The sun is gone, and the night leeches away the day’s warmth. I wait for Tarren to ask me one more time if I can handle this. Little Mousey Maya begs, Please, Please, Please, but no. The boys are in mission mode now. They exude smooth, focused auras. Our steps are soft on the weedy field, but they sound loud as drums to me, because, hell, I’m already starting to freak out a little. The wind blows all shifty, and there’s this dark, spooky clutch of woods bordering the park. I imagine glowing eyes peering from the trees and hear a dry little laugh that is actually just the wind rustling fallen leaves. Also, the banners for the show are just plain creepy; featuring oddly-dressed performers with black pebble eyes embedded in brightly painted faces. Strange, willowy music emanates from the tent, and the wind carries the heavy musk of hot dogs and popcorn to my nose. We begin to mingle with the tail end of the crowd. Voices join the music coming from the tent, and the night is lit with the wavering glow of new auras.
