PoeTheWriter’s Comments (group member since Sep 24, 2022)

PoeTheWriter’s comments from the PoeTheWriter's random book store group.

*Surprise hug*

Hey there other kiddo! <3

Welcome Dezy!

-w-


Hey kiddo <3

My chest felt as if it would burst open, my heart hammering in my ears, drowning any noise that would’ve been processed otherwise. I was panicking in a sense, my assumptions about the killer having an affiliate were correct. Or so I thought. Two killers were always harder to catch than one, in my opinion. I’ve dealt with these types of cases for ages, I know how a killer tends to think.
But this case was much more… shall I say… interesting. I can’t figure out their motives, there had never been reports of ill intent with the Ringmaster. And I was already starting to regret ever accepting this job, and I knew, I would hate it by the end. If we ever caught the arsonist, I’m not entirely sure if he’ll be regretting anything. I’m sure currently he’s proud of himself, proud that he probably did something good in his own view.
I composed myself enough to direct my vision towards the remains of the circus, easily discerning the outline of where we had previously managed to tame the fires. First responders still searched the debris for possible survivors, even though I had qualms about the possibility of people who might’ve made it out of there alive still being found.
As far as we all knew, Edward was the only one that was accounted for that was actually living.

Welcome Riaa.

Yayy

Hello Ella!

The man turned his head at a slight angle to glance at Robert, his eyes catching a gleam of recognition..
“Ah! You must be the investigator.” He said, his voice was gravelly, as if he had been ill recently.
“Yessir, I am.” Robert spoke softly,
The man Robert could only assume to be the father of the poor child didn’t seem really bothered by his son’s death. That thought made Robert uneasy about asking questions but he knew he had to.
“I apologize if this will be disturbing, but did you know of anybody who didn’t particularly like your son?” he asked tentatively, “These questions are crucial to finding the murderer.”
“Nobody that I know of disliked my son…” the man sounded thoughtful as he spoke, “Though I know some of the house keeping found him to be an annoyance, he truly didn’t understand the rules.”
“I see…” softly muttered Robert, “Thank you, sir, for your acceptance of this investigation, we promise we’re doing everything we can do to hunt down your son’s killer.”
The old man only shook his head a miniscule amount in response, and Robert took it as an acknowledgement to his contribution. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the other male’s expression looked almost… haunted. Like he had seen something he shouldn’t have. Of course at that point Robert began to wonder about what possibly old Mr. Torrech had been hiding for his fifty-six years of life.
Not that it was any of Robert’s business, and it definitely wasn’t part of the murder, or so Robert hoped with all his life. If what Quinn had seen was bad enough to traumatize the old war veteran, he didn’t want to encounter whatever it was in his life. He dealt with disfigured and mauled murderers before, although those usually didn’t strike fear into a veteran. It was obvious Mr. Torrech had met something far worse.
Quinn dismissed Robert with a harsh wave of the hand, a gesture he was all too familiar with in the world of law enforcement and investigation. Robert had been waved off rudely by even the most open witnesses. He guessed everybody had a secret to hide and never bothered pushing the investigation too hard on the victims.
The only thing the investigator was for was to find the killer and get this over with, not to learn everybody’s life stories and the mass of their hidden truths and lies. It wasn’t like their pasts would help him in his investigation anyways.
If what the master of the house had said was true, the murderer was not anybody they had encountered in their previous trips into the city and towns surrounding them. Meaning this creature, or person, was a complete stranger.
Since no living thing had been around at the time of Michael’s death, I had no way to find a description of the figure who had taken the life blood of somebody so young. That single fact troubled me more than anything else, knowing I couldn’t bring justice to such a precious heir of a dying father. But he wouldn’t let that stop him, not when he was so close, and yet so far away from figuring this enigma out, even if it meant putting himself in danger, even if it meant dying himself.

Chapter 1
When Robert opened the door he was appalled by the scene he saw. He had been called in for a simple investigation, not a full blown murder scene. The sight was so gruesome, he couldn’t bare putting it into words, but it was required to fulfill the investigation.
The young child who he was investigating was laying in a bloody mess in the middle of a long hallway. It looked like it had been a quick and merciless killing. But it wasn’t the gore that made him uneasy, it was the bright crimson writing on the wallpaper, it was small, but very noticeable against the soft gray of the wall.
It was the initials on the very book that had gotten Michael killed, but he didn’t know that, not yet, he simply thought it was a coincident. There had been multiple generations in the family that had lived in this very mansion, it could’ve been an old initial that a previous tenant had written.
Even as he thought of this possibility, a feeling settled in his gut that it was going to be way worse, the wallpaper looked new, as if it had been only installed a few days ago. There was no way it could be an old initial if his guess was correct, and that made his stomach queasy, the thought that even through the death, the killer had the nerve to write his initials in the child’s blood.
Robert approached the child’s body, but stopped dead in his tracks when he felt bones crush under his boots, he lifted his foot up a bit and looked, it was a dead rat, obviously poisoned by one of the house keepers.
This is just making me feel like this place was abandoned ages ago, why didn’t they clean up the body? Robert thought to himself.
It was then he decided it was time to ask the father, Master Quinn as the house keepers had called him. He had heard from the butler that he wasn’t grieving, as if he had hoped his son would die. Robert didn’t under stand the reasoning of it but simply assumed it was because Michael was a trouble child.
It seemed obvious, the boy’s room had been a mess, maps and notes strewn across the walls, it was like his own room at home, where he had done all his investigation research before arriving at the scenes. Almost as if Michael was planning an adventure.
Robert traversed the hallway to the stairs leading to the second floor, his steps cautious as to attempt not to disturb the scene of the death. His boots were already covered in blood and grime, and he grimaced as he heard the wet sound of it slapping against the floor.
Entering the second floor, he located the dining room, and he strode across the dining room until he reached the door leading out into the courtyard. He opened the door and exited the building into the courtyard.
The figure he was searching for was at the large weeping willow tree in the center of the courtyard. He was a white-haired middle aged man who seemed to be about 5 foot 4 inches, with piercing blue eyes and a black suit.
“Sir Quinn?” Robert asked, approaching him, “If I may, I have a few questions I would like to ask you in relation to your son’s death.”

The gardeners were already working hard to remove the dilapidated flowers. Michael could see their lips moving, and it seemed they were whispering to each other. He thought nothing of it, the gardeners always gossipped while they worked, it was as if it were in their nature. Maybe they were discussing the weather, but as Michael squinted a bit to see them better, he saw their backs were hunched in a tense manner.
They were confused, just like him. Why were these flowers dying? It was still the middle of summer, and they had plenty of water, they made sure of it themselves.
But what nobody else seemed to notice was a figure at the hedges that lined the outer edges of the courtyard.
The figure was a tall, slender figure, its skin seemed to be almost pure white, like a vampire, but this figure didn’t burn up in the sun. It sat at about 193 centimeters in height, or atleast, that was the height Michael perceived it at. It wore pitch black robes that hid every part of it’s body, except for it’s head and hands, but it’s face was shadowed by a large hood.
Even through the shadow of the hood Michael could’ve sworn he saw a pair of glowing white eyes staring directly at him. The glowing orbs under the shadow seemed to go right into his soul, unlocking his deepest secrets and fears, his interests and intents.
He blinked once and suddenly the figure was gone, as if it had been just a trick of the mind.
I’ve been thinking about that book too much, he thought to himself, One of these days these imaginary entities are going to get me killed.
He was all to right, but little did he know, his end was coming sooner than intended.
Michael wolfed down the rest of his supper before excusing himself, hastily walking to his quarters to study the mysterious book again.
Little did the poor boy know, this was the last meal he would ever eat, and he should’ve savored it.
He was about to open the door to his room when he heard a gravely voice speak behind him.
“Your time has come…” the voice muttered, its words piercing his heart and soul like a dagger in the shin, “Rest easy, dear child.”
Michael tried to turn around to face the speaker but a simple glimpse at a blade suddenly at his neck was the last thing he saw, a sharp sting on his jugular vein and everything was gone.
The boy was no more, the figure had finished its job and could move on from this place, but not before it slipped inside the room and nabbed the book from the desk, placing it in a pouch and seeming to disappear in an instance.

“Michael, you are late, again,” snapped his father, “You must stop reveling in these frivolous expeditions in your room!”
Michael averted his gaze from his father, could his dad have really figured out about the booklet so quickly? He thought he had hid it so well, none of the house keepers had seen it. Or maybe he was mad about something else, maybe he had dressed improperly and his father was just taking it out with the excuse of his “expeditions.”
“I apologize, Father,” Michael said under his breath, “It will not happen again, I promise.”
He knew it was a lie, but his father didn’t have to know that. He was good at lying, after years of sneaking things in and out of the mansion to play with, and nobody had found them until months later.
“This promise better be legitimate this time,” His father said, his tone suggesting a threat of punishment if the promise was not fulfilled.
Michael was all too familiar with this tone, it was one that had been used on him and the house keepers multiple times before when he got angry. The harsh words barely stung the young boy anymore, as if he were used to being verbally threatened by the larger man.
In response to the threat, he simply nodded and brushed past the tall male to get to the dinner table, he didn’t really want to eat. He wasn’t hungry, surprisingly.
What wasn’t surprising was what his mind was on, he kept thinking about the booklet. He wondered what it was about, wanted to find out how it got into the mansion’s courtyard, and figure out who it belonged to. The initials on the booklet were strange, what names could started with A, K, and T? Andrew Kade Torrech? No, that didn’t sound or feel right.
As he revelled in the mysterious thoughts, he barely noticed the food that was being put on his plate. A large slice of a medium rare steak with the chef’s special seasoning, with greens on the side and mashed potatoes next to the steak.
“Young Michael, is the meal not to your liking?” Oliver, the butler, questioned.
“Huh?” Michael snapped back into reality, not realizing he had zoned out, “Oh, no it’s good, thank you, Oliver.”
He picked at his food, not really interested in sustaining himself at the moment, he kept glancing out the window to the large willow tree in the courtyard, right underneath the lowest branch was a patch of wilting flowers, that had been where Michael had found the booklet. He realized now that the flowers hadn’t begun to wilt probably until he had gone back inside. They hadn’t been wilting when he found the booklet, or when he picked it up, so it had to have begun after that event.

Prologue
“There are some in the world that will seek to destroy you utterly and completely, my dear boy,” said the boy’s father, “And you must not let them near your heart, block them out completely, never let anybody in if you have the slightest suspicion about them.”
It was a lesson that had been taught over and over again, don’t do this, don’t do that, but it never gave the boy a chance to explore his options in life. It had always been that he was supposed to be a doctor, like his father. But being a doctor like Dad was boring in his mind, always sitting around and doing nothing, just waiting to be called into town. He wanted to be something greater, more successful, more… powerful.
He wanted to be a hero, just like Heracle and Achilles. The boy loved his Greek stories, spending nights on end poring over old tomes and novels when he should be studying his subjects. He would close his door and bring a lantern under his blanket to read by.
Of course that strategy was soon smited when one of the maids caught him in the act and informed the boy’s parents of his late night adventures. After that he was banned from having books in his room, they were all kept in the large library.
Sure, he could just sneak down to the library at night, but that didn’t work either, the library was always tended to by at least one maid, or butler. Even if he was as quiet as he could, the house keepers were trained to listen for even the slightest creak in the boards that might signal a child being naughty and exploring.
But on one particular night, the boy found a small booklet lying on the ground under a tree in the courtyard. He had decided to take it inside, and see what it was about, and since it wasn’t registered in the library, the house keepers had no say in the matter if it wasn’t in the library by dinner.
So he snuck it into his room, and sat down at the large desk near the back, lit a candle and slipped the booklet out of the inside collar of his vest.
“The Reaper Theory…” He whispered to himself, reading the title, his voice barely audible, “Huh… I wonder what that’s all about.”
The cover of the booklet was a simple rough black leather with a strange symbol scratched onto it and then painted in white, it looked like a family crest, but it had it’s own unique twist. The white twisted and danced over the cover, in the middle there was a blank space in the shape of an eye and rings coming from the center of the eye, as if it were trying to hypnotize somebody. Above the eye there was a depiction of a skull with a dangerous looking scythe behind it, and below the eye in one corner there were scrawled the initials “AKT.”
Who could this have belonged to? And why is it here in the first place? The boy thought to himself.
“Young Michael!” A masculine voice called from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s time for dinner, please come down before Master Quinn gets angry.”
“I’m coming, Oliver!” Michael, the boy, called, and then whispered under his breath, “Blasted butlers… always ruining the best moments.”
He shut the booklet, leaving it laying on the desk and ran to the dining hall. His father was seemingly waiting for him at the door, his hands clasped behind his back.

“We’ve recounted the bodies sir,” the police officer informed me, “Our numbers were wrong, not counting Mr. Trevor, there are two that are unaccounted for.”
“And who did those two bodies belong to?” I turned my attention towards the officer.
If Johnathan’s suspicions were correct, then Zach’s body was missing, that was very likely. Zach was easy to notice, if they had missed his corpse during the first count, he was expectantly gone. The second was less likely to be able to identify, unless we figured out who every single person in the circus was and see who else, other than Edward and Zachary, was missing from the line-up.
“We have reason to believe they are Zachary Yin and…” the officer paused, “Fumai Azazel.”
Fumai. The name struck a nerve close to my heart, the strange man that had been the star of the quartet. He was the last person to be a suspect of a homicide, he had continually been a calm figure, often keeping Zach and the others in check while the Ringmaster let them run wild.

Eric was a height of about 5’3”, or 160 centimeters, with feather soft brown hair that was almost black, and the sharpest grey eyes you’ve ever seen. Eyes that seemed to search you for any hint of untruthfulness, dishonesty, or acting. I knew from experience that multiple people quickly become restless in Eric’s presence, almost as if he were a fragrance in the air. Calming some while irritating others.
He wore, from what I could tell under the heavy coat, what looked like a business suit, odd. A crime scene with blood is not usually something somebody would be willing to wear a suit to, especially one that required to be drycleaned. His skin was fair, almost unblemished, except for the subtle hint of a strike on the cheek with a razor of some sort. I wonder if he actually needs to shave, he looks way too young to be growing a beard.
The slightest crook of his nose indicated the old break, story was he had been hit in the face with a basketball one too many times, but I’m starting to think otherwise. The way he has a habit of rubbing that exact, precise point on the thin bridge of his nose whenever we’re investigating cases of domestic violence tells a different story. Unless I’m going crazy and just assuming things, but I’ve known Eric since I was ten. We were old friends, well… sort of.
A long time ago we were in the same school, before he had to move away. “Family death,” is what the principal had said. I found that to be a lousy excuse, flimsy, even breakable if given careful enough scrutiny. And it almost seems, that I was right. If it was family issues, why had Eric returned after five years? Why did he come back alone with his mother, after his father had died. I had later found out that his father, the previous chief of police, had remained in Foxborough while Eric and his mother moved away to Boston.
Now Eric was back, and healthier than ever. He looked to be actually eating full meals now, and he was either constantly at work signing papers in his small office or caring for his weakened mother.
I hadn’t realized Eric was looking at me again, until I finally snapped back into reality. I zone out very easily, and it’s one of my many flaws that proved I might not, in truth, be worthy of my rank as deputy. Gazing into those endless grey eyes caused my stomach to practically do a flip, I felt exposed—— like I couldn’t hide—— it was both unnerving and exciting congruently.
“Officer Bridgeham,” Eric spoke, his voice was exactly how I remembered it, just deeper, “It’s an honor to be working with the deputy of the F.P.D.”
I found myself not speaking, simply nodding and gesturing a greeting with the palm of my hand. My own actions confused me, I was usually what they called a chatterbox, maybe Edward’s attitude of constant vigilance and similar silence was rubbing off on me. I brushed off the suspicion, it couldn’t be possible, I didn’t even know Edward outside of the case, but the thought began to linger in the recesses of my mind, like a microscopic parasite feeding on my fears and qualms.

When I exited the station, I blinked rapidly, I must admit, I will never get used to the transition between the dark and drab of the building and the bright sunlight of the outer world. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out the distant silhouette of the city capital building.
The building reached high above the other structures of the city, a large tower of steel and glass. Just above the first floor hung the state’s flag, flying proud, the white backdrop enhancing the blue badge and ribbon. In the center of the badge stood a Native American, holding a hunting longbow, it was a flag I had seen multiple times, having lived in Massachusetts my entire life.
Living in Foxborough, Massachusetts, had been what I did all my life, I was born in the Mercy Hospital a few miles away from this exact police station, and I went to the Foxborough school system for my entire education, ever since I was five years old, that was thirty-three years ago, I’m 38 now.
As I made my journey to the scene of the recent murder, my mind started wandering. I began to entertain my own thoughts, trying to figure out who exactly it could be who did such a cruel and heartless operation. The mentioned possibility of it being the man the ringleader had adopted himself caused a drowning sense of dread to course through my veins. The mere thought of somebody the murdered man was supposed to care for being driven to take the life of the very person who had given him the chance to return to society was frightening.
I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was nearing the fine edge of the dead-end street the circus was originally on, not until a fellow officer that was accompanying the detective called out to me.
“Aye, Deputy!” the man spoke in a raised voice to earn my attention, “Come on over here for a moment if you may.”
The mannerism was odd, very few chose to address me in a way that acknowledged my role as the deputy of the local Sheriff, let alone try to get my attention. They had all been taught as rookies that the figure of Deputy was to be feared and respected, not treated as a comrade or somebody to be seen on the same level of authority.
I carried myself to the pair in a fashion I hoped would veil my turmoil, the long strides closing the distance between us quickly. I studied the detective from a distance, a man named Eric.

“Well, thats amazing!” I exclaimed, “I’m off duty at 4:30PM, shall we meet at the cafe downtown?”
He nodded in agreement, “That sounds acceptable to me.”
With the time set and the place determined, I let Eddie leave, and stood back up from the table, stretching a bit before going towards the door myself.
When I finally exited the room, I came face to face with my co-worker and partner in the investigation, Johnathan.
“Bridgeham, I have some crucial news that might provide a bit of insight on who the murderer might be.” Johnathan stated quickly, getting straight to the point, “We’ve discovered amongst the bodies… one other actor was missing other than Mr. Trevor.”
“Oh?” I asked, “Who?”
I tried to wrack my brain for possible answers, bringing up a mental list of the well known quartet everybody focused on in the show, Jennifer Crane, Edward Trevor, Fumai Azazel had all been accounted for in either the dead or alive list.
“Zachary Poe Yin’s body is missing sir, we are unsure if it is because he was either away from the scene at the time, committed it, or he was also murdered and his body was stolen.”
I could feel my muscles coil like springs ready to burst at Johnathan’s words. How had I forgotten about the least well known of the quartet? Zachary had always looked like he had been a threat.
Zachary had been an oddly skinny and tall man, standing around the height of 6’9”, or 2.05 centimeters, bending down would’ve made him 6’5”... it was almost too good to be true.
I tried to think of other defining features of Zachary, my thoughts scattering in my pursuit of answers. I knew he had once had bright blonde hair that had gotten browned from the harsh climates the circus sometimes went to, and his eyes… God those heterochromatic eyes were horrifying, not that they were unnatural but the way those blue and green irises stared into your soul to read all your thoughts. Other than that the rest of the features were a mystery to me.
As I bid Johnathan farewell I decided on something. It was time to visit the actual scene of the crime, no matter how many times I’ve been declined. I’d find a way, even if it meant breaking the very law I was supposed to be enforcing, it needed to be done, and I was prepared to take the risk.
With that, I set out towards the front of the police station. Unusually, the normal buzz of the station was drowned out by an unnatural ringing sound, one I was severely unused to.

Chapter 1 – Burnt Lives
I was walking through the halls of the harsh, sterile police station, strolling towards the interrogation room where the ginger man was waiting. I paid no mind to the bustling around me, my mind locked on one single task.
I was tasked with figuring out this murder, and I was going to, no matter what had to happen.
Even if it meant I had to pry the truth out of Eddie, I was willing to make the sacrifice of losing the man’s trust if it meant stopping the ruthless figure.
I opened the door to the bland, dull interrogation room, a small ginger figure was sitting nervously in a chair at a long table.
The figure had shoulder length hair, and a single, piercing green eye, the other one had been apparently brutally stabbed out by his now-dead co-worker. Though normally Eddie could be seen wearing a flamboyant, colorful outfit, today, he wore a simple zip-up pale pink hoodie with a black v-neck t-shirt and bluejeans.
“Greetings, Edward.” I spoke in a calm manner as to not spook the man.
I strode towards the other side of the table, feeling Eddie’s eye on me, I knew he was watching my every move, trying to find ill-intent. I did my best to keep my posture calm and open.
When he was finally satisfied with the idea that I wasn’t a threat, he relaxed in the chair a bit, though his gaze darted around the room nervously.
“Do you know why I requested you to be brought in today, Mr. Trevor?” I asked calmly, watching his movements.
“I mean… kind of…?” the words came out haltingly, he was stammering slightly, “It’s something about Andrew’s murder… isn’t it?”
I didn’t verbally respond to his question, simply nodded, grimacing a bit. Eddie was the only one in the circus who knew the Ringmaster by name, everybody else had only known him as “Boss” or “Ringmaster.”
“Listen, Edward,” I muttered softly, “I know you were in a bad situation, that you don’t want to reawaken old memories, but we need to know this information to catch the killer, before he can possibly harm you.”
Eddie seemed to pause and consider my words, his head tilting to the side slightly as if weighing his options.
“How can I know this information won’t… somehow get into his hands?” he tentatively asked, and he had a valid point.
I knew I couldn’t secure his safety completely, no matter how much I wanted to, but I refused to give him a false sense of security.
“I’m afraid I can’t guarantee that quite yet, we have no clue what this man is capable of.” I admitted.
“I see…” he replied, almost surprisingly calm, “I suppose I have no choice then.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling slightly at the man’s cooperation, even though he had been traumatized, most likely by the murder victim, he was still willing to help track down the person who threatened the very fiber of his living.
“Grand, we won’t do it today, are you available on… let’s say… Wednesday this week?” I inquired, trying to think of a day I had free.
“I actually am,” he explained, “The store you guys sent me to to find work doesn’t schedule me on Wednesdays.”

I’m starting to wonder if any of this is even real, or if this was a cruel prank pulled on the circus. The employees of the place seemed happy with their lives, always excited to entertain others. But now I’m thinking… what if that was all fake? What if they all were forced to act that way to hide something?
The Ringmaster had indeed been found dead, in a bloody puddle in his bed, but there were no signs of a struggle on his head, the scene had been painted with his innards and brain fluids though, and obviously the killer had been smart enough to clean away any evidence that’d lead us to their true identity. We’ve given the killer the name of “The Jester”, for his mask.
I can only hope that we can find him and bring him in, before more people die. We had already lost everybody in the Circus, other than Eddie, the poor ginger man that seemed to panic any time we even whispered about the place. Eddie’s reactions are only adding to my tension, he acts like he doesn’t want us to find out the truth.
There had been reports of a ‘demonic’ figure with crimson hair showing up recently as well, being seen at the edge of the forest the killer had been said to have fled into. The figure acted like it was guarding something, killing anybody who got close, and not letting the police set a single foot into the woods.
I will admit, the crimson hair is disturbing, and it wears a mask a lot like the killer’s, but black, I’m starting to think maybe there were two of them. That one was the arsonist and the other the cold-blooded murderer. It was a possibility, according to Eddie, there were a lot of people who absolutely hated the Ringmaster.
I’m going to question Eddie again, see if he’ll finally reveal anything…

(view spoiler)[The scene was gruesome if anything after the killer slipped out. The Ringmaster was left a bloody mess, his head basically hanging by a few threads, his throat completely ripped out, his chest had been sliced open, the heart and lungs having been exposed and the hands looked like they had been ripped off. His eyes had been gouged out and thrown into the trailer sink, where they had been crushed until there were nothing more than a gross jelly of eyeball bits and blood that refused to drain, his tongue had been sliced off and his jaw almost torn off, hanging on by an inch of stiff muscle. His head had somehow been almost cracked open, and when the police had found him, all the liquids of the brain had escaped, adding to the gross almost soup-like puddle underneath him. (hide spoiler)]
When the killer supposedly escaped, the circus was abruptly lit on fire, including all the actor tents, the trailer the Ringmaster had been peacefully sleeping and so brutally mauled in remained standing and we found only one survivor of the incident.
It looked like the killer had been clearly intent on some form of revenge or cruel joke, maybe he was part of a different circus that wanted to sabotage this one’s progress.
Or at least… that's what I thought when I read the reports, when I looked more closely, I had a feeling that something was up, the supposedly awake Actor that had given the report had been a ginger man… but the description he gave was that of one of his co-workers.
When we tried to question the ginger about the ringmaster’s treatment of his Employees, he would go silent and his posture would go rigid, as if he was being forced to hide something. We didn’t push him to reveal anything, his medical records gave proof that the poor man had gone through a lot of traumatic experiences that had gotten to his psyche.

The Ringmaster's features where illuminated by the dim glow of the full moon, the light was trickling gently through the slightly closed curtains. A sharp, angular jaw that had a few, still bleeding, scratches that the man had gained from trying to touch a stray cat that had wandered into the circus grounds. Short, curly black hair fell gently over his face, the hair looked like, if put under just the right lighting, it might glow.
Other than the blemishes and scars the man's face carried, and the... slight crook in his nose from it being broken so many time trying to train actors, he would've probably been the most handsome man alive. And the figure hated him, absolutely despised him, not because of his looks, but because of his attitude and harshness to his employees.
The figure standing over the sleeping ringmaster was about.. 6’5” at the very least, it had been hard for the witness to tell because he had been bent over, not that the Ringmaster would’ve recognized him anyways. He wore a mask, much like a jester’s, but it looked almost as if there were no eye holes for the mask, a simple white porcelain with a black, closed eye drawn on it, and a wide smile that made a “:)” type of smile. A green diamond was painted under the drawing of the closed eye.
Of course, this figure held a simple weapon, an item that glinted under the moonlight, it had the shape of a knife, but it was too small, too… thin, almost like a scalpel, but it was too long to be a scalpel. The man held it over the Ringmaster’s exposed neck. His intentions were clear, a servant of evil hunting down a helpless victim.