Brief: Write a piece of prose about something grotesque with a fairgroud theme.
All The Fun Of The Fear
I had just nicely polished off a bag of roasted chestnuts when I spotted the tent that was of most interest to me. In previous fairgrounds, I had witnessed many great wonders of the world including Jojo the Dog Faced Boy and Hairy Mary from Borneo, whose fur was so lifelike that one could be forgiven for mistaking her for an actual monkey.
Consequently, presentations of human oddities have always had a particular fascination for me, especially when accompanied with a captivating tale of how they came to be. Commonly were the cases of children who had been reared by animals such as wolves and had acquired many of the characteristics of the creatures that had fostered them. Most fanciful, perhaps, was the Snodland Snail Boy, reputed to have once become lost in his back garden and was then brought up by a family of garden snails. And he did actually look quite convincing with the probing antennae and the oozing slime he was purported to be secreting. But I felt that the hard crusty shell on his back put a bit of a strain on my credulity, and I left with a degree of scepticism that I was unaccustomed to feeling.
But when I heard a barker announcing Greta the Goldfish Girl, my curiosity was once more pricked, and I was drawn to learn more of this enticing peculiarity.
‘From the tributaries of the Yangtze River,’ cried the top-hatted showman, attired in a double-breasted long coat of a vivid orange that I have never before seen a garment so coloured. ‘She has spent her childhood exclusively in the company of goldfish!’
The tent was a relatively small one, probably not large enough to accommodate more than one visitor at a time and still have room for the exhibit. Beside it stood an ornately decorated sign extolling the virtues of this curiosity — Marvel at her glistening scales! Observe her gaping gills! Feel her feathery fins!
And all this for a penny and a farthing.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I heard the showman say to a monocled patron before me, who had just handed him the required entrance fee. ‘Go right on inside.’
‘So, what is she?’ I asked him after his client had entered the tent. ‘A girl or a fish?’
‘The great men of science are divided over this,’ he said to me. ‘I believe there is to be a debate on the matter at the Royal Society.’
‘She has been studied?’ I said.
‘Charles Darwin himself examined the creature in detail only last week. He said he will write an addendum to his Origin Of Species as a result of his findings. But if you wish to be ahead of the game, why not see for yourself?’
I rummaged for a penny farthing and eagerly gave it to him.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘You may go inside.’
‘Isn’t there someone already in there?’ I said.
‘Plenty of room for all!’ He beckoned me to enter with a bow and an arm extended towards the curtained entrance to the tent.
And so, I slipped inside.
The initial darkness faded, and not because of my eyes’ accustomisation to it. There was genuine brightness and it was this that I had to adjust for before I could see anything tangible.
‘Hello,’ I called out, but gained no response.
The light came from above, as though I was outside. Before me floated distorted images. I stepped forward, reached out and touched glass — floor to ceiling glass! And it curved in to the sides of me as if I were standing inside a giant jam jar.
I peered at the apparition floating beyond the glass. It was suspended in water and was about the size of a person, but this was no girl. This was definitely a fish but a fish like no other. Yes, it was a goldfish — it had the glistening golden scales, the gaping gills and the feathery fins as promised, but what distinguished it, apart from its size, was its face.
I had seen that face before, albeit very briefly, and I recognised it as being that of the fellow who had entered just before me. It even sported the monocle!
I started and stepped back in astonishment. The creature tried to mouth words at me, which did nothing to help ease my nerves. I looked to the sides of me and behind and saw five similar fish-creatures, each floating in its own water filled jar, and each with its own human face distinguished with personal features such as moustaches and beards. But they all bore the same expression — fear.
It became apparent that I was standing in an identical jar, but for the water. And as if in response to my noticing this discrepancy, water began to pour into my jar. The force of it knocked me off my feet and I flailed around, buffeted by the swirling current as the level rose inexorably to the top of the jar. But far from swimming at the surface, I found myself floating below it, unconcerned by the need to breathe for I could feel on me the gaping movement of gills and the flapping of fins.
And then I heard the noise — a thudding noise of a solid object bouncing off a hard surface. It repeated with varying intensity until a loud one above me drew my gaze up to see a huge white ball settle in the rim of my jar. An enormous hand lifted my jar up from the others that had been surrounding me, a hand that belonged to a giant of a man in a top hat and orange double-breasted long coat.
A young girl’s voice squeaked in excitement.
‘Congratulations!’ the man proclaimed. ‘You win a goldfish!’
‘Thank you, mister,’ said the giant little girl, as the showman passed me in my jar to her.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
The girl answered, ‘Greta.’
