Mr. Joel Yallin’s recording began with a deep gravelly voice. “It was 7:30 on a cold Tuesday afternoon when Jeremy and I entered the Circus. We could hear our feet crunch against the dirt as we marched through…” Static covered the sound, allowing only small bits through. The static stopped, faded. “We had approached the ajar gate to the inner circus. We saw it. The clown. It had bleached skin, with bright red crusty lips. Its gnarly claws gripped the gate, pushing it aside. It slowly approached us befo…” The static ruffled our ears once more.
Allen slammed his hand onto the device, small bits of vocals coming through, “We… dead… hollow…” but nothing completely concrete.
“C’mon, just work.” Allen mumbled as he continued to slam his hand onto the device.
“Allen, you just have to turn the knob, like this.” Henry pushed Allen’s hand aside as he turned the knob of the machine, and the voice resumed:
“I had barely escaped. I began my search for an exit, and eventually stumbled upon a large cacophony of sounds from inside one of the tents. I peeked in to see a man in a white mask with a black smile and eyes plastered onto it standing, his hands aiming towards the sky, his suit pristine and seemingly conducting what the creatures would do next. I felt as if I couldn’t take my eyes off it as it seemed it was making the impossible happen, a lion seeming to fly, and an elephant breathing underwater. I felt a tug at the back of my shirt dragging me across the floor. I looked up to the clown’s mouth salivating as if it was trying not to consume me. ‘What do we have ‘ere?’ I heard a voice call out. I looked towards it to see the man in the white mask staring at me. The clown released me as the man stood me up, patting the dirt off my clothes. ‘W-what are you?’ I asked…” A white, gloved hand turned the knob of the machine. The voice became static once more.