The Guild of Fallen Clowns

by Francis Xavier

  Peepers gradually appeared in the mirror in front of Alan.

  “Please let me go. I don’t want to be here and you don’t have the right to keep me.”

  Peepers smiled and stepped through the mirror. His ghostly image floated around Alan. Alan turned with him. Peepers stopped and floated back in front of a different mirrored panel.

  “Alan is free to leave. Your door is behind Peepers.” The panel behind Peepers pivoted, creating openings on both sides.

  “Okay, step aside and I’ll leave,” Alan said.

  Peepers smiled again and said, “Peepers cannot stop Alan. Alan can walk through Peepers.”

  Alan looked at Peepers’ translucent image and considered his offer. It made perfect sense. Peepers was a ghost. Outside the mirrors, he didn’t have a solid form and Alan should be able to walk right through him. It should work, but there was no way in hell he would purposely walk through a ghost. Even if it meant he would be free of Peepers and the Labyrinth.

  He was imprisoned by his own lack of willpower. Once again, cracks formed in his perfect plan. It was time to revert to plan “A,” which was to face his fears. With every ounce of power he had, he closed his eyes, raised his hands in Peepers’ direction, and said, “I command you to leave me alone!”

  There was dead silence. Alan’s eyes remained closed. He didn’t know if it worked. If he opened his eyes and saw Peepers still standing there, he would be out of options. On the other hand, he couldn’t stand there all night with his eyes closed, hoping it worked.

  After about thirty seconds, he decided to peek through a squinted eye. The door was in front of him but through the tight view of one eye, he wasn’t completely sure if Peepers was gone. He slowly opened the eye a little more. There was no sign of Peepers in front of him. This was a positive sign and he fully opened both eyes. Peepers was gone, he thought. It worked. Now all he had to do was slip out the door, and this episode of his life would finally be over.

  He dropped his arms to his side and eased forward. He took one-step toward the door. So far so good. He took another step. The door was a good ten steps away. He could take off running, but he feared that the sudden movement might reawaken Peepers’ spirit. He thought it would be best to slip out as slowly and quietly as possible.

  He took another step forward. With each step closer to the exit, he felt more relieved. He was halfway with no signs of Peepers’ return. Just to be sure he was successful in casting Peepers from his life, he took his focus off the exit door and turned to look at the mirrors behind him. The mirrors were dark but not completely empty.

  Peepers wasn’t inside the room or the mirrors, but something else was. As he stared over his shoulder, images in the mirrors became more distinct. They appeared to be faces without bodies peeping out at him. He turned to look over his left shoulder and more faces appeared. The images sharpened and became animated with smiles, grimaces, and rolling eyes.

  Dozens of disembodied, grotesque, caricature clown heads watched from inside the mirrors. The mob of freakishly evil faces silently staring back at him was more frightening than anything he had ever witnessed—including Peepers. He abandoned his soft-step approach to exiting the building as his feet leapt two steps forward. Once his head caught up to his feet and he faced the exit, the sight of Peepers blocking his path made him skid to a stop. He looked to the faces behind. Then he looked at Peepers in front of him.

  Peepers scanned the faces of his guild and waved them back into the darkness. As they faded, Alan stepped back into the room, slightly relieved to be back to his original dilemma. Plan A failed. You couldn’t cast ghostly spirits from your life by simply shouting at them. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a plan B.

  “What do you want from me?” he said.

  “Peepers not here to frighten Alan. Peepers help Alan overcome his fear,” Peepers said.

  “What does that even mean?” Alan replied, exhausted and weakened from his efforts to escape the situation.

  “Alan help Peepers, and we help Alan trust Peepers and fear not.”

  Alan’s shoulders slumped in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me. Can’t you just make this easy and tell me what you want from me? Please?” he said as he fell to his knees pleading.

  Peepers grinned. “Alan possesses power of messenger spirit. Life energy and masked talent needed to help Peepers earn the light.”

  “Yeah, you said something about my strong spirit before. I still don’t know what it means, or why you think someone like me can help you. This must be a mistake. I’m not the same person from Clown World. My only talent is that I’m a pretty good player in the virtual world. But that’s only a game. Look at me.” He held his arms out to his side for Peepers to get a good look. “Do I look like some strong-spirited person with an ability at all to help you? Clown World isn’t real. It’s safe, and nobody can hurt me there. It’s easy to act like someone I’m not in the real world. What you need is someone who’s strong in the real world, someone who isn’t scared of you. I think it’s obvious that I’m not that guy.”

  “McGiggles never wrong. Spirit is in Alan. Peepers help discover talent. Alan used to help Peepers and guild earn forgiveness. Show Alan how he helps others like him grow strong in life.”

  “McGiggles? Is he one of those freaky faces I saw in the mirrors? Are they ‘the guild’ you keep mentioning?” Alan asked.

  “Peepers and the guild once like Alan. Were clowns. Never discover our talents. Hide behind painted faces. Crave acceptance. Shunned, path of sin opened. Death deprive chance for atone.”

  “The guild? You’re just one of them? How many are there?”

  “Many. Our sins display ugliness outside. Fear not. We seek atonement. Alan able to help guild escape ugliness, earn light.”

  “Are you suggesting there’s a way for me to help you and all those creepy characters get to heaven?”

  “Heaven—yes! Alan help guild earn light. Escape darkness through his talent and powerful spirit.”

  “So, I can help you with this supposed talent of mine? What might that talent be?”

  “Alan great sculptor. The guild can help people through Alan’s talent.”

  “I’m a sculptor? No way! I’ve never sculpted anything. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I really think you have the wrong person. Please, just slide away from the door and let me go now.”

  “Alan free to walk through Peepers. Peepers move if Alan trusts and promise to sculpt Peepers’ likeness.”

  “Are you saying that you’ll let me out if I promise to try sculpting you?” Alan said.

  “Yes. Peepers share with Alan his gift, but Peepers must earn light. Alan sculpt Peepers and return tomorrow night. When you return, Peepers helped Alan overcome his fear. Peepers help Alan believe only.”

  Alan recognized these words. He removed the white clown glove from his hand; the words were still written on his palm. This was an interesting twist. All this time, he thought that Peepers was the evil he needed to fight. Now that he used the words, “Believe only,” he was seeing things in a new light. Maybe Peepers was the thing he needed to believe in. Maybe in order to overcome his fears, he needed to do more than just face them. He had to understand and help them. Sure, Peepers and the guild were freakishly ugly, but if Peepers was telling the truth, they wanted to help people. They wanted to earn forgiveness and go to heaven. Was it possible Father Harris was telling him to believe Peepers, and he would find much more than a solution to his problem? Might he be able to bring peace to the poor souls who felt the need to hide behind masks in life? Whatever their sins, Alan appreciated their desire to repent.

  He considered what Peepers told him. His trust for him grew, but he still didn’t believe he had a talent for sculpting.

  “Okay, Peepers, I will try it. But, if you are wrong and I can’t sculpt you, I won’t come back. I promise to only come back here if you are telling me the truth. Now, will you please let me out?”

  Peepers
smiled and bowed as his body glided away from the door. Alan cautiously moved through the opening and found himself outside.

  Chapter 9

  Monday morning, Alan waited in his car for the local art supply store to open. The store’s window displays were packed with artistic samplings from a variety of mediums. Paintings were propped up on wooden easels. Partially completed sculptures displayed on tables and temporary shelves were used to demonstrate stages of completion. Filling in the spaces between the works was an assortment of colorful posters, advertising paints, drawing supplies, brushes, and a host of other products with manufacturers’ names unfamiliar to Alan.

  An employee unlocked the door and flipped the door sign to OPEN. They were open for business but Alan remained in his car. He didn’t want to be the first, and possibly the only, customer in a store full of pretentious employees looking down at the artistically challenged wanna-be sculptor, an obvious intruder to their close-knit community of talented artists.

  Five minutes passed before the first customer entered the store. One person wasn’t enough. She might not require assistance from an employee. If not, her arrival just added one set of potentially mocking eyes leering at him, the outsider. He suddenly realized the flaw in his plan. More customers translated to more real artists ridiculing the poser with rolling eyes and snubbed noses.

  It wasn’t that he was scared to enter the store. He just looked for the most comfortable set of circumstances that would lessen potential attention to himself and his obvious lack of knowledge for anything relating to art. With valid arguments to make for all possible scenarios, he decided that that moment was as good a time as any to make his move. He got out of his car and walked to the door. Reaching for the handle, he looked up to see if there were any bells to announce his entrance. If he saw the bells, he would pull slowly to reduce the sound. He was in luck; no bells above the door. He gave the door a standard pull and stepped into the store. His entrance triggered an electric buzzer sound, foiling his attempt to go unnoticed. To his surprise, his entrance didn’t draw any attention. In addition to the one customer, Alan could only see two employees, one stocking shelves as the other broke down his empty boxes. Both were engrossed in conversation, so Alan was free to browse.

  The store was separated into sections, with wall signs indicating the types of supplies in that area. Alan spotted the sign for sculpting materials in the back right corner. Making his way, he felt as out of place as a nun in a gun shop. Everything was very interesting but foreign to him.

  He turned right and found himself surrounded with options. Shelves filled with dozens of metal and plastic carving tools, all shaped for specific purposes. Jugs of chemicals and dry mixes for mold making. Countless blocks of clays in a variety of sizes and colors. The choices were overwhelming.

  He leaned over and pressed his finger into a large, loosely wrapped block of clay on the floor. It was soft and looked like the sort of clay used on a wheel to make bowls. Another shelf had smaller, brick-size materials. He pushed a finger into one of them, but it barely made a dent. He picked it up in an effort to appear a little less lost if someone happened to see him. Glancing to the top shelf he noticed human-shaped wood and wire figures, also offered in multiple sizes.

  Lost in choices, he whispered, “Where are you now, Peepers?”

  “Excuse me.” A woman’s voice interrupted his concentration. He turned to see if he was in her way.

  “Alan. Right?” the woman said. Caught off guard, Alan looked at her a few seconds before recognizing the face.

  “Mary,” he replied nervously. His hand returned the product to the shelf as if he were caught red-handed.

  “I thought it was you,” Mary Krauss said. “Hey, I loved the pizza you brought the other night.”

  “Oh, yeah, the pizza. I’m glad you liked it. Vince’s is the best in town.”

  She looked at the clay he returned to the shelf. “You’re an artist too?”

  Alan looked back at the block and shook his head. “No, no, not me. I’m not an artist.”

  “Really? Then what brings you to an art store? Are you buying a gift for someone?”

  “Um, no. Not a gift. Well, I guess I was thinking about giving sculpting a try. But who am I kidding? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  “Don’t let that stop you, Alan. I think it’s great that you want to try something new.”

  “But I’m not artistic. Nobody in my family is artistic,” he said.

  “Have you ever tried sculpting, Alan?”

  “No—well, Play-doh, but I don’t think that’s what you mean. I’m not talented,” he said, squirming. “It was a bad idea. I don’t belong here.”

  “Nonsense. How would you know if you’ve never tried? I’m not saying you do have a talent for sculpting, but you’ll never know unless you give it a try.”

  Alan thought about her reply for a few seconds. “Are you a—sculptorist?” he said.

  Mary laughed. “Yeah, I guess you can call me a sculptorist. I’ve been sculpting since I was a teenager. And guess what, Alan? I’m the only artist in my family.”

  “Well, how did you know you had the talent?” he asked.

  “I took an art class in high school. My first piece was a dancing girl. I didn’t think it was anything special because it was so easy, but my teacher was really impressed with it. She said I had a God-given talent and I should keep working on it. While the rest of the class went on to work on other artistic mediums, she allowed me to continue working on my sculpting. I owe it all to Mrs. Dailey. I don’t know what I’d be doing now if she didn’t push me.”

  “You didn’t even know you could sculpt?” Alan asked.

  “I didn’t even have an interest in it,” Mary said. She paused and looked at Alan. Her eyes squinted as she put her hand under her chin and said, “Alan. Let me help you.”

  “Oh, no, Mary. I shouldn’t even be here—”

  “Stop, Alan!” she ordered. “I want to help you. I’m going to help you and I won’t take no for an answer.” Her eyes scanned the shelves full of materials. “What were you thinking of sculpting?”

  “Well, I guess it’s sort of a person,” he said.

  Mary looked at him and asked, “Sort of a person?”

  “Yea, a person dressed—like a clown. It’s a clown. I was thinking of sculpting a clown.”

  Mary’s eyes returned to the shelves. “A clown, okay, how big?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Let’s start with an armature,” she said, reaching for one of the human-shaped wire figures on the top shelf.

  “An eight-inch armature should do,” she said

  She picked up the block of clay Alan returned to the shelf and said, “You were on the right track with this, but let’s get a few more.” She filled his hands with the items.

  “This stuff won’t dry, ever. So you can take your time working with it.”

  Looking at the blocks in his hands, he asked, “What can I do with a soft sculpture?”

  “This is how it starts. When the sculpture is finished, I’ll show you how to make a mold and we can cast as many solid pieces as you want.”

  Mary handed Alan five shaping tools. Looking at his hands full of supplies, she said, “There you go. This should be enough to get you started.”

  “Started how?” Alan asked.

  “Are you free this afternoon?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Good! Bring these supplies to my house at two-thirty and I’ll help you get started.”

  Her house, he thought. That would be Krauss House. At that point all he wanted to do was prove that he didn’t have any special skills so he wouldn’t have to face Peepers or any other spirits again. He never considered Krauss House would be the location of his artistic education.

  “Oh, if you have a picture of the clown you want to sculpt, bring it with you. And if you want to get started before then, you can slap a bunch of the Plasteline on the arma
ture. It takes time bulking it up to the point where you can start sculpting detail. Just build it up with strips until it resembles the rough shape of a person.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Mary?”

  Mary placed her hands on his arms below the shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said, “Are you kidding? It will be my pleasure to help someone the way Mrs. Dailey helped me.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you,” he said. “There’s a good chance I might suck at this.”

  Mary grinned and said, “You’ll do fine. I’m glad you’re letting me help you discover sculpting. It’s going to be so much fun.”

  That was it. He knew then and there that he was physically incapable of denying this woman. That afternoon he would be in Krauss House and if he showed any talent for sculpting, he would be back in the Labyrinth of Haunted Mirrors facing Peepers for a third time. There was no way out of this situation and he surprised himself for not trying harder. Either Peepers was correct, and somehow he was helping Alan get over his fears of haunted things, or he was just worn down and too weak to fight.

  Mary let go of Alan’s arms. Saying she had a few more things to pick up, she smiled and walked away. Alan took his arm full of supplies to the checkout.

  “Did you find everything you were looking for?” the clerk asked.

  “And then some,” Alan replied.

  *****

  Standing at his kitchen table, Alan tipped the bag and lifted it from the bottom, emptying the contents in a heap. “Is this what Peepers wanted me to do?” he muttered.

  He picked up the armature and examined it before setting it aside. Next, he looked at the blocks of clay. He rapped his knuckles on one and wondered how he was going to combine them with the wire to create something that resembled Peepers.

  “Well, I have a feeling Peepers will be disappointed when I don’t show up—but I did tell him I wouldn’t be back if he was wrong about me,” he said to himself.

  He started by peeling the plastic wrap from the blocks. They were too hard to squeeze off chunks so he retrieved a steak knife from his utensil drawer and sliced off sheets. Then he slit the sheets into thinner strips. Applying the material was difficult at first, but as it warmed from the friction of his hands, it became more pliable. Building layer after layer, he instinctively trimmed off the overbuilt areas as he smeared the layers together with his warm thumbs.