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This is when and where you find your mirror that leads you to the circus. Be descriptive. I'd like at least 2 paragraphs or one really big one. 7-10 sentences please.

*If you post in the circus forum before posting here, your post will be deleted for every time you do it. It doesn't make sense for you to be there as your character without having found the way in.*

"No." Said the smug, pudgy man sharply. He was sitting behind the polished, wooden desk and was eyeing the meager boy sitting in one of his guest chairs with contempt.
"Why not?" Retorted the boy angrily. He was wearing dark, worn clothing and looked at the pudgy man with loathing.
"Because Im not going to give some ratty street urchin a job at this fine restraunt, Damon." He said the boys name as if it was poisonous. "Now I have other business to attend to. Security!"
Damon stood up and was about to say something when a large man stepped into the room and began to usher him out. Damon shot one last look at the pompous man, then swiftly strode out of the room.

Damon stood outside the restraunt looking up at the tall building in disgust. He didn't even give me a chance. He thought angrily to himself as he swung his backpack full of his meager belongings (mostly worn clothes) onto his shoulder. All he saw was a homeless orphan with no money to his name.

He began to wander down the sidewalks aimlessly with the tall buildings and the bustle of the city around him. The smell of the food from the restraunt had made him hungry and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since late yesterday. Up ahead of him he could see the kart of some street vendor selling hotdogs and pretzels to tourists. He felt a little twinge of sadness for himself which quickly spiked into anger. Impulsively he sprinted forward, racing to the kart and reached it just as the vendor was handing a lady a hotdog. Pushing right through them Damon managed to grab the hotdog and even the lady's small handbag which he hoped contained money and not her lipstick or something equally useless.

He kept running, much to the angry shouts of the vendor and lady, and as Damon rounded the corner of a building, he ran smack into a police officer. Even through the noise of the city Damon could tell that the officer could hear the shouts of the two people and his gaze quickly fell on the boy infront of him holding all the evidence he needed to know what was happening.

"Crap." Was all Damon could say as he hastily spun out of the way of the officers reaching hand. Damon took off down the sidewalk, dodging people left and right with the cop in pursuit. He turned down an alley and began to knock over trashcans and boxes in hopes of slowing the cop but the alley was too wide and the cop easily got around the obsticles. Determined to lose the officer, Damon went down an even smaller alley. He could tell they were in the back alleies of the city now from the lack of people and space. He had a little bit of a lead on the cop and as he ran down the narrow lane he could see a small green door up ahead. Praying it wasn't locked he put on a burst of speed and smacked into the door as he grabbed the doorknob and tried to open it. To his amazement it was unlocked and he quickly rushed in slamming the door behind him.

Back against the door, he opened his eyes wide trying to get them to adjust to the dim lighting of the room. The air was still and quiet and he could see rows of shelves full of old looking objects like vases and cookie jars. Antiques. He thought. I must be in some old back alley antique shop. Through his ragged breathing Damon could hear the pounding footsteps of the cop closing in on the door. He quickly scanned the room and saw another door on the far side. Running to it he grabbed the handle and went through.

It was a small cuboard door, like one you would find under the stairs but when Damon stepped inside he found himself in a spacious room that was empty except for a tall, slim object covered with a sheet to keep the dust off it. He closed the door quietly behind him and set down the lady's handbag. The hotdog had unfortunatly been squished in his hand from where he had clenched his fist as he ran so he dropped it in one of the alleys. Walking quietly to the object he lightly pulled the sheet off, and fighting back the urge to cough as dust flew in the air, he looked into the mirror.

The mirror had a wooden frame that was ornately carved with beautiful twisting figures and shapes. Through the door Damon could hear the cop talking to someone but he wasn't paying attention to that. Instead his attention was held by the mirror as he looked at his reflection. He could see himself in the mirror except he looked more refined in clean dark clothing and he was looking out proudly as if on some stage. His hair was neat and he seemed more regal, and behind him Damon could see mistlike figures swirling around. Turning from the mirror Damon looked behind himself but saw no misty figures. As he turned to gaze back at the mirror again he was suddenly out of the dusty room and surrounded by noise. He heard an eerie voice call to him, "Welcome to the Cirque, Damon."

The night was quiet; all she heard was the whirrrr-Clap, whirrrr-clap of her rollerblades as they hit the pavement of the labyrinth of campus sidewalks. She dipped from the sidewalk to the street and back to the sidewalk again constantly checking over her shoulder, paranoid of every purr of an engine. Becky assured her that even if they were caught, no one would care, the destination where they were meeting that night was abandoned and just about every kid on campus boasted about going there at least once. But being caught wasn't what she worried about...something about the night put her on edge. In the daylight one could always know where the shadows were trying to hide, after all, they were always exposed, but at night it's a different story, creatures lurked and silhouettes could leave their masters and wreak havoc in the darkness. She once confided this fear to Becky, her very best friend, who then proceeded to tell her she read too much Stephen King (which was probably true.)

Ruthie (only in the most formal of occasions was she ever called Ruth) and Becky partnered up in an experimental photography course and the deadline for this week's project (subject: playing with light) was coming up fast. Ruthie Maude reached the building at a quarter till two and proceeded to take off her blades on the steps beneath the single incandescent bulb covered in moths and beetles. Then she found the cellar window that she and her friend agreed upon for entrance the day before. It was a narrow fit and she was especially careful with her camera’s case as she dropped the last couple feet into the basement. It reeked like no other. She held her sweatshirt sleeve against her nose and dug out her flashlight with free hand.

"Becky?" She called softly while shining the beam across the room. The floor and walls were covered with debris; wet boxes, broken chairs, beer cans, and…someone's boxers?
Further over she saw a silhouette...Becky!
"There you are!" Ruth said as she made her way through the assortment of junk, "Why didn't you answer?"
She still wasn't moving, Becky just sat there, her back towards her, staring off at something. Ruth laid her hand on her friends shoulder and shook gently,
"B-Becky?"
Just then Becky clutched Ruth's arm, pulled, and screamed bloody murder. Ruth screamed in turn and somewhere, a few blocks over, a dog started barking.
Becky rolled on the ground laughing, unable to stand just how convincing she had played her part.
"Not funny, you really had me going!" Ruthie gasped, she was shaking all over.
"I'm so sorry!" her friend replied, "You just make it so easy and I just couldn't help myself. Consider it payback for the time you slipped that huge water scorpion into my fish tank."
"Fair enough." Ruthie sighed and they began setting up their equipment for the photo shoots.

***

All-in-all the pictures came out pretty good. The girls ooo'ed and awe'd over a couple on the lit camera screen but something felt like it was missing. Becky pointed out the poor light bounce in a few of the shots and cursed herself for not bringing something reflective. They were about to leave when Ruthie tripped on the edge of something and fell flat on her face. When she looked up she faced a tall rectangular structure that slowly became clearer as a mirror.

"That's perfect!" Becky called from a few feet back. "Stay right there, just like that! I'm going to put the tripod back up, keep your flashlight off."
Ruthie hardly heard her; she was too busy tracing the delicate carvings along the frame with her fingertips. A shiver ran down her spine. Her eyes kept darting to the direction of the mirror-surface itself, but each time she closed her lids instead. She was afraid of what she might see. When she was little, a cousin told her about staring into mirrors at night and seeing things like "Bloody Mary" this idea always startled her, and yet she couldn't help but to take one last peak at the great mirror.
What she saw was far greater than she could have ever imagined.

"Alright, I can't see you through the viewfinder so I'm going to do a few sweeping shots across the area. One of those is bound to turn out."
But Ruth Maude was not listening; she was too entranced by the image in front of her. Her jeans and sweatshirt were replaced with a dazzling blue costume accented with feathers of all sorts. Her hair was pinned up with another long delicate feather and her feet were bare, small, and dainty. Her reflection smiled at her from the top of a hire wire where she took a bow. She looked so fearless that Ruthie took a bow back but then it couldn't be told who had taken the first. She felt a tight sensation across the bottom of her feet and in the mirror her reflection struggled to keep balance.

The first camera strobe flashed. Ruth's eyes in her reflection glowed yellow and she sneered with a mouthful of dripping teeth.
...

The second strobe flashed, long claws reached outwards from the mirror to drag her in, long claws reached towards the mirror to keep her away.
...

The third strobe flashed. Ruthie slipped from her line and sought out a glimpse of Becky, why was she still taking pictures?! She saw the girl's reflection in the mirror as she fell, but her friend was only a black shape, only a shadow with a single eye like that of the camera that seemed to loom down at her in freefall.
She heard a whisper;

"No more horror novels for you..."

Hitting the ground was like waking up in the middle of the night with a jolt. It happens to everyone, you don't always remember what frightened you so, but you find yourself sweating none-the-less.

Ruth stood slowly, shaking, blinking away the dreamland of the abandoned building. She stretched once, no claws for now. She stretched twice, no sneering white fangs of the beast...and then dazed, she walked slowly from the tent and into her new life.



***

Becky lowered the camera, "Darn it! Listen Ruthie, I think I must have left the lens cap hang in front of the viewfinder or something...Not one of these turned out!"

-silence-

"Ruthie?..."

Claire never thought her life would change so drastically.

Usually an upbeat, optimistic young woman, her life had turned around so fast that her head was still spinning. When Hillary left to go to college, the house had seemed darker, somehow. More somber. Then the divorce had happened. The fights, the crying, the lawyers all blended together in a grey muck that were her memories. Claire loved living life with rose-colored glasses, but it was hard to maintain such a rosy outlook on life when you knew it wasn’t going to end like that.

Her only solace had been Hollow Hill, the stable were she had taken horseback riding lessons for two years. She loved all the horses and ponies that lived there. Munchkin, Kora, Swallow, and of course, Jack. Jack had been a mutt of a horse, a plain dark bay gelding, but he had been Claire’s favorite. He was getting on in years, and was so sweet and quiet that nothing short of the Apocalypse could faze him. It wasn’t uncommon to walk past the tiny, dusty paddocks and see three or four of the junior riders sitting on his back together, tangling his mane and tail and crying “Giddyup!” Claire had shown Jack in a beginner class, and had gotten second place with him. She had been planning on doing better the following year, but it never happened.

Soon after her parents divorced, her dad took her away from her Michigan suburb and moved to an old, decrepit farm near the Kentucky/Tennessee border. The open fields and tall trees were a far cry from the townhouses and the silhouettes of skyscrapers in the distance. Her new house had more land than even Hollow Hill had, and even had a barn with old horse stalls. Her dad kept saying, ‘once we fix this place up, we can have a garden and a shed, and we can raise chickens and sheep.’ And he promised that she could get a horse of her very own.

But things never turned out that way. Claire’s dad had once been a very creative, handy guy, and she had been confident that the house would be fixed up in no time. Losing her mom seemed to change him, though. He was jittery now, and prone to starting projects without finishing them. His room was still crammed with boxes from the move, seven months ago. His garden had wilted and bundles of chicken wire still stood by the foundations of the shed out back. Claire tried hard to help pull him together, but it was a lost cause. She began to spend more time with her new friends than at home.

Making friends had always come easily to 15-year-old Claire. She was just naturally likeable. She had wavy dark hair and brown eyes that were usually twinkling, hinting at mischief and fun. She had pale skin that never tanned but burned instead, except one her nose and cheeks, which were rich with freckles. Her biggest distinguishing mark was a scar on her right wrist, a souvenir of a particularly messy fall during a riding lesson.

It was actually this scar that helped her makes friends. One girl had asked her about it, and when she found out that Claire liked to ride horses, the two hit it off fast. A few other girls in her class either had horses or knew someone who did, so it was easy to find things to talk about. One of the boys in her math class actually rode in rodeos sometimes, and invited Claire out to meet his Quarter horse. It was nice to have friends.

Claire still missed Jack, her mom, and her sister, though. Things just weren’t the same. Life here was slower and more peaceful. Claire loved it and hated it.

Then, in October, Claire was invited to a Halloween party, at the house of one of the most popular guys at her school. His family was going to have a huge bonfire and set off fireworks. It would be a lot of fun. Claire ran down the driveway from the bus, buzzing with excitement. She’d need a good costume, but what?

The phone was ringing when Claire opened the door. She picked it up and said a very hurried and breathless “Hello?”

“Claire, honey, how are you?” her mother’s voice chirped back.
Claire dropped her backpack in surprise, the books inside rattling on the linoleum tiles.

“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

“I was just calling to see how you liked Kentucky. I’m sure you love it there; your room was always a stable to every horse figurine you could lay your hands on!” her mother laughed.

“Yeah, Kentucky’s fine, Mom.”

“I was also wondering if you’d like to come up some time to visit. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Who?” ask Claire as she sat down, suddenly suspicious.

“Oh, just someone I’ve been seeing… Listen, how would you feel about a stepfather? Not now, but maybe some time soon, in the future…”

Anger bubbled through Claire’s chest. Her palms stung, and she realized she was clinging to the phone with a crushing grip.

“Why…? You aren’t dating someone, are you?”

“I am an adult, Claire,” her mother replied, all traces of sweetness replaced by irritation. “If I want to start dating someone that is my business.”

“But you and Dad just broke up!” Claire protested.

“And I am ready to move on with my life, Claire. Maybe you should do the same.” And with that, her mother hung up on her for the first time she could ever remember.

Claire stared dumbfounded at the phone. How could everything have been going so perfectly, and now this? Tears began to blur her vision.

A key in the lock alerted shook her from her trance. Suddenly, she didn’t want to see anyone. Slamming the phone down into its cradle, Claire raced through the house and out the back door before her father had even opened the front. She stalked to the barn, arms stiff at her sides. Her nose was beginning to sting, a sure sign of tears to come.

The barn was a scary place, full of rotting wood and dusty cobwebs. It took a moment for Claire’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. She could see the stalls that once held valuable race horses a hundred years ago, but were now falling apart and empty apart from the junk that had collected there over the years. Old trunks and farm equipment filled the barn. It was the farthest thing from the happy place Claire had imagined when her dad had first described it to her.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Claire wandered from stall to stall, moodily rubbing dust from the artifacts within. Then, one caught her eye. It was an old Victorian-styled mirror in a narrow standing stall. The mirror was taller than she was and hung from a ring where a horse would have once been tied. Claire carefully climbed over a pony cart with a missing wheel to get closer.

The glass was covered in grime. Claire carefully wiped a patch away to see her face. She looked so sad and lonely. She gasped. Suddenly, the reflection was no longer hers, but that of an exotic, curvy Hispanic woman with dark curly hair and- could it be?- red eyes, wearing leather breeches and a white lacy Zorro-like top. The distant thunder of hoofbeats began to fill her ears, punctuated by ghostly whinnies and snorts.

Then, pictures began to fill the mirror. Claire continued to hurriedly clean the glass to see them better. They were pictures of all the things that had gone wrong these past few years. There was Hillary waving from the steps of her dormitory, smiling through her tears. Then Claire was sitting in court, numbly watching the judge make the final decisions for her future. Her town was shrinking through the back window of her dad’s old Ford as they moved away to a new place. Her last meeting with Jack, Claire sobbing as she clung to the patient gelding’s neck and stuffed him with treats. And then, there was her mother standing with an older, strange man, his arms around her waist. A violent sob tore through Claire’s throat as she raised her arms high over her head and smashed the mirror in anger.

The scream of a wild stallion tore through the gloom. Claire whirled around to see the ghost of a mustang standing not twenty feet away from her. The stallion reared, its mane weaving around its neck, and it leaped towards her. For a moment, everything was cold and grey and lost in the fog as the spirit surrounded her. The hoofbeats thrummed in her chest and her heart skipped a beat. A voice echoed in the chaos: “Come ride with us, my Caballa Oscura.”

Then, she was alone, standing beneath a garishly bright circus tent. She was the exotic woman in the mirror. Claire was lost.

Back in an old barn in a quiet part of Kentucky, a mirror shattered into a thousand glistening pieces and lay amongst the straw. There was no way back.