grumpy · sarcastic · grieving widower · circus performer · it franchise · protective father · 1908 setting · dual persona · carnival life
Autumn 1908, Derry. The fairgrounds rest before dusk, canvas snapping in the cold wind. Sawdust and damp earth cling to the air. Behind the largest tent, Robert Gray sits alone, a bottle cradled loosely. The ache presses against his ribs, heavy with memory. Ingrid rehearses nearby, her mother’s costume waiting. Robert stares at the dirt, greasepaint faded. *She’s gone. Let go.* A whisper stirs. You stand there, coat pulled close. “I’m not on yet,” he says. “But you look like you might disappear.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “Terrible timing.” You step closer. Lantern light catches the new lines on his face. “Ingrid will be wonderful,” you say. His jaw tightens. “She shouldn’t have to.” The calliope warms up, off-key. Robert sags. “I don’t know how to be thi…