The clown across from him matched his movements and pointed back at T-Pot.
T-Pot pulled back his finger. His clown also withdrew. Upon seeing this, the other boys started testing their own clown reflections. They started slow by moving their hands and arms. Their clowns did the same. With each motion accurately mimicked, they tried harder to stump the clowns. They moved faster. They jumped, twisted in circles, and made funny faces. One boy tried hiding behind another. When he peeked around him to see if it worked, he saw his creepy clown reflection peeking back from behind the clown version of his buddy. It laughed at the boy’s curious attempt at deception. The clown’s laugh broke the copycat behavior for all but T-Pot’s pint-sized dictatorial clown. While the five boys stood still, their clowns scattered to other mirrors around the room, leaving unaltered reflections of the boys in their place.
Five equidistant and unique doors appeared, one beside each clown. One was bright yellow with a puffy purple trim. It spanned to the ceiling and had a tiny window at the top, too high for a person of normal height to peer through.
Another was shaped as an outline of a rotund clown. Multicolored polka dots randomly floated across its surface.
The third door wasn’t a door at all. It was just an oversized doorknob in the mirror with a disturbingly happy, animated clown face smiling and winking back at them.
The fourth door was unusual in comparison to the others because it wasn’t brightly colored or oddly shaped. It looked like a door you’d find on a typical house. What made it different was the fact that it hung upside down from the ceiling. In order to walk through it, the room would have to be flipped.
While those four doors were bizarre, to say the least, it was the fifth door that captured T-Pot’s attention. It was a loose, mirrored panel in the room. With a flick from the clown’s hand, the panel spun on its pivot. Reflected images from inside the room alternated with flickering reflections of people standing in line outside the Labyrinth. It was their way out.
“Hey, guys,” T-Pot said. The boys looked at him and followed his raised eyebrow and tilted head toward the exit.
“On three, we get the fuck outta here,” he said.
“But this is just starting to get fun, T-Pot. Can’t we stay a little longer?” a boy pleaded. The others nodded in agreement. Their combined resistance to his command triggered the timer of an inevitable T-Pot explosion. Veins in his neck and forehead throbbed, flushing his head and ears red with blood. His midget clown moved to replace his reflection. Its face also turned bright red as the pressure intensified to the point where steam hissed from the mocking clown’s ears.
“Do you fuckheads remember what you said before we came into this room?” T-Pot barked through gritted teeth. “You all said you hate fucking clowns. Did you forget already? Huh?” He moved into his drill sergeant position in front of the line of lemmings, facing away from the clown mimicking his every move from behind.
“But you told us to say that, Bobby—uh, T-Pot.”
“I don’t fucking care what I told you to say. You said it, and now we all hate these fucking clowns.”
In the mirrors, T-Pot’s Hitler clown bent over as another clown hobbled up behind and started humping him. With each hump, the midget Hitler clown would raise his hand in a heil Hitler salute.
Like a Mentos in a soda bottle, all four boys exploded in laughter. The two clowns quickly returned to their positions before T-Pot could discover what amused them. He spun to look behind him. His clown was looking behind his own back. T-Pot faced the boys again and demanded to know what they were laughing about. The two clowns got together again. This time, they faced T-Pot’s back, unzipped their clown pants, and pulled out three-foot long balloons. The balloons flowed through the mirrors and the clowns started thrusting them to within inches of T-Pot’s ass.
Two of the boys fell to the floor with sidesplitting laughter while the others desperately tried to contain their own amusement by covering their mouths and looking away from the display.
T-Pot was infuriated. He clenched his fists and grunted; his head snapped upward. From the perspective of his crew, it appeared that he just climaxed from the double doggy style clown shagging. That sent the two standing boys to the floor with the other two where they rolled into each other in hysterics as they wiped tears from their eyes.
T-Pot pulled the knife from his pocket and went from kid to kid, waving it inches from their tear-soaked faces and threatening to cut each of them. The boys did their best to stop laughing, but their frenzy was too powerful. The best they could manage was to shield their eyes from the clowns in an attempt to remove the source of their hysterical high. It helped, but they quickly discovered that the clowns were only half the problem. They couldn’t look at T-Pot without seeing the image of the clowns reaming him from behind with balloon stiffies.
“C’mon guys.” His threats didn’t work, so T-Pot resorted to pleading. “Let’s get out of here. I promise not to do anything if we leave now.”
The clowns in the mirrors refrained from further provocation, allowing the boys to regain their composure. One by one, they shook off lingering effects of the clowning as they stood in line and avoided looking at each other.
“Okay, good, now let’s get the fuck outta here,” T-Pot said as he led his friends toward the spinning door. Five steps later, T-Pot stood in front of the door and the clown stepped aside.
T-Pot reached to stop the spinning panel. His hand touched the mirror but the spinning continued. The spinning and view of the crowd outside were an illusion—a projection inside the motionless mirror. The clown laughed and jumped into the spinning projection. His image flickered with the crowd, appearing as though he were standing outside amongst them. With his arm over the shoulder of a waiting guest, he waved back at T-Pot.
“This is wack!” T-Pot said.
The volume of the circus music lowered and a voice came over the speakers.
“Welcome to the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, home of—The Guild of Fallen Clowns.”
T-Pot’s clown joined the clown beside the upside-down door. He knelt to his hands and knees, and the other clown stepped up on his back and reached to open the door. Clowns outside the remaining passages followed suit and opened their doors. From all but the fake exit, creepy clowns flowed into the room.
They quickly filled the mirrors around the perimeter of the room. Honking sounds, buzzing, ringing bells, laughing, and whistles mixed with the vibrantly colored continuous motion of juggling clowns, acrobatic clowns, clowns riding bikes, clowns riding other clowns, all dancing inside the mirrored walls of the circular space.
It was a virtual clown sensory overload. T-Pot’s followers responded like two-year-olds in Teletubby hypnotic trances.
T-Pot’s reaction was a bit more dramatic. The scene before him triggered his fight or flight instinct. With no exits present, he resorted to fighting his way out. His explosive response to perceived danger was what had established his role as the gang’s leader. That same short temper also resulted in his nickname. Once his fuse was lit, his head trembled and a low grumbling sound from deep in his chest grew to a loud growl, setting off a violent fit of rage.
His first target was the midget clown that had been shadowing him since they entered the Labyrinth. He took out his knife, flicked it open, snarled at his unrelenting harasser, and pulled his arm back before plunging forward with all his might. Fury clouded over the reality that the clown was just a projected image on the hard surface of a mirror. The force of his stab would likely result in his own broken hand. As the knife got closer, the little clown expressed fear. His hands rose to cover his eyes. The blade penetrated the mirror’s surface and sank into the clown’s chest.
Mortally wounded, the dying clown lowered his hands from his eyes and gazed up at T-Pot. Sadness filled his eyes, as his body grew weak. T-Pot reveled in his moment of conquest over his tormentor. He gave the knife an added shove and twist before yanking it from his body. To his surpri
se, the clown’s translucent heart came out with the knife. Stabbed through the center, the Valentine-shaped heart continued to beat. The clown grasped his chest and collapsed to the floor inside the mirror.
Circus music was replaced with more somber funeral music as the remaining clowns stopped playing and gathered around their fallen comrade. As they stood with folded hands, quietly mourning over their friend, a voice from the back of the crowd ordered them to step aside to let him through. The clowns opened a path and a fat clown emerged. His clown suit was white and covered with dozens of hearts in every possible size. He knelt down in front of the dead clown, removed a ruler from his pocket, and measured the chest hole. Then he searched the hearts on his costume, plucked one from the fabric, and inserted it into the fallen clown. The music stopped altogether and the room fell silent.
Thump thump, thump thump. The sounds grew louder. The midget clown’s eyes slowly opened as the thumping intensified. His head turned toward a stunned T-Pot. The clown smiled, then giggled and jumped to his feet. The other clowns cheered, circus music blared from the speakers, and the clowns returned to their frolicking and obnoxious celebration.
T-Pot was about to blow a second time. His growling turned to an uncontrollable mixture of grunts, screams, and howls. He ran around the room, pounding his fists on all the mirrors. Clowns pretended to be knocked down by his jabs. One placed his face directly in front of T-Pot’s hand. As he struck the mirrored image of the clown’s large red nose, it let out a loud squeaking sound. While T-Pot circled the room, a group of clowns formed a clown pyramid. The top clown was T-Pot’s midget.
Upon seeing the unstable pile across the room, T-Pot darted for it. Before he arrived, two clowns walked across the mirrors carrying a metal fence to protect the pile from him. T-Pot stopped and stood in front of the barrier, looking for a way to topple the clown pile. His midget clown looked down at T-Pot from the top of the wobbly pyramid. The clowns below laughed as they covered their heads with colorful hats, mini umbrellas, and plastic films. Then T-Pot’s clown lowered his pants and peed into the room. His hips twisted back and forth as he showered T-Pot and the four boys with clown piss. Before finishing, the clown focused his stream directly at T-Pot. The intensity was that of a garden hose, spraying him from face to toe. For a good five seconds, T-Pot circled the room in an attempt to find shelter. He ended up hiding behind the other four boys. The group huddled with their faces down until the urine shower stopped.
The little clown gave himself a few good shakes and zipped up before the pyramid fell apart and the clowns returned to frolicking around inside the mirrors.
All five boys raised their heads and sniffed their clothes to see if the prank used actual urine. Relieved, one said, “It’s just water. It’s only water, T-Pot. He didn’t really piss on us. It’s just water.”
While this news calmed the four followers, the dousing didn’t diffuse T-Pot’s anger. To the contrary, he was more incensed, but he knew there was nothing he could do to hurt the images in the mirrors. As they stood and shook off the excess water, the music stopped and the clowns started exiting through the doors. Holding a metal bucket, T-Pot’s clown calmly approached the gang.
“Before we let you go, we wanted to give you a going away gift,” the clown said. He placed the bucket in front of him, reached both hands in, and raised them above his head. Paper money flowed from his fingers. The bucket was filled with cash.
“Who will receive our gift?” the clown asked.
The boys were ready to step forward when T-Pot raised his hands to stop them.
“I’ll take it,” T-Pot said as he stepped up to the mirror.
The clown smiled and said, “Very well, but the bucket has to stay with us. I’ll have to pour it out to you. Then you can leave through the door behind you.” A door panel opened and daylight filled the room. From the darkness inside the mirrors, two clowns carried a six-foot stepladder and set it up in front of T-Pot. They left and T-Pot’s clown climbed up the first four steps with the bucket in hand.
“Okay, gimme the money,” T-Pot said. He reached his hands over his head to receive the bills.
“A little closer. My arms are short and I can’t throw that far.”
T-Pot complied and stepped closer to the mirror.
With both hands on the bucket, the clown raised it high above his head.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asked.
“Yes, I want it. Gimme the money.”
With a firm grip around the bottom of the bucket, the clown tilted it forward. T-Pot reached up, but instead of feeling paper currency flowing over his hands, warm water rushed over him. It flowed through his fingers into his face and open mouth. The clown jumped off the ladder and ran off laughing. He was the last one to leave the room.
T-Pot choked on the liquid. He coughed and bent down to catch his breath. The other boys stepped up to his aid, but were quickly repelled by the odor.
“It’s piss!” cried one of the boys.
“It was a bucket of piss he threw at you, T-Pot!”
Still coughing and spitting, T-Pot turned and raced for the door. The other boys followed at a distance. This time the door wasn’t a fake. They exited the rear of the Labyrinth. T-Pot turned and prevented the group from walking to the front, where crowds of people would see and smell him.
To their right was a cluster of Porta Potties. T-Pot spotted a length of hose near them and sprinted to it. Out of direct view of the public, he grabbed the hose and ducked behind the toilets. He handed the hose to one of the boys and instructed him to spray it on him until he told him to stop.
He blasted out a contentious stream of obscenities as he aggressively scrubbed every inch of his body.
“I don’t know what the fuck those things were, but it’s not over. Those clowns will pay for this. Nobody pisses on T-Pot and lives to tell about it.” His words alerted him to an unthinkable possibility. He temporarily stopped scrubbing and looked around at his buddies.
“Same goes for all of you. If any of you say a word to anyone about this, I’ll fucking cut off your head and piss down your neck. Don’t even think about it.”
“You really don’t have to worry about that, T-Pot,” one boy said. “We believe you would kill us. Besides, who would believe us anyway?”
Knowing that T-Pot would keep his promise, they all agreed to take this secret to their graves.
T-Pot yanked the hose from his helper and turned it off. Then he removed his shirt, wrung it out, and tucked it in the back of his pants to air dry. He led the group through a narrow alley between attractions. Before emerging into the crowded midway, he halted the group. With foot traffic in both directions, intermittent images of a clown flashed between the moving bodies. It was Boogy, twisting balloons into cute animal shapes for a little boy.
“A fucking clown,” he whispered.
The boy behind him asked why they were stopped. T-Pot pointed. With all the people walking in both directions between them and the clown, the boy followed T-Pot’s aim as well as he could. A chubby girl wearing stretchy orange shorts and a red tube top was the assumed target of T-Pot’s aim.
“Aw, man! She’s gross, T-Pot. You can’t be serious.”
T-Pot turned back to see what he was looking at when he also spotted the girl.
“No, you idiot! I’m pointing to the clown across the way,” T-Pot said.
“Oh, thank God. I thought that piss messed up your head or something.”
The other boys inched closer to get a glimpse of the clown.
“What are you thinking, T-Pot?” one asked.
“I’m thinking it’s time to get even with those clowns. We need to take him out.”
“But he wasn’t in the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors T-Pot. Why you wanna hurt him?”
“Because he’s a clown. He’s one of them and we hate fucking clowns.”
Muted laughter came from the boy at the rear of the group, the same one who couldn’t hear those words without
seeing mental images of clowns having sex. Fortunately for him, T-Pot didn’t hear him.
T-Pot turned to the group and told them to back up. They moved out of the alleyway, behind one of the tents. T-Pot huddled them together and started making plans for their clown bashing.
“We need to fuck that clown up. But we can’t do it in front of all the people. How are we going to get him away from the people so we can kick his ass?”
The boys all looked to each other for ideas when one blurted out, “Maybe we can wait till he leaves and get him in the parking lot.”
T-Pot paused to consider the idea. He put his hand on his chin to demonstrate to the others that he was deep in thought.
“Yeah, T-Pot, we can wait till he goes to his car,” another chimed in, hoping to somehow share in the credit.
T-Pot started nodding his head. Surprisingly, he wasn’t able to see any flaw in the plan.
“It won’t work!” came the voice of a hidden eavesdropper.
“Who said that?” T-Pot said.
From the other side of the material wall, the voice came again. “It won’t work. Your plan won’t work.”
The five boys all looked at the tent. A flap opened and The Ringmaster stared back at the shocked teens.
“Us carnival workers stay in the trailers in the field. He won’t go to the parking lot,” Ringmaster lied.
“Why are you telling us this?” T-Pot asked.
“I’m telling you because I share your desire to get rid of the clown. That job will be mine. I’ve been waiting fifteen years for it and I won’t let him take it from me.”
T-Pot realized Ringmaster had his own agenda.
“So, you want us to help get rid of him for you?”
The Ringmaster scanned their surroundings to be sure they weren’t being overheard. He leaned in and whispered, “I want him to quit and be out of my way. I can get him back here where nobody will see, but I don’t want you to kill him. Just scare him—threaten him, but don’t hurt him.” He rose and turned in a circle to be sure their discussion was still private.
The Guild of Fallen Clowns Page 8