Sometimes, when it’s quiet, I can remember what my life was like before the circus came to town.
Don’t get me wrong. It sucked then too, but nobody had died yet, so there were advantages.
Now I know you’re probably thinking, “Oh, God. Not another spooky carnival story.”
Well it’s not. So shut up.
I’m sick of that crap too. If this was one of those tales, I would’ve rolled over and died already rather than face the idea that I might have to write about it one day.
Disclaimer: I know I was supposed to write a flash fiction but once I got into the story, it took on a life of its own and grew into a true short story. Presented here is the first part of the two part tale. — Jason
Sure clowns are scary – I’ve read that Stephen King book – but they’re not the ones trying to the end the world. Uh uh. It’s the twisted, evil ringmasters you’ve gotta worry about. That guy in the Marvel comics with the hypno-hat and all the circus ‘freaks’? He’s bush league compared to some of the ones I’ve taken down.
The wind was October chilly and whirled the brittle leaves up the block in a swirl of orange, red and yellow as I took my morning walk. I had my hands in the pockets of my jacket, jingling some change and my collar turned up. The rubes were probably still in bed that early, and I could smell the warmth of fires in fireplaces or stoves. It’s one of the things I love most about fall . Anyway.
It was the police cars halfway up the block that really had my attention. Three of them, none flashing their lights, with a couple of officers standing in the driveway. The neighborhood was pleasant and probably forty or fifty years old. I mean, it’s pretty obvious which houses were built in the ’70s if you pay attention.
“Excuse me, sir,” one of the officers said as he crossed the street toward me. I pulled out my earbuds and gave him a look that said I wasn’t expecting him to stop me. “Do you live in the neighborhood?” Leonard, his nametag said.
“No. I’m at the Barrow Square Hotel a couple blocks over.” I showed concern. “Something happen?” (more…)
Not in a pervy kind of way. I mean, I know how that sounds. You’re immediately like, “Oh, he’s the guy who defiles himself behind the half-drawn curtain while the single mom next door sunbathes in her backyard.”
I’m not some kind of deviant. I just like to know what’s going on along my block. It’s always been a nice, quiet kind of place. It didn’t really start to go to hell until the clown moved in across the street.
Now I’m not prejudice against clowns as a whole, other than the fact that they’re evil incarnate and largely devoid of souls. In the pantheon of creepy-ass shit, clowns rank right up there with ice cream truck drivers, because you know something shady is always going on in the back of those things.