The Guild of Fallen Clowns

by Francis Xavier

  Mary smiled and said, “Haunted? Well, that sounds kind of spooky. I prefer to think of it as—cared for. My father and uncles always talked about the shadow spirit, but even as kids, they never felt frightened of it. They actually felt a sense of security with it around.”

  Alan wasn’t feeling the same sense of well-being, but his curiosity prevented him from fleeing to his car. He needed to know more.

  “What, uh—what observations did you have?” he asked as his face tightened to a grimace. He really didn’t want to know the answer, but it was too late now. He had no choice but to suffer through the details of her reply. He hoped she would say the house creaked when the wind kicked up, or a light bulb burned out in the basement; observations which could be easily explainable for any other house, but understandably frightening in the context of Krauss House.

  “Well, as I said, this is an old house. I expected to hear creaks and sounds of the old place settling.”

  There it was, the normal things one would expect of a house of this age.

  “But the other night, I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my bedroom. Then I heard what sounded like a woman humming a song. I locked my bedroom door and called the police. When he arrived, he didn’t find any signs that anyone broke in. The doors and windows were locked. I felt so stupid, but as a single woman, I can’t be too careful.”

  So much for the simple explanation he wanted to hear. Alan stood horrified. He couldn’t even think of anything to say as he stared at her with his mouth wide open.

  Mary grinned. “Alan. Hello. Are you in there?”

  He snapped out of his trance. “Uh, sorry. I’m just stunned. I don’t know what I would have done.” This wasn’t entirely true. If this happened to him, he’d probably still be hiding under his bed, shaking from head to toe.

  Mary laughed it off. “Well, now that I know it’s just the shadow spirit my father told me about, I feel much better.”

  This confused Alan. He couldn’t understand how someone could feel comfortable living with a ghost in the house. More importantly, how could he be standing there knowing there was an active spirit nearby, probably watching them as they spoke? Why wasn’t he running away? Was it Mary’s courage or his own curiosity—or fear—locking him in place? Whatever it was, Alan needed to have a better understanding before he could leave. He asked one more question.

  “How can you be sure it was a ghost?”

  “Because I hear her all the time now,” Mary replied nonchalantly.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, but mostly at night. And now I’m seeing her. She’s just a shadow, but I’m convinced she’s happy that someone is living here again. I know this is going to sound strange, but I’ve never felt safer anywhere in my life. I even named her. I call her Lailah—after the angel of the night. I found the name written on a wall when I removed some old wallpaper. I thought it sounded nice, and it fit her because she keeps me safe at night.”

  By this time, Alan was really freaked out. Who in the world could feel safe living with haunting spirits? All he knew was that he needed to get out fast. He told Mary to enjoy the pizza, and he started to turn around when something caught his eye at the top of the stairs. He glanced back for a second look and saw a dark smoky blob move across the opening.

  Alan’s double take caught Mary’s attention. “Oh, did you just see Lailah?”

  This was more than he could handle. He didn’t take the split second to answer her question. He raced out of the house toward his car. In his rush to get away he said, “I gotta get going. I’m late for my next delivery.”

  Mary stood in the doorway and replied, “No problem, Alan. It was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again if this pizza is as good as I’ve heard.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Alan said before closing his car door. His hand trembled as he inserted the key and gave it a quick turn before accelerating for the safety of Krauss Drive.

  Along the way, he couldn’t help but glance in the rearview mirror to see if the shadowy spirit was chasing after him. The car’s draft stirred and tugged on lower tree limbs lining the narrow path. It was as if the trees were reaching for him in an effort to capture and return him to the Shadow Spirit inside Krauss House.

  The bottom of his car scraped the street as he finally reached the end of the driveway and landed hard on Krauss Drive. He sped to the end of the street before stopping out of visual range of the property. His heart pounded as he struggled to catch his breath. One might think he ran the distance from the house instead of drove.

  “What just happened?” he said. “Was that real? Did I just see a real ghost at Krauss House?” He continued asking himself these questions in order to make some sense of what he just experienced. “C’mon, Alan, why are you being such a wimp? Mary lives with the ghost, and she’s fine. She must think I’m a real loser,” he continued as his breathing became less labored.

  Thinking about his character in Clown World, Alan wondered how Boogy would have handled the same situation. Sitting on the safe side of the computer screen, his character might have tried talking to the spirit. Or, he might have walked up the stairs for a closer look. He would have done many things, but the last thing Boogy would have done was run away like a frightened little kid.

  At that moment, it occurred to Alan that he wasn’t Boogy from Clown World. This was his life. An existence where his strong, alter ego, virtual world, Boogy character was little more than a wish for who he wanted to be.

  Chapter 3

  Dressed and made up in his Boogy the Clown costume, Alan stepped out of his car, locked the door, and pocketed his keys. More than a half hour remained before the Saturday morning opening of the carnival, but cars already began flooding into the freshly mowed temporary parking lot. Families and groups of teenagers herded toward the gated entrance.

  Noticing Alan’s costume, the guard cracked the gate open and waved him through. Eager guests pleaded with the guard to let them in early. Since the guard was preoccupied with blocking the anxious crowd, Alan looked for someone else to direct him to Cracky. He scanned the area and noticed two men walking together ahead of him. With nobody else in sight, he sprinted to catch up with them.

  “Excuse me,” Alan said. The two were in a heated argument and didn’t hear Alan’s meek attempt to get their attention. Again, he thought it might be better to find someone else for assistance.

  As he rounded the first bend of the midway, he noticed a maintenance worker opening his toolbox in front of the Bobsled ride. He didn’t appear to be rushed so Alan asked him where he might find Cracky.

  “The Big Guy?” the man replied. “Last I saw, he was at the Zipper, in the back corner,” he said, pointing in the direction.

  Alan now had Cracky’s proximity, but he had never met the man in person.

  “Great. Thank you. Oh, one more thing. What does Cracky look like?”

  The grizzled worker didn’t look at Alan and replied, “The big guy.”

  Puzzled by what sounded like another question, Alan replied, “Yeah—the big guy, Cracky. What does he look like? I’ve never met him. We talked on the phone, but I’ve never seen him.”

  The worker put down his wrench and turned to face Alan. His eyes moved up and down.

  “He’s the big guy!” he chuckled. “He looks a little like you. You can’t miss him,” he said as he turned away, picked up the wrench, and resumed working.

  Still a bit confused Alan didn’t want to chance angering the man with more questions. He politely thanked him and walked away. The man proceeded to climb through an open panel to gain access below the ride. Alan was a good distance from the Bobsled ride when he heard the worker yell out, “What the hell?” followed by a long stream of obscenities. Alan was glad he had decided not to ask more questions, which might have provoked the guy to snap at him instead of the problem he encountered seconds after he left.

  The Zipper wasn’t hard to find, and as soon as Alan saw three men talkin
g in front of the ride, the maintenance worker’s description became clear. Two of the men were of average height and weight. However, the third man towered over the other two at about six and a half feet tall. He had the broadest shoulders Alan had ever seen on a man, and his arms were as thick as Alan’s thighs. He had a large belly, but due to his bulk, he didn’t appear fat. If this wasn’t enough of a clue indicating this guy was Cracky, the rest of the description was undeniable. The worker said Cracky looked like Alan. Well, this hulk of a man wore regular working clothes, but his entire head was made up in clown makeup—a happy clown. He had to be Cracky.

  Cracky glanced away from his conversation and noticed Alan as he approached. His painted-on smile grew and he yelled out, “Boogy?” Alan smiled back as the distance between them diminished.

  “What gave it away?” Alan replied.

  The two met in the middle and Cracky reached out to shake Alan’s hand. As if Cracky’s giant hand wasn’t enough to make Alan feel small, he also made half of his arm disappear as he grabbed it with his other hand and shook vigorously. Unlike his brief experiences in the park with the guard and the maintenance worker, Cracky appeared to be extremely pleasant.

  “Hey, Boogy, glad you made it. It’ll be nice havin’ another clown round here,” Cracky said, still shaking Alan’s arm.

  “Glad to be here, Cracky. I didn’t know you were a clown here.”

  Cracky released his hold. “Well, I don’t actually work here as a clown. I manage da place. Da clown face is for da kids. Dey get scared of me widout it. Wid it, more grown-ups den kids are scared.”

  “Oh,” Alan said.

  “So what say I show you round, give you da Cracky tour of da place?”

  Alan nodded.

  “We gotta make it quick cause da gates open soon. But don’t worry, if you got any questions, I’m usually easy to find in the ticket booth,” Cracky said. “Follow me, Boog. We can start wid da reason we needed your help in da first place.”

  Alan tried to keep up as Cracky swiftly moved toward the opposite side of the carnival grounds.

  Still walking at a hurried pace, Cracky looked back at Alan. “Have you heard of da Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, Boogy?”

  “Sorry, can’t say I have,” Alan replied.

  “Well, da Labyrinth is our top attraction. It scares da bajesus out of people, and for some reason, dey can’t get enough of it. In our last town, someone actually had a heart attack and died.” Cracky’s pace slowed as they neared the Haunted Labyrinth.

  “Someone died?” Alan repeated.

  “Yeah, I mean it’s sad dat he died, but we clearly warn people not to go in if dey have heart conditions. Some people can’t handle such things. Anyways, I know it’s sick, but once people heard bout dat, everyone wants to go through it.”

  They stopped in front of the Labyrinth. Alan was a bit confused and didn’t see the connection to his role at the carnival. Was Cracky going to ask him to work inside the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors? Just the thought of that possibility sent shivers down his spine. Sure, it was just a carnival attraction, but after the incident at Krauss House, anything even remotely connected to haunted spirits was unthinkable.

  Cracky continued, “See, pal, now dat attendance is up, we thought it would be good to have someone like you entertain da crowd while dey wait for their turn in the Labyrinth. Keep da people happy so they don’t get frustrated and leave disappointed.”

  Phew! That was a huge relief for Alan. As long as he wouldn’t have to go inside, it should be a piece of cake. He changed the subject. “So, how did you find me, Cracky?”

  Cracky looked confused. “Don’t you know Geno?”

  “Geno? No. Who’s Geno?”

  Still puzzled, Cracky replied, “You don’t know Geno? Well, I guess it don’t really matter as long as you’re here, but I thought you two knew each other.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, Geno works inside da Labyrinth here. He’s the mechanical genius behind it all. Geno’s the guy who recommended you. Maybe he found your name in the phone book. Whatever. Like I said, it don’t really matter how he found you. We’re just glad to have you.”

  From the milk bottle throw booth next to the Labyrinth, a man’s voice called out, “Geno hides from the people, above the labyrinth. He lacks the skills to bring out the true potential of the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors.”

  Cracky looked at the man. “You never mind dat, Ringmaster. Just take care of your bottles.” The man, dressed as Cracky suggested, in a ringmaster’s costume, turned away.

  “Never mind him, Boogy. He’s always sticking his nose in everyone’s bidness. He’s mad ’cause he wants to run da show like his old man, but he’s stuck settin’ up bottles all day.”

  Alan didn’t want to meddle, but Cracky made it impossible to ignore the obvious questions.

  “You lost me, Cracky. Does his father own the carnival?”

  “No. His faddah worked in da circus. He was a real ringmaster. You see, his faddah didn’t want his only son to live in da life, so he spent all his money sending da kid to fancy art schools in Europe. He wanted his son to be an artist cause dat’s what he wanted to be. Den when his faddah died, the kid came home and took his pops uniform. All he ever wanted was to be a ringmaster. He’s got visions of grandiose. Of course he lacked the skills for dat job. Between you and me, dat’s never gonna happen. Da only place someone like him fits in at all is, well—here. He’s perfectly suited to work as a carnie. We’re all misfits.”

  “So his nickname is the Ringmaster,” Alan said.

  “It’s more den a nickname. He’s so into dis ringmaster crap dat he actually had his name legally changed. His first name is The. You ever hear of anything so stupid?”

  “Sounds disturbing…and kind of sad,” Alan replied.

  “Oh, don’t worry bout him. He’s cuckoo, but harmless. Besides, not many of us get to live our dreams. Dis ain’t exactly what I wanted to be, but we adjust. He just needs to adjust his dreams to something more realistic, like maybe keeping his bottles set up.”

  “I heard that, Cracky,” Ringmaster said. “My talents are being wasted on these bottles. You know I’d do a better job than Geno if I were running the Labyrinth.”

  “You keep sticking your nose in where it don’t belong and you’ll never get dat opportunity, Ringmaster.”

  This angered The Ringmaster, and Alan couldn’t help but notice Ringmaster’s contentious scowl, piercing through him.

  “That job is mine, Cracky. You better not give it to this guy. It’s mine.”

  “Yeah, Ringmaster, dat’s what I’m doing here. I’m showing Boogy da Labyrinth ’cause I want to give him Geno’s job,” Cracky replied sarcastically.

  Alan’s eyes widened. He knew Cracky was toying with The Ringmaster, but it was clear that The Ringmaster was unable to interpret his remark as sarcasm. Alan felt uncomfortable in the position as a perceived rival to someone with The Ringmaster’s distorted view of the world.

  “Please, Cracky, tell him that’s not true. I know you’re joking, but I don’t think he knows that, and I don’t want him thinking I’m out to get his job.”

  “First of all, it ain’t his job. Geno runs da Labyrinth, and he knows it.”

  “Maybe so, Cracky, but now he thinks I’m next in line for it. This is crazy because, well, first of all, I’m not even with the carnival. I’m a temp. And second, I really wouldn’t be good at that job. Please, I don’t want him to hate me.”

  “Okay, fine,” Cracky said. “Hey, Ringmaster, what I said ain’t true. But you better keep on your toes or I might consider it.” He smiled back at Alan. “There you go, Boogy. Problem solved.”

  Not completely satisfied, The Ringmaster gave Alan the stink eye before slipping out of view inside the tent.

  A distant voice called out, “Cracky! Cracky! You need to come to the Bobsled,” the man pleaded between breaths.

  They turned to see the maintenance worker from the Bobsled runnin
g toward them.

  Cracky looked back at Alan and said, “Speaking of misfits—”

  “Slow down, Rudy. What’s da problem?”

  Rudy stopped in front of them and took a second to catch his breath. “There’s a problem with the Bobsled. The hydraulic line looks like it was cut. The ride won’t be ready for opening.”

  Cracky looked down at a box in Rudy’s hand. “What’s dis?”

  “Oh, yeah—a package for Geno. He’s been waiting for it. But we gotta get to the Bobsled.”

  Cracky took the package and put his hand on Rudy’s shoulder. “Calm down, Rudy.” Then he looked at Alan. “Hey, Boogy. Looks like I’m gonna have to cut da tour short. Do me a favor and give dis to Geno for us. I gotta see what’s going on with dat hydraulic line. Thanks, pal. Oh, and come see me in da ticket booth after we open. I got somethin’ for ya.”

  Alan took the package from Cracky and the two rushed off in the direction of the Bobsled ride.

  He watched as Cracky disappeared from view, abandoning him in front of—the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. Returning his attention to the labyrinth, he surveyed the area before taking his first step inside the perimeter.

  The foreboding entry gates were opened inward, with oversized metal plates shaped like skulls welded to the center of each rusted wrought-iron side. The gates were mounted to columns. The left column formed a giant cloaked black hand, which appeared to be growing ten feet up from the ground. In the grip of the massive hand was the shaft of a sickle, which crossed over the pathway. The tip of the long black steel blade rested in the dirt beyond the opposite column on the right side

  Lining the wide pathway was a series of connected movable barriers, forming a snakelike pattern designed to contain the line of anxious visitors. The sides of the pathway were adorned with an abundance of fake spider webs and gravestones. A few zombies appearing to climb out of their graves, and miscellaneous half-decayed body parts were strewn about for added effect—typical haunted house fare.

  The building itself wasn’t what one would expect of a haunted amusement. Instead of appearing as a dilapidated old mansion with skeletons on the porch and ghostly images in the windows, the Labyrinth looked more like the side of a factory wall. Other than the opening for the entrance, the two-story front façade was entirely made up of corrugated, faded black steel panels. If not for the blood-red words The Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors painted across the width of the building, the entire structure might not be visible after sunset.