbled. The girl was of French descent, and her parents lived in Paris. For now, she was staying with Bonnie, a former classmate who lived thirty minutes from the Eiffel Tower due to her impeccable grades. Lucky brainiacs.

The group of us girls from the penultimate year formed a circle inside the coliseum around the basketball court and started running.

I envied the boys because they seemed to have better luck. The coach, who also served as the principal, hardly taught any classes.

"Kill yourselves!" she shouted at them, throwing a soccer ball in the air on the adjacent court before disappearing, presumably due to disciplinary issues.

A few minutes later, the coach blew the whistle forcefully.

With slightly impaired hearing and a trembling heart, I dropped to the ground. I was covered in sweat.

"Don't sit down; stretch!" she ordered. I stood up again, and my legs trembled. "Barone, you lead them."

Natale walked to the front of the line of women and, with an air of superiority, began the first exercise.

Like everyone else, I bent my right knee and held it against my chest for ten seconds, then repeated the process with my left knee.

In the next exercise, still standing, I bent forward to touch the tips of my shoes, but the problem was that, due to my long legs, I couldn't even reach my ankles.

"Becher," the coach referred to me, "go lower."

Her instruction was more offensive to me than the shrill sound of her whistle.

I tried again, this time with more momentum. But instead of reaching my feet, I barely saved myself from falling face-first to the ground.

Awkwardly, I regained my balance, and the others laughed at me. I wasn't the most flexible person on the planet.

The coach let out a heavy sigh, and I observed her chubby legs as she stopped behind me.

I could jump over any obstacle or even do pull-ups, but something like this was impossible. It was beyond my abilities.

"Down," she commanded.

Without protesting, I bent forward for the third time and let my arms hang toward the ground, but nothing changed. I still lacked those same twenty centimeters.

The coach put her hands on my back and pushed. The pain rushed in like a tingling sensation at first, but then it got worse. My muscles stretched like taut elastic, and I feared they would snap.

I didn't know if it was right for her to do this, but she tried harder each time, and my body wasn't made of rubber. I wouldn't give in. I was about to throw myself to the ground and beg her to stop.

"You're like a log, woman," she commented, exerting all the pressure she could.

"More like a toothpick." The anonymous comment and the giggles made it clear that I had a slender build, which made the coach's job easier if her intention was, rather, to break me in two.

The laughter died down, along with the sound of the medallion hitting the floor. When I turned it into a necklace a few days ago, I should have known that the chain wouldn't keep the object attached to my chest if I bent down too much. It weighed quite a bit due to the metal it was made of. Even the bruises I acquired from its aggression towards me last Friday prevented me from walking without limping.

Without thinking twice, I bent down to pick it up before anyone could see it, forgetting that the coach was putting all her strength and concentration into breaking my spine. As a result, it landed beside me, just like a penguin.

"Becher!" she yelled from the floor. I didn't dare to look at her.

Laughter erupted inside the gym. However, for me, it could only mean that I was in trouble.

What did it imply that Ashton had left me the medallion? Thomas mentioned that the ghost owner of the Star Circus would manifest to claim me as his own. Was it true after all? I think that when he said, "I found you" in the garage, he was referring to that.

If Tom was right, last Friday night Ashton claimed me as his own, but was giving me the medallion proof of that?

I wasn't sure.

However, I couldn't get rid of that object either. It was enough to leave it on the shabby dresser because of the horse, go take a bath, and when I came out, I would find it shining on the sink. It was just a way to show how stupid I had been.

I shouldn't have accepted the challenge.

After the futile attempts to get rid of the medallion, I ended up hanging it on a thick chain and hiding it behind my shirt. Sometimes I would forget about it, but later I would feel the weight engulfing my neck, not to mention the chilling sensation against my skin that often made me shiver. But at least that way, it wouldn't intimidate me every time I saw it appear in front of me, as if it had a life of its own and nonexistent desires to leave me alone. Just the thought of it terrified me enough. I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life with it.

No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't understand why Ashton had left it with me and then disappeared without a trace.

It had been a week since I saw him for the first and last time. The lack of knowledge about everything made my blood boil, causing my pulse to increase as if I were sick or about to have a heart attack.

"Zara!" I almost tripped upon hearing Thomas's voice. "Keep running like that, and you'll disappear soon."

He didn't have to remind me of the bitter punishment I earned for my lack of flexibility and discretion. I would have saved myself twenty laps if the stupid medallion hadn't appeared in my life.

"What do you want now?" I snapped.

"Classes are over; I was looking for you. It's very late, and it seems like you're still upset." Shame filtered through his voice. "I saw you limping."

I processed his words and the half-hearted smile he gave me.

"Stop ignoring me; you've been doing it all week." He took a seat on one of the wooden benches near the bleachers.

After finishing the set, I joined him, using his arm as a backrest. I struggled to catch my breath.

I scanned the surroundings for the coach, but only saw the main door open. I was relieved not to find her there, and at the same time, it annoyed me that she left me running alone.

"Are you okay?" Thomas asked.

"What does 'okay' mean?" The sarcasm in my words betrayed my bad mood. I couldn't be at peace with him after what he made me do.

"What did you do to get punished?" he asked.

"Me? Not being elastic at all. You, on the other hand, gave me that stupid medallion."

For the past few days, I had pretended to be cold and completely indifferent to him, so I was unaware of anything supernatural.

"I'm sure I left it in the basement," he said, glancing at me. His brown eyes sparkled. "It couldn't be..."

I shuddered at the unpleasant feeling his suspicion stirred in me. In the end, he wasn't wrong.

"Tell me about that circus," I asked. "I mean, everything you know about it."

I needed to clear my head, and I was truly terrified. A horse had appeared and vanished due to Ashton's unexpected manifestation. So, what else should I expect? There wasn't a night when I didn't feel like I was being watched.

He settled in, pressing his heavy back against mine.

"Where do I start?" He let out a long sigh. He must have had a clear idea of the situation I was going through, since he was the one who gave me the medallion in the first place. "I heard that the few people who managed to enter the Star Circus were lucky. They said witnessing their magic act was so real that it almost seemed impossible. The children rejoiced alongside their parents' loud whistles, while the women, on the other hand, delighted in their dazzling charm." I sensed the difficulty he had saying that last part, which made me laugh.

"Do you have any idea how old he was?" I asked.

"And do you?" He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.

Based on what I saw, he didn't seem much older than any of us. Either that, or his anti-aging magic in life kept him looking like a boy no older than twenty. I didn't want to think that he pretended to be so young now that he was dead.

"I'm sorry. Continue, please."

"The second night, after Ashton died, the trapeze artist was performing his maneuvers on the swings hanging from the top; it was a big show. This part of the performance consisted of his shadow being projected onto the tent while he moved through the air. But the lights suddenly went out, and when they came back on, they found the trapeze artist outside the safety net, crashing to the ground, staring blankly, and without a pulse." He paused briefly. "Something similar happened to the others. The lights continued to go out during the remaining six nights of the performances at the port, and each time, someone from the cast would perish just before they were turned back on. That's why no one could find out the true cause of so many incidents."

I felt my mouth dry and my skin prickle as I imagined what they must have gone through.

"You said they had accidents, but it seems more like someone did it on purpose," I guessed. The lights don't randomly go out. Last Friday at home, several bulbs burst due to Ashton's manifestation, or at least that's the meaning I imposed on it. "Did any of them survive unharmed?"

"It was due to each blackout, or so people assume." I felt him shrug. "Many legends were created around what happened, but there was no way to verify if any of them were true because they vanished. Besides, there are rumors that only a few survived, but it's been about half a century since then, and they... I guess they weren't that young anymore. However, there's something that keeps catching my attention."

"What is it?"

He moved away, leaving my back suspended in the air. I had to hold onto the edge of the bench to avoid falling.

"Why are you suddenly so interested in all this?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words got stuck on my lips, refusing to come out.

"Becher." I turned abruptly toward the coach standing by the gym door. "Follow me."

She left as if she detested the place.

"I think she hates you," Thomas said, amusement shining in his eyes.

I snorted as I got up and walked away, limping, the best way I could think of to walk without feeling too much pain in my legs and feet.

"The darkness is not your friend; don't seek it." It wasn't just the memory of Ashton's voice that kept my fear on the verge of triggering the paranoia alarm, nor was it Thomas's story. The reason was knowing in advance that I didn't like it at all after the experience with the horse. I strained my eyes, but I could barely make out the stacked desks at the back of the storage room, thanks to the pair of windows with their raised blinds on either side of the dusty room.

"I need to get the vests for tomorrow's basketball classes," the coach told me.

I stared at her bruised chin. Thomas was right; she had started to show her desire to turn the rest of my school life into a true nightmare.

"Do you know where they are?" I swallowed.

The objects formed piles, dust particles escaped through the door, and there was a damp smell as well.

"You have better eyesight than me, so you'll help me with this. By the way, the latch is broken. Once you find the bag, don't close the door," she said, adjusting her heavy glasses on the bridge of her nose, and without saying anything more, she left.

I wondered why I didn't have my cell phone at hand in moments like these. The flashlight would have been very useful.

"Rather, I should have opted to hang a lamp around my neck," I whispered, tucking the medallion under my sports uniform shirt.

In the storage room, I moved with exaggerated caution. Everything seemed ready to collapse at the slightest touch. There were too many objects for such a small space.

I began rummaging through all the bags that appeared before my eyes, but every time I opened one, a cloud of dust invaded my nostrils, making me sneeze. That's how I ended up at the bottom when the door slammed shut.

I turned around to find the silhouette that made me scream in fright.

"I'm sorry," Natale apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. The coach sent me to help. She's like a witch because of the bruise on her cheek, and she punished me as an excuse for overhearing my comment about the grades."

"Damn it!" I exclaimed, choking on the dust that her unexpected entrance had stirred up.

"I know, she's so resentful," she grumbled.

"Not her. The door. The latch is broken."

"It's not true!" she said, emphasizing each vowel with her French accent.

With my heart pounding like a drum against my ribs, I reached the door and tried to open it, but no matter how much I kicked it, it wouldn't budge.

"It won't open!" I thought about the best way to operate the latch, or at least how to break it. It couldn't be that difficult. I have seen it in hundreds of movies. "Get a chair; can you reach one?"

"I think so."

I observed the door with resentment, and then Natale struggled to separate the desks from the chairs. Once she managed to do so without toppling them over, she started pulling one towards me but stopped when the blinds moved, revealing the darkness. However, there was still a little light, and it was coming from my chest.

Like a rusty robot, I lowered my gaze to that spot.

The medallion had started to glow, but its light flickered slowly. Still, it felt as if it were announcing imminent danger.

Something fell to the floor, and guided by the sound, I noticed the shadow that leaped from a corner of the ceiling. It moved swiftly along the walls and through the objects, heading towards us.

For some reason, the agile and spontaneous movements made me think of a trapeze artist. That, or the conversation with Thomas, affected me too much.

"Natale!" My shout was buried under the noise produced by the stack of desks collapsing on her.

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