I Killed A Clown and I Liked It

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Victoria takes on the task of protecting her neighbors and friends when the circus comes to town.

Submitted: February 05, 2010

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Submitted: February 05, 2010

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Even now, twenty years later, I still hear that demonic, vicious laughter ringing through my head every night as I try in vain to sleep. Every night I am haunted and forced to remember the incident which shaped my life and defined my destiny.

I have been told I have an over-developed sense of vengeance, and I scoff at this. “Not all clowns can be evil,” people tell me, “there must be some normal ones”. Oh how naïve! Let me tell you that from th3e beginning, no clown is or ever has been normal. Before a person even entertains the idea of clown hood, a seed of evil plants itself in their mind. They are possessed even before they apply that ghastly face paint that so defines their species.

They will be back in town tomorrow. No circus has come to Harrisburg in five years, and one would think they would remember well enough to stay away. But no, yet again they trapeze into our sleepy town, disrupting the peace with their raucous animals and their monstrous tents, prepared to leave the once tranquil city with a mess of bleeding and broken corpses.

I cannot sleep, so I go to prepare my bag for tomorrow. I will need my boots, certainly, with their sheath for my knife of solid silver. I will need my extra vials of holy water blessed by Father Matthew, to go along with the ones stored in my crossbow. My pistol with the silver bullets will be of help, I’m sure, along with my fire kit of matches and fluid to burn the bodies once I am finished.

The people in this gentle little town are kindhearted, albeit not quite intelligent. But luckily their subconscious minds sense the danger that their conscious minds do not. That is why circuses rarely come to Harrisburg, why no clowns dance in parades or entertain at children’s birthdays.

Yet every so often we get unlucky. A councilman will go visit his relatives out of state and see a billboard. One will pick up the radio station from a neighboring town and hear an advertisement of the coming carnage. Those monsters place subliminal messages, a trick that goes deeper into the subconscious than any nudging, seemingly unfounded aversion.

Then they wait.

And so do I.

I take a sleep tonic and wake up just in time, as the sun rises. I take my time to train, go over my methods, review my strategy. I spend hours in the gym, I practice my archery, and I sharpen my swords and my arrows.

Soon it is nearly sundown, and I pack my things into the trunk of my car. I wear form fitting black so I’ll be hidden in the dark.

As I enter the large, loud, garish tent I feel the familiar tightening of my stomach muscles. The band plays its raucous music, and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy is sickening. I want to vomit.

I buy nothing, though I see plenty of places one could spend money- game booths, merchandise, and even a spot where one can get a photograph taken with a clown! I am shocked- seven dollars for a picture with a clown.? Most wouldn’t even risk their life.

It’s nice to see that most people in the town have some sense- there is no one in line for that photo booth.

The circus is to be in town for three nights, and I know the slaughter won’t happen until the last. I will be there all three nights to watch, observe, and size up my competition.

I shudder at the door as I purchase my ticket, and I am swept along with the crowd into the large and crowded tent. The usual caution and wariness of the people in my town has been replaced with excitement and gayness.

They are so, so naïve.

I sit at the back and pull my small binoculars from my side pocket. The ringmaster, a fat man dressed in red like the devil, comes out and takes center stage. He announces each act as they come out- the elephants, the lion tamer, the acrobats. Then, the clowns.

They act just as one expects clowns to act. Eight grown ones tumble from a car meant for a three-year-old. They trip each other and throw pies in their faces.

Suddenly, I see something I have never seen before. Amidst the clowns on stilts and the clowns in cars and the clowns with animals is…a child.

A child clown

A child.Starting even younger than John Wayne Gacy.

If it came down to it, would I be able to kill a child?

I zoom my binoculars in on him, and I see him gallivanting and frolicking. I watch only him, and when I look close enough, I see it. Under that white makeup, under that wide red grin, is a glint of evil.

And I know that if I had to, I would kill him. Or it. For it is no longer human.

I walk back to my car, knife held firmly in my hand. For although the butchering is not to begin for two nights, clowns have been known to strike early.

My paranoia is not in vain. My car is last left in the parking lot, but I am not alone. I hear footsteps behind me.

I take a quick glance over shoulder and I see it. Looming, with a broad crimson smile, red like the blood it craves. White makeup, ghostly in the silver moonlight.

It laughs an ugly, frightening laugh as it comes closer. It towers over me as I clutch my knife tightly with my right hand. I time it exactly right, as it bars its teeth, sharp and pointy, and it pulls its gloves off revealing long sharp fingernails. They start to close around my throat-

And I stab. The sharp silver goes strait to his heart and he bleeds. His blood falls to the ground, not mine.

I train for the next two days and scope out the circus at night. On the final night, I pack all my gear with me. I am prepared for carnage.

The circus starts this night like all the others, only tonight it is the fullest I’ve seen it. Several people have come back for seconds, even thirds.

Even the clowns’ act starts out familiarly. They tumble from the mini cars, throw pies in faces…

Then they pounce.

Today I am sitting in the front of the most crowded section, expecting this. I grab the first weapon I can, my knife, and stab it in the chest of the nearest clown.

They are everywhere, though they are outnumbered. I pull my bow from my bag and shoot the silver, holy water dipped arrows at the monsters.

My heart sank as I glanced towards the backstage door. More of them were coming, swarming, and although I had expected something like this, I was crestfallen.

So I did what I had to do.

Now, clowns are special creatures. Guns do not work on them, unless filled with silver bullets.

Unless, of course, they’re water guns.

I pull the heavy, dripping guns, filled to the brim with holy water from my backpack. I aimed and fired.

The water hit the face of the nearest clown first. With an agonized shriek it clutched at its face as the water melted through the paint and burned the flesh off his skull. I kept shooting until I had eliminated several clowns.

Then I made my way through the masses, spraying what clowns I could. I darted into the ring and up the trapeze ladder. It was the highest standing point in the tent. I pulled out my long range gun and let the holy water loose. Clown after clown let out terrible screams and cries as the water burned through their unholy skin. Smoke wafted up to the top of the tent, and the charred bodies of clowns lay among their bloody victims.

I hadn’t gotten them all though- some had managed to escape the drench. I heard a noise behind me and saw the child-clown climbing the ladder, almost to the top. As it leered towards me, eyes evil yet childish, I sprung the knife from the sole of my shoe. Hesitantly yet resolutely I kicked at it, landing the spike right through its heard. The thing did not wail, but gasped and released its grip on the ladder. The child-clown’s body tumbled down, out of the reach of any safety net.

The surviving clowns were coming closer now, swarming in like an angry mob. I jumped on to the trapeze, grateful for the circus studying I had done, and leapt over to the other side. I descended, and using my bow, carefully eliminated all that remained.

All but one. For as I shot my bow, the largest, most barbaric of all had crept up silently behind me.

I felt the long, sharp claws circle my neck while it let out a haunting laugh. I froze. I know that laugh anywhere.

My mind flashed back to over a decade ago. I was eight and my parents had taken me to the circus. I had protested, I had whined, but in the end adult decisions ruled.

It was a night much like this night. The final night the circus was in town. And in the middle of the clown routine, they sprang.

I had watched this clown rip apart my parents. He ripped them apart, laughing as I stood there, rooted to my spot.

And then, he had winked at me. The abomination had winked at me.

And I ran. I was one of the lucky few who escaped.

The next time the circus came to town, five years later, I was more prepared. I had fought off most of them, but he had gotten away.

“Victoria,” the clown hissed into my ear, “so good to see you again. It’s been too long.”

The clown’s fingers closed tighter as he lowered his mouth to my neck. My air supply was lowering. But I was not going to die here, not by him.

His teeth were nearly on my flesh when I kicked up with the spick on my shoe. The knife pierced him in his rear, causing him to scream and fall backwards. He caught his balance and leered towards me, teeth bared and a grown in this throat. But this time I was prepared. Water gun loaded in my hand, I sprayed him head to toe with Father Matthew’s holy water. His red eyes glowed even brighter as the water ate away at his flesh, leaving his leer without lips. He shrieked and twitched as his flesh turned to smoke and ash.

I left the tent shaking but overwhelmed with accomplishment. There had been so much slaughter, so many had not survived. But the clowns were dead.

Or so I thought…


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