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Cirque Du Freak
Darren Shan
The chilling Saga of Darren Shan, the ordinary schoolboy plunged into the vampire world.Darren goes to a banned freak show with his best mate Steve. It’s the wonderfully gothic Cirque Du Freak where weird, frightening half human/half animals appear who interact terrifyingly with the audience. Darren – a spider freak – ‘falls in love’ with Madam Octa – an enormous tarantula owned by Mr Crepsley. Darren determines to steal the spider so that he can train it to perform amazing deeds. But his daring theft goes horribly wrong and Darren finds himself having to make a bargain with a creature of the night.Something out of the ordinary is set against the background of children’s normal lives to chilling effect. Atmospheric, funny, realistic, moving and… terrifying.
CIRQUE DU FREAK
THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN
BOOK 1
CIRQUE DU FREAK
THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN
BOOK 1
Madam Octa’s on the web… and so is Darren Shan!
For all things freaky, check out the official
Darren Shan website at www.darrenshan.com
This freakish show could never have gone public but for
the efforts of my hard-working laboratory assistants:
Biddy & Liam – ‘The Gruesome Twosome’
‘Diabolical’ Domenica de Rosa
‘Growling’ Gillie Russell
Emma ‘The Exterminator’ Schlesinger
and
‘Lord of the Crimson Night’ – Christopher Little
Thanks are also due to my feasting companions:
the Horrible Creatures of HarperCollins. And the ghoulish
pupils of Askeaton Primary School (and others) who served as
willing guinea pigs and braved nightmares to make this book
as tight, dark and chilling as possible.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Other Books in the Series The Saga of Darren Shan
Copyright
About the Publisher
INTRODUCTION
I’VE ALWAYS been fascinated by spiders. I used to collect them when I was younger. I’d spend hours rooting through the dusty old shed at the bottom of our garden, hunting the cobwebs for lurking eight-legged predators. When I found one, I’d bring it in and let it loose in my bedroom.
It used to drive my mum mad!
Usually, the spider would slip away after no more than a day or two, never to be seen again, but sometimes they hung around longer. I had one who made a cobweb above my bed and stood sentry for almost a month. Going to sleep, I used to imagine the spider creeping down, crawling into my mouth, sliding down my throat and laying loads of eggs in my belly. The baby spiders would hatch after a while and eat me alive, from the inside out.
I loved being scared when I was little.
When I was nine, my mum and dad gave me a small tarantula. It wasn’t poisonous or very big, but it was the greatest gift I’d ever received. I played with that spider almost every waking hour of the day. Gave it all sorts of treats: flies and cockroaches and tiny worms. Spoilt it rotten.
Then, one day, I did something stupid. I’d been watching a cartoon in which one of the characters was sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. No harm came to him. He squeezed out of the bag, dusty and dirty and mad as hell. It was very funny.
So funny, I tried it myself. With the tarantula.
Needless to say, things didn’t happen quite like they did in the cartoon. The spider was ripped to pieces. I cried a lot, but it was too late for tears. My pet was dead, it was my fault, and there was nothing I could do about it.
My parents nearly hollered the roof down when they found out what I’d done – the tarantula had cost quite a bit of money. They said I was an irresponsible fool, and from that day on they never again let me have a pet, not even an ordinary garden spider.
I started with that tale from the past for two reasons. One will become obvious as this book unfolds. The other reason is:
This is a true story.
I don’t expect you to believe me – I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t lived it – but it is. Everything I describe in this book happened, just as I tell it.
The thing about real life is, when you do something stupid, it normally costs you. In books, the heroes can make as many mistakes as they like. It doesn’t matter what they do, because everything comes good at the end. They’ll beat the bad guys and put things right and everything ends up hunky-dory.
In real life, vacuum cleaners kill spiders. If you cross a busy road without looking, you get whacked by a car. If you fall out of a tree, you break some bones.
Real life’s nasty. It’s cruel. It doesn’t care about heroes and happy endings and the way things should be. In real life, bad things happen. People die. Fights are lost. Evil often wins.
I just wanted to make that clear before I began.
One more thing: my name isn’t really Darren Shan. Everything’s true in this book, except for names. I’ve had to change them because… well, by the time you get to the end, you’ll understand.
I haven’t used any real names, not mine, my sister’s, my friends or teachers. Nobody’s. I’m not even going to tell you the name of my town or country. I daren’t.
Anyway, that’s enough of an introduction. If you’re ready, let’s begin. If this was a made-up story, it would begin at night, with a storm blowing and owls hooting and rattling noises under the bed. But this is a real story, so I have to begin where it really started.
It started in a toilet.
CHAPTER ONE
I WAS in the toilet at school, sitting down, humming a song. I had my trousers on. I’d come in near the end of English class, feeling sick. My teacher, Mr Dalton, is great about things like that. He’s smart and knows when you’re faking and when you’re being serious. He took one look at me when I raised my hand and said I was ill, then nodded his head and told me to make for the toilet.
“Throw up whatever’s bugging you, Darren,” he said, “then get your behind back in here.”
I wish every teacher was as understanding as Mr Dalton.
In the end, I didn’t get sick, but still felt queasy, so I stayed on the toilet. I heard the bell ring for the end of class and everybody came rushing out on their lunch break. I wanted to join them but knew Mr Dalton would give out if he saw me in the yard so soon. He doesn’t get mad if you trick him but he goes quiet and won’t speak to you for ages, and that’s almost worse than being shouted at.
So, there I was, humming, watching my watch, waiting. Then I heard someone calling my name.
“Darren! Hey, Darren! Have you fallen in or what?”
I grinned. It was Steve Leopard, my best friend. Steve’s real surname was Leonard, but everyone called him Steve Leopard. And not just because the names sound alike. Steve used to be what my mum calls “a wild child”. He raised hell wherever he went, got into fights, stole in shops. One day – he was still in a pushchair – he found a sharp stick and prodded passing women with it (no prizes for guessing where he stuck it!).
He was feared and despised everywhere he went. But not by me. I’ve been his best friend since Montessori, when we first met. My mum says I was drawn to his wildness, but I just thought he was a great guy to be with. He had a fierce temper, and threw scary tantrums when he lost it, but I simply ran away when that happened and came back again once he’d calmed down.
Steve’s reputation had softened over the years – his mum took him to see a lot of good counsellors who taught him how to control himself – but he was still a minor legend in the schoolyard and not someone you messed with, even if you were bigger and older than him.
“Hey, Steve,” I called back. “I’m in here.” I hit the door so he’d know which one I was behind.
He hurried over and I opened the door. He smiled when he saw me sitting down with my trousers on. “Did you puke?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Do you think you’re gonna?”
“Maybe,” I said. Then I leaned forward all of a sudden and made a sick noise. Bluurgh! But Steve Leopard knew me too well to be fooled.
“Give my boots a polish while you’re down there,” he said, and laughed when I pretended to spit on his shoes and rub them with a sheet of toilet paper.
“Did I miss anything in class?” I asked, sitting up.
