THE NIGHT OF LOST SOULS
JACK CROW
Five years later
Louisiana – United States
"I hate this shitty town!" Fredo growls, walking beside me as he glares at the people staring at us.
"Just ignore them," I say, not caring about the suspicious way some people in the streets are looking at us.
"Do they think we’re going to go around robbing and stealing every damn thing we see?!" Fredo clenches his jaw.
"We came to get supplies before we leave, not to make friends, Fredo," I say seriously, rolling the truck key in my hand.
"You say that because they don’t look at you like you’re a freak."
I glance down and see the dwarf walking beside me, his expression grim.
"They’re a bunch of shitty assholes!"
"Look on the bright side, Fredo," I mutter, stopping in front of the market.
"Those shitty assholes filled our pockets with cash from the show we gave last night, and we’ll be out of here in a few hours, not even remembering their miserable existence."
I let him walk ahead of me, following my friend while chuckling under my breath. I feel something move stealthily at my waist, and my hand quickly drops down, grabbing the thin wrist that was sneaking toward my pocket.
"You’re robbing the wrong guy," I growl, turning and grabbing the little street thief.
"Oh, fuck..." I shout furiously when I feel a sharp kick to my shin, making me stumble back.
The quick hand stretches out, and I see my wallet in their fingers, just as it gets tossed over my shoulder.
"What the..."
As I turn around, I see another street kid leap up and catch my wallet, then turn and disappear into the crowd, running.
"Son of a bitch!"
I curse, letting go of the thief in front of me.
"FREDO, GRAB THAT LITTLE SHIT!"
I yell to my friend, running as fast as I can after the damn kid who stole my wallet.
"You’re gonna regret that, you little punk!" I roar, pointing at him as I see him dart into an alley.
I pick up speed, leaping over a hydrant, still in disbelief that I just got robbed by some punk-ass kid. As soon as I enter the alley, I freeze, my heart pounding as I stare into the filthy, empty space filled only with trash bins and scurrying rats.
"SHITTTT!"
I kick a can angrily, sending it flying into the wall, my hands on my hips.
A shadow darts past me on the left, coming from behind a trash bin, and I spin around. I stretch my leg out, tripping the figure and making them crash face-first to the ground with a cry of pain.
"GOT YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
I roar, grabbing the hoodie and yanking them up.
"Give me the damn wallet, punk!"
I push the hood off in frustration as I spin the thief to face me. But I blink, confused for a second, staring into the wide, frightened black eyes of a girl. She looks up at me in terror, her chest rising and falling fast. Her forehead is scraped and her nose injured from the fall.
"Hey, idiot, you mind letting her go?!"
The voice behind me makes me turn, though I still have the young thief by the arm. I see the punk Fredo’s holding by the throat.
"I’ve got your damn wallet."
The skinny redheaded boy with freckled cheeks reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet, waving it in the air. Fredo snatches it from his hand.
"Check it..."
I growl angrily.
"Oh, fuck..."
The bite on my arm makes me roar, and I drop the girl, rubbing my arm where her teeth sank in.
"I’m gonna knock your teeth out..."
I snarl, watching her stumble as I take a step toward her. The blood dripping from her injured nose makes me curse—hurting her wasn’t my intention, I just wanted to scare her and get my wallet back.
"Shit!"
I reach out to help her, but her body shrinks away and she crawls backward on the ground, spinning around in panic, limping on her right leg as she runs. Her small frame hides behind a dumpster, and she stares at me in fear. Her face is dirty, her eyes sunken, and her cheeks are thin—almost skeletal.
"Let me go already! You got your damn wallet!"
The boy Fredo is holding yells angrily.
"It’s our wallet," Fredo replies loudly.
"What should we do with these little shits? I know a cat that would love a snack..."
I lower my eyes, spotting drops of blood on the ground, then raise my gaze to the miserable, terrified little creature, her nose bleeding as she stares at me like a frightened baby bear.
"Let him go," I say firmly, not taking my eyes off the dirty, scrawny girl watching me in panic.
Fredo does as I order, and within seconds the boy runs past me, heading to the girl. He crouches beside the dumpster with her, grabbing
her hand and pulling her up before running off with her into an old building.
“Shitty town!” Fredo rolled down the passenger-side window of the pickup truck. “I don’t know why we have to come to this damn place every year.”
Because this was where my father had been born. And every year, on December 25th, he would pass through, performing shows to entertain the town he loved. It was in this very town that fate brought my grandmother into the path of my grandfather, a migrant with five generations of circus blood running through his veins. When my father was born, he carried on my grandfather’s legacy—just as I had to carry on his, starting last year, when my father passed away.
At twenty, I found myself at the head of the oldest circus troupe in North America—the Crows. We’re no longer in the golden age of circuses, but we manage to keep going. We’re a family, each looking out for the other. That was always my father’s motto: the circus protects its own. And I try to protect my family the way he taught me. I also try to keep up the traditions, as he wished, returning to Louisiana at Christmas like he used to.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about some things,” Fredo said, turning to look at me.
“You’re always thinking, my friend.” I laughed. “Getting shot out of that cannon every night must be messing with your brain…” I joked, keeping my eyes on the road as I drove.
“I’m serious, Jack.” Fredo’s tone remained grim. “I’ve been noticing the way Spook looks at Aunt Pel.”
I stopped at a red light and glanced over at Fredo, whose expression was tight with concern.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed it too.” I clenched my jaw. I’d already picked up on the way Torres—Spook the Magician, as he was known in the ring—looked at my mother in a way he definitely shouldn’t.
My father had done more for Spook than anyone else in his life. I’m not naïve; I know my mom is young and beautiful, and eventually, she’ll find someone. I could blame my discomfort on being an overprotective son, but it’s not that. What bothers me is how sneaky Spook is about it.
Even if my father is dead, Spook should still show some respect. He was the best man at their wedding, after all. And something deep down in me just doesn’t trust him—especially not the way he acts like he runs the circus now.
I’ve got my eye on Spook, and he knows it. We can’t have a conversation without it turning into an argument.
“You should kick him out, Jack,” Fredo muttered, shaking his head. “Spook’s getting too comfortable. I’ve heard whispers—he’s been spreading poison on the train, saying you’re too young to be in charge. He’s looking for allies. Trying to make himself the new leader…”
“I’m planning to have a serious talk with him as soon as we leave Louisiana,” I muttered, turning my eyes back to the road and pressing the gas when the light changed. “Don’t worry, my friend. I won’t let a snake stay in the nest long enough to bite me. I know exactly what Spook wants, but he’s not going to get it. I haven’t kicked him off my train yet because I wanted to do a good show here—for my mom, in memory of my dad. But the second the train heads to the next city, Spook won’t be on it…”
I took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tighter, stopping at an intersection. I turned my head to check for cars, but my mind was already set on what I would do with the traitor magician.
Then my thoughts were interrupted by the sight of two children in the distance—dressed in filthy rags, faces just as dirty—walking side by side. One of them was the redheaded boy who had tried to rob me. He was holding hands with the little girl thief, who climbed up on a low wall.
The redhead spread his arms wide and bowed his head, like he was performing for an audience. Then he quickly stood and clapped for her. She clutched the hem of her oversized coat—way too big for her small body—and crossed her legs as she bent her knees. She played around, walking on the tips of her worn, torn shoes, slowly spinning on the wall like a music box ballerina.
Their dance was interrupted by a security guard shouting at them from a nearby building. The girl jumped down like a startled cat, and even though she limped, she ran off with her partner.
“Jack, let’s go!” Fredo urged from beside me. “You can speed up the car…”
I looked ahead at the intersection, clenching my jaw and growling under my breath. I didn’t understand why I remembered so vividly the terrified look in that little girl’s eyes—her nose bleeding from the stumble I had caused.
“Shit!” I snarled, yanking the wheel in the direction they’d run instead of following the route back.
“Where are we going?” Fredo asked, confused. “I thought we were headed back to camp…”
“We are,” I hissed. “I just need to make a quick stop first.”
The small shadows disappeared into an old building with no windows or doors—it looked abandoned. I pulled up and parked in front of it, peering inside.
“What are you gonna do?” Fredo asked, watching me unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Wait here,” I said quietly.
I opened the door and stepped out, walking slowly to the back of the truck. I lifted the tailgate and grabbed one of the bags filled with bread and apples. Then I pulled another bag with bottles of soda and held it with my fingers, slamming the tailgate shut before heading to the sidewalk.
“Oh, hell no—don’t tell me your Christmas spirit is kicking in tonight?” Fredo asked seriously as I passed by his window, but I said nothing, just kept walking.
I don’t think it’s Christmas spirit—lost that a long time ago. I’ve always been a realist, always saw things clearly. There’s no room left in me for kindness or holiday cheer. What I’m doing is acknowledging the truth about those two miserable children—who probably haven’t eaten anything decent in a while.
I stepped into the abandoned building. It was just as cold as the street outside, the strong night winds cutting through. An old barrel burned at the back, giving off light. I walked cautiously, then stopped at a safe distance from the barrel and placed the bags on a wooden crate.
“There’s food here,” I called out, eyes scanning the empty place. But I knew the little pests were here. “You don’t have to hide—I just wanted to bring something for you to eat.”
“We’re not gonna suck your dick for food, if that’s why you came here, asshole!” the freckled redhead shouted, his voice high-pitched, making me glance around. “Especially not the little guy’s.”
I clenched my jaw and looked up, spotting the boy walking along a metal walkway, glaring down at me.
“We don’t want your food, idiot.”
“Then don’t eat it—I don’t give a damn what you do with it,” I said firmly, hands on my hips, staring him down. “Let the rats have it, if that’s what you want…”
I lowered my head and turned to leave, sticking my hands into my coat pockets for warmth.
“You didn’t come here to hurt us?” the boy asked, serious. “Then why’d you bring food…”
I stopped walking and turned back, meeting his confused eyes above me. His miserable stare and bruises told me more than his words ever could.
“Figured you two might be hungry,” I replied calmly. “Or did you try to rob me so you could give the money to some drunk you pay for protection?”
He straightened his back, still confused.
“Where’s your handler?” I asked firmly, using street language—I knew how these things worked.
Behind every street kid, there was always an adult exploiting them, taking their loot.
“We don’t have a handler. We don’t need one.” He puffed out his chest, defiance flashing in his eyes. “We take care of ourselves.”
“Clearly…” Fredo’s loud voice echoed from the doorway, making the boy glance over and see my grumpy friend.
“And you—what brand is your shoebox house, little man…” the kid shot back at Fredo with bold sarcasm, which made Fredo’s face turn beet red.
“Why you little shit—come down here so I can tell you exactly what brand it is…”
The sound of rustling plastic behind me made me turn to the crate. It looked empty now. I stood still, glancing around—but I knew exactly who had taken the food I’d brought.
“Let me see the leg I hurt,” I said
firmly, taking a step forward and hearing the sharp, frightened inhale from the dark corner.
