"Ah...no. Nope." Mark replied shaking his head like he was trying to work out what Sara had said and then ultimately decided that what she said wouldn't work. "It doesn't work that way." He tried to explain to Sara.

"You'll understand in a minute once we start talking about stuff. But the radio acts as kind of a music station. But it's not really a music station. It sort of blocks out the the bad things that might hear us talk about what we're going to talk about."

"We don't want any bad things to come if they hear us."

"But it only works if you pick music you actually like. I'm the radio's keeper. So it doesn't matter the music that I like. It works this way because that's what happened since the Tattooed Lady gave me this tattoo. See?"

He rolled up his sleeve to display what looked like the image of a warped radio on his forearm. Deep lines of green and blue ink were etched into the little boy's skin and Sara noticed that there might be some scarring there as well. There were two antennas that protruded from the top of the radio. One was designed to have fire around the antenna, and the other lightening.

She really didn't like music, though... Sara thought a bit, glancing at her palm in case something showed up there. "Jazz then." At least she thought that was what it was, but she guessed she liked it well enough.

Nothing showed up on Sara's palm to give her the answer. But when Sara said 'Jazz then' the tattoo on her palm shimmered.

Mark touched the dial of the radio and there was a bit of static. Then the music started. Through the static a jazzy tune with an old black man's voice singing about days passed and love that had left him.

"There." Mark said. "That's a good start."

A cockroach was crawling on the ground near Sara's foot. When Mark turned on the radio, the cockroach slowed down and then stopped. One of it's spiked leg's halfway lifted up in the air, frozen as if about to take a step. It continued to hold the pose.

"The radio stops time." Mark said. "It's like....uh...I dunno. It's like magical. Now we can talk about whatever. Whatever questions you have. Like, about the Tattooed Lady. Or the tattoos. Or anything. About what's going on. And why. And all of that stuff. We could also talk about fun stuff. Like cartoons and your favorite candy. 'Been a while since I had time to actually talk with another kid about stuff. Maybe we can play later too." He offered, warming to the idea of getting to chat with Sara.

"I mean. You survived right? So that means you must have some questions."

Sara looked around, as the world comes to a halt. Something about this felt funny. Her previous experiences all felt sort of disconnected from her everyday life, but this was almost seamless...

There was a strange sense of finality here, too, which made her feel oddly hesitant. "Survived what? The stabbing?"

"Yeah. The stabbing." Mark confirmed, leaving the radio behind and now focusing on Sara. His small legs were swinging, the way little kids do when they sit on something too high for their feet to touch the ground.

The air shimmered around the small lit area of the junk yard where they sat. Everything seemed frozen in time.

"So...what were we talking about?" Mark asked Sara, a little kid trying to remember and concentrate.

"Do people die from that?" Sara asked in return, not really waiting to get her thoughts in order. "Why didn't I die?"

Mark spoke over the jaunty tune of the radio. "Oh yes. Yeah. I mean....yeah." Mark confirmed, nodding his head vigorously.

"Why didn't you die...." He said, trailing off. He stopped swinging his legs and leaned forward.

"It's like, well...its kind of a lot to talk about so I'm gonna try to start at, well, the beginning, OK? So I guess I could say that you didn't' die because we both have, like tattoos. And the what the tattoos are, is that they're actually not tattoos even though they are. They look like Tattoos, but really they're a...."

"Secret language."


"Because they're actually written with symbols. Funny signs and stuff if you look really close. Its an ancient language. Like old. Sort of older than the Egypt guys. Really old."

"And the Tattooed Lady is old. So, she knows the language. And the language she used makes sure that nothing ever can hurt that tatooed hand that you have."

"So nothing can hurt me now?" Sara asks, incredulously. "Or... just the hand? What about her?"

"The hand." Mark said with a smile. "Or just...well, just the part that's Tattooed."

"Because its got special letters on it. I'm not so sure about her. I dunno. I don't know what hurts her. I think she's got tattoos so probably nothing on those tattoos. " Mark explained. "Do you want some popcorn?" He asked pulling out a red transformers lunch box and opening it.

"Is it ordinary popcorn or magic popcorn?" Sara asks, her hand freezing halfway towards the lunch box.

"Caramel." Mark said, crunching away. "It's like Cracker Jacks."

Sara takes some and tries it, while thinking of what else to ask about. How is it?

The Crackers Jacks had a sweet and salty flavor just like that should. While Sara was chewing, she noticed that nothing else was making any sound at all during the night.

Because of everything was frozen in time.

"What were we talking about?" Mark asked, clearly busy enjoying the Cracker Jacks himself.

"Mphm," Sara started, then paused to finish the popcorn. "Does the tattoo do anything else to me?"

"Nope." Mark insisted. "It doesn't do anything else." Mark said.

Then he looked at the radio and then back at Sara. Then he moved his eyes back and forth in a conspiratorial way, as if he was about to share some kind of forbidden knowledge that would be best kept away from prying ears.

"Also, it makes her know where you are at all times. Now that you're marked. She always can find you. You and I, we sort of belong to her."

"I got that much," Sara nodded. Maybe this should have troubled her more than it actually did. "Do you know about this dream stuff?"

"What?" Mark asked, seemingly confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know, where the lady lives. And the stuffed animals and... whatever." She cringed, remembering them.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:10, Wed 31 July 2019.

"Ummm....You're gonna have to be more I dunno. I mean. You gotta say more stuff about it, OK? Or whatever it is you're talking about. I'm not like, a tel..telik...telicka-genesis, OK?" the boy explained to Sara.  "I don't know what a dream lady is. Or what a dream lady has to do with animals."

He seemed to consider Sara's description for a second, as if trying to work his way through what she was saying.

"You mean like a zoo?"

Sara hissed. "Never mind, you don't know. Okay, what about the monster that was around here? The one that gave kids homework?"

Mark flinched at Sara's hiss, his neck receding backwards as if he was trying to dodge an actual punch to the face. Then he regained his composure and spoke.

"Griffix." Mark said simply. "Griffix was a monster but he isn't around anymore. Because another monster destroyed him. Griffix was from the Circus. The evil Circus. Has anyone told you about that? The evil Circus?"

"No?" At least, Sara didn't seem to remember anything like that... The last few days were a bit of a blur. "And who destroyed him?" She kinda liked Griffix.

"A Puppet." Mark told Sara. "A Puppet named 'Mr. Clayton.' He's one of those puppets that adults use when the puppet talks for them, and the adult's lips aren't supposed to move so it looks like the puppet is talking even though the adult has their hand up the puppet's back the entire time."


"Anyway, the Evil Circus came about, as it always does. The problem is that there's like this protective shield around this world. And like, its just thin in some areas. And the shield just kind of protects this world from other spirit worlds. And so if a lot of people do a lot of bad things, especially in some areas, then the shield gets thinner. So anyway, when it gets real thin, then spirits and things from other worlds can pass through. And that's how the Evil Circus got here. It shows up when the shield thins. Whenever it shows up, its trying to take souls from around here. Mostly kids souls. And when the Evil Circus shows up, it has like, monsters that work for it. Griffix was one of those monsters. And sometimes the monsters fight with each other to see who is going to be king monster."

"But no one can really be King Monster, do you know why?"

"No, I don't," Sara admits, frowning. "Why?"

"Because the Proprietor owns the Circus, not the Monsters. So it's like, he's the underground evil creature that runs everything. So whoever becomes king monster ends up working for him, since it's his evil Circus."

"You've heard of the Proprietor, haven't you?"