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Chapter Text

The Wishing Box was never part of the manor’s original features. The concept, just like many of the sweet ideas in the manor, belonged to Victor Grantz, who was secretly overjoyed by the flood of handmade postcards and envelopes, which the other residents left for him to deliver. Sometimes it was a correspondence of pure bickering, especially when two people refused to face each other and they decided that it was easier to put their bitterness into written words rather than suffering from direct consequences, sometimes it was just for pure appreciation, while other times it was nothing more than a soft apology uttered through the paper.

However, true to its name the wishing box also had an interesting gimmick. 

Right next to the red postal box the manor’s residents have put together, Victor placed a small wooden platform with a handmade stamp depicting a small dog the middle of delivering a letter. It cost him countless hours, many cuts and soft curses until he finally managed to crave the final version out of a rubbery square and while the residents did not really understand the initial purpose of the special marking, thankfully a written explanation soon followed in the form of a small note plastered next to the stamp.

If it is used on a message it symbolizes urgency, but also if it lacks recipient, it simply means the letter contains a special wish the sender entrusts to him. That, and that alone is the only time the postman is allowed to peek at the letters of others and choose someone who would be best suited to turn that wish into reality.

This is why said postman furrowed his brow as he handed the letter to none other than Norton Campbell, the person the sender was most affiliated with.

 He invited the other man into the secluded corner of the inner garden, looking around with the eagerness of a thief who was worried about getting caught before he even got to work.

“I think you should read it,” he muttered faintly.

“What’s this?” Norton turned the envelope left and right, but the only identification mark on it was the happy dog prancing around with a letter. He had no idea why Victor decided that he would be the perfect recipient, considering he couldn’t even make himself happy most of the times.

Folding the edge, he pulled out a hastily folded paper, with a handwriting that told him the author tried hard to keep his letters somewhat readable, but failed halfway.

"Hello! Hello! Hello!

I know this is probably getting old, but my wish for this year is to be heard, so I am sure you can find a poor soul who reads my words and thinks about them for at least a tiny bit! Lately, I keep finding myself missing my old life and being locked in has started taking a toll on me. It sure took its sweet time even though everything is so boring around here! Sometimes it feels like it’s been ages since I last performed on stage and it makes me even more scatterbrained than I usually am, which in turn risks the wellbeing of my teammates and I get an earful for it. They even call me a clown! Me! A clown! Frustrating, but not surprising even though I keep telling them that I am an acrobat. Bernard often told me that I make a terrible clown because I am bad at creating a connection with the audience and I only want their eyes to be fixed on me and my art. He was right. But now I have so many ideas, yet no stage to show them off so they just keep piling up! So even if it’s for one last time, I wish I could show off, just a little bit, but for now, the feeling that I could share my thoughts with someone helped, so I think that's one more wish completed.

Sincerely, Mike

 PS. Maybe next time I should write down my ideas. It’s not like anyone would be able to steal them,”

Norton looked at Victor with eyes that reflected the question he was about to ask.

“And what should I do about it?” 

The postman just spread his arms wide, shaking his head. “You two seem to be close, and he seems to be honest with you, so I thought you might be able to help him.”

A bitter chuckle burst forth from Norton, as he leant against the pillar, waving the envelope in his hand. “I wish. But even I can’t pull an entire circus together for him.”

“But you would do it,” Victor stated, a kind smile playing on his lips.

“If I had money to burn, yes. But then again I wouldn’t be here if I could do that,” he heaved a sigh. It was obvious what Mike wanted even if the letter stated otherwise. He wanted to talk, sure, but Norton also knew that losing his family and home all in the same day was a blow Mike never quite recovered from, no matter how hard he smiled at the world. Alas the last time he checked, he hadn’t gained the ability to turn back time and prevent a tragedy or else he would have done it twice.

“Aren’t the remnants of Hullabaloo lying around in Moonlit Park? I remember seeing the name several times,” Victor’s soft voice brought him out of his reverie. Norton raised his head at the suggestion, eyes widening slightly when he thought back on the countless matches they were forced to suffer through. In his mind, all that remained was that Mike did his best to avoid the place, going as far as to send back a message to the manor owner’s invitation containing two giant letters of N and O.

“Well, the only problem with Moonlit is that he can’t stand it.”

“But it is still special to him,” Victor nodded, scratching behind Wick’s ears to signal they were about to leave. It was not his job to solve a wish letter, after all. He just delivered them. “Maybe what he hates is the state of the park, not the park itself. I think that is something worth thinking about. Now if you will excuse me…”

Norton barely registered as the man quietly slipped out the garden, the pitter-patter of Wick’s feet on the stone pavement following in his wake before the door closed with a loud click leaving him alone with his own silence.

Holding the letter in his hand, Norton’s eyes were skimming through the lines. Over and over, until he had the voice of the acrobat connected to the words with the cheerful hums that concealed the glued shards of a man who might fall apart from the stress he had ushered himself into.  

The more he thought about it, the sooner he realized the desperate cry disguised as an innocent request. A man yearning for the life that was cruelly taken away from him.

But no matter how many times Norton returned to the acrobat’s letter, Victor was a fool if he thought he can solve this problem alone. It was like putting a band aid over an open wound and felt more like an insult while solved nothing in the long run.

Folding the letter, he turned around going straight for the small glass door that led out of the secluded garden, wading his way through the prickling hawthorn bushes that framed the small stone road leading deeper into the woods.

The wish was clearly out of his range so nothing felt more natural than talking with the person who knew Mike the longest. 

* * *

For the past few days, the manor became strange. Mike did not need to dress up as a detective to notice that his fellow acquaintances suddenly took up habits they did not show in the countless loops they were forced to sit through in each other’s company. First of all, Norton, the man who couldn’t run sixty meters without breaking down into a wheezing mess, kept avoiding him, slipping out of Mike’s grasp whenever he wanted to spend time with him almost as if Jose lent him the pocket watch just to help Norton get out of his sight.

On the fourth day, Mike clearly saw a pattern where tje prospector only talked to him, when HE wanted to but quickly turned tail in every other cases. After this happened half dozen of times and they even kept missing each other at breakfast and dinner, he started thinking that Norton Campbell, was in fact, nothing more but a huge mole hiding the moment he felt Mike getting close to his pile of ground.

It was getting ridiculous, and Mike’s patience was rapidly running out until his mood finally plummeted into unknown depths and his eternal mask of smile slid off more often than he dared to admit. He felt like a stranger in a place where he ought to belong, the shadows behind the tiniest of gestures grew exponentially, until he was forced to believe that Mike Morton, the former star of Hullabaloo was once again demoted into a second rate staff member and a pitiful laughingstock.

So in order to lock out his thoughts, he soon pulled out a box filled with gunpowder, acid and other compounds. Driven by disappointment and anger, he did not even notice when tristful clouds locked away the sun far above their close-knit blanket. 

Minutes stretched into hours and the skies cleared on the other side of his window slowly revealing the stars above their head, as the sun dipped beneath the west horizon. Glancing up he only grit his teeth, noting that nobody even noticed that he was not around. His attention quickly returned to the various powders he had mixed for the latest batch of bombs, fingers pinching together the two ends of the fabric as he closed up the hole on the bomb with small stitches.

What dragged him out of his reverie was the faint knock on his door, urging him to greet the visitor. 

It only took them, what, six hours to notice that he was missing, but he did not let his bitterness show itself and instead summoned a bright and sociable Mike Morton to the stage, letting him take over as he opened the door.

However, the smile quickly slid off his face, when it was revealed that the person standing in his doorway was none other than the aforementioned Norton Campbell, the mole, wearing something different for a chance. Throwing away his regular, tattered clothes, Norton reminded him of a rich noble with his black coat, silver buttons, and embroidery following along its seams. Mike was tempted to ask him if he was invited somewhere before the man bent down to pick an envelope up from the ground.

“Why am I not surprised?” Norton muttered under his breath, not even bothering with the fact that Mike was standing in front of him in casual wear not meant to be seen by the others. His trademark collar and frills laying in the pile of laundry he created next to his bed, making him feel terminaly underdressed next to the other man. However, Norton did not seem to mind it much, as he was more focused on the letter he successfully ignored up until now.

Mike could only stare at the envelope extended to him, narrowing his eyes before he lifted his gaze to meet Norton. Raising his brows, he patiently waited for the explanation that should naturally follow but when the room fell into silence he took the envelope instead observing the crooked stars someone drew right next to his name.

“I see,” he mumbled in an unamused voice while Norton was visibly confused by his sudden mood dip.

It felt terribly out of character, but then again, when it came to Mike, it was hard to determine where the beginning of his act was, and where was the beginning of his true nature. The fact both terrified and amused him, yet instead of asking for clarification, he choose to ignore the pained silence that settled over them. Clearing his throat, keeping his distance both physically and emotionally, he said:

“Okay, well… Once you’ve finished reading let’s meet up at the front door.”

“Sure, but what if I say no?” The corners of his lips turned upward a little, but he carefully kept his emotions at bay. 

“I’ll just ask again, then.”

“And if I say no for the second time?” his face wrinkled in irritation.

“Then I’ll ask for the third and fourth time too,” Norton answered. “‘Till the moment I can finally get you out of the house… Or when you finally start acting like the adult you are.”

“That’s quite rich coming from someone who kept avoiding me for the past week,” the sentence slipped out before Mike could have grit his teeth together and immediately tore into the person standing in front of him. For a moment a strange emotion flashed through Norton’s eyes. But instead of explaining the reasons for his sudden absence, Norton just nodded slightly, his voice coming out a tad bit weaker than he intended to,

“I’ll wait for you downstairs.” 

With that the door closed in front of him with a soft click, leaving Mike Morton alone with a crumpled letter and the pile of bombs he managed to create over the short span of time. He just successfully managed to chase off the only person who cared to check up on him…

In no time, the suffocating silence was back, torturing the former acrobat as he folded the envelope open and took the message into his shaking hands.

“Dear Mr. Mike Morton,”

You, yes You, are hereby invited to our annual festival that is to be held at the site where the moon shines the brightest to celebrate the passing of a year you’ve spent in our company. Get your brightest attires, your widest smiles and follow the person we are about to send for you.

Sincerely, the staff.”

Furrowing his brows, he hastily tossed the letter on his bed, walking up to his wardrobe while he tried his best to stop his throat from quivering so badly before tears could free themselves from the corner of his eyes.

He might as well dress up as a clown, since he already acted like one.

Chapter Text

As they walked through the lamplit road, the silence around them grew more and more suffocating, pushing onto their backs heavier whenever one of them tentatively opened his mouth to say something. That one week apart seemed to deteriorate their friendship to the point it was almost impossible to reconnect using traditional methods. Norton seemed to live by the rule that he should leave the others alone for a little bit thus he ended up swallowing back his words, while Mike was still too angry to even care about asking further questions and blamed the entire manor for leaving him alone when he needed them most. 

Sure he changed clothes, but that was the furthest he was willing to go for this case without spending too much time on why anyone would invite him anywhere while using Norton as an errand boy. He did not want to go, and definitely did not plan on staying too long no matter what was the occasion. Like a hurt animal, all he wanted to do was to hide himself deep inside his burrow and only come out when he felt better. 

His mood only plummeted further, when he realized the familiar surroundings. 

The broken down Ferris wheel in the distance, the fountain with the statue of a fox jumping for the moon, the remnants of booths that were scattered all around the entrance looking even lonelier in the pale moonlight.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he looked at Norton, furrowing his brows. He really couldn’t force a smile to his face right now, but Norton seemed to welcome the honesty, shaking his light slightly as he fiddled with the lock on the gate.

“Ask yourself this question, would I bring you here only to mock you?” 

“I know plenty of people who would,” he let out a bitter sigh. “Get a good laugh at the clown, who is actually an acrobat, scramble to collect what was left of his family.”

Sensing the resistance on Mike’s side, Norton heaved a sigh.

“And ask yourself, would I do that?”

Mike wanted to say yes, but no matter how hard he tried to come up with reasons that would make Norton play a cruel joke like this on him, he couldn’t come up with anything. In the end, he just pouted, muttering a barely audible no. Norton would not dress up in his nicest attires, he would not urge Mike to do the same and he would definitely not bring Mike to the place he hates if it did not serve some sort of purpose. 

He got his answer as Norton pushed the heavy gate open, revealing the lighted park behind the walls. The orange light from the lamps silently led his gaze over the bridge to the other side of the park where the big top stood in its former glory, almost glowing in the corner of the park.

“It’s…” He turned to Norton, then back to the tent, before his gaze returned to Norton, his cheeks going redder by the moment when he saw the knowing smile on the man’s lips. “YOU…” 

“Do I want to know?”

“Nope. It’s stupid.” He hid his glowing face behind his palms. 

“Wait… You thought I was avoiding you on purpose,” Norton deadpanned as they walked past the small booth selling toys. Someone arranged them in a neat row, cleaning the outer fabric of the dolls. Looking at him with their button-eyes, berating him for his mistake and laughing at him for overthinking. “Mike, isn’t the main selling point of surprises is to keep them… you know, a surprise?”

“How should I know,” he whined, covering his face with his palms as if that would keep his shame at bay. “I was not expecting anyone to surprise me! Why would anyone even do that? Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be full of surprises anyway?!”

“That is the goal of a surprise, you walnut!” He felt a gentle knock on the top of his head. ”Someone always had to watch over the place, or else it would revert back to normal. Learned this the hard way.”

Mike could only groan as the redness slowly spread to his ears and it felt like someone just tossed him into a hot spring. Someone also implied that Norton was not alone with this crazy idea… 

“You left a letter at the wishing box,” the prospector reminded him. At the mention of the silly little things he had written, almost every color faded from his face.

“Oh no, which one was it?!”

“The one about the circus,” Norton answered before stopping in his tracks, “How many did you send?”

“No-no, it was only that one!” he faked a laugh.

There were many things Norton did not need to know, and the fact that he was using the box as his personal venting channel for some time now should definitely remain a secret, as most of them contained several unsaid confessions and rants about close calls but eventually all of them returned to Norton Campbell.  “Let’s go see the tent instead! Yes! Gotta check out what you worked on!”

With every breath he took, memories returned to him wearing their original vivid colours, embraced by the quiet hum of the accordion that seemingly came from the direction of the tent. 

However, just as he was about to take his way to the entrance, Norton gently pulled him back, leading him around the tent, straight to the place that used to be the walled up area, pulling him through a curtain made of thick red fabric. 

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence!” A thick male voice hit his ears the moment he entered the other side. Looking around he immediately noticed Murro, Margareta and Joker, all of them wearing garments he had seen years ago, before his curiosity landed him in the manor. The glistening red jacket and the feathered hat, the purple suit, and the red velvety suit, they all brought back memories, squeezing his heart until he felt tears invading his eyes.

“It was only a dumb letter,” he stammered awkwardly. 

“And yet you are about to cry, silly goose” Margareta flicked his nose, immediately summoning that well-known goofy smile back to Mike’s face. “You should thank Norton for putting together this whole event, though. Not everyone gets the entire circus together for their birthday.”

His what? Mike’s eyes widened; he was so angry at the world around him that time seemed to eat the calendar where a May date sat proudly and without him noticing May turned to June overnight. 

Even if he had a birthday, the residents of the manor usually just gave him cake and some handmade gifts. Nobody would go this far for a former star, however… His attention was now back at Norton, who seemingly did his best to stay in the shadow and took a step back when he suddenly landed in the center of attention.

“It was nothing" Norton averted his gaze, massaging the back of his neck as heat slowly rose to his cheeks.  

“Really,” he told them, fixing his gaze on the clown’s metallic leg, before his gaze wandered further to the mismatched bows on Margareta’s shoes. “I’m not familiar with circuses, never been to one actually, so you should thank them instead. They were the experts here.” 

The man's statement caught his attention.

“Well, in that case I am thanking all of you!" he laughed, but his hands were already on Norton's shoulders pushing the man out of the makeshift dressing room. "But you, you should sit in the first row and enjoy the show. After all, you are about to see the best performers of the century, on the world's tiniest stage! I can’t even imagine a better first experience!"

Norton tried to turn around, protesting saying something about working behind the scenes and helping Leo, but Mike was not having any of it. 

He wanted to show Norton that did not work his butt off for nothing. The problem started when finally turned back to the remaining troupe members, his confidence fading when he realized how unprepared he was for the evening.

“If you worry about your damn clothes, check the other side of this wall,” Joker knocked the back of his clawed hands against the brick walls. His face was smiling yet his voice reflected the usual mild annoyance, but Mike could feel that he was just as excited as the others. “We couldn’t salvage the original, but Vio managed to create an impressive replica, in case you want to go out all fancy in front of that bloke.”

“Of course I want to go out all fancy!” he exclaimed proudly, fingers already brushing against the silky tapintású blue coat. Violetta seemed to add some more details to the fabric, adding small studded stars to the trims of the cape that was supposed to be a wing and doing wonders with the gradient feathers around his neckline showing a different colour as he kept brushing his hand against it.

Mr. Swifts.

After Murro’s disappearance Bernard put even more emphasis on Mike than ever before, urging him to reach past his limits, reminding him of his own shortcomings after his failures before sending him back to practice, controlling his actions on stage the way he never did before by pushing set routines towards him, demanding more and more after every show yet taking away what he truly wanted to show for the audience.

Mr. Swifts was a character who could only exist when he was practicing, swinging gracefully in silence under the veil of the night, when nobody could see him. His personal way to rebel against the person who put profit over art and shackled him the cage when one of his birds flew away.

“You could show him that performance,” Murro chirped in, dragging Mike back to reality.

“I’ve never performed it in front of a live audience, though,” Mike sighed, immediately looking for excuses. “And I don’t exactly have the time to practice the routine to get back into shape.”

“Eh. ‘ave more faith in yourself, Morton,” Joker warned him. “It’s not like you’ve been sitting on your ass the whole time. Shouldn't you bring out the big guns on your birthday? Because I am sure as hell won’t be rebuilding the circus every year so you better use this time wisely.”

“Alright, alright” he huffed. “You convinced me. Let’s start the show then!”

However, he soon had to realize that even if his nights were spent with small practices, hanging ribbons from branches when nobody could see his falls, he was not ready to revive something that could not exist in the first place. Walking to and fro, he tried to think back of the movements, clicking his tongue to the rhythm as he tried to lock out the music spilled through the thick fabric of the tent.

Bit by bit memories of their past performances returned until he could see the way Joker swayed on the top of a lamp-pole, faking fear and crocodile tears, before he stood on top of the lamppost and looked over the audience, before he lost his balance and landed with a dramatic fall, comically spreading his limbs, like a frog and earning a hearty laugh from the audience. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted Margaretha hiding behind the curtains, peeking through to see bits of the performance, her eyes shining with amazement at Smiley’s act. While Mike couldn’t muster enough strength to care about her or even to encourage her to find happiness, he quickly shook off the feelings, the feathers on his shoulder following his movements. 

Today he had to let go of the past, just for a little bit. Even if he still despised Margaretha, he needed to do it, for himself and the sake of the show. 

For the sake of that idiot who went and turned his dream into reality.

Heaving a sigh instead, he closed his eyes, letting the entire routine play in his mind. How the music would correlate to his movements, push him higher as he tells a story showing everyone in the tent that being an acrobat was more than just hopping around and being silly. It is art. The art of defying the world. To inspire, to amaze.

The tent suddenly became silent, before he heard excited clapping from the other side of the thick fabric signaling the end of Joker’s performance as the sad clown left the stage, pulling his lamppost with him.

The next in line was Margaretha, leading an old lion by her side as she threw one last glance towards Mike. Just like in every performance, the clowns entered to slowly ease the audience into the world of circus, showing them a slice of what was coming by proving that their art is more than making a fool of themselves. Then always came an animal number to keep the kids attention in case the clown did not do the trick. Puppies, horses and all common animals served as appetizers for what was to come but what served as a completely new experience for the residents of the manor was no different than any of his old work days. 

Margaretha followed by Murro, who shook up the audience with Hogginton jumping through hoops with a rider on his back. Maybe years ago, the man would have stood on his hands, maybe stand on the boar as they made their rounds, but the days spent in Hullabaloo weren’t kind to Murro. Even know, Mike knew that the only reason he appeared on stage was because of his birthday, not because he wished to return to their old life. 

He only noticed how fast time has passed when a hand tapped his back, ruffling the dark feathers on his neck. 

Under his moustache Murro showed him a small smile, nodding towards the entrance of the tent “You are up next.”

Nodding, mostly to himself, Mike hastily readjusted the clips that kept his hat on his head, grabbing just enough blonde hair that it would stop the accessory from jumping on his head, before he took his way to the stage. 

His stage. 

When he stepped in the first thing he noticed was the lack of scent. It was too clean, nothing like what he was used to. The straw did not scrunch under his booth, where the orchestra used to be now stood a small trio led by Antonio, who patiently waited for him to give a cue, yet looking around Mike failed to feel this circus as his.

No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t recreate Hullabaloo.

However, as he looked around the audience he realized there was no need for that as with the new faces came a new circus. 

The music started, gently swimming into the background as night colored fabric was let down from the middle of the big top, hanging weightlessly above the stage, as Mike finished making a round on the stage and twirled, hooking his legs around the silk, climbing higher as his cape swing in the air before he allowed himself to do wider movements, twirling the silk around his legs in the meantime. Closing his eyes as he spun around the middle silk, clipping half of his cape against the blue colored silk he was clinging to.

Then suddenly the music stopped and the lights went out, giving way to a cold darkness before the lights came back a silhouettes of birds surrounded the perfect Mr. Swifts as Margaretha kept switching the paper birds in front of the lamp in the back, before taking out the form of a bird of prey, just before one of the ribbons were cut from the stem, swirling gracefully to the ground, followed by the other.

It was an act, but by the sound of his audience they were shocked as he let the ribbon let go of his leg, tearing off the side of the cape that was only clipped to its place, before he stopped the fall and let his legs touch the ground as the last ribbon too, followed his wake.

By now the bird in the story was locked to the ground, losing half of his wing in the process. 

A cruel, but realistic tale about persistence.  

The part of the show where the audience should worry and start rooting for the actor. Even for a few minutes Swifts take away their worries, shouldering them in their stead and growing stronger under their weight, before grabbing into another opportunity in the darkness, failing to reach the heights that are required for him to soar.

As he was about to walk away, his eyes met with Norton’s, sitting in the back row and defying his request. It took him out of the role for a second before he flashed him a quick smile and turned around at the sound of something hitting the ground. 

His movements felt like dancing, time stopping as he did somersaults and backflips where his body twisted and his head was barely away from the ground all for the sake of reaching the hoop that replaced the silk but never quite touching it yet.  

Keeping the illusion of being weightless, he danced around, mixing what little ballet he had learnt over their travels with the skills he had, slowing his movements midair, holding his legs as he twirled on his feet, standing on the hoop, he pulled it up with his feet, grabbing onto it, when he felt the black rope tensed. A silent danse macabre and a tale of revival of what was taken away from him.

If he pulled his moves right, the audience was already lost in his show, following every shimmer of the folds on his clothes with eager anticipation. He was no longer Mike Morton, but a bird with a tale to tell wishing to return to the sky and now it was his time to turn the story into a happy end as the hoop lifted him up again, following the music that got more and more chaotic and his movement reflected the struggles of the bird. It was risky, he almost let go of the hoop several times.

Hanging with one arm, before swinging back up finding determination, as the darkness was slowly switched to warmer lights around him before the lights went out and he was finally let down, ending the show with a front walkover starting from the hoop, before he bow, allowing the audience to break into clapping and whistling.

It drew tears to his eyes, slowly clenching his heart as he enjoyed the wave of acknowledgement after so long. Trying to regulate his painting, he looked up, blinking the tears back as his eyes were looking for a charred face in the crowd. Someone who would dress up so nicely as if he was going to a theater, instead of a third rate circus.

When their eyes met, he felt tempted to rush to Norton, thanking him for everything they had done, completely forgetting Victor’s contribution to the cause.

When he finally found Norton in the back of the crowd, he straightened his back, throwing him a kiss, while making the audience believe that it was meant for them. Feeling satisfied when he saw Norton react, the distance between them grew once more when Emma yanked on his arms, pulling him to the empty space, followed by the rest of the manor. 

For a second he almost forgot why he was dragged to the park in the first place and by the time he could wrestle himself away from the crowd, Norton was out of sight.