Reynaldo, the World’s Smallest Circus Bear, was one of the main attractions at Circus Fantasticus. His many skills, cherubic, fuzzy face and winsome smile had captured the hearts of audiences around the world. But the bear’s chief art, the one for which he had won wide acclaim, lay in one thing: his ability to ride a unicycle while juggling chainsaws.
Nobody, let alone any other circus bear, could touch his mastery there. In France his craft and aesthetic was compared with Marcel Marceau. In an interview with Le Monde, he speak about the problematic history of circus animals being exploited, and why he had decided to deconstruct the colonialist narrative on the part of beasts everywhere, through his performances. When he juggled chainsaws, he said, he cut through the binaries separating nature, art and theater, and subverted the role of the circus bear as a subordinated subject.
Every day the bear worked on his craft, adding new elements to the act; for example, performing the chainsaw-juggling feats while riding his unicycle across a flaming tightrope, or juggling chainsaws as he simultaneously sailed through the air on a trapeze. He sketched complex variations on his iPad and tested them out—either they worked, or they didn’t, and if they didn’t, he would either abandon the task or try to retrieve elements he could incorporate into tricks that did work.
One day as Reynaldo sat in his trailer sketching, he heard mysterious sounds, saw flashing lights and a mysterious fog rolling in to the campgrounds Circus Fantasticus was staying at. Ever the fearless and intrepid bear, Reynaldo trotted down from his trailer and began to look about. As the campgrounds were located near a dark woods, and it was foggy and night out, the bear took a flashlight and did some recon. However, he was unable to locate the source of the noises and lights, and retreated back into his trailer. That night, however, he was troubled by scary dreams which he couldn’t quite remember when he woke up, just that they were quite upsetting.
The following day, to his relief, daybreak broke brightly on the campgrounds. The night’s worries trickled away as he went briskly about making coffee, doing his morning exercises and practicing his tricks.
But he noticed a few unusual things as he went about his business, visiting with the other circus performers and planning for that evening’s performance. Old friends and colleagues seemed oddly stiff and distant with him. His timing was off in his rehearsals, and he came very close to cutting himself on the live blades—something that had only happened once before, at the start of his career.
The other animals seemed tense as well, and the clowns, well, he didn’t want to think about clowns. Few things frightened or upset the brave bear, except for clowns. If he were honest with himself, the clowns seemed overtly weird even for their kind, and he got bad vibes from Slinky and Squatty, who he found hanging out near his trailer, smoking menthols. When they saw the bear coming, they scattered. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know,” he shouted after them. Shaking his fuzzy head, he went back into his trailer and watched the Food Channel, which he found oddly comforting.
That evening, the audience settled into their seats, the lights dimmed, and the show began. Reynaldo hopped onto his unicycle, and with effortless balance rode around the center ring. He glanced over at this assistant, Serpentina the Snake Lady, who was his chainsaw wrangler for the night. She herself was no mean talent with chainsaw-juggling, and he had great confidence she’d toss them perfectly when he needed them.
But as he looked out into the crowd, Reynaldo noticed something was amiss. The faces of the audience were now pale and terrified. The air was heavy with anticipation and fear. What was wrong?
The bear heard the crackle of static on his earbuds; then, the voice of the technical coordinator of Circus Fantasticus cut through. “Reynaldo, we’ve got a little problem here.”
Reynaldo’s heart sank. This was the previous night’s strangeness come again. As he looked out into the crowd, he spotted elements that were just plain wrong. Faces seemed smeary, blurred. Swirling vortices danced in the air.
Ghastly apparitions, monsters and skeletons, suddenly appeared in the mouth of the whorls. Holes had broken out everywhere.
The bear knew that dark magic was afoot, and he also knew that clowns were behind it.
“What to do, what to do,” Reynaldo muttered to himself. He wondered if everybody could see the same things he did, or if it was a matter of his ultra-keen senses deciphering matters hidden to most. He resolved that the show must go on, and he would deal with whatever came after.
The voice of the technical coordinator was now breaking up on his earbuds, and Reynaldo clenched his jaw, trying not to let the chaos erupting around him distract from his professionalism. Something about an outbreak of monsters in the crowd.
“Show must go on, Reynaldo my friend,” he muttered as he waved to the crowd. The crowd greeted him with a great roar.
The bear was just about to ascend to the tightrope when he looked once more into the crowd and spotted them—the clowns, accompanied by zombies and vampires, swarming towards him.
“Chainsaws!” he shouted to Serpentina. She nodded, swiftly revved them up and began to throw them towards the bear. He caught them adroitly.
“One, two, three, four,” she said, and the bear caught them all, tossing them in circles and arcs and other patterns with a deftness scarcely to be believed.
The fiendish army surrounded him. The zombies lunged towards him, grunting and shambling as zombies do.
Reynaldo cut and sawed and ground through the zombies, who were no match for his cunning with the blades. Dark blood, brain sludge and intestinal matter sprayed in the air. They fell apart, limbs strewn before him, guts spilling out.
Then the clowns sprang up. Reynaldo cycled through their ranks too. Chainsaws whirring, he sliced through their greasepainted skin, down through to the meat and bone. The bear winced as their multicolored blood landed on him, clotting his fur. He hated clowns with a passion, but the fur-clotting was the last straw.
“What did I ever do to you?” he shouted as the floppy-shoed villains attacked, again and again. “Maybe you’re just not that fucking funny.” He didn’t care that the clowns were his colleagues, or that they were potentially possessed and thus not responsible for their actions. He had little doubt that clown magic was behind the night’s unpleasantness. In any case, cherry noses were an abomination.
The vampires proved to be a greater challenge. They moved swiftly, sharp fangs gleaming in the circus lights.
Reynaldo knew that his chainsaws alone wouldn't be enough to defeat the bloodsuckers. He had to outsmart them.
Reynaldo somersaulted and flipped through the air, dodging the vampires' lunges and attacks. Again they came at him, eyes red and glowing, jaws agape, ready to feast on bear. But his small size and nimble movements gave him an advantage.
Nevertheless the vampires were closing in, and even Reynaldo’s boundless energy was beginning to wane.
Suddenly, he had an inspiration. “Serpentina!” he shouted. “Go to the supply tent. Run. We need stakes.”
Serpentina swiftly exited the main performance tent and returned with a large bag of tent stakes slung over her shoulder, along with two mallets.
Working like a well-oiled machine, the two pounded stake after stake into vampire hearts. Then, as they lay wriggling on the ground, Reynaldo and Serpentina applied the chainsaw coup de grace.
Just as he was about to execute the last undead, Reynaldo’s paw slipped, and he cut himself on a chainsaw blade. His vision swam as the blood rushed out, slicking his fur.
“Oh man I might be a goner,” he thought as the remaining vampires hovered over him, tongues leaping for a taste of bear blood.
But Serpentina was right there for him. She tumbled through the air, dispensing stakes to hearts, as jets of vampire blood splashed, and Reynaldo groaned—not so much with pain, although there was a lot of that, but because of the fur-cleaning job ahead. The bear prided himself on his neat, pristine fur.
“We’re almost through,” said Serpentina. With those words, she bore down now with the chainsaws, and vampire heads flew through the air, along with more blood that showered Reynaldo.
“Oh for fuck’s sakes,” the bear growled.
“Sorry,” said Serpentina. “It’ll wash out.”
“I know but…”
“Dudebear, it will wash out!” she said testily.
When the vampires too were finally decimated, Serpentina bent over Reynaldo and examined the cut. Fortunately, it was only a flesh wound.
The vampires began to disintegrate on the ground until they were nothing but piles of bones, which crumbled into dust and then mist. The mist gathered together into the retreating fog.
“Well Reynaldo my friend, you’re due for a hosing,” said Serpentina.
“Amen to that,” said Reynaldo. “I apologize for my outburst.”
“No worries, and I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know how much you care about your personal hygiene.”
As the pair exited the tent to the tumultuous applause of the audience, they surprised a clown that had been hiding under a tarp. The clown pleaded for the two to spare his life.
“Okay then,” said Reynaldo. “But only because I’m really fastidious about my grooming. You get a freeby today. But no more dark magic, right?”
“I promise,” said the clown.
And with that, the curtain descends on our little tale.
The End