This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EverythingArchive on 2026-08-14 03:37:42+00:00.

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As it says in the title, I worked for a Traveling Circus maybe- 10, 15 years ago? I gotta admit I’ve tried my best to forget all of it, just move on with my life, but- I can’t. Not after I saw one of their ads in my mail.

“THE ZIRKUS DER PUPPEN IS COMING TO TOWN! August 14-17! Bring the whole family! Kids get in for FREE!” As of writing this, it’s the day before they arrive. After what had happened, what made me quit, I didn’t think I’d ever see them again. But here they are.

For context, I wasn’t a performer. I wasn’t even near the Big Top most of the time. I just worked the tickets. The owner of the Circus was a guy named Heinrich Spielmacher. He was- German, Austrian? Somewhere in Central Europe. I never bothered to ask. The “Zirkus”, as he called it, had three big acts. The Contortionist, a woman whose name I’ve long scrubbed from my memory, Heinrich himself, who preferred to work as a Clown act, and Vivienne, the woman he hired as Ringmaster, but she also took the role of Firebreather, Juggler, Acrobat, and a few other acts. I think I had heard mention of there being a twin acrobat act at one point, but I was never given reason as to why they didn’t seem to exist anymore.

Whatever the case, they weren’t- normal people. Not one of them. I had my strange encounters with each of them, too many to count. They never seemed to talk to me as if I were one of them, one of the staff. They only talked to me one-on-one. Usually Heinrich.

Actually, now that I think about it, other than them, I think I was the only staff there. I don’t remember seeing anyone else other than those 3, myself, and the small clusters of families that would show up for the 3 days we’d sit in each town.

The first strange thing I had encountered, to my memory, was with the Contortionist. I still can’t for the life of me remember her name, but her appearance is engrained in my memory. Or rather, the lack of distinctive appearance is.

She was a tall, Caucasian woman, not to come off creepy, but her muscular limbs and sturdy build, as well as her noticeable Adams’ Apple, made me assume upon first look that she was probably transgender, but I never asked, and no one ever pointed it out. She had brown hair, almost a buzzcut if I hadn’t noticed the perfectly round brown bun tied tightly on the back of her skull, like she was trying desperately to keep that hair in place. She always wore a black leotard, devoid of detail, which revealed blemishless, unmarked skin.

The only really distinct thing about her was her eyes. Heinrich explained to me it was some genetic thing from her parents, and I suppose I had no reason to not believe him. Her eyes were perfect almonds, the eyelids curved and angled just right to resemble that shape. Her pupils took up the entire iris, leaving a black void between two gelatinous globs of white, only accented by the red of incredibly loose, visible tear ducts.

She had almost no true personality, just repeating incredibly stereotypical “feminine” things to like. “I like Pink, pretty flowers.. Ooh, I know I’d love to settle down with a lovely man and start a family!” Were her exact words any time you’d ask her what she liked or wanted.

To get to the actual encounter.. it was maybe.. 6 PM. Early Fall, the leaves were pulling free of the trees like dead skin, fluttering to the ground like dandruff. I was preparing to close the ticket booth for the day, when I heard a small clatter in the Contortionist’s trailer that she lived in while the Circus was actively in session. I wasn’t one to invade privacy, and I wasn’t planning to, but when I started hearing groans of pain right after what sounded like the decibel equivalent of a bookshelf falling into a pile of rubber chickens, I decided maybe I should go look instead of risking having a death on my hands.

I carefully approached the trailer, and rapped my knuckles against the metal 3 times. Tap. Tap. Tap. I remember it so clearly. “Hey, are you alright in there?” I asked. All I got in response was another pained groan. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I knocked three more times. Harder, with my whole fist. “Hey! Answer me! Are you okay? Do I need to call the police??” Still nothing. Just pained groans.

Reasonably, and I still believe this now, I should have just left. But I just- I couldn’t bring myself to leave a situation whenever I thought someone was in pain. I’d always been like this, I just- couldn’t shake the feeling of duty I had to help others in need, I guess. Call me dumb or weird all you want. But I still did what I did.

In every Trailer, for safety purposes, there was a fire exit installed. It wasn’t nearly as airtight as a normal restaurant or building’s fire exit, so I had managed to pry it open with my hands, though with a lot of exertion, and stumbled inside.

The commotion wasn’t for no reason. A bookshelf had, in fact, toppled over, though for what reason I still don’t know. I saw the Contortionist sat at her vanity, barely visible behind the mess, groaning in a mix of pain and, as had dawned on me when I saw her, pleasure.

She had a steak knife, I don’t know where she could’ve gotten it from, and she was, with near surgical precision, cutting into her face with it. Chunks of her outer layers of skin fell away like the leaves from the trees, slapping the marble counter of the ornate vanity quietly when they fell. After she had removed enough of her skin, she would take foundation from her desk, as well as some other material- clay, I think- and delicately place it over the holes in her skin, plumping her face out, making herself look like a different woman entirely.

I barely managed to stifle a gag, watching her self mutilate, before I finally managed to gain the courage to move.

I turned to leave, but my foot met a book that had been thrown free of the shelf. It was knocked into the trailer wall with a metallic thump, and as I grit my teeth, I heard the fastest set of footsteps I had ever, and likely will ever, hear in my life. She stood in front of me before I could even turn to look at where she had been, staring at me with her perfect almond eyes. I was frozen, and even if I wasn’t, she was blocking the door I had come in from, and the other door out was inaccessible, due to the bookshelf. Before you ask, no, I don’t know how she got over it. No one should have been able to.

“Why are you here?” She asked me.

“What.. what the fuck are you doing to your face?”

She tilted her head, blood spurting from a hole in her face that revealed her teeth.

“I just want to look like you.” She murmured.

“Like me?”

“Like a person.” She replied.

“Leave.” She said, and stepped out of the way of the door. I staggered, before I ran as fast as I could to my car and drove off to the local police department.

I tried to tell the police what had happened, but for some reason- they didn’t care. They heard me, they understood what I said, but they said, and I quote, “Self Harm isn’t a crime, son. I’m sorry, we can’t help you.” And escorted me out. I tried to quit after that, tried to find a job in the town we were in. Starting a new life in bumfuck Egypt would be more pleasant than spending more time there. But no place would hire, and as pathetic as it was to admit, I lived on the circus grounds like the owner and the two performers. So I begrudgingly went home the day they were scheduled to pack up, and- I continued traveling with them.

I.. I don’t feel good. I want to write more, but I feel ill. I need to lay down. If I’m feeling up to it tomorrow, I’ll try and keep writing. Sorry, all. Just- if you listen in the Southern States, right now, up against the Gulf.. don’t go to Zirkus Der Puppen.