Through the downpour, the new posters on the kiosk across the street seemed to glow. They were garish things, all deep purples and violent reds. 'CIRCUS OF HORRORS', they screamed in dripping, gothic lettering. 'SEE THE UNSEEABLE. FEAR THE INEVITABLE.'

A sudden, sharp gust of wind ripped one poster partially free. It flapped violently against the glass of the kiosk. The face it revealed was painted stark white, with tragic black teardrops and a small, red, downturned mouth.

Pierrot.

The poster snapped once more, and then was still. The painted eyes seemed to stare directly at you through the rain-streaked window of the café.

You fumbled with the keys, the metal cold against your fingers. The bell above the door gave a final, lonely ting as you stepped out into the deluge, pulling your collar up.

That’s when you heard it. A soft, rhythmic jingle-jingle, like tiny bells. It wasn't coming from the square. It was closer.

From the narrow, dripping alleyway beside the café.