Decker Wyatt was the only son of a Native woman and a descendant of a Spanish conquistador, born somewhere amongst the red rocks of what is now known as the state of Utah; in a small, silver wood cabin, his father's father had built to raise a family in. Like all the men before him, Decker was born with the gift to slay monsters, a scythe for a backbone, and a soul of pure light, or so he had been told. Though it was a familial gift, his father seemed to be on a mission to diminish his pure, shining heart- when the few times he was home rather than roaming across America looking for monsters to hunt, he became a monster of a different kind, his shouting heard across the desert as he yelled at Decker for his mistakes in the art of the hunt; a monster hunter, unable to slay monsters, was no son of his. 

Decker’s mother said he simply suffered from having too big a heart, that being unable to smite an innocent monster’s life was not a fault of his, but rather, a strength. He had a conscience and compassion, some things she thought her husband lacked. She warned Decker that his father would try to make a monster out of him, if not by being a slayer of what he called “demons”, then by comparison to someone who was long dead but haunted him, a brother who’s eyes he saw in Decker, as they we’re both two-toned; a half blue, half brown that should’ve been regarded as gorgeous but was now seen as a disfigurement that would always not only haunt him, Denver Wyatt, but his son, Decker, as well. This man, this uncle, this brother, haunted the family, hunted it.

At first, in thought, the mind made figures out of shadows, crawling from their dark corners to latch onto people and things, make them seem evil in Devnver’s eyes. But as the family cracked, Denver on one side, Decker and his mother on the other, the shadows soon did become figures- real ones, fueled by the hate of the splitting family, the hate of a father. Desperate for a change, a connection to mend the family, Decker’s mother fell pregnant once more; the baby, a daughter, was meant to be the glue that would hold the family together, but it was not to be.

It was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and excited, Decker forgot about the monsters outside, the ones that, as of late, had come closer and closer to his family home, odd for creatures that were meant to fear his family. In the middle of the night, they became brave, a three-headed creature with the mouth of a wolf and as big as a bear lumbered into the cabin through the unlocked door. It sniffed and snarled as it made its way through the house, a scream let out so terrible it shook the thin, sun-bleached walls. Before one of the greatest monster hunters of the Wyatt family line could react, his home was torn apart, wood and flesh like butter between the monster’s claws. Only a young Decker Wyatt had lived, his eyes seeing, his heart feeling for the monster for what it really was: three children, tortured to death, trapped in a fleshy cage that was so unlike their original bodies, screaming for help and seething with hate-filled rage for their creator who never let them know innocence. They were not the monster, but their father, the one who had haunted and hunted Decker’s father, who had aided in the tearing of Decker's family, a real demon worth slaying. 

For years, Decker ran, both toward and away from his monster, his father’s, and towards others, a circus ring master who made a young Wyatt his slave, a witch that wished to tear his limbs apart, creatures, angered by their state of being, chasing him in their frustration to be set free. Decker could not handle the pressure and disappointment he felt had come from the population, but it was actually whispers of his father’s old sayings that had been embedded in his own beliefs. Years would drag on, and Wyatt would feel stuck, with no leads left to chase, as if his monster had vanished from the face of the earth, and his days would slowly become one of routine. Decker, a million miles away from his home, had nowhere left to turn to. But nothing really ever vanishes; things that disappear always reappear in places unexpected. 

The big city was one of the last places Decker ever wanted to be. It was claustrophobic and cluttered, and as someone who had been roaming the country for the past twenty years of his life, Decker was used to, and needed, wide open spaces. Regardless, he had to stop by a city every once and awhile to get supplies that he couldn’t come by as easily out in the open plain. Leaving Bolt, his horse, at a secure stable, Wyatt made his way to the train station, the center of the city, to find what he was looking for. A bulletin full of old flyers of shows long since cancelled and restaurants long since opened and closed, Wyatt couldn’t find the map he was looking for, and circled to the other side to see if there was anything more useful. On the opposite side, massive and secured to the middle of the board was a poster Wyatt hadn’t seen in so long. Ripping it from its tacks, Wyatt wondered why it had been left up, its condition perfect for its old age. But as he stared at it longer, he noticed that this was not an old poster, but new; The image of Wyatt had been updated to his current looks, new clothes and facial scars added, and the horse he rode was now Bolt, his bay, rather than the old palomino he used to ride. Deep in thought and a train screaming by, Decker didn’t fully recognize the voice that questioned, “Wyatt?” before being violently spun around, poster still in hand. Overcoming his momentary confusion, Decker Wyatt came face to face with his old boss, Reginold “Ringmaster”, the old owner of the circus he had once been a part of many years ago. The ringmaster made him uncomfortable; he was a large man who towered over Wyatt, with a smile that was less a smile than lips peeling away from large and long teeth. Not noticing, or not caring about Wyatt’s obviously startled and discomforted state, Reginold questioned Wyatt about his life since he had left, or more like, run away, from the circus. Though Wyatt tried to answer the questions, they came at him like a runaway train, Ringmaster half-listening to his half answers as he interrupted Wyatt with an invitation to visit his old place of work. Wyatt was hesitant, unsure if he could trust the man who hadn’t seemed to age, but with the promise of seeing his old friends and the lingering words of “I missed you”, Wyatt agreed, because after some years, people had to change. 

It was an odd feeling as the massive yellow and red tent came into view, peeking over the last buildings at the edge of the city. Ringmaster, which was what Reginold liked to be called, was not only forgiving and chatty, but the circus seemed to be the same as the day Wyatt had left it, not a single change made. Ringmaster joyfully chatted with or talked to Wyatt as they made a tour of the old grounds, pointing out all of the new things, unabashedly admitting their prices. It was only as they came around the corner of a large pile of building materials that Wyatt finally stopped, fully tuning out Ringmaster. A woman stood with a rifle, aiming it at different cans, botttles, and odd pieces of junk, stalking pass them slowly before turning around again and assuming her original position, she shouldered her weapon, about to shoot when Ringmaster called out “Cassidy!! What did I tell you about being out in your new dress, it’s-” but as Cassidy had turned to give her attention to the older man yelling at her, her eyes fixated on the much shorter Wyatt.

Cassidy’s mouth dropped open and screeched “WYATT?!?” before carelessly dropping her weapon and running towards her old friend at full speed. Wyatt caught her as she threw her arms around his neck, both laughing as they spun around in happy circles. Wyatt set her down with a small peck on the cheek as she laughed and pushed back a long, black braid from her shoulder. They smiled at each other, forgetting their old ringmaster as they jumped into a frantic and excited conversation, Cassidy commenting on how big Wyatt had gotten over the years and Wyatt complimenting her beauty. Cassidy and Wyatt had been like brother and sister back in their old circus days, Wyatt secretly fantasizing that Cassidy was what his unborn sister would have grown up to be like. 

Holding her by an arms length, Wyatt felt a pain of guilt strike his heart. He hadn’t thought of her in years, hell, since the day he vanished from this god-awful place like the wind. He didn’t mean to forget her, really, he didn’t, he just felt so bad because she hadn’t forgotten him. He tried to shake himself of the sour thoughts, instead of how young she looked; she should be in her late twenties or even thirty at most, but she looked as though she could be seventeen, a big difference to Wyatt, who could be mistaken for forty. Wyatt didn’t get to think on it for too long, though,h as Cassidy started to wriggle excitedly in his grasp, as she had as a childtrying to point at her gun that still lay on the grass. “I shoot with that thing now, it’s part of my act. I’m a great shot, might even put you to shame-” she said with a teasing grin, “I can show you if you want, finally have our rematch!” 

Wyatt smiled, about to agree when Ringmaster, who had watched the duo intensely, interjected, “Now, now, Cassidy,” Ringmaster interjected, reminding the pair that he was there, “what did I tell you about shooting in the open?” Cassidy deflated slightly, as Ringmaster’s lips curled back in a smile. “Plus, we only have about over an hour till our next show. You should get cleaned up and prepared. Right, Cassidy?”

She answered with a simple “Yes,s Sir,” and said no more.

Ringmaster turned back to look at Wyatt, that awful smile still stretched across his face, “You should stay for the show. I don’t think you’ve ever been in the audience, huh? You should come.”

Wyatt felt that same feeling as he had at the train station; he wanted to say no, but his words and letters twisted in his mouth to produce a “Sure.”

“Excellent, excellent! Cassidy, why don’t you take our Wyatt with you? I’ll meet you in an hour,r Wyatt, don’t be late!” and with that, he turned on his heel and marched towards some tents behind some pastures. 

Wyatt stood still for a moment, not exactly sure what he had agreed to before he was yanked out of his trance by Cassidy, who was leading him to the stable to show him her pony. They held hands as they walked, Wyatt mostly asking questions about the circus. How many acts still ran? How many of the original cast were left? Was she the only one? Cassidy shook her head and told him that quite a few had left; it was mostly a new cast, a few from the original acts remained. Wyatt was glad to hear that Ringmaster had stopped taking in children. The youngest performer he had now was twenty. “Good,” Wyatt stated. Not only had he hated the child acts, but he also hated most of the cast. In fact,s they were nice to Cassidy, treating her like the princess she was pretending to be. But behind the tent curtains, they bullied and berated her for any little thing they could find wrong with her, even the color of her skin. Wyatt became a protector for her in a way; they only listened to him because he had a lighter skin tone than hers. “That reminds me, what happened to Austin?” He was one of the few who treated her like a decent human being. He and Wyatt used to have an act together before Wyatt’s monster-hunting solo dominated and obliterated it. They acted as cowboys, wearing similar outfits to those that Wyatt wore now; the only difference was that Austin had always worn a hat.

“Dead,” she said simply at first, but after hearing Wyatt’s sigh, she explained, “He got sick quite a few years ago. He hid it for awhile but it eventually got him and weakened him to the point that he couldn’t work anymore. He passed soon after that.” 

Wyatt’s heart broke slightly for the man he hadn’t thought of in so many years, “He was a good man,” he said softly. He, Austin, and Cassidy had been like a trio: two brothers and a sister.

“One of the best!” She smiled as she let go of Wyatt's hand to open the large stable door they now stood in front of. Once inside, Cassidy showed off her new pony, a paint named Truce, to Wyatt as she got ready for her show. They spoke more of the old times and of Austin, bringing back all of the memories, good and bad, for Wyatt. “Say,” she said after a time, her horse ready for her show, “if you want to remember things, I think I might have just the thing to show you.”

“Oh?” Wyatt asked more with his eyebrows than his words as he was guided by his hand again, from the stable out towards the plains. “Where are we going?” Wyatt asked as Cassidy started to slow down.

She gave him a grin over her shoulder, Wyatt noticing that there must be little bells on her costume with the way she jingled with every step.

They came to a stop at an old, beaten-up caravan. It was painted sky blue, long ago faded. Wyatt cautiously crept closer to it, as if it might come alive and bite him. He held his hand up, slowly inserting his fingers in the gashes in the wood. The scythe really was a dangerous weapon.

“I thought you might want to see this place again-” Cassidy finally nervously answered. “If you don’t want to, though, we can go back.

“No, no. I wanna look. Is it unlocked?”

The door opened easily; it didn’t even squeak in protest. Wyatt walked in first, giddy with excitement and nerves. He was quiet as he stood in the small space, letting Cassidy saddle up next to him. His head turned this way and that, trying to take in everything. His toy horses were still on the shelves, along with silver-framed pictures and pretty rocks. Wyatt looked through drawers and cabinets, amazed that everything had been left as it was twenty years ago. He found a pair of gloves, ones he once used in shows to protect his hands from certain monsters. He was surprised they still fit, slipping them on his large hands. They had once been too big, but now they were perfect. 

Cassidy smiled as she watched him stare in wonderment at all his old things. She let herself snoop too, holding up outfits Wyatt had once worn to make him blush. After both of them had gotten their fair share of looking at Wyatt’s old things and had put everything back as neatly as possible, they were both drawn to the photos that sat on a crowded desk. Wyatt picked one of them up, an extremely old picture of the two of them both on Wyatt’s old horse, Micha. He was sad to have left him- he remembered how much he had loved wild flowers.

“Whatever happened to him?” Wyatt whispered, not sure who he was directing his question to.

“He lived quite a while after you left. Austin rode him for a time, but once he got too old, he became mine. He really was a sweet horse. Died a sweet death, don’t worry. Peaceful. We buried him way out there, with the flowers and stuff. He rests well.” She smiled at the photo, and so did Wyatt. 

When he put the framed photograph down, he turned his now gloved hand to look at the gray dust that should’ve rubbed off onto the leather. He was surprised when the upturned gloved fingertips were clean.

“What…”

“He comes in here often-” Cassidy said, noticing his confusion. “Dusts and cleans in here. I think he’s trying to preserve you. He misses you-” She put her hand lightly on his shoulder, “We missed you.” 

Wyatt smiled at her, trying not to say anything dumb. They looked at the other pictures, pointing and sometimes even laughing at some of the photos. At some point, she said it’d probably be a good idea to head back, so she didn’t miss her call time and get in trouble. Wyatt agreed, lingering only a minute longer to ingrain the image of his old room in his head, taking the photograph of Cassidy and him out of the frame and pocketing it before heading out.

Wyatt and Cassidy returned to a very angry Ringmaster, his whip cracking in the air as he yelled at the stable hands. With his back turned to them, the pair thought it best to keep silent till they were noticed, knowing how he could be. Noticing them minutes later, he charged at them with rage, shoving a finger in Cassidy’s face as he screamed that she should have been ready to go, complaining that her rifle better not jam as it had last time. Cassidy simply ducked in an almost bow, scampering off like a frightened little girl to test the trigger, leaving Wyatt to deal with Ringmaster alone.

The ringmaster turned on him, eyes ablaze before, oddly turning calm again, fixing Wyatt with that same, strange smile. Taking Wyatt by the hand, a much more forceful one than that of Cassidy- Ringmaster led Wyatt to a private balcony for him to watch the show, tying a balloon to the railing as he left. Wyatt sat quietly as the bleachers began to fill with the audience. There were a lot more people than he remembered, and they cheered even louder and more wildly as the first act began. Wyatt clapped politely for the trick riders and lasso and roping tricks, and cheered wildly as Cassidy and Truce made their appearance, laughing as she popped the balloon Ringmaster had left for him with one of her bullets. Wyatt had been under the impression that the show was over, and was interested when the Ringmaster announced that there was a new, second part to the show. He stood, leaning over the railing to get a better look- and that’s when the world went black as he was yanked backwards by his neck.

It took Wyatt a few moments to fully register where he was, the lack of vision and air messing with his head. Only after Ringmaster's face came into view did Wyatt realize he was lying on the stable floor he and Cassidy had been in not only an hour or two before. Ringmaster stood before him, his arm wrapped around Cassidy’s small waist as he looked down at him pitifully. Cassidy didn’t meet Wyatt’s two-toned eyes at all. “Why-” Wyatt questioned, rage building as tears formed in his eyes out of anger.

“Sorry, Wyatt boy-” Ringmaster said calmly, eyes unblinking, “but you belong here.” Wyatt spat saliva and blood on the ground, trying to show his displeasure not only with his situation but also with what he thought of the people who held him there. His displeasure turned to a blinding rage, however, as a scream made him crane his neck uncomfortably, his horse, Bolt, kicking and thrashing as men fought with ropes to hold the powerful beast down. “BOLT!” Wyatt screamed before turning back to his old ringmaster, “What have you done with my horse?!” he asked through clenched teeth, eyes wild as the blue in them started to become more apparent. Ringmaster moved to reach for him, but Wyatt fought, and he knew he was trapped. Ringmaster had a way of making sure people never left. He had been lucky the first time in his escape, but he knew his chances now were slim. 

Picking him up with one hand, fingertips burning into flesh, Ringmaster brought Wyatt up to his eye level, the monster hunter’s feet left dangling. “For months, I’ve heard that you’ve been wandering around here. I’d heard whispers in the streets that the great monster hunter was back, and I couldn’t let you get away this time. Now, you will get on that unruly beast of yours and perform, OR I’LL SHOOT YOU IN THE LEG AND TIE YOU TO THAT WILD BEAST MYSELF!!!” And with that, they dropped Wyatt on the floor like a sack of trash. Wyatt glowered at him but got up slowly, taking note that Cassidy was now nowhere to be seen.

“Fine.” He spat; he’d have to plan his escape later. Calming his horse, Wyatt saddled up slowly, all eyes on him as he sat erect. He could almost see Ringmaster’s eyes glow with greed. That’s all, Wyatt and everyone were to him, a path to money. 

Wyatt sat in the alleyway as Ringmaster made the announcement to the unruly crowd that, yes, their monster hunter had returned! Returned “home” was the word he used, and Wyatt felt his guts churn as his cue was given to run from the alleyway into the arena. Something like instinct turned over as he rode underneath the bright spotlights, smiling and waving at the crowd as he performed old saddle tricks he knew, hoping Bolt would understand these foreign signals. He was unsure of what exactly his performance was, but as gasps of horror and delight came from the crowd, Wyatt and Bolt slowly turned to face a monster that Wyatt hadn’t seen in so many years. With the body and head of an armadillo, tail of a porcupine, and spikes of an unknown creature, the Spiny-Bush-Rattler was surely a horrible sight to behold. It was a monster that a young Wyatt had never been able to slay, so much bigger and deadlier than anything he’d ever fought before. Without warning, the thing jumped in the air, balled up, and rolled towards the horse and rider like a crazed wagon wheel. Wyatt and Bolt scittered out of the way, avoiding rather than chasing the awful thing, but this wasn’t the way this should be done. He needed confidence; he could not run. Reaching behind him, Wyatt let his middle finger trace the gnarly scar on his spine, before pushing inward, feeling the heat pour out of him as the scythe emerged, feeling its energy cast a light upon his back that mirrored the heavens opening up to the earth. For a split second, Decker Wyatt looked like an angel. 

The moment didn’t last long, however, as the rattler barred its fangs and bounded towards the cowboy once more, feeling Wyatt for what he really was. It soon became a daring game of quick, shallow slashes as Wyatt and the monster circled each other, wide arcs of the scythe being used instead of the up close maneuvers Wyatt once used. Wyatt could feel the energy drain from the monster; he knew it was almost finished. He and the creature could soon be free. But monsters, captive ones at that, are much smarter than they seem, and this one sensed his intentions and had learned his tricks.

As the scythe neared for a final, spine-slitting blow, the rattler ducked and rolled on its side, its powerful and spiked tail smashing into Decker, who only had a moment to veer Bolt out of the way so he’d suffer the least damage. The monster-hunting cowboy skidded across the dirt, leaving a dark trail of freshly turned earth behind him. He lay there unmoving for a moment, unblinking; he couldn’t feel a thing. Then he did. The pain was agonizing, ripping through the muscles in his back like liquid fire. The crowd gasped in horror as they watched Decker writhing around on the floor, dark patches of blood slowly staining the back of his jean jacket. Every old scar felt like it was a fresh wound; he was losing his mind. He gulped in air, trying to forget the pain, but if anything, the movement of the inhale and exhale made everything ten times worse.

He seemed almost dead to the crowd, his face turned away from them, giving them a good view of the bloody horror of his back.

I’m going to die here. Wyatt thought as he tried again to gasp for air, he couldn’t tell what hurt the most anymore. I’m gonna die in this wretched place. My body will be on display like that damned Bush-Rattler. Wyatt closed his eyes in a long blink. How was he going to make it out alive this time? There was no way out.

“Get up.” The voice made Wyatt’s eyes fly open. “I said, GET UP!” Wyatt lifted his head, the sun blinding him. As he squinted upwards, a form started to take shape. Is this heaven? “Dammit, boy,y I say GET UP!!! Do you think a monster is going to wait for you?” It was the voice of his father. His snarling face came into view seconds later, now blocking the light.

“But, it hurts-” a small, seven-year-old Wyatt squeaked out on the verge of tears, sitting on his knees. His white shirt was ripped open, soaked with blood. Beneath lay a nasty gash; it was a miracle that his guts weren’t spilling out onto the red soil.

His father's face was grave. Not like that of a father worried that he may lose his son, but a face of disappointment. “Do you think the monster will wait for you?” He repeated once more, “This is its opportunity to kill you, so I say-” He lifted the small Wyatt by the shirt collar, enough to bring his knees a few inches off the floor but not enough to bring him to his feet,t “GET UP!!!”

Denver Wyatt had acted like it hadn’t been an accident, that it had been all Decker’s fault. He had been training him that day to hunt larger monsters, ones he would now consider small. His father had been demonstrating on a bale of hay how to maneuver the scythe to get one clean cut, a killing cut. Wyatt had moved closer to get a better view, to memorize the move so he wouldn’t disappoint. But when the scythe sliced through the hay bale, it sliced through Wyatt as well, leaving him in this very situation.

“You can either sit there on your knees and die, or finish the monster and have a chance of getting to a ddoctor It’s your choice, not mine.” And even then, Wyatt knew his father would leave him there to rot if he did nothing. “Get up.”

Wyatt’s eyes opened up back onto the brown dirt of the arena floor. He hadn’t died. Yet. Either the blood loss or the monster would finish him off if he didn’t act soon.

Get Up. The voice was loud in his head, bouncing around to the wounds in his body. The words started to become like a chant, Decker’s own weak voice joining along as he, slowly, impossibly, picked himself off the ground.

The monster sat huddled on the other side of the arena. Like an armadillo, it dug, looking for a way out of the awful place where it was trapped, with nowhere to go. If he didn’t kill it, it’d get shoved back into whatever pen it had come from. Wyatt grimaced as the monster rolled its body to shovel more dirt. He could see the deep gashes from the scythe; he knew how much they hurt.

And that was his connection. 

He could feel the monster's heartbeat- it was rapid, showing its state of panic and anxiety. Wyatt had to be careful; this was his last chance.

He remembered the anger in his father’s voice when he had been in pain; the screaming and yelling had done no good for the scared little boy. He knew the monster felt the same. He would not scream or be mean. Grabbing his lasso, Wyatt approached the monster slowly, quietly, being as gentle as possible as the loop soared through the air and secured itself around the thing's neck. The Rattler screamed, balling up again to roll away once more, but Wyatt wouldn’t let it. Launching himself onto its back with the help of the lasso, Wyatt held his scythe high before driving it home. The monster crumpled into a massive heap, Wyatt barely dismounting as a soul seeped from its wound and raced towards the open sky. 

The crowd cheered as it had never cheered before, and Wyatt, now reminded that he had an audience, took a bow. As he came up to meet the dazzling smiles of a hundred people, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he too crumpled to the floor.

He came to as the lock clicked into place.

It was too dark to see anything, at least at first. Wyatt could tell he was on something soft- softer than the mat he usually slept on anyway- but it was cramped, and his body was scrunched in the fetal position.

At first, he just lay there, unsure of where he was and what situation he was in. The pain in his back had lessened; that much he could tell, feeling the lumpiness of bandages beneath his shirt. But where was his jacket? Wyatt slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and realized it was only so dark because he had been facing a wall. With a grimace, he turned over onto his hip, now facing the opposite direction.

Light from the moon shone through a barred window; it was evident some time had passed since he had killed the monster, but how long? Hours? Days? Wyatt tried to focus on the room he was in, his eyes still slightly fuzzy from the previous events and from sleepiness.

Wyatt gasped when he realized he was in his old caravan. He had been locked in.

The room looked eerie in the moonlight, the light from the metal bars casting strange shadows across the floor. Glass and other shiny objects winked in the silver light, freshly polished. Right. This room was less of a room and more of a museum or shrine. 

Wyatt leaned back against the wall, bringing up his knees and tilting up his head to stop the tears. He was surprised he wasn’t chained to that very wall- this place was a prison, and nobody except the cast knew. Through his sorrow, Decker Wyatt failed to realize the shift in the room. The light began to dim even though the moon was still high in the cloudless sky. When he looked up from his knees, he gasped at the sudden darkness. Was this another memory? Wyatt rose, unable to tell if this was a dream or reality, enveloped in darkness; he could barely tell what was up or down, left or right. It seemed as if everything was shrouded in a darkness that was almost blinding. Wyatt reached out to grab at something, anything; a chair, desk, table, or trunk. Instead, he was met with a tingling feeling at his fingertips. Wyatt reached out again and was successful at finding what felt like a shelf.

Then the whole caravan shuddered.

It shivered as if Wyatt’s hand was made of ice, like it was alive. Wyatt felt as if he had swallowed a brick- he had seen this before- Some sort of spirit possessing the very structure of a house-

There was a dry chuckle behind him, forced. It sounded as if a cat had a cough. Wyatt spun around towards the darkness and froze as he realized that it seemed to be just a black hole behind him. There was no outline, no shadow, not even a hint of light, the darkness seemingly swallowing it whole. Wyatt slowly backed up, hand searching like a nervous spider for something else that was sturdy enough to grab onto.

“Wyyyaaaatttt~” The voice was a cross between a man and a woman; if anything, it sounded like two people saying his name at the same time. “Whh…aats wrong.. Wya..tt?” The voices sounded like they were fighting each other to be the dominant one, the words coming out scrambled and incoherent. Wyatt stood as still as a statue, too afraid to even breathe.

“Wyatt?” It was a man's voice. “Wyat,t is that you? It sounded more feminine now…

“WYATT!” Wyatt banded his head on the bars of the window. It was no longer the inky black it had been seconds before; it looked like it had when he had woken up. “WYATT!” he jumped and turned to face the window. “WYATT! I asked if you were okay?”

Cassidy’s arms were hanging from her barred window, her face half shrouded by shadow; she got no light on her side.

“Just fine,” Wyatt chidded, tightening his jaw and slowly crossing his arms. Had he just imagined all that?

“That’s good,” She was either oblivious or ignoring his anger, “I hope I didn’t wrap the bandages too tight. I wanted to stop the bleeding but didn’t want to stop your breathing.” She giggled slightly, and Wyatt’s heart softened. Had he done his bandages? But why?

“I managed to save a spike for you- I know it’s not big or anything, but I know your ritual is important to you.” 

Spike? Wyatt turned back towards his room and became aware of the bundle on the trunk. It was his jean jacket, and wrapped in it was a small spike from the Spiny-Bush-Rattler. Wyatt believed that by returning a piece of the monster to the earth, both its spiritual and physical body could finally rest. It was something his father had always made fun of him for, but something Wyatt felt with his whole body that he had to. “But why?” he asked softly. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him.

“As I said, I know your-”

“But why?” 

She was quiet for a second, not sure how to respond. “You see how he treats us…  tries to keep us as we’ve always been-” Wyatt hated the pain creeping in her voice. “And I wanted to help- but I couldn’t. He has too much control.”

Wyatt knew she was right, but still, he was angry with her. What could have been said or done that she wouldn’t save her big brother?

She answered for him before he even asked the question. “He said if you stayed, I’d get to leave. I’ve been here all my life, I just wanted to be free-” She broke off with a quiet sob, tearing her face from the window, sliding her arms back inside. Based on their situation of both being locked up, it was evident that Ringmaster had not kept his promise.

“Oh, Cassidy…” Wyatt spoke softly, letting the wind carry his whisper to her.

“I don’t want your pity-” She said in a small voice, small but firm. “I want your help.”

“My help?” The conversation had definitely taken a turn.

“Yes, your help. You’ve escaped from here once; you can escape from here again. Take me with you. Just to the next train station and you’ll never have to see me again!” That wasn’t what Decker wanted-

“Cassidy, a woman can’t be on the run. Especially one like yourself.” He hated that he had to say it. “What would you do? Where would you go?” There were very few opportunities for her in the world.

“I don’t know. But anywhere is better than here.” There was a building fire in her voice, an ember that Wyatt knew so well, and one he knew he could not put out. “I NEED to get out, Wyatt. We both do, and we’ll never get out if we don’t try now!” Wyatt agreed. If they didn’t escape now, when Ringmaster expected them to be at their weakest, they may never have a chance like this again. The duo quickly made a plan that required speed rather than stealth, as Cassidy’s gun would be needed in order to break the lock on Wyatt’s caravan door. Once broken, the entire camp would be alerted, and they would have a limited amount of time before Ringmaster and his cowboys were after them. Cassidy was expected to run as fast and as far as she could on foot towards the mountains at the edge of the plain, and Wyatt would bring their horse,s and they would run however far they had to till they could be considered free. But as Bolt and Truce came to a screeching halt suddenly, Wyatt felt his heart drop into his boots, the scene before him making his blood boil. 

Ringmaster had his arms around Cassidy, squeezing her so tight that she couldn’t squirm to get away or fight back. “Why would you leave me?” He cried. “Why would you leave your master like that? Do you not love me?” His hand smothered her, making her unable to answer. It was a gross act, really, but Wyatt didn’t know what to do. “And YOU!” Ringmaster yelled, now only addressing Wyatt rather than both of them, his yellow-brown eyes wild, he no longer looked put together, his hair and mustache tusled. “YOU! YOU MESS UP EVERYTHING! I LOVED YOU, YET YOU GIVE ME NOTHING!” His anger made him squeeze Cassidy tightly. Wyatt was worried her ribs might break. 

“Let her go-” But his voice came out shaky.

“NEVER! IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU, I’LL JUST HAVE HER INSTEAD!!!” Decker Wyatt fully realized what type of fear made her lie to him. The attention on him brought it off her. It had probably lifted a million weights off her shoulders when she saw him that day. 

“Let her go,-” he said again, silently. 

“NO!” Ringmaster began to grab at her throat. It was so small it wouldn’t take much to break it. 

“RINGMASTER!” His head snapped up like a wound-up animal. Wyatt slowly got off his horse, sliding off the saddle and easing into the grass.

“Wyatt-” Cassidy could barely whisper. 

Decker Wyatt walked right up to Ringmaster, and with shaking knees said, “Ringmaster- I’ll be yours. It’s what you always wanted, right?” Without missing a beat, Ringmaster dropped Cassidy and grabbed Wyatt. His face was so close, breathing down Wyatt’s neck. He wanted to cry, seeing the joy on the older man's face. What had he done? It was like he had made a deal with the devil himself.

And that he had. Ringmaster’s yellow-brown eyes turned into an inky black, his skin becoming a deathly pale. He began to laugh, clutching Decker’s biceps. “Why, hello, Decker Wyatt. So nice to finally- see you. Meet you.” His eyes, now empty sockets, twitched, taking him all in. Decker Wyatt realized he’d heard this voice before- it was the one from the caravan. Wyatt didn’t know what he was looking at. He didn’t understand what was happening. Surely this was the Ringmaster from his past… right?

“Wyatt-” A female voice had joined in. It was no longer that of Cassidy but of the female voice from before. 

“Casidy- WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH CASSIDY???” Her eyes were blacker than the night sky.

“Oh Wyatt-” they said in unison, sounding like the distorted voice from before, fighting over each other from before. “She died a long time ago. They all died a long time ago. Austin wasn’t the only weakling. They all faltered. You failed them. You failed her. You failed your sister, AGAIN!” Wyatt was struck with realization like a lightning bolt. 

“You’re- You're the one that killed my family- IT’S YOU!” Ringmaster, or the actor, began to laugh, the male voice taking over. Wyatt felt a mixture of emotions he had never felt before in his entire life; fear of the being clenching his arm,s but overjoyed that he had found his monster once again. He writhed; he needed his scythe to banish this monster, once and for all, like he did the Spiny-Bush-Rattler. But as he fought, the shadow figure's face coming closer, a bullet whizzed by, and the creature disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Wyatt wanted to scream, but as another bullet just grazed his ear, he realized that the cowboys he had been worried about before were real, or at least, still a threat. Going through with what had been part of his and Cassidy’s plan, Wyatt and Bolt ran towards the edge of the plain, the cowboys finally giving up their chase as they slowly realized there was no ringmaster to follow and instead, turned back, looking for him.

 Following the shadows of the mountains, Wyatt traveled by the dark of night until he found the nearest train station. There,e he asked if anyone had heard of Sin City Circ, to which he got the same response:

“Sin City Circus? The place has been closed down for years!

Wyatt would continue to travel, putting as much space between him and the big city of Sin and its circus, like he should’ve done all this time. Stopping one night, Wyatt finished his ritual by burying the Spiny-Bush-Rattler’s spike, its body part, and the scars it left on Wyatt’s skin,n the only proof that the events at the circus had been real.

With the last push of dirt, Decker Wyatt vowed to find his monster and put a stop to him once and for all. He wouldn’t get away so easily this time. The hunt was on.