Circo delle Sogni Perduti

A whirlwind of orange, auburn, and golden leaves danced through the somber downtown. Just a decade back, Halloween had been a revered tradition in the community. Shops took pride in decorating for the ghoulish season, households competed for the scariest yard, and everyone donned a costume. Parties, parades, porch lights aglow. Things change so quickly; blink and you might miss it. In recent years, Halloween came and went with hardly anyone noticing. A shoddy cling of a witch or ghost affixed in a window or two, a jack-o'-lantern half-heartedly carved between emails and internet scrolling, perhaps a mask or a puerile costume bought in haste—but hardly a porch light to be seen.

Violetta locked up the clothing boutique where she’d worked for the past seven years. Folding clothes, dusting, doing inventory, over and over again. The boutique rarely saw more than a handful of customers, with most people preferring online shopping or cheap big-box apparel. She was often left alone, the owner checking in only occasionally. Most days were spent drifting in thought. Travel, aspirations, hobbies she wanted to learn, goals she swore she’d accomplish. Yet day after day, she performed the same monotonous tasks, returned home to the same routine, and awoke to repeat the cycle.

A piece of parchment slapped against her chest, the wind fastening it there. She reached to brush it away when an uncanny picture caught her eye. A man dressed in an eerie costume, juggling flaming jack-o'-lanterns on a trapeze, smiled earnestly. Behind him, other performers executed magnificent athletic feats.

Circo delle Sogni Perduti

Witness the magnificence and marvel of Italy’s best traveling circus.

Only One Performance

Halloween Night – Come be Mystified!

She studied the flyer, intrigued but doubtful. In a place with so few events, it was strange that she hadn’t heard of the circus. The fine print revealed a rural location. She was tired, had chores to do, and wasn’t sure she could spare the money. But Halloween had always sparked something deep in her. A smile crept across her face. She jumped into her car.

Driving through the town, most houses sat in darkness. A few displayed cheap props or faux cobwebs, but none had the pride and passion once so common. Trick-or-treaters were sparse, collecting candy from trunks in parking lots or stopping by relatives’ homes. Their costumes were dull, their expressions jaded. This wasn’t Halloween.

Her mind wandered to her childhood. Spending months on costumes, helping her grandmother sew. Digging through boxes with her father in September, unearthing decorations and tools. The scent of old masks, the cackling laugh box, the jack-o’-lantern flashlight with its mischievous grin. They’d build haunted yard scenes with whatever they could find: creepy eyes peeking from bushes, rotting heads on garden stakes, a vampire resting in a handmade coffin. The neighborhood adored their haunt—unless they found it too terrifying.

A roadside sign pointed to ‘Circo delle Sogni Perduti.’ Violetta turned onto a bumpy dirt road leading to a small field and a vintage big top tent. A modest ticket booth stood at the entrance.

“Hello, one ticket please.”

“Seventy-five cents,” said a woman in theatrical makeup and braided hair.

“Seventy-five cents?”

“Yes,” the woman smiled.

Violetta handed over the coins and received a small ‘Admit One’ ticket. The walkway to the tent was lined with hundreds of jack-o'-lanterns, sugar skull displays, and marigold bouquets. A low fog curled from the entrance.

“My lady,” said a handsome man, placing a lei of orange marigolds around her neck.

“Oh, thank you,” she smiled, blushing. He wore a pinstripe suit, suspenders, and a 1930s fedora. His Italian accent and emerald eyes captivated her. He led her to her seat before vanishing behind the stage. The lights dimmed; circus music began.

Orange smoke erupted as two acrobats soared on golden ribbons, twisting and spinning with impossible grace. Clowns on horses battled with balloon swords. A human cannonball soared, a woman changed outfits in a blink. Then darkness. A glow emerged from the curtain.

Ominous music rose. The man in the fedora appeared. Flames danced from his hands, swirling into golden dragons and phoenixes. The lights returned, revealing hundreds of jack-o’-lanterns across the stage. He winked at Violetta before igniting each one with a flash. Faces of joy, menace, and mystery flickered.

He began to juggle them—two, then four, then twenty. The illusion mesmerized the crowd. When he bowed, the audience erupted.

A man in Día de los Muertos makeup appeared. “Thank you for joining us. Until we meet again.”

Outside, the green-eyed man approached.

“Hope you enjoyed the show.”

“It was amazing,” she said.

“May I ask your name?”

“Violetta. Or Letta.”

“Renzo,” he said, shaking her hand. “We’re having a little party tonight. Would you like to stay?”

She hesitated, then smiled. “I think I will.”

He led her to a vintage Swallow Sidecar. At the hilltop, classic cars surrounded a bonfire. Performers mingled, laughing.

Renzo guided her to the bluff overlooking town. A few porch lights flickered below.

“What made you come tonight?”

“A flyer found me,” she said.

“You’re not usually spontaneous. You put things off.”

She nodded. “Too tired, too broke.”

“And then you die.”

“Wow, blunt.” She laughed.

“Life doesn’t wait. How many times have you been inspired, then done nothing?”

“Too many.”

“Then hear me: the clock is ticking. There are no second chances. Live now.”

She swallowed, surprised but grateful.

“You’re right.”

He touched her marigold lei. “Do you know why these tonight?”

“No.”

“They remind us life is fragile. Beautiful, but fleeting. The dead whisper tonight: live.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face and kissed her softly. “Happy Halloween, Violetta.”

She opened her eyes. He was gone. The hill, empty.

She clutched the marigold necklace. And promised herself to live.